A Thigh Hih Christmas Read online

  A Thigh-High Christmas

  by

  Tiffany Monique

  Maxwell Santino has a wonderful present for his wonderful wife. It’s been a year in the making and now it is time to unwrap his wife’s new favorite toy. But a simple ploy to keep the spectacular secret backfires and he is forced to either reveal the year long secret early or keep quiet for two more days.

  Fiona Day Santino has had her largest account taken from her by her sexy, overbearing, boss, who won’t listen to reason. She is insulted, hurt and angry.

  Max is Fiona’s boss.

  What happens when this passionate couple isn’t speaking, yet can’t keep their hands to themselves? Disagreement sex is defiantly in order.

  Make-up sex may be a little jealous in: A Thigh-High Christmas.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. This is a work of fiction. All references to real places, people, or events are coincidental, and if not coincidental, are used fictitiously. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only. eBooks are NOT transferable. Re-selling, sharing or giving eBooks is a copyright infringement.

  © 2014 Tiffany Monique

  Editor: Katriena Knights

  Cover Art: Marteeka Karland

  Books are NOT transferable. Re-selling, sharing or giving eBooks is a copyright infringement.

  Contents

  A Thigh-High Christmas 1

  Wednesday 5

  Last Monday 8

  Last Tuesday 10

  Tuesday Evening 16

  Wednesday 19

  Epilogue 21

  Wednesday

  “Does she know that’s distracting as hell?” Maxwell Santino asked, allowing his gaze to be commandeered by the hypnotic sway of silk-covered hips.

  “I think so, but I doubt she cares,” replied Maxwell’s best friend and partner, Jonas DeMarco. “She’s been handing out Christmas presents to the office all morning. I don’t think I’ve seen the IT department smile so much since this year’s ComiCon. She even came by my office and left a box on my desk this morning.”

  “In that get-up? Really…” Maxwell questioned, his voice trailing off, the disapproval fairly dripping from his lips. “She hasn’t spoken to me since Monday unless I spoke to her first. I’m getting a little tired of her silent treatment, and she pulled a stunt last night that took this whole misunderstanding to another level. I only hope this afternoon’s little surprise will make up for the mess we’ve had this week.”

  Fiona Day Santino carried a Santa-sized sack of presents up and down the aisle of the IT department, wishing each and every employee happy holidays. Taking into account that not everyone celebrated Christmas, she joked and called them “winter thank-you gifts.” What she didn’t realize was that every time she bent over to retrieve a present from the sack, the kick-pleat in the back of her silk pencil skirt flared, giving a flirty glimpse of her holiday thigh-high stockings. Four small red satin bows surrounded each thigh and connected to a matching black garter that was discreetly hidden under her skirt. The only reason Maxwell knew what the garter looked like was because he had given her the damn set last Christmas.

  Maxwell leaned his wide shoulders against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his massive chest. At six foot four and two hundred forty pounds, he was both an intimidating and beautiful sight to behold. His anger was almost palpable as he observed his four male interns leaning conspicuously out into the aisle, ogling the same delightful, feminine curves he was watching with thunder in his eyes. He turned when Jonas chuckled and came up behind him to clap him on the shoulder.

  “Well, my friend, first let me do my duty as your best friend and say this surprise is not little, by any means. She will love it, love you, and all will be well in the Santino household by tonight or my name isn’t DeMarco. Have faith in your lady. She hates drama in her house as much as you do,” Jonas said comfortingly. “But as much as I want to stay and wallow in your domestic despair with you, I have a lunch date in twenty minutes with a lady friend who’s feeling amorous in the extreme. If I don’t come back after one o’clock, know that I’m enjoying the kindness of some female companionship. Consider it my Christmas gift to myself,” Jonas informed with a conspiratorial gleam in his eye.

  “You know you’re taking advantage of being a forty-nine-percent shareholder in this company, right?” scoffed Maxwell. “Your licentious tendencies and lagging work ethic are not amusing to this fifty-one percent.”

  Jonas laughed mightily and wiggled his eyebrows.

  “If you met Stephanie, you would agree that giving up those two percent to you and your obvious disapproval are so worth it. Besides, you’re the figurehead here and the one with the final say. I’m just your genius second-in-command. No one cares what I do, and I like it that way. I’ll see you in the morning…maybe.” With a cheery whistle, Jonas sauntered toward the office elevators with a jaunty wave.

  “Reprobate,” muttered Maxwell as he shut the door to his office, effectively blocking his view of Fiona laughing uproariously with a gaggle of office co-workers.

  * * *

  Fiona couldn’t deny she was being deliberately overt in her holiday festivities this week: hanging lights on her office door, bringing in Christmas cookies to meetings, and finally delivering office gifts. She loved the holiday and the values it represented: faith, hope, and charity. But she had been fighting the overwhelming urge to slap the hell out of Maxwell for days. She was never a vindictive person previously, but this past week she was attempting to pass a clear message on to the President and CEO of IWorks. She would not be undermined. In any fashion. If he couldn’t see her professional worth, someone else damn well would. She might be overcompensating with the overload of Christmas cheer, but it was keeping her from going to prison.

  When she returned to her office, she tossed the empty Santa sack on the mahogany leather loveseat and made her way to her desk. Dropping into the desk chair, she kicked off her heels and booted up her laptop. Since giving the company’s largest potential account to the Director of Advertising last week, Maxwell had made sure to stay out of her way while they were in the office. He knew she was seething and was avoiding any “unprofessional confrontation” as he called it.

  Fiona ran her palms over her face, inhaling deeply, trying to shake off her tiredness. Last night, for the first time, she had spent the night alone in her marriage bed and she was regretting every angry moment that brought her there. Even though she might have had her biggest account taken from her, she was still the Senior Advertising VP, and other accounts needed to be pitched and won. One thing she knew for certain was that she was the best at what she did. She could sell ice to an Eskimo, a Mac to a Mormon, and still have time to go home to Max and cook up a meal. This was what had initially infuriated her—the reason why Max undermined her. It didn’t make sense.

  Last Monday

  “What do you mean my workload will suffer?” questioned Fiona. “I’ve always been generous with my time with all our clients, and I have never been late with a presentation, project, or deadline. What game are you playing, Max?”

  Fiona perched her hand firmly on her hip. She was not in the mood for this random BS Max was throwing her way on a Monday morning. She had a conference call with CompuFire in thirty minutes. This was IWorks’ first potential multi-million-dollar account. Her game had to be tight, her demeanor confident. Angry and disgusted were not going to work for her. At
all.

  “Bill Macy will be sitting in with you at the call today so you can introduce him to the client and he can be brought up to speed on the account’s current status. I am concerned that you have too much on your plate as it is, and with your work ethic, either your health will suffer or the quality of work will falter due to stress and lack of sleep. As your boss, I feel the work quality has to be foremost on your mind—pride is secondary. As your husband, your well-being is foremost on my mind at all times,” Max explained succinctly, almost clinically. What happened to the man who’d made her thighs tremble this morning and feasted on her pussy like one more drop of her cream would sustain him all day?

  Fiona walked slowly to the front of Maxwell’s desk. Placing both hands on the edge, she leaned forward just enough to make Max’s eyebrows rise at her challenging demeanor. Instead of yelling her head off or becoming belligerent at this blatant power play, she spoke quietly and slowly, her jaw clenched in anger.

  “At the risk of sounding insubordinate, Maxwell, you taking an account from me without discussing it with me first, undermining me in front of my department, and then giving me this bullshit excuse of it being for my benefit shows all the signs of weak leadership and a lack of respect.” She knew her quiet reprimand was a slap in the face to her naturally domineering husband, but she wasn’t one to be trifled with regarding her hard-earned reputation. “I suggest you think hard and long before addressing me again unless you want your VP to take her overworked behind back to her former employer, where my work quality was never in doubt.”

  With a curt nod, she pivoted on her red-bottomed, patent leather pumps and walked toward his office door. Then, as an afterthought, she glanced over her shoulder and with her full lips curved into a humorless smirk she let the other shoe drop.

  “Now that I think of it, Arabella and I will be visiting Nona Santino tonight for some well-deserved granddaughter-and-grandmother time. I suggest you call Bill or Jonas if you desire company this evening. I have a feeling we will be out rather late. Unless, of course, you question my capabilities as Bella’s mother also. Then, by all means, let me know what is in my best interest.”

  * * *

  Max had sincerely thought his plan was sound. More free time, a less stressful workload, and, more importantly, making his queen available for his rather extravagant Christmas surprise. He’d had no idea she would take it as a personal attack on her character. He slammed his hand on his desk and swung around in his office chair so he was facing the Boston skyline. He had two more days until he was supposed to spring his surprise on her, but until then he had to be hush-hush, even if it meant being the focus of her ire for forty-eight hours. When you plan a present for eleven months, it’s worth a few takeout dinners and snide remarks to get to the end game. He was nothing if not a focused individual. He could do this. Her expression would be priceless.

  Last Tuesday

  In private, it was payback time for Fiona. When she thought Maxwell would break and either explain his true motives or at least tell her she was taking this too far, he would remain still, almost stoic. He was always in her peripheral vision, either at home or in the office, but didn’t speak directly to her unless it was about Bella or sex. That was the one thing they agreed to before they married. To never deny the other that chance to bond and reconnect. Even if WWIII was going on outside the bedroom walls, inside those walls was where they reaffirmed that bond to stay together, no matter what.

  When they left the confines of IWorks, they again became just Fiona and Maxwell, the couple, and Fiona was despairing that her Christmas with her family was going to be tainted by some work drama. But she knew that if she accepted this sort of heavy-handed tactic from her boss, be it her husband or not, she would lose the professional respect she had worked almost two decades to achieve.

  But even with all her pro-woman rhetoric, she couldn’t help sticking it to Maxwell on a purely male/female level also. He’d always loved her long, curvy legs and luscious ass. At five-nine, she was taller than average, and with her normal sky-high heels she normally towered over her male counterparts. For Maxwell, she was the perfect height—he joked that with her heels on he could kiss her lips and in bare feet he could kiss her forehead. To complement her shoe fetish, he had taken to buying her garters and silk thigh-highs. Expensive, elaborate, almost ostentatious thigh-highs that ranged from simple black, basket-weave patterns to rhinestone-covered prizes that were art in their own right.

  Never had she worn the more flamboyant stockings until today. She had worn her winter-white wool suit with her white, Swarovski-crystal-studded thigh-highs and white suede booties with bows. With her short, natural curls tucked back with a white suede handband, she knew she was doing a mean impersonation of a voluptuous snow bunny, and her confidence was sky-high.

  Fighting with a husband with a high sex drive meant two things. You reveled in the animalistic fucking that kept each other satisfied, and you reveled in the mind-blowing make-up sex that was sure to follow any conflict. Last night was an example of her and Max having “disagreement sex.”

  Bella had been put to bed after an extended visit that evening with Nona, and Fiona was in their en-suite bathroom under a hot, soothing shower after a highly stressful day. The frameless glass shower door curved outward, giving her a clear view of the entire bathroom, including the doorway. There stood Maxwell, filling the doorway in quiet observation, studying her as she washed her breasts and shoulders before slipping her wet, soapy fingers between her softly rounded thighs.

  She knew from previous experience that he liked to watch and she liked being watched. She could feel her pussy clench in response to her discovery of him standing there like a predatory specter. She made a show of plucking her nipples and letting water pool between her heavy breasts before releasing them and watching droplets of hot water fall from their peaks. She picked up her loofah and squirted a dollop of lavender-scented soap on it. Turning her back on Max, she bent at the waist and let the loofah glide between her thighs and down her legs to her pedicured toes. She straightened and raised each arm above her head, washing under her arms and over her collarbones. Turning to face her mountain of a husband she raised the soapy loofah over her head and let the suds fall in a swirled pattern down her arms, over her large, darkly hued nipples, and over her rounded stomach. After eyeing him with more than a little defiance, she backed up into the waterfall spray and let it rinse away the fragrant bubbles.

  After stepping out of her shower, Fiona grabbed a fluffy white towel and let it hang from her fingertips in Max’s direction. Silently taking the towel, he held it wide, enveloping her in the soft cotton. Gently drying her lavender-scented curves, he spent extra time drying the hills and valleys of her hips and plump ass-cheeks.

  He rose abruptly, running his fingers up her spine. As he stood behind her, behind her, his furred chest touched her back, giving off a tangible heat that had nothing to do with the shower steam. He brought the towel around to her front, gently drying the underside of her highly sensitized breasts, teasing each pert nipple mercilessly with the rough cotton. When he finally made a path down her stomach to her now dripping channel, he stopped. Dipping his fingers into her pussy, he scooped her cream onto his fingers and brought it to his lips to suck the valuable juices from his hand.

  “That’s not just water from the shower, beautiful. What do we not do when this happens?” he asked in a husky whisper that caressed her ear.

  “Waste it,” answered Fiona, meeting Max’s intense stare in the mirror.

  “That’s my good girl. Bend over and grab the sink and don’t let go.”

  Fiona felt Max place a large hand firmly in the center of her back and hold her down while he traced her spine with his tongue, placing wet, hungry kisses in the small of her back. Groaning in appreciation, Max bit the dramatic, heart-shaped swells of her ass.

  Fiona’s mellow hum was interrupted sharply by two firm slaps to her backside. Grasping a cheek in each hand, Max massag
ed the globes until they warmed like hot, buttery rolls. After one last slap, he dropped to his knees and, keeping her spread like the feast she was, he lapped at her pussy from behind. His five o’clock shadow scraped her sensitive flesh like a million little stings. Her clit had swollen, begging for attention from his talented tongue.

  Gripping the edge of the sink like a life preserver, Fiona felt her thighs shake every time Max’s tongue, lips, and chin grazed the sides of her clit. She knew if he decided to pay direct attention to that one spot for more than a second, she would come with a flood that would fulfill even his insatiable appetite for her. He reached underneath her and cupped her hanging breasts, then he tightly pinched each nipple and tugged repeatedly. The fire that ran from her nipples to her core made her clench tight around his searching tongue.

  “Fuck, Max, make me come. God, Oh God, please let me come,” she panted, her voice rough and broken.

  “Shut up, Fiona,” scolded Max. “I’m tired of your mouth today. You’ll come when I’m ready to finish eating.”

  With that, Max returned to circling her clit until a maelstrom of sensations all aligned on that one area and Fiona had backed herself hard against his nose and face. All it took was one firm swipe of his rough-hewn chin against her tender bundle of nerves to make her fall apart on his tongue. The rhythmic squeals of her pleasure, enhanced by the lovely acoustics in the bathroom, seemed to spur Max on even though Fiona didn’t know if she would be able to continue standing.

  With animalistic grunts of satisfaction, he devoured all evidence of her release until she sagged against the counter, replete. She opened her eyes and noticed he was stroking his cock in a slow rhythm, wearing only a satisfied smirk.