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  The Christmas Bonus

  The Christmas Bonus

  Midpoint

  THE CHRISTMAS BONUS

  BY

  ISOBEL STARLING

  Copyright © 2017 Isobel Starling

  RELEASED ONLY FOR THE RAINBOW ADVENT CALENDAR GIVEAWAY

  All rights reserved worldwide. This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the Author, except for the purposes of reviews. The reviewer may quote brief passages for the review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

  The characters and events described in this book are fictional. Any resemblance between characters and any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  The Christmas Bonus, Copyright © 2017 Isobel Starling

  Cover Art Design by Isobel Starling

  Praise for Isobel Starling

  “I felt like my heart would just explode with the power of Sam and Declan’s love and devotion. I can’t wait for the next adventure, this series really has me hooked!” Review of “Return to Zero” by Carra, Making it Happen Book blog

  ****

  “Silken is that rare erotic romance that crosses boundaries of both gender and sexuality, appealing to fans of Cross-Dressing and M/M fiction without alienating either. I absolutely adored it!” Review by Sally Bend.-Bending the Bookshelf Blog

  ****

  “Sweet Thing” - Dynamic, captivating read- 5 stars. “The chemistry between the men was beautiful, painful, delightful, hopeful, desperate, sensual, erotic, intimate and full of respect and love. They didn't hop into bed and f* around. There is a whole other story going on. It will take your breath away.“ Truus for LoveisLove Reviews

  THE CHRISTMAS BONUS

  BY

  ISOBEL STARLING

  THE CHRISTMAS BONUS

  The Jazz quartet struck up a new festive number, “Santa Claus is coming to town.”

  I stared, not at the band, but at him—Ethan Sullivan. I just could not help myself. He was just so god-damn boyishly handsome, and as this was a black tie event he wore a sharp tuxedo, but with the addition of reindeer antlers on his head that had little silver bells on. It was cute. Ethan had only been working at Investobanck for four months, but I gotta tell ya, those four months have been my undoing.

  My therapy for sex addiction had been going well until Ethan Sullivan strode into my world, embodying all of the innocence of a graduate who’d never worked a day in his over-privileged life. There was something timelessly aristocratic about his countenance—unexpected for a twenty-two-year-old. He looked way too smart, too well-turned-out to belong in 2017, but here he was, a new recruit on the fast-track Graduate Program. He came across as shy and a little clueless, and when my eyes met his baby blues, all bets were off.

  That first day in the office I couldn’t help but notice that he fitted his business suit so well, the gunmetal grey fabric clinging to his slender frame, his white linen shirt crisp, and his silk tie completing the flawless look. Fine tawny hair framed Ethan's delicate features, cropped and preened like he’d been educated at a British public school in the 1920’s. But, it was those cornflower blue eyes that completely unmanned me. When he shyly met my gaze and then looked away, it felt like a volcano erupted inside me. I wanted him with an unquenchable desire. I wanted to get my fix, but even then I was sure as hell that one night with Ethan would never be enough to know him truly. And I needed to know him.

  He infuriated me from that first day in the office. No matter what, women always surrounded him. He’d been placed with the Global Support Team for his first quarter with InvestoBanck, and it just so happened he was the only man in the team with nine women. The girls loved him. They were like bees around a flower, and if Ethan were straight, he would have been balls deep in pussy from the get-go. But I knew from my first glance that Ethan Sullivan was not straight.

  I’d seen this kind of thing with gay guys before—the ones who had a harem of female friends. I’m not sure what that’s all about, maybe they like the attention, maybe they’re insecure about being around other men. Maybe other men intimidate them. I dunno.

  Ethan appeared to enjoy the company of women, and I agree, women are wonderful creatures. I’ve had quite a resurgence in my social life this past year. It’s been enlightening. I take my girlfriends out for dinner dates, to the theatre, and dancing. We always look the part, and what man doesn’t like having a beautiful woman on his arm. But there’s always that cut-off point at the end of the date when I drop a lady home, and she gazes at me, wanting something I cannot give—that I could not give to my now ex-wife Olivia.

  Ethan used his lady friends as a shield, and I could not get a look-in. It was evident, not only in the way he dealt with real-life social interactions, I could see it online too on his social media feed. Okay, so, I kinda web-stalked him, but, that’s a given these days. I was curious about what he had to hide—and if there was a man in his life. Strangely, I saw no evidence of girlfriends or boyfriends, which calmed my ego, and confused the hell outa me because, Jesus, he was gorgeous.

  The only times I’d been able to get him alone and unguarded were during his first day when I’d been in the elevator with him, and we’d spoken about global market analysis as a career. Then, later that month, in the men’s room when I’d tried to conduct a conversation while we were washing our hands. That was all, in four god-damn months.

  Sure, I saw him from afar in the staff canteen, and walking around the building, and… maybe I’d tried to follow him home on the subway a few times. I assure you, it was nothing malicious. I just wanted to be close to him. In those situations, we shared nothing but a look and a nod of recognition. I’d longed to talk to him—to ask him out on a date, but the words wedged in my throat and I felt foolish. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve never been this ga-ga over anyone, not even my ex-wife.

  Ethan’s graduate program involved working in new departments for a quarter each during his first year to see where he wanted to focus. I’m upper management—a senior global markets analyst, and I was not his direct line manager for this quarter, so couldn’t find a legitimate way to get him alone. His behavior was always a little shy, well-mannered, respectful, and business-like, and each time I saw him around the office my balls throbbed and burned at being close and unable to act out my desires.

  And now here we are, it’s December the twenty-third, and I’m at the Lorien Hotel just across from our corporate headquarters for the Investobanck Christmas shindig. I’m propping up the bar, clutching my tumbler of Jack on the rocks like it’s the last buoy in a stormy sea. I take a sip and eye-fuck Ethan over the rim of the glass. The global support team is sitting around one of the ten circular tables set out for the investment bank employees. Music blares, but the global support table is where the loudest, filthiest laughter comes from, audible over the Christmas tunes played by the Jazz Quartet. Hearing their fearless laughter makes me feel insecure that I’m missing out on the joke. I want to be in on the joke, I want to be part of any clique that involves Ethan Sullivan, but as upper management, I’m supposed to be sitting at the top table.

  I take a deep lungful of the pine scent coming from the live Fir tree boughs decorating the bar. I just can’t face sitting at the top table with my elders and betters—the men who make my life such a privileged drag. I hate my job, and with Olivia gone, I don’t have a trophy to display for their pleasure. I hope that none of them notice her absence. They treasure family values at Investobanck and being a forty-six-year-old divorcee already puts me a step back down the ladder. The thought of Christmas alone again this year gives m
e chills. I move the tumbler to my lips and take a long burning swallow.

  “Jake!” A broad heavy hand slaps me on the back, making me lurch forward and cough. Luckily, I didn’t lose a drop of my drink—or my lunch. I turn, furious and startled, to see Dan Bronson, Head of Accounts, leering at me triumphantly and smiling, three-sheets-to-the-wind already, and it’s only 7 p.m. My anger settles, and I shake my head. “Making good use of the free bar?” I say sarcastically and turn my back to rest my elbows on the bar and take in the view of the Lorien Hotel banqueting hall.

  “You know it, dawg! It’s my favorite party of the year. I’ve been here since four”, Dan snickered and slid into the vacant seat beside me. Dan and I have a playful camaraderie, having started with Investobanck together eight years ago. His wife is still best friends with my ex-wife Olivia, and so he’d born witness to the implosion of my private life last Christmas, and my crawl from the gutter, minus a million dollars I lost in the divorce, but with my balls thankfully intact.

  Dan had no idea I was into men.

  “What’s your poison?” Dan asked as he raised a hand to get the barman’s attention. I couldn’t answer for a second. I was scared the alcohol I’d already consumed had loosened my lips. I couldn’t say what was in the forefront of my mind—Ethan Sullivan, yeah, the twenty-two-year-old from Global Support. I would take him down to the back of my throat and lick every last drop. He’s my poison and my addiction. If I said those words out loud, I’m sure Dan would not be sitting beside me for long!

  “Jack on the rocks,” I replied absently and sent my gaze over to the Global Support team’s table. The Jazz band struck up a jaunty version of “Rockin’ Robin.” Two girls attired in slinky ball gowns rose squealing; one girl I recalled was named Ingrid, grabbed Ethan’s hand and dragged him from his chair. He looked sensational in his Tux.

  “C’mon, please. I love this one”, the redhead whined. “You said I could have the first dance.”

  “He did not,” a brunette named Megan protested, tugging at his other arm.

  “Stop!” Ethan snickered and pulled his arms free. “I can do you both at the same time,” he announced salaciously.

  I’d never ever heard a dirty word come out of his pretty mouth before but, God, it was hot. My cock twitched in my pants. Ethan and the two ladies all looked at one another and then erupted into peals of raucous laughter that then filtered to the other of the girls at the table. Ethan, Ingrid, and Megan headed for the dance floor in the center of the hall. I was transfixed as I watched Ethan move sinuously between the tables and chairs on light feet, then, when on the chequered floor he started to dance. I didn’t think it was possible, but the reindeer antlers and red nose he wore made him look even more adorable.

  A flash of a fantasy came to mind, of Ethan laid out in front of an open fire, wearing nothing but the antlers and a wicked smile. My heart skipped in my chest. I felt as clueless as a teenager. Fuck, I wanted him so bad, and this night would not end without me getting his attention.

  An elbow in the rib drew me back to my companion, “Hey, are you listening to me?” Dan huffed, affronted, and then pushed my fresh tumbler of Jack along the polished mahogany bar to me.

  “Sorry, just a bit… distracted”, I apologized. I put my spent glass down and picked up the new one. Dan followed my eye-line.

  “Yeah, I can see that,” he smirked with a filthy leer. “The girls in Global Support are something else, aren’t they?” He leaned in and asked conspiratorially, “Which one presses your buttons?”

  It was obvious that I couldn’t share that the object of distraction was Ethan. “One?” I exclaimed and arched a questioning brow. We both roared with dirty laughter.

  “Yeah. Gah. A man needs to get it out of his system, y’know, especially at this time of the year. Everything is so gad-damn stressful”, Dan winked. “And when the cat’s away…” He wagged his brows.

  I knew he would fuck someone tonight, whether an employee of Investobanck, a waitress or a hooker. He had a thing for waitresses, so I guessed that he’d arrived early so he could stalk the wait staff. Every year Management acquired hotel rooms for the night and encouraged us to ‘let our hair down.' Much to my personal regret, I’d succumbed to similar temptations in the past, but Dan was even more promiscuous than I’d ever been in my marriage. Our scorecards had once been the subject of lurid banter between us, a secret we kept about each other. But that all ceased last year when my wife found out I’d been screwing around and the marriage broke down.

  Olivia once told me we were cut from the same cloth, Dan, and I… that I was a selfish cheating pig, just like Dan. Olivia was right and wrong. Yes, I’m ashamed to say I’m no angel. I was a cheater, but I wasn’t like Dan, I wasn’t well, and I hadn’t discovered exactly why I cheated until I started having the treatment for my sex addiction.

  While I was married, I’d slept with other women. I didn’t exactly get any pleasure out of it. It was a habit, I guess. A bad one. A hurtful one. I hated myself and sex numbed me. I felt nothing but the relief of release.

  My therapist told me: “Jake, sex addiction is a complicated matter. The individuals who seek treatment usually have an emotional trauma in their past. They suffer immense inner conflict compounded by the fact that their behaviors often breach their own moral values.”

  This rang true with me, and through therapy, we discovered I’d fucked women because deep down I wanted men. Who knew I’d repressed my desire for men since college, and that I’d taken on the façade of being heterosexual to hide my true self. It had been quite an epiphany.

  I wanted to be well—I couldn’t be a better husband to Olivia after she kicked me to the curb, but at least I could try to be a better man. My therapist suggested a period of celibacy, and so I’d stopped having sex—well, stopped having sex with other people. It was just my hand and me these days.

  Olivia had been my best friend since college. She’d been a safe bet back then, and when she was on my arm, no one questioned where my gaze was set—usually on the sweet tight ass of one of my male friends. Over the past year, I’d worked through the stages of denial and self-loathing for my attraction to men and all I’d done to Olivia. Olivia had moved on after the divorce, and we were on amicable terms. But it took time to come to terms with my attraction to men. I’d had a few locker-room fumbles in my teens, but wasn’t yet ready to act on it again. Yeah, it sounds stupid now, but I really believed I was saving myself. But then, eight months into my recovery Ethan Sullivan walked into the elevator clutching his resume, and I was lost.

  “Mr. Walter’s, wanna come dance with me?” Grace, my secretary, asked. I grinned. She looked so pretty, her navy floral silk gown caressing her dark skin. I wasn’t a dancer. Grace asked every year and I always politely refused, but knowing that Ethan was on the dance floor persuaded me to do what I never did—dance in public.

  “We’re off the clock,” I reminded her.

  “Okay,” she smiled and her eyes illuminated. She held out her small elegant hand. “Jake, come dance with me,” she repeated in a purr.

  “Sure,” I said. Grace’s face lit up with a surprised smile and then when I crooked my arm, she held on lightly to my forearm, and I led her to join our colleagues shaking their booty’s to “Rockin’ Robin.”

  On entering the crowd of twisting, shimmying bodies, I took Grace’s left hand in my right and laid my left on the small of her back. We moved around the black and white chequered floor with ease.

  “You are a dark horse,” Grace exclaimed as we sashayed and swayed. I’d always been fond of Grace. She was efficient, super-intelligent and she knew how to keep a secret. As we took a turn, swinging and swaying our way between the other dancers in motion, I looked for the deer antlers and then guided us to where Ethan was taking turns dancing with his two lady friends. I bumped into him accidentally-on-purpose, and he turned and looked me straight in the eye. It was just for a split second while Grace and I were in mid-twirl, but he saw me and his eyes wid
ened in recognition. His gaze made me feel boneless, and I would have lost the rhythm of the dance if Grace hadn’t been doing what she did 365 days a year—stepping up, so I didn’t fall on my ass.

  “Can I cut in?” Roger Shaw, my boss, was suddenly at my side. Of course, it was not a question. We had no say in the matter. With a reluctant nod, I unhanded Grace and Roger took hold of her like he was afraid she would try and scurry away. I felt a pang of sympathy for her as Roger steered her through the crowd. Dancing alone I got a rare, bereft ache in my chest, wondering where Olivia was.

  A sudden bump from behind made me spin to see Ethan was leaving the dance floor. He turned and caught my eye, then—I was sure I saw him wink at me. Fuck! Was that an invitation? I just had to find out. Staying a few meters behind, I eased my way through the crowd and when free, strode after him. He paused at his table and palmed his black cell phone, looked back and saw me approach and then, curiously, he headed out of the hall.

  The main foyer of the Lorien Hotel is Art Deco in design. The vast ceiling was framed with geometric plaster moldings, the sweeping staircase was simple, clean lines, and there was a mixture of materials—stained glass, textile, ceramic and chrome in the ornamentations and furnishings. I saw Ethan leave through the glass double doors of the main entrance and so I sped up.

  When I exited into the chill night air, I looked left and right up and down the boulevard, and to my relief there he was to my right, beside a potted Christmas tree. He leaned on the hotel façade and fumbled in his pocket. I nonchalantly approached, smiling.

  “Happy Christmas Mr. Walters,” he said, sounding rather pleased with himself. He removed the red nose he’d been wearing and then proceeded to open a packet of smokes that he’d drawn from his inner pocket. He slid a menthol cigarette between his lips and lit up. It was so sexy. Every action seemed rehearsed and precise. He was eyeing me in a way that set me alight just like that lucky cigarette.