Chapter 3
Three
Holly
Nicholas pops the last of the tree cookie into his mouth, then holds the empty plate out to me.
Our fingers brush as I take it, and the second they do, there’s a spark, a crackle, and the scent of peppermint and frost fills the air.
A soft shimmer ripples over the backs of my hands before disappearing.
Something is definitely up with the lighting in here this morning.
“You’re beautiful, Holly,” he rumbles, his voice rougher now. “Glowing, even.”
I look down.
My skin is shimmering again. Faint, like moonlight on fresh snow, but there. And…oh no. My sweater. There are now two dark, spreading spots right over my nipples. My traitorous, aching nipples.
I gasp softly, and the plate slips from my fingers as shock and embarrassment and white hot arousal all blaze through me. But Nick’s hand shoots out, and he catches it effortlessly before it can shatter on the floor.
My face is on fire. “I—I don’t know what’s wrong with…” I can’t even bring myself to finish my sentence.
His gaze drops to my chest. Stays there. The air thickens, my breath coming too fast, my body betraying me in ways I don’t understand. My bra feels wet, my breasts almost unbearably heavy, my nipples throbbing with every heartbeat.
What in the name of Christmas is happening to me?
I hurry away, flush with embarrassment, and seal myself away in the tiny back room, where I whip off my sweater.
I glance down, and my boobs look…bigger?
I have big boobs to begin with, but they seem even fuller and heavier than usual.
I pull off my bra, too, and I frown when I see little drops of milk clinging to my nipples.
So, fun fact about me: I really, really get off on nipple play.
And sometimes, very rarely, if I stimulate them enough, a little bit of milk will come out.
It’s weird, but I like it, which is kinda kinky, I know.
But I’ve never had this much milk before, and I haven’t been playing with my nipples lately.
I give them each a testing tug and I moan.
Fuck, that feels so good. More milk drips, but I don’t have time to explore this right now.
I clean myself up as best I can, pull on a fresh T-shirt emblazoned with the bakery’s logo, and throw a cardigan on over top to hide the fact that I’m going braless.
When I step back into the main part of the bakery, I freeze in the doorway between the staff area and the front.
Nick’s already unlocked the front door. A line of families snakes down the sidewalk, but inside, it’s controlled chaos.
He’s perched on the oversized Santa chair I set up by the fireplace, a little boy with a mop of brown curls on his lap.
The kid’s chattering about a toy dinosaur, and Nick—Santa—listens like it’s the most important thing in the world.
His deep laugh rumbles through the room, rich and masculine, and the boy beams up at him like he’s just been handed the moon.
I press a hand to my chest as I watch the sweet interaction. My fingers brush over my nipple through the fabric, and a jolt of heat shoots straight between my legs. What the hell? I snatch my hand back, just in time to see my skin prickling with that same weird shimmer from before.
A mom snaps a photo, her phone flash making Nick’s silver hair glow brightly.
He shifts the boy to his hip and reaches into the red velvet sack beside the chair, pulling out a wrapped gift without even looking.
Where the heck did that bag come from? It’s not mine, and Nick was empty handed when he walked in here.
“For you, Liam. Don’t let your sister steal it this time.
” The boy cackles with glee, and the mom’s jaw drops. “How did you…?” She trails off, gaping.
Nick winks and my panties get wet. “Santa knows everything.”
Oh, he’s good. He’s got to be the best fake Santa I’ve ever met.
I watch, arms crossed tight over my aching breasts, as he moves through the line with a relaxed ease, as though he’s done this a thousand times.
He calls a toddler “Mia” before her dad can introduce her.
He tells a shy girl in braids that her letter about the puppy arrived at the North Pole, and that her parents already said yes.
The girl shrieks with delight, and the dad looks completely bewildered.
Is Nick a psychic? Is he cold reading people?
Or…is there something else going on? I can’t stop myself from glancing over at the mug, designated for the real Santa, just in case.
My nipples tighten again, the sensation almost painful now.
I bite my lip to stifle a whimper. It’s like my body’s been rewired, and every laugh from Nick, every glance from him in my direction sends a pulse straight to my chest. My skin feels too tight, my breasts swollen and heavy, the weight of them both too much and kind of wonderful.
I can’t stop thinking about how amazing it would feel to have someone’s mouth on them right now, sucking on my fat, puffy nipples until I come.
I shift on my feet, thighs pressing together, clit swollen and throbbing.
I blink hard, forcing myself to focus. The bakery’s warm, but I’m burning up. Maybe I am getting sick. I feel like my head’s swimming, my body a riot of inexplicable sensation and arousal.
A little girl with pigtails climbs onto Nick’s lap, and he adjusts her so she’s settled against his chest. “Now, Emma,” he says, his voice low and conspiratorial. “Did you leave out those oatmeal cookies for me last year? The ones with the raisins?”
Emma’s eyes go wide with surprise, and honestly, I’m right there with her. This entire thing feels surreal. “Yeah! But Mommy said you probably didn’t eat them ‘cause they were burnded.”
Nick chuckles, the sound wrapping around me like a fur blanket. “I ate every last crumb. Best cookies on your whole street.”
Emma beams. The mom’s staring at Nick as though he’s just done a magic trick.
And maybe he has. Or maybe…He glances over at me, his blue eyes meeting mine, and I see those flecks of gold swirling in them again, more intense this time.
I see little snowflakes dance around his head. I hear the sound of jingle bells.
My knees nearly buckle.
Because I believe. I believe in Santa.
I always have.
And I think the real Santa might be sitting here in my bakery.
At the thought, my breasts tingle again.
The next two hours go by in odd fits and bursts of time both crawling and flying. I busy myself with handing out the goody bags and chatting with customers, trying to ignore my aching breasts and throbbing clit.
Eventually, the last family lingers by the door, the dad shaking Nick’s hand and grinning like he’s just met a celebrity.
“Best Santa we’ve ever seen,” the man says, voice thick with sincerity.
His wife nods, clutching their toddler’s mittens.
“The way you knew about Lily’s bear lovey… How did you know?”
Nick just winks, that slow, knowing curve of his mouth making my stomach dip and swirl. “Magic.”
I swallow hard, my thighs pressing together as another pulse of heat floods me. My nipples are so sensitive, every brush of fabric against them sends a jolt straight to my clit. My panties are soaked. I’m a mess this morning.
The family leaves, the bell above the door chiming, and suddenly it’s just me and Nick in the quiet bakery. It’s warm, the air thick with the scent of sugar and that mint and cedar smell I like far too much. It’s like some kind of olfactory aphrodisiac.
Nick stands, stretching his massive frame with a groan that makes my toes curl and my pussy clench. He rolls his shoulders, the red coat pulling tight across his chest, and then those piercing blue eyes land on me. “What time do you close, Holly?”
I blink, my fingers tightening around the tray of cookies I’m holding. Is he going to ask me out? Oh god, I hope he asks me out. Then maybe I’ll get to find out for sure if he’s actually the real Santa, or I’m just, you know, completely losing my mind. “Four.”
He nods slowly. “I’ll be back then.”
My heart kicks against my ribs, my pulse jumping. “Why?”
“We need to talk.” His voice is low, rough. “About something very important.”
Heat curls low in my belly. “About what, exactly?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he crosses the space between us in three long strides, takes the tray from my hands and sets it on the counter.
Then he cups my face, and I’m glad he’s not wearing his gloves, because the feeling of his skin on mine is divine.
His thumb brushes my bottom lip, a slow, teasing stroke. “Let me show you.”
And then his mouth is on mine. The kiss is deliciously slow and sweet.
Like he’s savoring me, memorizing the shape of my lips, the way I gasp against him.
My awareness narrows to the firm but gentle press of his lips, the rough brush of his beard against my skin, the way his breath smells like candy canes.
He kisses me like he’s unwrapping me, one careful layer at a time, learning the taste of me as if I’m a rare delicacy.
His thumb still rests against my bottom lip, pressing just enough to part my lips wider, and when his tongue glides against mine, I can’t stop myself from whimpering.
His other hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in the loose strands of my hair, holding me steady as he tilts my head just so, deepening the kiss with a groan that vibrates through my ribs.
My legs feel like jelly, and I cling to him, fisting my hands in the lush velvet of his coat because if I don’t hold onto something, I’m going to fall to the floor in a puddle of hormones.
The scent of him fills my lungs, and I swear I can taste winter on his tongue, crisp and sharp like the first frost.
My breasts start to ache even more as he kisses me, heavy and full.
My nipples tighten almost to the point of pain, straining against the thin cotton of my T-shirt.
Nick sucks on my tongue and a damp warmth spreads across my chest, plastering the fabric to my nipples.
I realize with a jolt of humiliation that I’m leaking milk, faster and thicker than I ever have before.
It’s soaking the cotton, and my face burns, yet I can’t bring myself to break the kiss.
Nick’s mouth is still moving against mine, his beard scratching deliciously against my face, and I moan.
I press my thighs together as arousal floods through me, making more milk drip from my nipples, making my panties ridiculously wet.
He pulls back just enough to murmur against my lips, “Four o’clock, little one. We have much to discuss.”
Then he’s gone.
The door swings shut behind him, snow swirling in his wake, the sound of jingle bells ringing in the air.
I stand there, stunned, my fingers pressed against my tingling lips, my shirt damp and clinging to my breasts.
What the hell just happened?