Santa, Sir Read online

  "How is it my fault?"

  "Thanksgiving!" Becca exclaimed, aware that she was now purple with embarrassment.

  "Oh." Angel grew quiet, remembering, while Becca's embarrassment grew. "Well, listen, I could have Cole talk to him," she offered tentatively.

  "No!" Becca yelled emphatically, throwing her hand over her mouth when she realized she had actually screamed. "No," she repeated quieter. "I don't want to ask him, I don't want anyone else to ask him, and it's not something that he would ever do on his own. It's just a passing phase. I need to just forget about it. It will go away on its own."

  Angel didn't look convinced.

  * * *

  "Are you okay?" Cole paused the TV, and frowned at him, setting the remote down on the end table between them.

  "I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

  Cole ogled him with disbelief. "Our team just got robbed on the call, and you didn't even react."

  "Did they?" Mase stared at the TV in confusion. He couldn't remember seeing a single play, but it looked like, despite having just been robbed, their team was winning.

  "Okay, what the hell is going on with you, man? You're like a zombie tonight. Are you just working too hard, or what?"

  "Maybe, I don't know." He sighed. "It's Becca. Something is going on with her, and I don't know what it is or how to fix it."

  "Well, what's up? Maybe I can help."

  Mase rubbed his hands across his face in frustration. "I don't know where to start, man; I really don't. I didn't realize things had gotten so bad, but it's like I finally just woke up one day, and looked at my marriage and realized that it had been destroyed by grief while we weren't even looking."

  "Man, that's rough. The miscarriage?"

  "I guess. We weren't even that far along, and it's not like we were ready to have a child together anyway. The problem is, we didn't really have much in the way of a relationship to begin with. When everything happened, we coped on our own, because I guess it was all we knew how to do at that point."

  Cole nodded. "So, where are you now?"

  "Man, I wish I knew. I feel like I've been hibernating all winter, and I just woke up to find the whole world different. I didn't even realize how bad things had gotten until last night. Cole, she had to ask me to eat dinner with her."

  "You mean, to go out on a date? That's understandable."

  "No, I mean just to eat with her, in our home, at the table, instead of in front of the TV."

  "Oh. Wow." Cole didn't seem to know how to respond to that, and Mase didn't blame him. "Well, things can only get better from here, right?"

  "That's what I thought," Mase agreed. "Last night was great, and I felt good that things were going to start getting better as we moved forward. It's not like we ever fought, or had bad feelings towards each other; we literally just were not even conscious of each other. Actually, I think that was mostly me. But I finally saw it, and it was eye opening. I was jazzed. I felt more alive than I have in ages." He paused, and shook his head with a hard frown. "But, I don't know what's going through Becca's head, because she was a whole different person today too, and not in a good way. She was sassy, and sarcastic, and that's when she wasn't ignoring me completely. And that dress!" Mase exclaimed, shaking his head. "I told her not to wear that dress!"

  "Okay, now you have officially lost me. What dress, and why do you care?"

  "She showed up to work in this barely modest, sexed up version of her Mrs. Claus costume. I mean, it wasn't inappropriate, and everything was fully covered that should have been, but it was much more appropriate for the bedroom than it was for working around children. It made it hard to, um, concentrate on matters at hand."

  "I see." Cole looked unusually pensive. "This dress, was it long sleeve, scooped neck, falls to oh, about mid-thigh? Cutesy half apron? Striped stockings?"

  Mason's brow furrowed as he gaped at his friend. Cole had just described the outfit perfectly. "Yeah, that's the one. Why? How did you know that?"

  "I think she may have borrowed it from Angel. Yeah," his friend elaborated, slowly leaning back in his chair, "I'm pretty sure that's it."

  "Oh." Mase frowned. "That's a little weird, though."

  "It was for a photo shoot," Cole quickly clarified. "Some silly holiday ad, you know how it is."

  He didn't and it seemed to him that Cole knew the dress a little too well for it to be simply something Angel had worn once for a photo shoot, but whatever.

  "Hang on, hang on. Let's re-cap really quick. I think I might have an idea."

  Mason was desperate.

  "So she wore a sexy little Mrs. Claus outfit to work, there was flirtation, then at home, you ate dinner together, and the flirtation went... further. You were feeling really good about things, but when she showed up to work, she was basically a total brat all day? Did she wear the dress again?"

  "Yes! After I explicitly told her not to!"

  "I can tell you exactly what is going on," Cole said with a startling amount of confidence. "And, I can tell you what to do about it, too, but you're not going to like it."

  "Try me," Mase challenged, then winced as he immediately regretted it. When Cole got that tone, it only meant one thing, and that one thing was not something Mase was interested in. Cole knew that. He couldn't be that stupid so as to suggest that Mase spank Becca the way he spanked Angel.

  "That girl is angling for a spanking, and if I know women, it's only going to get worse until you give her what she wants."

  Mase took it back. Cole really was that stupid.

  He tried to level his friend with a look, but Cole wore a shit-eating grin, and was looking amused over the whole thing. Mase himself was less than amused.

  "Look," Cole started, choking on a laugh, "all I'm saying is, would you spank her if she asked? If you knew that that is what she wanted?"

  "I mean, yeah, I guess," Mase conceded with a begrudging grimace.

  "Well, buddy," Cole informed him with a smirk, "she's asking. There's not a doubt in my mind."

  Chapter Four

  "Did you want to decorate the tree after dinner?"

  "I'm sorry, what?" Becca looked up from her empty dinner plate, and stared at her husband blankly. She’d had the dream again last night, and had been at war with herself all day. It wasn't about the spanking, that's what she was trying to convince herself. It was about the attention and care. She was getting those now. Things were getting better. Her plan had worked, just maybe not in the way she had intended.

  "The tree. Did you want to decorate it after dinner? Then maybe pop some popcorn and watch Elf?"

  "Oh, yeah, that sounds nice," she responded, trying to muster up the enthusiasm and gratefulness she knew she ought to have. It was almost Christmas, and she had gotten her husband back this year. If only she could get the idea of a spanking out of her brain for good, and move on, she might be able to truly enjoy their time together.

  "All right," Mase led, looking at her a little sideways. "Will you clean up the dinner dishes while I bring in the tree and get the decorations down from the attic?"

  "Hmm? Oh, sure." Becca had to give herself a mental shake and will herself into the present. She was going to have a nice enjoyable evening with her husband, and she needed to be appreciative of that fact. It wouldn't end in a spanking, but it might just end in something as equally enjoyable, if she could manage to pull herself together and be present.

  It didn't take long to clean up the dinner dishes, nor did it take long to get the tree decorated, as they were still newlyweds, and hadn't accumulated much more than your basic bulbs and a few special ornaments. Soon they were curled up together on the couch, with a fire roaring in the fireplace and the tree lights twinkling in the background, bathing the room in a warm glow.

  Mase sat on the edge of the couch, and Becca curled up against his chest with her legs spread out beside her. Neither of them were really engrossed in the movie, both of them having seen it a hundred times before, but it was somewhat of a tradition to watch it,
or at least the closest thing they had to one, at this point.

  His arm had been resting on her back, but it soon traveled down, coming to a stop across the top of her backside, and she frowned, shifting lower on his chest so that his arm was once more positioned behind her back. Mase responded by shifting himself, groping her bottom once more and rubbing it absent-mindedly in a way that had her squirming with want. Damn him. He had the past few days, developed an unusual, for him, preoccupation with her butt.

  Normally she wouldn't complain. However he wanted to touch her was better than him not touching her, but the consistent rubbing, groping and squeezing was an ever present reminder of everything she was trying to forget.

  "Stop it," she hissed, squirming under his touch.

  Mase shot her a confused look, but he did not stop. Instead, he grabbed the fleshiest underside of her cheek, and laughed as he gave it a squeeze.

  "Stop!" She was louder and more insistent this time, pulling her head off his chest to look him in the eye to convey her displeasure.

  Mase relented, putting his hands up in a gesture of surrender before setting them across the back of the couch, with one arm wrapped across the tops of her shoulders.

  Satisfied that the torture had ceased, Becca settled back to enjoy her favorite part of the movie—the scene where Buddy the Elf sings in the bathroom with Jovie, the mall elf played by Zooey Deschanel.

  They had both just screamed when Mase's hand found its way back to her butt. This time when she turned to glare at him, he raised his eyebrows, and popped her on the butt with a cupped hand. An honest-to-goodness swat! Shocked into silence, her mouth opened, then quickly closed again, waiting to see what he would do next.

  Every one of her senses was on high alert, and save for the television, you could have heard a pin drop in the room. She was frozen in place, and she could feel the heat rising onto her cheeks.

  Nothing else happened. One little pop on the butt, and that was it. But his hand stayed there for the rest of the movie, and this time, she didn't dare object.

  * * *

  It hadn't escaped his notice that for all the objecting Becca had done, she hadn't said a word when he mustered up the courage to swat her on the butt. Crap! Did that mean Cole was right?

  He didn't want Cole to be right. Knowing the sort of relationship Cole had with his sister was one thing, but, entertaining the idea of having that sort of relationship himself was quite another. What was it Cole had said? 'There are many ways to bring spanking into a relationship, and many ways to employ it within the relationship. Just because Becca is curious doesn't mean she wants what Angel and I have. '"

  Semantics aside, it did indeed look like his friend may have had a point. And, Mase had to admit, the idea of a little bedroom spanky-panky wasn't necessarily an off-putting one. He was willing to give it a try, if it was something that Becca wanted.

  'If' being the operative word. And how did one really know if it was safe territory or not? He didn't want to ask, and Becca wasn't saying. Even if he thought there was a chance that Cole knew what he was talking about, he wasn't about to just assume that she actually wanted him to spank her of all things. What if he was wrong? Mason could just imagine the disaster that would be.

  No, he shook his head, imagining the worst possible scenario. Her not objecting to a little love-tap on the butt was not enough confirmation for him. He just needed to chalk Cole's advice up to the fact that the man permanently had spanking on the brain, and move on.

  The credits rolled on the movie, and Mase nudged Becca, eliciting a soft snore. Great, she had fallen asleep. There was no hope of making their own brand of Christmas magic tonight. It was probably a good thing. Getting the vision of Becca's soft white flesh reddening under his palm was a task much easier said than done, dammit. Tomorrow would be a long day for them, anyway. It was Christmas Eve, and no matter how busy they had been for the last few weeks at Santa's Village, tomorrow was sure to be a madhouse, as more and more people seemed to wait until the last possible second to bring their kids in for the obligatory Santa photo for the baby book.

  It was worse than a madhouse. It was an all-out certified shit-storm. The kids were cranky, the moms were frazzled, and the mall was packed with impatient, angry, and just plain rude last minute shoppers.

  "Remind me again, why I signed up for this?" Mase muttered under his breath as Becca settled the last in a long line of screaming babies on his lap.

  "You didn't sign up for it. You inherited it. And that is why you do it—it's tradition. Your dad loved playing Santa for the children of this town, and you continue in his footsteps as a way to stay connected to him, and to give something back. As difficult as today has been, you can take peace in knowing that he is looking down on you right now with a big old smile on his face."

  "Wow. Thank you," Mase whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat, and wiping a tear from his eye.

  "Besides," Becca continued, "it's good practice. One day we will have kids of our own, and we will be those frazzled parents waiting till the last minute before deciding we can't possibly live without that iconic picture, even if the only one we can get is a screaming, red-faced, over-tired kid sitting on the lap of a very overwhelmed, but well-meaning, bastard in a Santa suit."

  Mase wasn't sure who processed the implication of her statement first, but they both stared at each other in shock. It was the first time either of them had brought up the possibility of more children—the first time they had allowed themselves to voice that wish, to talk about it as if it were a foregone conclusion.

  Even though the scene Becca was describing was one he knew for a fact was one of absolute holiday hell, in that moment, he had never wanted anything else as badly as he wanted what she was describing. The moment that passed between them was electric, as Becca's expressive eyes gave away the fact that she was feeling the same way.

  The moment passed, as moments tend to do, abruptly ended when the screaming baby on his lap gave a burp that could only be described as epic and covered the front of his red velvet suit in projectile milk vomit.

  The look on Becca's face was priceless, as she quickly tore off her apron and handed it to him for a cleanup rag, scooped the baby into her arms, patting and comforting him as she walked, before unceremoniously depositing him into his mother's waiting arms.

  "Well, at least that was the last one! Merry Christmas, everyone! Go home and enjoy your families!"

  Mason quickly shrugged out of the offending garment, holding it to his side with two fingers while pinching his nose with his free hand. Who knew baby throw up smelled so awful?

  Chapter Five

  As they stepped through the door of their cabin home an hour later, Becca was grateful for the welcoming smell of the roast she had thrown in the crock-pot that morning. As tired as she was, it would have been a frozen pizza night without it.

  "I can't wait to get out of this get-up and into my jammies. Thank god we don't have to do that again until next year. That may have been the longest two weeks of my life."

  "No, wait, hang on a second." Mason grabbed her arm as she began to walk away, and pulled her close to him, kissing the top of her nose when she was near enough, before scooping her up into his arms and sitting on the couch with her on his lap.

  She snuggled into him, resting her head on the soft cotton of the tee shirt he had worn underneath his now soiled Santa top.

  "You know," Mase said, sounding serious in a way that caused her to pull back and look at him. "My dad played Santa for twenty years, and he loved it. He never complained, never came home too tired for us, and never came close to letting on how totally draining it can be. He didn't even have someone by his side to help him—other than the random volunteer." Mason took her hand in his. "I'm thankful that I have you by my side to be my Mrs. Claus. I had no idea how taxing a job it was, and I know I could not have done it without you."

  "You're welcome, Santa," she teased, tugging on the beard he was still wearing. "It was a
lot of work, for sure more than one would expect it to be, but you did great. I'm very proud of you, and very proud to be your Mrs. Claus. I am anxious to get out of this dress though," she reminded him, making a move to get up.

  "Not so fast." Mason held her in place. "It seems to me, Mrs. Claus, that you have yet to tell Santa what you want for Christmas."

  Her mouth opened in surprise at his teasing tone. Mason was not a teaser.

  "And more importantly," he continued, "have you been naughty or nice?"

  There was something in his voice. He was teasing, but the way he was looking at her made her breath catch in her throat like he knew her secret and this was her one chance to tell him what she wanted, without really telling him what she wanted.

  But what if she was wrong, and it was all in her imagination? If she answered 'naughty', would he just laugh it off and leave her looking and feeling like a fool?

  He was peering at her intently, still completely decked out in his Santa gear minus the coat. She wasn't sure why that made her feel safer, but somehow it did.

  "So, which is it?" Mason prompted. "Naughty or nice?"

  "I think, maybe," Becca took a deep breath before continuing, "a little bit of both." She was embarrassed now, leaning into Mason and burying her face in his shirt.

  "Mmm," Mason hummed, putting on his best Santa voice. "I think you're right. On the outside you have been very, very nice, but on the inside, you've been a very naughty girl indeed."

  Oh, my God. Is this actually happening? She almost couldn't bear to let herself hope, lest she end up disappointed as she had last time. The odds of that happening were still very high. With Mason, you just never knew.

  She was fully hiding at this point, her face buried into his shirt, smashed against his chest so hard, she could barely breathe. Mase reached down, and held her face in his hands, tilting it up so that she had no choice but to look at him. The kindness and humor she saw in his eyes melted her.

  "We have a bit of a problem, the way I see it. Now, Santa knows what to do with naughty children—he gives them lumps of coal in their stocking. But, what does one do with a naughty Mrs. Claus?"