My Five Santas: A Christmas Reverse Harem

Chapter Ten: A Nice Southern Santa

The hand wrapped around my wrist is strong, pulling me backwards through the crowd. The sea of Santas is thick, and I'm still trying to process that I'm no longer moving in the direction of my apartment.

It isn't until I'm yanked into a little alcove that I see that the pulling hand belongs to Backwards Cap Santa.

"Damn, girl," he says, huffing a laugh. "You were really haulin' it! Didn't I tell you to wait on me?"

"Ugh, really?" I snap. "Did you seriously expect me to wait around for you, twiddling my thumbs?"

It feels good, letting myself be angry. Not pretending that I'm fine for once. I'm irritable that he's keeping me from a nice, hot soak, and it's freeing to show it.

"Thank you for stepping in," I continue, lifting my chin. "But I would have been fine without you interceding. I'm not some male-written trope of a damsel in distress."

I tell myself this is all about me making a feminist stand.

It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I thought he was hot and possibly into me, but then he called me "ma'am" and abruptly left.

I cross my arms indignantly.

Backwards Cap Santa has been looking down at me with warm, amused eyes, mouth twitching. But as soon as I cross my arms, his blue eyes widen.

I realize, too late, how my arms are pushing my breasts up an obscene amount, stretching against the already scant fabric.

I glance down, and you don't have to be looking too hard to see the exact shape of my nipples. Oops.

With a jerk of his throat, he swallows hard, his eyes darting down at my chest then quickly back up to meet my eyes.

"Wow," he says roughly. He clears his throat. "You're right. I've been rude as hell."

He wipes a hand down his jaw, and when I cock my head at him and pop out my hip, his eyes flick down at my body, then snap back up to my face, his cheeks flushing.

This feels so good, having him on the ropes. It's clear he wants to look at my tits. I know this doesn't make me special. Obviously a bro, this guy would stare at any cleavage. Still, it makes me feel sexy.

Wanted.

"Is that it?" I sneer.

"No, ma'am, no, that's not it," he says, his voice rough around the edges. "Not by a longshot."

Sudden and surprising anger soars inside my chest.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," I snarl, "what am I, your grandma? Stop fucking calling me 'ma'am!'"

He blinks at me. "Grandma? Girl, if my Meemaw looked anything like you, I'd have run away from home as soon as my balls dropped."

I burst into laughter, catching myself off guard.

A slow, relieved grin stretches across his face, and ugh now he looks like an actor from a CW show.

"Lord have mercy," he breathes a chuckle, "I was scared you were gonna eat me alive."

He takes off his red cap, running a hand through his tousled, brown hair. I see that on the other side of his hat, embroidered in white thread above the bill, is the word, Nice.

"So," he continues, his eyes shining in amusement. "You don't take kindly to me calling you 'ma'am.'"

"Growing up, the only people I ever heard being called 'ma'am' were over eight-five," I say.