Page 14 of Santa's Coming

“No!” she urges, her voice a mix of hunger and assurance. “Get back in there.”

“You sounded like you were in pain,” I say hesitantly. The last thing I want is to cause her any discomfort. She’s precious to me, a treasure in human form, yet she constantly reminds me of her strength and resilience.

“It was the good kind,” she assures me, and those words ignite something within me, a primal desire that takes over as I reenter her with renewed passion.

As we continue, every moan, every touch, every response from her becomes a part of me. I’m lost in her, captivated by the allure of her movements and the way she responds to my touch.

“Fuck,” I murmur, a raw admission of my feelings. “I’m going to make you my Mrs. Claus.” The words escape me, more a confession of my deep, unspoken desires than a continuation of our playful banter.

As the night and Emily unfold for me, I take her in every imaginable position. I can’t ignore our connection. It’s intense and profound and goes beyond mere physical pleasure; it’s a dance of souls intertwining.

In the quiet aftermath, as our breaths slow and our hearts still race, my mind wanders to simpler yet equally intimate fantasies. I yearn to wake up next to her, to be the one who makes her morning coffee, to share lazy, cozy moments on the couch. The physical exhaustion from our passionate exploration is nothing compared to the emotional exhilaration of being so close to her.

For years, I’ve had a mental list of adventures and experiences I want to explore, but in these moments with Emily, I realize that what I crave most is the mundane magic of everyday life with someone special. As the clock nudges us toward midnight, the reality of time sets in, reminding me that our enchanted evening must draw to a close.

“It’s almost time for Santa to leave,” I whisper with a hint of regret in my voice because the night must end.

Her pout, a charming blend of disappointment and playfulness, is heartwarming. “So soon?”

“You asked me for a foot rub and a good night’s sleep. I should leave so you can have everything you wished for this Christmas.”

“But I forgot the milk and cookies.”

I chuckle, our banter a comfortable rhythm. “This year, I think the mischief you provided was more than enough.”

She surprises me with a simple yet meaningful request. “Santa, I have one more wish.”

I’m willing to grant her anything at this moment. “Yes, baby.”

“Tell me your name.”

Revealing myself feels like the natural next step, a bridge from our role-play fantasy to something real. “My name is Nicholas.”

“Old Saint Nick!” she exclaims with a playful swat, her surprise and delight clear in her big, brown eyes. “Is your name seriously Nick?”

I nod with a grin. “Southside Irish, born and raised in Chicago. Celtic tats and all. Nick O’Malley, though I prefer Nicholas.”

She connects the dots, recognizing my name as the newest member of the town’s business council and the owner of High Five.

“Is the beard for the holiday season or …?” she asks, a playful curiosity in her voice.

“It’s something I’m trying out,” I reply, stroking my beard thoughtfully.

“I like it,” she says with a smile, and I feel a warmth spread through me from more than the suit or the role I was playing. “You have to tell me,” she begins with a giggle. “I know I saw you at the grocery store earlier this month. What cereal did you end up buying?”

“Cereal?” I raise my brow then remember that’s what I used to distract myself from the long stare we were holding. “I have no idea.” I laugh and pull her close to me. “I was at war with my internal monologue—weighing the pros and cons of starting up a conversation with you.”

As I whisper confessions in her ear about my long-held desire to know her, my words are more than just Santa’s script—theyare Nicholas’s truth. I don’t just want her for tonight; I want to really know her.

As we continue to talk, our conversation peels back the layers of our Santa fantasy, revealing the genuine connection beneath. It’s a revelation, a shift from holiday role-play to a real, meaningful bond. The chemistry we share is undeniable.

“I’m scared, Nicholas,” Emily whispers. “Of getting hurt, of … everything.”

“I know. I am too. Sometimes the best things in life are worth that risk.”

But as I speak, the soft sound of a gentle snore interrupts my confession. There she is, my little elf, Emily, succumbing to sleep. The sight of her, so peaceful, so vulnerable, stirs a tenderness in me that I hadn’t anticipated.

Carefully, I cradle her in my arms, feeling a sense of protectiveness and affection. Carrying her to the couch, I tuck a blanket around her before whispering, “Sleep in heavenly peace, Emily.” My words are a mix of a Christmas carol and a heartfelt wish. Then, I kiss her temple tenderly.

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