Page 13 of Stalked By Santa

I pull his jacket tighter around me, inhaling his scent as I take in his sheer size, which the leather pants and black T-shirt only emphasize. The T-shirt also reveals that his massive arms are covered in black ink.

But I can’t bring myself to be frightened. Not of this man whose presence beside me feels both exciting and strangely reassuring. Or maybe it’s not that strange. He is Santa after all…

He’s also my stalker. A stalker I didn’t even know I had. A stalker who just abducted me from my parents’ living room but not before spanking me and…

With a rush of embarrassment, I realize I’m wet again.

Is this what it takes to turn me on? A man admitting to having an obsession with me that any court would deem criminal?

Criminal or not, I can’t help but slide closer to him. Still silent, he takes my hand, making me once more aware of the difference in our sizes.

Unable to stand the tension, I break the silence. “Where are you taking me?

“The North Pole.”

“Why?”

His laugh is a deep chuckle, not a jolly ho ho ho. It does something strange to my stomach. God, is there anything about this man that doesn’t turn me on? Everything about this night is so wrong, but I don’t want it to end.

“You heard Comet. We wouldn’t have made the North Pole by dawn if we didn’t leave then, and I’m afraid that I still have work to do,” he says, an emotion I can’t name passing over his face. “The elves still have reports to make, love. Being in the syndicate doesn’t lend itself to the best work-life balance.”

I raise an eyebrow. “The syndicate?”

“The Santa Syndicate,” he clarifies. “It’s kind of like the mafia… except its objective is Christmas, not financial gain.”

At that, my glance can’t help but travel around the interior of the sleigh. As if reading my mind, Nick laughs once more and my core clenches at the deep, resonant sound.

“Not that the syndicate doesn’t do quite well for itself,” he adds. “But accumulating wealth isn’t its objective, just a side-effect of some of our more lucrative business dealings.”

“So you make and sell toys?” I ask, trying to connect the dots.

“Among other things,” he replies, expression guarded.

“What ‘other things’?”

“Whatever is necessary to ensure that the good are rewarded, the naughty punished, and that the spirit of Christmas is preserved,” he says, voice weary.

Guilt washes over me at the edge of fatigue that’s crept into his voice. And suddenly it hits me. It’s Christmas Eve. Out of all the nights in the year for Santa to finally make himself known to me…

“Why are you really here?” I whisper. “Why me? Why now? Why tonight?”

“Oh my sweet, innocent girl, haven’t you guessed that by now? I told you already—I’ve been watching you. Until now, you didn’t need me. Not really. But tonight, you do.”

A warm glow spreads through me at his words, but still, the guilt gnaws at me.

“I would have been fine,” I protest. “Christmas is more important than I am. You should have left me back there. I’ll just be in the way.”

He shakes his head. “You really think I could have left without you?” He squeezes my hand. “After tasting how sweet you are?”

At the unmistakable meaning infusing his words, I blush. “You… You didn’t have to do that, you know. Not that I’m complaining, but it’s not like there was anything in that for you…”

With his free hand, Nick grabs my other wrist, guiding my hand to his crotch. “Does thisfeellike I didn’t enjoy myself, little girl?”

Instinctively, I squeeze the hard bulge. Even through the buttery leather, that part of him feels like granite. Breaths coming faster, I move my hand experimentally, curious.

Groaning, he crushes me against his chest. Snow and cedar and the scent of Christmas itself surround me as he captures my mouth in another bruising kiss.

And then the seats are somehow reclining and I’m on my back, pinned beneath him. As he deepens the kiss, I part my lips, granting him access. Access he fully exploits, his tongue exploring my mouth in ruthless strokes even as his hands roughly push open the jacket and explore my body.

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