The soft glow of Christmas lights filled the room, the scent of pine and cinnamon wafting through the air. Billie had insisted on hosting a small Christmas party, and of course, being Billie, she’d taken it up a notch. Instead of a traditional ugly sweater or festive dress, she strolled out in a Santa Claus suit—complete with a fur-lined red jacket, matching hat, and a mischievous smirk that had you nearly choking on your drink.

"Santa Billie has arrived." she announced playfully, twirling for dramatic effect. Her oversized belt hung low on her hips, and she’d ditched the pants for black shorts and thigh-high stockings, giving the classic outfit a bold, modern twist. The party laughed and cheered, but her eyes immediately found yours in the crowd, and the smirk on her lips deepened.

As the night carried on, music started playing, and Billie—never one to shy away from being the center of attention—found herself at the center of the makeshift dance floor. The bass thumped through the room as she moved to the beat, the Santa hat slightly askew on her head.

You were watching her, a mix of amusement and something you couldn’t quite name swirling in your chest. She caught your eye and crooked a finger, silently inviting—no, challenging—you to join her.

You hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward, the crowd of friends whooping as Billie’s grin widened. Her movements became more deliberate as you neared, the sway of her hips teasing and calculated. When you were close enough, she reached out, her hands finding your hips as she pulled you toward her.

"You gonna ask Santa for something, or are you just gonna stand there?" she teased, her voice low enough that only you could hear. Her fingers curled slightly, guiding your movements against hers as she leaned in, her breath warm against your ear.