Page 34 of Santa's Baby

“What are you going to do to me?” Her voice has a slight tremble. She knows what I’m capable of.

“Are you scared?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

I break the news to her.

“Nothing.”

8

TIFFANY

Iprop myself up on my elbows, staring at the gorgeous suited man.

“Nothing? Are you fucking serious?” I laugh, but he doesn’t laugh back.

“Deadly.”

“Why?”

He doesn’t meet my eyes. Instead, he picks up a travel case from the corner of the bedroom and takes out a selection of toys, laying them beside me one by one. Vibrators and dildos in a whole host of sizes, from neat little bullets, to huge towers of plastic with fist sized heads. Butt plugs, and beads – some on loose threads, like shimmering marbles, and others in a hard, thick row.

“Why?” I ask again. “Why won’t you be playing with me? We could have so much fun.”

“I’ve no doubt about that, but as I said, I want to see you, Tiffany. I want to see how you play with yourself, when you don’t have the rules of a proposal to live up to.”

I’m normally adept at reading clients, but with him it seems a whole other ballgame. I don’t get it. I’m still trying to figure himout as he pulls up a chair from the dresser and takes a seat at the side of the bed.

“Is this a voyeurism kink? Want to see how far I can push myself for you?”

“No. Not at all. I want to see how far you enjoy pushing yourself, and exactly how you do it.”

I grin. “Don’t you worry about that, Santa. I’m a very naughty girl. I can push myself a long fucking way.”

“I’m well aware of that. I’ve been privy to it many times.”

“So why not get dirty, then? We can do whatever you want. Anything.”

He stares me right in the eyes, looking almost angry. It gives me fucking tingles, go figure.

“Because this isn’t about me and it isn’t about Creamgirl. It’s about the girl underneath.”

The girl underneath. That makes me shuffle.Nervous.

“IamCreamgirl. It’s not an act. I love everything I do. It’s not just for the cash.”

“I’m sure it isn’t, and I’m sure you do. But you aren’t Creamgirl, you areTiffany, and it’s Tiffany I want in this room with me tonight.”

I can’t remember the last time I’ve fucked around with someone using my real name. I’ve not ventured into the real world outside of proposals for years. But thisisa proposal. Kind of. Technically.

Or is it?

The lines are blurry, and I feel like I’m wobbling, the safety of anonymity sailing away into the distance.

“So, what do you want me to do?” I ask.

Reuben leans forward in his seat, his elbows on his knees.