Page 14 of Hello Dr. Christmas

He laughs softly at my eagerness. “Your legs are so strong,” he says, nuzzling my neck and raining kisses over my chest. “Your whole body is so strong. Are you some kind of athlete, Mrs. Claus?”

“Maybe you’ll find out,” I tell him in a teasing way, as I lift my hips to press the tip of him against me.

He groans and begins to slide into my wetness. His cock is thick, and it doesn’t enter easily, so he has to rock back and forth to open me up and let me adjust to his size. The sensation of him entering me sends shivers of pleasure throughout my body. I gasp at his size as he fills me up, inch by inch, and rock my hips upward to take more of him, greedily.

“Shhh,” he says, putting a finger against my lips. “Patience, Clara.”

“I’m not a patient person,” I tell him.

He chuckles softly. “I can understand that.” He complies by moving with more vigor, in smooth, long strokes, that make my eyes roll back into my head.

“Holy shit,” I groan, tightening my legs around his body to pull him deeper.

This makes him groan. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against mine. “Damn, Clara,” he says hoarsely.

I wrap my arms around my neck to encourage him. “More,” I whisper.

He nods, and gives me what I’m seeking. He drives his cock into me, harder and deeper, again and again until I feel a thin film of sweat coat my body, and know that I am moaning wildly. He continues until I am pretty sure I have lost all my senses, and there are starburst of light in my vision. He fucks me until I am clutching his shoulders for dear life and nearly screaming with pleasure. I do not even realize that the fireworks of light in my vision are coinciding with mythirdorgasm in under half an hour.

Is this real life?

I didn’t know I was evencapableof havingso many orgasms. I always thought that there was something wrong with me, but it turns out that I’ve just never had a skillful partner.

“See?” Mr. Claus says, as he lies on top of me, also spent. I was so overwhelmed by my own pleasure that I did not even notice when he finished. “You’re pretty good at this.”

“Good at what?” I ask, panting breathlessly. “I didn’t even do anything.”

He chuckles softly. “Oh, you did more than you know.”

“You’re the one with all the skills,” I tell him, nuzzling his neck happily. “I’ve never had so many orgasms in my life.”

“What?” he responds in surprise. “That’s crazy. I’m drunk and jetlagged and operating at half-capacity here. I’m just getting started.”

“I don’t think I could survive you at full capacity,” I tell him sleepily. “I think I would just orgasm my brains out, into a pile of mushy grey matter, like a sad, melted snowman.”

He laughs softly at this, and kisses my head. “You’re silly.”

Then he wraps me up in his arms, and we fall asleep together.

It was a perfect night. Totally perfect.

Which is obviously why I had to run the hell away, before I could ruin things, somehow. My whole body feels like it is glowing, and I felt like I’ve been walking on air since leaving the hotel room. When I arrive at my parents’ house in the hours of the early morning, I am able to sneak in without anyone noticing that I was gone. I take a long hot shower, humming happily to myself the whole time, and change into my Christmas pajamas before heading downstairs with my crutches.

There is no way I could get any sleep after the amazing night I had. I am feeling insanely energized and hyper. But when I go downstairs, I am startled by the sound of a throat being cleared.

“Dad?” I say, turning with surprise.

“Young lady, do you realize that it is 8 AM on Christmas morning?” my father asks. “Where have you been all night?”

Oh, crap. “Just… busy,” I say awkwardly. “I drank a little too much and crashed with a friend in town.”

“What friend?” my dad asks.

“Uhhh—you know Laura?” I ask.

“Mike’s wife?” my dad asks with disappointment. “Darn. And here I was hoping that you’d find yourself a nice boy and have some fun for once in your life.”

“Dad!” I say in surprise. “I have fun. I have lots… of fun.”

“Clara, don’t lie to an old man. I’ve known you since you were born, and you’ve been dancing before you could walk. The only reason we signed you up for ballet classes when you were five was so you wouldn’t smash every lamp in the whole damn house, practicing your spins and whatever.”

“Pirouettes,” I explain.

“Yeah, whatever,” he says, waving his hand. “But the point is, honey, you have been working your ass off toward being a ballerina since you were in diapers, and you barely had a childhood. You’ve worked harder than all my other children, even Jack. The stress you put your body under for so many years has taken a toll on you. And now, if your career’s over, you’re going to have to find a way to start living your life. You’re going to have to actually be a real person, and experience real emotions, outside of the dance floor.”

“I know, Dad,” I tell him softly. “But I’m no good at any of that stuff.”

“You’ll learn, Clara. But you have to promise me that you won’t run away from life, and run away from love. Even if you can heal up and get back to dancing—you can’t keep hiding behind that tutu. Okay?”

I sigh. My father is full of surprises. Even if everyone thinks he’s losing his mind, he’s still the wisest man I know. “I promise, Dad. I’ll try to stop running away.”

“Good,” he responds. “Now head on over to the kitchen, your sisters are already awake and cooking Christmas treats.”

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