Anthony Bridgerton Modern AU Imagines || Anthony Bridgerton

Naughty or Nice

He is dressed as Santa and looks exactly like the kind of festive trouble you are craving.

"My friend Daphne's oldest brother," your sister nods as she tracks your line of sight, "Handsome, yes, but also, playboy. I wouldn't if I were you," is her rather harsh warning.

You watch as he jokingly plays the part, sitting on an ornate, almost throne-like chair, as various tipsy people wander up and sit on his knee, and he asks what they want for Christmas.

"Listen, if I'm going to mess around with anyone after my breakup, it's going to be with someone that fucking handsome," you argue back, glad he has forgone the traditional big white beard and belly.

"Fine," she concedes with a sigh, "but I've heard rumours, kinky stuff, so don't say I didn't warn you," is her parting shot.

You raise an eyebrow at her; if there was one thing on your list now you've moved to London, it's new experiences. You have only been with one man, your first boyfriend, and sweet as he was, everything was very nice. Just nice. You want something different. You check your dress and saunter over to him.

"Hello, little girl," he drawls as you approach, his eyes raking over you salaciously, signalling for you to sit on his knee, "have you been naughty or nice this year?"

You perch on his lap sideways as he smirks at you. "Santa, I've been a very nice girl," you begin, twirling a strand of hair, then you lean in and whisper in his ear, "but I want to be very, very naughty."

He coughs and shifts in his seat; you feel the play of thigh muscles under your bottom and a warm hand low on your back.

"Just how naughty?" he murmurs, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You loop an arm around his neck, knowing he can see down the neckline of your dress.

"So naughty I don't think you would bring me any presents on Christmas Eve," you pout, leaving no room for doubt as to your intentions.

He leans in closer, and you can smell expensive liquor on his breath. "Every girl deserves a treat from Santa, even the naughty ones," his voice low and sultry.

"What sort of treats does Santa give to naughty girls?" you inquire softly, knowing you have never flirted this outrageously in your life.

"Ones they will remember," he says cryptically; the hand on your back curls around your waist and pulls you closer, your hip bumping his crotch. "Would you like your treat early this year, naughty girl?"

"Yes, please, Santa," you demure, biting your lip again.

He pushes your hair aside with a gentle hand and trails his nose up your neck, inhaling deeply, making all your skin tingle. "Mmmm, meet me in two minutes down that hallway, third door on the left."

You slip off his lap with a little triumphant smile and wander over to the drinks table. A fortifying shot is just what you want right now. The cheap liquor burns as you take the shot, but it's the liquid courage you need. After a couple of minutes, You wander down the hallway opening the door he requested.

It's a bedroom, sleek and dimly lit, the skyline of London silhouetted outside the picture windows.

"Hello there, naughty girl," a voice like velvet emerges from a corner, and you glance aside to see him sitting casually in a wingback chair, one foot on his other knee, expensive glass in hand, which he puts aside and stands up.

"Hello," you reply, a fire in your belly as he walks over and crowds into your back, burying his nose into your hair, a hand landing softly on your bum cheek.