Christmas Eve is Mrs. Claus’s favourite time of the year. Her husband is off delivering presents all night long, leaving her alone in the workshop with the elves. The incredibly sexy elves. There are only five of them, and they make the presents all by themselves. After all their hard work, they should be congratulated – and rewarded. Mrs. Claus knows exactly how to reward them: take them into her bed, all at once, and let them have their way with her.
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Right now, on Christmas Eve Eve – the 23rd December – it’s the height of the chaos. Nick will be frantically checking his list – checking it twice – and making sure that everything’s just so, ready for the big day tomorrow.
It’s long past midnight when I go down to the workshop to drag him to bed.
“You do this every year,” I tell him. “And every year it’s fine.”
“But what if it isn’t this year?” He asks, looking up from his inspection of the train sets. The fairylights make his green eyes sparkle. “What if-”
“I think the biggest danger now is you not getting enough rest,” I say, and put my hand on the curve of his bicep. “Come to bed, Nick. I’ll make it worth your while.” I give him the flintiest wink I can manage, just to make it clear I’m not talking about a mug of cocoa.
He straightens, and smiles at me. “Mrs. Claus, are you trying to seduce me?”
“I most certainly am,” I say, looking up at him. He towers over me, and it’s always made me shiver. It makes me feel safe and protected, but it makes me feel – like I want him to control me. Like I want him in charge of me.
Luckily Santa always knows what you really want for Christmas.
“So, my love,” he says as he steps closer to me. “Have you been naughty or nice this year?”
“A bit of both,” I say as he wraps his arm around my waist, and he’s so strong. It makes my heart race. “Life’s more fun that way.”
“Indeed it is.” He kisses me swiftly and then throws me over his shoulder without a word of warning. I yelp as he carries me through to our bedroom like a caveman carrying off the girl he’s stolen from the next village. It makes my heart thump dramatically in my chest, wondering what he’s got planned. Nick is always very imaginative, in the bedroom as much as everywhere else.
He throws open the door to our bedroom and in a few long strides reaches the bed, and throws me onto it. As I bounce on the mattress I look up at him. So tall, so strong. Sometimes I still think of the jolly fat man from the Christmas cards and the movies when I think of Santa; when I look at my gorgeous husband, the two just refuse to gel together in my mind. Even though our bedroom has a huge decorated tree in the corner, even though there are lights everywhere and tinsel is draped around the wooden columns of our four poster bed. Everything’s so Christmassy – but I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that Nick is Santa.
“I would like you to take your clothes off,” he tells me, and I scramble to do so. It’s not like it takes long – I’m wearing a silky slip with nothing underneath, and as I drop the slip to the floor, where it pools in a shiny pile of white fabric, Nick’s eyes roam my naked body as hungrily as they did that night so long ago.
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