Beyond Romance: A naughty holiday fantasy... now on sale! #HolidayReads #Femdom #99cents

Happy holidays to all my readers! I’ve got an early Christmas treat for you; I just dropped the price of my holiday erotica title Santa, Baby! to only 99 cents until the end of the year.

This isn’t a romance, but it does feature a swoon-worthy hero/narrator. And it’s all good, naughty fun.

Blurb

Matt Glaser may not have the Santa Claus beard or belly, but when it comes to earning extra holiday cash, he loves his red suit like a reindeer loves carrots. This potential client, though—classy, curvy Eleanor Danforth—seems more interested in checking out his butt than his references. And two grand for a private party? Oy vey, Prancer, something's not kosher about this particular Vixen.

Excerpt (Adult)

Muffled in the overcoat I’d borrowed from my roommate Brian, I faced the hardwood and brass double doors to the Danforth’s fortieth floor apartment. The doorbell was easy to locate; I just wasn’t sure I had the guts to ring it.

The Santa costume that my employer had provided was more appropriate for a go-go boy than Father Christmas. The droopy conical hat was traditional, with its fuzzy white trim and pom-pom, and the knee-high black patent leather boots, too, but St. Nicolas wouldn’t have been caught dead in these shiny red spandex hot pants. They clung to my bum like a second skin. It was a good thing the weather was warm for December, or I would have frozen my balls off. The scarlet shirt, made from some sort of stretchy velvet, had long sleeves with white fur cuffs. However, the front made a plunging vee that bared most of my chest.

I was grateful for the soft, snowy-white fake beard. It hid my blushes. I felt ridiculous and incredibly exposed. Like most authors, I tended to live in my head, my vivid imagination compensating for my mundane real-world existence. In contrast, this costume emphasized the physical. My face was hidden; my mind wasn’t important. I had no illusions about the fact that Mrs. Danforth had hired me primarily for my body.

I could still back out. Turn around, step back into the chrome and steel elevator and whoosh down to the ground floor. Spend Christmas Eve eating take-out and working on my novel.

Seriously, though, could I afford to throw away two thousand bucks? Meanwhile, the experience, however weird, might in the future serve as grist to the writer’s mill.

Before I could talk myself out it, I gave the button a firm press.

Almost immediately, Mrs. Danforth opened the door. “Good evening, Matt. You’re right on time. I do appreciate punctuality.”

My eyes grew wide and my cock started to harden as I took her in. She’d been attractive in her form-fitting suit and silky blouse, but now she was stunning. Her sleeveless, evergreen-colored cocktail dress was fashioned from some light, shimmery fabric that clung to her voluptuous breasts and hips. The short skirt showed off her smooth thighs and muscled calves, their shapeliness enhanced by her sparkling red stilettos. Her pale hair gleamed in the recessed lights of the entry way. Artfully-applied make up accentuated her patrician features. Her plump, crimson lips were moist and inviting.

“Toss your coat onto the chair,” she ordered. “Let’s see the costume.”

Like an automaton, I shrugged off the heavy wool garment.

She clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, you look spectacular! Sexy and naughty, just the way I imagined.” Without warning, she reached out to give my half-swollen dick a quick squeeze. The brief but brazen gesture just made me harder. “And I’m happy to see you’re already getting into the spirit of the evening.”

I didn’t resist when she grabbed my hand.

“Come on, my girlfriends are dying to meet you.”

My imperious hostess practically dragged me into an enormous living room, bigger than the average hotel lobby and two stories high. The left wall was entirely glass, providing a breathtaking view of the Hudson River and the Palisades. A live Christmas tree towered to my right, roped in gold tinsel and sparkling lights, the angel at its peak almost grazing the ceiling.

Clusters of sofas and chairs were scattered around the vast space. Several male figures occupied a grouping at the far end. Closer, two women from Mrs. Danforth’s generation sat sipping cocktails, their heads together like gossiping teenagers. Despite their age, they both had dressed seductively, in tight, glittering gowns with low necklines that displayed their abundant flesh.

“Delilah, Jane — this is Matt, our Santa.”

“Oh my! You’ve outdone yourself, Ellie! He’s gorgeous!” The raven-haired woman had a Middle Eastern look, with a prominent nose and dusky skin. She offered her hand. “I’m Delilah,” she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Picking up on her mood, I bent to brush my lips and my soft beard across the back. “Enchanté, Mrs….”

Delilah giggled at the tickling sensation. “Mrs. Nothing! I’m happily divorced.”

“Me too,” added the other woman, who had a square, somewhat plain, face but astonishing red-gold hair. “I’m Jane,” she announced. She grabbed my other hand, brought it to her mouth and licked my palm.

Electric pleasure sizzled through me at the unexpectedly intimate move, down to my increasingly rigid dick. My pelvis jerked reflexively. The three women laughed.