Jingle My Balls

  Jingle My balls

  Hot-Bites Novella

  Jordan Marie

  Jenika Snow

  J INGLE MY BALLS (Hot-Bites Novella )

  By Jenika Snow and Jordan Marie

  w ww.JordanMarieRomance.com

  support@jordanmarieromance.com

  w ww.JenikaSnow.com

  Jenika_Snow@yahoo.com

  C opyright © December 2017 by Jordan Marie and Jenika Snow

  First E-book Publication: December 2017

  P hotographer: Wander Aguiar Photography

  Cover model: Jonny James

  Photo provided by: Wander Book Club

  E ditor: Kasi Alexander

  Cover Created by: RBA Designs

  A LL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of any part of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 .

  This literary work is fiction. Any name, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental .

  Please respect the author and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials that would violate the author’s rights .

  Nick

  M y firm has been hired to make sure Holly gets her biggest Christmas wish .

  The rules are simple :

  Seduction and fantasy, and absolutely no sex .

  But, the moment I get a look at the delicious redhead, all rules go out the window faster than Santa’s sleigh on Christmas night .

  I shouldn’t touch her, but it is the season of giving, after all .

  And I really want to give Holly a night neither of us will ever forget .

  The problem is, once she wraps that sweet little tongue on my candy cane ,

  I want much more than just one night .

  W arning: Welcome to Jenika and Jordan’s Hot-Bite Christmas where the packages are big, the stockings are definitely hung, and snow isn’t the only thing that gets plowed. We’ve decided you’ve been too good this year. So pull up a chair and enjoy a quick, dirty little cup of Christmas Cheer .

  Contents

  Hot-Bites Novellas

  Where to find the Authors

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Excerpt: Planting His Seed

  Excerpt: Ride My Beard

  About the Authors

  Bought and Paid For

  Ride My Beard

  Planting His Seed

  Jingle My Balls

  Where to find the authors :

  Facebook

  Newsletter

  Pinterest

  Twitter

  Goodreads

  Website

  Facebook

  Newsletter

  Instagram

  Twitter

  Webpage

  Goodreads

  Chapter 1

  Holly

  I f I hear one more Christmas carol, I’m going to hurl. That’s it. I hate this time of year. It’s cold, it’s miserable, and people are just plain rude. I tried Christmas shopping today—I really did. Fifteen minutes in the store with holiday music playing in the background, people pushing and shoving, getting mowed down by shopping carts, and I was done .

  Which is why I’m limping on the sidewalk, with not one shopping bag to show for my trouble. Some woman inside the department store ran into me with her cart. She didn’t apologize; she just huffed, like I was the one who caused the accident .

  I find a bench close to the park and sit down to inspect the damage. I bend down to look at the back of my leg and wince at what I see. My stocking is torn and there are these gigantic runs in the nylon going up my leg. The heel of my foot is bloody and has been ripped open at the exact spot the back of my Jimmy Choos slide against. My favorite pair of heels didn’t exactly escape hell either. They’re scuffed and have serious damage. If I had it to do over I wouldn’t have walked away. I would have given that lady a dirty look and thrown my shoe at her before giving her the finger .

  “Looks like you’ve been trampled by Santa’s reindeers,” a deep voice says to my right. I turn and look at him and everything in me stills. Chills run down my back and the voice seems to vibrate in the very center of me, sending instant awareness through me and making my body hum with need. Which is unusual for two reasons. One, I’ve been on a break from relationships and men in general for the last five years. My last breakup was not good—so not good that the thought of trusting another male scares the hell out of me. The last and most obvious reason is the one that takes precedence, however. I don’t know this man. I don’t know him at all and worse… He’s wearing a Santa outfit .

  Great, I’ve reeled in a nut job .

  “Do I know you?” I sound like a cranky old bitch right now, but I’m not in the mood for some guy dressed up to try and get me in the holiday spirit, not matter how good looking he is .

  “I’m Santa, can’t you tell?” he says, drolly .

  I rest my back against the bench and look at the stranger, feeling my eyebrows lift up in sarcastic disbelief. Yeah, he’s wearing a Santa suit, a cheesy red one that looks like it’s made out of crushed velvet and that’s trimmed in white fake fur. I suppose that’s not strange; ‘tis the season and all that. What doesn’t fit the part, however, is when he yanks off the beard and hat and pulls off the white gloves, I can see that his large, masculine hands are covered in ink .

  I draw my attention back to his face. Now that the fake beard is gone I see he’s sporting a black beard with a bit of gray sprinkled in. Dark, almost obsidian eyes stare down at me. They look intense, mocking and yet at the same time somehow bored with life. He pulls out a cigarette and then lights it, cupping his hand against the cool New York wind .

  “I don’t think Santa is supposed to smoke,” I tell him .

  “Sweetheart, Santa does a lot he’s not supposed to do,” he smirks and something about that look on his face makes my body heat .

  “Whatever. You should make sure your boss doesn’t see you do that,” I mutter, annoyed because he’s making my traitorous body react when it shouldn’t .

  “Santa has no boss .”

  “God, can you drop the act? I’ve about had it with Christmas and the last thing I want to do is hear you tell me how you spend your days on the North Pole playing with your reindeer,” I huff .

  “I make the elves stroke my reindeer horns actually,” he smirks. “What’s got your panties in a twist ?”

  “You mean besides being mowed over by a woman with a cart and ruining a pair of pantyhose and my favorite pair of heels ?”

  “Who was she? I’ll put her on the naughty list,” he asks and at this point I just shake my head .

  Who is this guy ?

  “Will you give it a… What are you doing? ” I feel my eyes grow big as I watch him get down on his haunches in front of me .

  “I thought that was rather obvious. I’m checking your injury out,” he murmurs, ignoring my protest and pulling my leg up into his lap—despite me trying to pull it away .

  I brace myself on the bench, because if I don’t, I’m going to end up falling to the ground. I try to kick at him, but he holds my leg firmly, not allowing the movement .

  “Will you stop? I don’t kno
w you! And besides that, this dress is too short. You’ll have me flashing half of New York.” My voice has risen by this point .

  “Stop being dramatic. My body is completely blocking you.” He dismisses my objection and then he looks at me—really looks at me. His eyes bore into mine, and his hand on my leg becomes tighter, almost punishing in his hold. “Are you wearing panties?” he asks .

  My body jerks in reaction. I should be repulsed. In fact, I should be panicking that a man I don’t know, a man dressed in a Santa suit, with a cigarette trapped between his lips and his big—huge really— ink- covered hand wrapped around my leg, is asking me if I’m wearing panties. What I should not be is turned on. And, if my damp panties are any indication… I am definitely turned on .

  “You did not just ask that!” I cry out, desperately trying to pull away from him. I can’t be turned on by a stranger—a very weird, sexy as sin stranger. I cannot be talking about my panties with said stranger and most of all, I can’t spread my legs a little wider for him .

  “Black… nice,” he says almost to himself, obviously having looked at my panties. I’m not sure how much he can see because of my pantyhose, but despite it all I feel my face heat, even though the air has a wintery chill to it. “Damn, honey, I’d say the shopping cart won your war,” he mumbles around his cigarette, yet somehow managing to make each word clear .

  “Will you let go of my leg please?” I growl out, unable to pull away from his firm grip. I’m thinking that what I thought might be padding to fill out the Santa suit is actually just plain muscle. If his hands are anything to go by, he’s huge .

  What is it they say about large hands again ?

  I squirm uncomfortably. I really shouldn’t be thinking about that at all .

  Chapter 2

  Nick

  I ’ve been fucking bored out of my mind all day...until now, that is. I run Dreamers, a premiere shop on the Upper Eastside that specializes in making dreams and fantasies a reality. Christmas is our busiest season. A lot of that is because there are a ton of lonely, bored women during Christmas. Case in point, one Ms. Keni Preston. A bored ex-housewife whose biggest wish for Christmas this year? To be seduced and romanced by Santa .

  Now, don’t get it twisted. I don’t sell sex. I sell the fantasy. Ms. Preston paid to be picked up by Santa in Central Park, taken home and fed a romantic dinner in a penthouse suite and cuddled all night. No sex involved. Now I know what you’re thinking, but cuddling is not sex. There are even these people who proclaim themselves professional cuddlers .

  People I hire for this shit are extensively vetted, thoroughly interviewed, and paid handsomely for their help. I only hire the best of the best, except for Brian Flannigan. He called in sick this morning, leaving me short one fucking Santa. I have a small staff, all of which are booked solid. It was either cancel Ms. Preston’s fantasy at the last minute, or fill in myself. Fuck, I hate doing this shit, and I never do it, to be honest. I should have canceled. It would have been the professional thing to do, but one look at this hot piece of ass has me thanking myself for not pulling out at the last minute .

  I snort at that though. There won’t be any pulling out at the last minute where it concerns her .

  In the spirit of Christmas—and the hope of never getting a bad fucking review on Yelp or some other asinine site, I stepped in, and I’m damn glad I did—now . I hadn’t met Keni previously because my receptionist does all the booking. I have to say, however, if I had known what she looked like beforehand, I would have totally taken this job out from under Brian. She’s a stone cold fox. Legs that fucking go on for miles, tits the size of cantaloupes and so fucking perfect they reach out and beg you to hold them. The black dress she’s wearing is professional and severe, but it’s sexy and shows just enough cleavage that you want to grab each side of the V-neck collar and rip it away from her body. And fuck. That damn red hair she has on her head is like a fucking crown of beauty. Makes me wonder if the curtains match the carpet .

  She’s got all those locks bound up in a damn bun, but you can tell it’s long and wavy. Shit is bronze, and auburn and other colors I can’t begin to name. It’s like she’s got the fucking sun trapped inside of it .

  Perfection .

  I expected her to give in to me right away, but she must like the game we’re playing. I can dig it. I always did like a woman with an imagination. So when she starts squirming I decide to go with my instinct. Usually women wound as tight as this one have a bit of a freaky side to them. I swat the side of her thigh hard, and keep pressure on her leg .

  “Keep still,” I order her, making my voice deep, commanding. If she wants to play this game then she needs to know I’m in charge. And because she paid for the Santa fantasy, I add, “Or Santa will put you on the naughty list .”

  “Are you deranged?” she asks, pretending to be outraged. She can’t hide the tremble in her body, however. She can’t hide the way she shivers from the contact, or the way her calves tighten under my hand, or even the way her ass and hips curl into the air toward me. And she really can’t hide those fucking nipples, which push against her dress .

  “Santa has to punish naughty girls.” I grin and stand, taking the cigarette out of my mouth and crushing it under my boot. “What’s your name, honey?” I ask, ignoring the fact I already know—after all, I’m playing a role here .

  “Holl—Holly,” she whispers, clearly flustered. It surprises me that she doesn’t give me her real name. But I like that she’s sticking to the fantasy and apparently the Christmas theme, using the name Holly. She fits the description on the ticket, red hair, green eyes, wearing black fuck-me heels, and carrying a briefcase. I dismiss the thought that maybe, just fucking maybe I got the wrong girl. She likes to play and I’m definitely in the mood to play— with her .

  “Holly, I think it’s time I show you exactly what Santa does with bad little girls .”

  “I… You do?” she asks, her eyes opening wide and getting round, showing off the green beauties that a man could get lost in .

  “I do indeed,” I tell her, letting my hand move farther up her leg. Her body tenses, her hand going half-heartedly to stop me, but when I push under her dress, going high on her thigh, she doesn’t protest .

  “What does… What does Santa do?” she asks in a whisper-soft tone and I send up a thanks to the powers that be that Brian called in sick .

  “Santa makes them wet.” I grin, letting my finger graze against the silky fabric of her pantyhose. I really want to tear the fuckers away so I can touch her panties—ones I know are nice and soaked. I bet she’s all primed for me. But even though her hose are keeping me away from what I really want, I can feel how damp they are. Her face turns pink and I know exactly how my touch is affecting her. I know her dirty little secret now. She’s definitely into her fantasy and she’s ready for more. I’m going to take her back to the penthouse I reserved and I’m definitely thinking I’ll give Holly more than she paid for. It goes against every rule my company has, but Holly is making me forget about all of that. She’s even making me feel generous .

  She’s got my cock harder than fucking steel .

  If little Holly here plays her cards right, this Santa might just decorate her pretty little body for Christmas …

  With my cum .

  Chapter 3

  Holly

  I cannot believe what I am doing. I followed Santa out of Central Park and to this swanky building, his big muscular body draped in that hideous red crushed velvet outfit, yet still making me so wet I am not about to say no to what is going to happen. I should though. I don’t know him, which makes this crazy. Yet he ignites this fire inside of me the likes of which I’ve never experienced before .

  The rational side of my brain says he could be a serial killer, tempting me with his holiday sexiness and making me forget the whole stranger danger rule .

  But then another side of me, the one that controls the fact I want him to fuck me so hard he makes me sing fa-la-la-la in a
high pitched scream, overrides everything else .

  And that is how I find myself in this penthouse suite, staring at a man I know I want between my legs more than my next breath, and praying his candy cane is as big as I am picturing .

  Neither of us says anything for long seconds, but he has this cocky smirk on his face that tells me he knows exactly how I feel, maybe even what I am thinking .

  A shiver races up my spine at the way he looks at me, the way he checks me out. He rakes his gaze over the entire length of my body and I curl my hands into tight fists at my sides. I can feel how hard my nipples are, and there’s no doubt in my mind that they’re pressing against the material of my shirt, like tight little buds begging for his mouth .

  “How bad do you want your stocking stuffed, Holly ?”

  His use of holiday jargon should turn me off, but it actually has the opposite effect .

  I clench my thighs together, trying to stem off the flow of wetness. My panties are well into the soaked territory, and I know my pantyhose are damp as well. But I can’t answer him, can’t find my voice. None of that matters, though, because the grin he gives me tells me that I don’t need to say anything .

  He knows exactly what I want, exactly what I need to turn this shitty day right around .

  He give me a shit-eating grin, his straight white teeth flashing, and then he goes for his red coat with the white fur trim around the collar. When the jacket is removed all I can see is hard golden skin covered in dark tattoos. His washboard abs have the feminine side of me rising up, and my belly clenches painfully .