Tyler had been asking for it all season.
Flirting shamelessly with the Santa at the company Christmas party. Sending cheeky texts to his boyfriend during family dinners. Wearing tight red briefs under his jeans and “accidentally” flashing them when he bent over to hang ornaments. He even hung mistletoe above the bedroom door with a smirk that said he expected far more than a kiss.
It was no surprise when Logan finally decided it was time to put the boy back in line.
Christmas Eve found them snowed in at their cabin, fire crackling, hot cocoa spiked with bourbon, and Tyler lounging in nothing but a Santa hat and those same red briefs—except tonight, they came with a handwritten tag pinned to the waistband: Naughty.
Logan raised an eyebrow. “Is this your way of asking for coal?”
Tyler bit his lip, clearly trying not to smile. “Maybe. Or maybe I just want your full attention.”
“You’ve had my attention,” Logan said, walking over slowly, his boots heavy against the wood floor. “But you’re about to have a lot more.”
Tyler’s smirk wavered just slightly. “Is this about the party? Because I swear I didn’t know that Santa was into it…”
“Tyler.” Logan’s voice dropped. “This is about everything. The teasing. The rule-breaking. The constant provocation.” He reached for the armchair by the fire and sat down. “It’s time someone taught you what happens to boys on the Naughty List.”
Tyler’s breath caught. He stepped forward, hesitated—then placed himself across Logan’s lap.
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Logan tugged the red briefs down to mid-thigh, exposing the bare skin already warm from the firelight. He rested his palm on Tyler’s backside, massaging slowly, drawing the moment out.
“You’ve been a brat all month,” Logan said. “So you’re getting twenty-four—one for each day of your bad behavior.”
The first swat came down firm and deliberate, making Tyler jolt. He exhaled sharply but didn’t protest. Another followed, and then another, the rhythm building. The spanking was steady, not cruel—measured but unrelenting, each smack warming Tyler’s cheeks until they blushed a festive red to match his hat.
By the twelfth, Tyler was whimpering softly, grinding slightly against Logan’s thigh, the heat between them growing.
At fifteen, Logan paused and leaned in close. “You’re lucky it’s Christmas,” he murmured. “Otherwise I’d double it.”
“Maybe I want you to,” Tyler whispered back.
Logan chuckled low in his throat. “I know you do. But right now, you’re going to take your full twenty-four like a good boy.”
The last nine came harder—each one a crack echoing in the quiet cabin, punctuated by the hiss of the fire and Tyler’s panting breath. When the final swat landed, Logan rubbed his palm gently over the sore skin, soothing the sting with soft strokes.
“Now,” he said, lifting Tyler into his arms, “I believe you owe Santa a proper apology.”
Tyler grinned wickedly, wrapping his arms around Logan’s neck. “Can I do it on my knees?”
Logan carried him to the bedroom without another word, the Santa hat bobbing behind them like a flag of surrender.
Outside, snow kept falling. Inside, a very naughty boy had finally gotten exactly what he wanted for Christmas.
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