“Actually, Miles,” I drop the bag carelessly to the ground, but his gaze stays planted on mine, “you’re on the naughty list this year.”
He gasps, grabbing the lapels of my jacket to tug me forward. The door swings shut behind me just before he shoves me back against it, thankfully not so hard as to rattle the whole set.
“Oh no, Santa,” he affects a sultry pleading tone, running his fingertips over my chest teasingly, “I’m not a naughty boy.” He starts to sink to his knees on the faux-hardwood floor, beseeching, “Can I show you howniceI can be?”
It feels very much like the rug has been pulled out from underneath me. I went into this expecting to have to lead the scene, to coach him through nerves about performing on camera, but Miles has taken me completely by surprise here.
My cockloveshis confidence, even while I ache to discipline the playful brattiness and challenge right out of him.
Carding my fingers into his dark hair, I marvel briefly at its softness. The generic ‘more on top’ style suits him, but it doesn’t look like it would feel as silky as it does, slipping between my digits.
I yank his head back just enough to tilt his chin upwards, and I grin at the flash of need in his expression.
He’s so responsive…
“You have to work really hard if you want me to call you a good boy, Miles.” I tell him.
Bless him, he takes the obvious pun and runs with it, “I like it when things arereally hard, Santa.”
“I’ll bet you do.”
The cheeky fucker winks at me.
Oh, it is on!
My fingers curl in his hair, tightening their grip, tugging just enough to make those pretty blue eyes widen with more genuine surprise and a hint of pain.
Good.
“Undo my belt,” I demand.
“Yes, D—Santa.”
I feel myself twitch at the slip of his tongue, and I am already so fucking done being ‘Santa’, it isn’t even funny. I want to hear the right word falling from those plump, pink lips of his. “What did you almost call me?”
His throat works convulsively, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I…”
“Miles.” Fuck, but I love the way his pupils dilate when I say his name in that authoritative tone. He loves it, I can tell. A quickglance down at the darkening patch of red towel-like fabric over his crotch confirms it. I double down. “Say it. Say what you really want to call me.”
“Oh fuck,” he murmurs, his cheeks flushing pink.
Finally, the dynamic feels the way I expected it to, but now I know to watch out for his sass. He’s going to keep me on my toes today; I can feel it.
“Say it.” I pull just a touch harder on his hair and he moans.
“Daddy,” the title comes out on a needy rush of air. “B-because you’reFatherChristmas…and you look like a Daddy.”
My dick goes from already interested to straining for attention instantly. It’s all I can do to bite back the praise he would enjoy so much. We can’t rush this. Namely because it would be the most disappointing porn flick ever if we did, but also because I don’twantto rush this. I want to draw it out. To see just how much teasing Miles can take.
“That’s what I thought,” I say, then jerk my chin downwards. “Didn’t I tell you to undo my belt?”
“Yes, Daddy.” His fingers scramble for the buckle, working as quickly as he can to obey the command. Once it’s undone, he sits back on his heels and waits for further instruction.
Perfect.
“Take it off and get my dick out.”
The flush to his cheeks seems to brighten, but his movements are sure and steady as he slips the belt free of the pant loops and then drops it to the floor. His eyes meet mine and stay there as he unbuttons the pants and draws down the zipper.
