“Just wait till you’re riding it,” he replied and then tucked her thong to the side and kissed her bare flesh until she moaned.
All riled up again, I stepped into the tub, lowered myself into the warm water, and turned on the jets. I eagerly sidled up to one, positioned it right in front of my groin like the wikiHow diagram showed, and waited for the promised orgasm.
Except it was like planting my camel toe in front of one of the big sprayers at the car wash, or maybe one of those things they used to clean old area rugs on TikTok, and I had to curl my hands over the edge of the tub to keep myself from being blown backward by Poseidon’s own Jacuzzi jet.
I stayed planted there for several minutes, unsure if it felt great or if I was being hosed off like a bar patio, but the orgasm never... came. Although I did feel very clean now.
Maybe it was justthatjet? Old hurty-squirty over there? Because surely this wouldn’t be on wikiHow if it wasn’t widely accepted knowledge, and so I should hop back in the Jacuzzi saddle and try again with a different jet?
So I tried another, and then another, and then another, and in all sorts of contorted positions, until I finally gave up and sat back in the water, confused.
This time, however, my lust didn’t die off. It stayed burning in my gut, thrumming through my intimate places. It felt almost like having a fever, this need, with shivers and goosebumps and delirium, and even though I was frustrated and disappointed with myself, I was also happy that I could feel this.
Excited that I’d been brave enough to try.
Tonight, I’d done something I never thought I would do, and yes, it didn’t work out this time, but maybe I’d nab that elusive orgasm prize tomorrow night. Or the night after. Or the night after that, because I did know this: I wanted to keep trying. And not just forSanta, Baby, but for myself too.
Chapter Six
Kallum
“Oh, wait, wait,” said Nolan in my earbud. “This one is my favorite.” He cleared his throat. “‘I wish he’d rip me apart like a lobster.’ Oh, this one is nice and direct: ‘Rail me, Kallum.’”
“It’s literally just a photo of me cheesing in front of the Hope Channel sign,” I said as I sat waiting in my makeup chair for the PA to walk me to the set. “And I only took it because Steph wanted me to make more content for social media.”
“‘Murder me, Daddy,’” he reads off. “Whoa. There’s lots of daddy kink in these comments. ‘Break me like a glowstick, Daddy.’”
“Comes with the dad bod territory,” I explained. “I guess #PizzaDaddy has turned into a whole hashtag.”
He snorted. “Lots of eggplant emojis. ‘Be sure to call your doctor if you’ve had a Kallum-related boner for longer than four hours.’ Or ‘I want to use his face as a bicycle seat.’ Huh,” he said. “Your sister left a comment too.”
“Awww, Tammy Cakes. What does it say?”
“‘You have shit in your teeth,’” he read.
“Man, did I really?” I open up the Instagram app on my phone and zoom in on the picture. “I had pepper in my teeth that whole time with Winnie? Jack didn’t even say anything to me!”
“I’ve only met Jack Hart once,” Nolan said, “but he definitely struck me as the type of guy who would gladly tell you if you had something in your teeth.”
I used the reverse camera on my phone to check my teeth now, because I couldn’t expect Winnie to be fake turned on by my hipster Santa character if I had continental breakfast remnants in my teeth. “Jack was pretty upset about his ex and a doggy stepdad or something. I don’t know. I just really hope he and his ex put MissCrumpets’s well-being first and foremost.”
Nolan was silent for a minute, and I could almost see him giving me one of his curious looks. “Yeah, bud,” he finally said. “Me too. So, I guess Tamara is still pissed you took the job?”
I let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, she sent me a long text this morning saying it’s not too late to back out. Did I tell you the whole family is going on a Hanukkah cruise this year?”
“Without you?” he asked. “They know you get seasick.”
“Exactly!” I said.
“Kallum?” a voice called from the other side of the door. “They’re ready for you.”
“Gotta run, broski,” I told Nolan.
“Get your sexy Santa on,” he said. “Tell Winnie I said hi, and that I’m still sorry about the time I accidentally puked in her clutch at the Grammys.”
“You’re still trying to pretend like that was an accident?” I asked. “How do you accidentally puke in a clutch?”
“Well, it being her clutch was an accident. Not that it would be better if it had been someone—you know what? You have a fucking sexy Santa movie to film, and I have a stack of Bee’s pancakes to inhale, so—”
