2. NICK
2
NICK
A hh, Christmas Eve, the busiest night of the year. For me, at least.
Believe it or not, but I am the big asshole in the red suit. Some may know me as jolly old Saint Nick or Father Christmas, but I’m more commonly known as Santa Claus.
There’s a catch, though. I’m not exactly the Santa Claus you’re thinking of.
You know the guy you see plastered across the malls every December? The one with the jolly Christmas spirit, rosy cheeks, and the beard? Yeah, that’s not me. That’s my father, Nick Sr.
He was the one that encompassed the whole Christmas spirit. He gets all hot and bothered for sleigh rides and Christmas carols, and for the better part of fifty years, he was the greatest Santa Claus to grace the planet. But unfortunately for me, as much as he’d like to think he’s invincible, he’s not, and only a few short years ago came the dreaded time to retire.
Fuck, he was a cranky bastard leading up to that, but now that he’s dedicated his existence to being a thorn in my side, the old man has regained his jolly spirit.
When Dad retired, he handed the literal reins to me, and honestly, I don’t know what the fuck he was thinking. I haven’t got a Christmassy bone in my body, but I get it. It’s a family tradition, and I’ve known since I was a child that I would one day fill his shoes as the world’s next Santa Claus. But fuck, they’re big shoes to fill.
The job has been passed down from father to son for countless generations. It was only a matter of time before the title of Santa Claus was thrust upon me, but I had hoped for more time.
I won’t lie, it’s a lot of responsibility, and while I’m the type to thrive under pressure, there are over two billion kids on the planet who are counting on me to make their Christmas wishes come true. I can’t afford to fuck up.
Only problem is, fucking up is one of my favorite things to do.
No pressure, huh?
I’m not exactly a traditional Santa Claus, and it’s something my father has worried about since the day I was born. I don’t encompass all that holiday cheer that comes so naturally to all the Santas before me.
Quite frankly, I’m the complete opposite. I’m the dark horse of the family. I’m an asshole, and I don’t give a shit who knows it. On top of that, I may have a slight sickness . . . a fascination of sorts, one I’ve worked my ass off to keep concealed.
This job has had one hell of a learning curve, but for as long as I can remember, my old man has been training me, taking me along every Christmas Eve to see what would one day be my responsibility.
As a kid, I loved going with him to see the world outside of the North Pole and to see the joy that this job actually brings. It’s one thing just knowing about it, but seeing it in action gave me a whole new appreciation for what we were doing. Though, I’d be lying if I didn’t say there were particular perks of the job. Perks that have seen me almost cross the line a million times over. Perks that have more than challenged my self-control.
You see, I may or may not have a slight obsession—a sick, twisted need.
When I was eight years old, the world I’d seen through rose-colored glasses shifted in a big way, and suddenly my purpose of becoming Santa Claus took a back seat, and my sick obsession began to develop.
Mila Morgan.
She was barely six the first time I saw her, but there was something about the innocence in her eyes that drew me in. It was the first time my father had taken me to do the Christmas Eve rounds, and for whatever reason, she was standing right there in the middle of the living room.
I couldn’t understand it. She was supposed to be asleep, and for whatever reason, it didn’t register that the child inside the home wasn’t tucked securely into her bed. None the wiser, we took the journey down the chimney, and when I appeared in the living room to see Mila gaping at me, I instantly became fascinated.
Who was this child, and why the hell could she see me?
I didn’t say a word as my father did what he does best and delivered her gift right under the tree as though nothing out of the ordinary was going on, and yet, I couldn’t tear my eyes off her. It was the first time I’d seen another human outside of the North Pole, and the warmth in her shell-shocked stare completely captured me.
That very moment kickstarted the next twenty years of obsession. Sure, it started as an innocent crush, but in recent years, it’s morphed into something a little more . . . sinister. To put it bluntly, I want to fuck this woman. I want to take her for my own and taste her night after night. There’s an animalistic need now, a ferocious hunger to have what I’ve always wanted.
I watched Mila grow up, returning to her home every year to check in on her, and despite my father’s disapproval, I would always leave a small token behind, wanting her to know that I was there. I needed her to remember me, and fuck, she never failed me. She’s held on to that memory of the little dark-haired boy who appeared in her living room all those years ago, going as far as to wish for my return every year. I never hesitated because I was desperate to be in her space.
She’s a woman now, and I’ve been starving for her. The way her body has changed, how she’s now aware of herself. I’m a fucking animal for Mila Morgan, and I’m not too fucked up to admit that I’ve been checking in on her a little more often than Christmas allows.
It started just here and there. On her twenty-first birthday, or when she moved to a new apartment. I’ve always stayed in the background, never getting to touch her, never getting to taste her.
Am I disgustingly aware that I’ve been stalking this woman? Yes.
Am I aware of how fucking wrong and unhinged it is? Also yes.
Do I give a single fuck? No.
But all that changes this Christmas because Mila didn’t just wish for my return this year. She wished for something I’ve been desperate to give her for years, and there’s nothing that’ll stop me now.
I sit back in my chair, my feet kicked up on the huge mahogany desk in the office that used to be my father’s. There’s three hours before I’m due to set off for the biggest night of the year, and yet I’m holed up in my office, rock-fucking-hard, and clutching the printout of Mila’s wishes.
I can’t help but gaze over it one more time, each of her filthy requests written out with checkboxes that desperately need to be ticked off.
I wish to be dicked down so hard that my knees will shake for weeks after.
I wish to be thrown around, flipped over like a pancake and railed within an inch of my life.
I wish to be dragged down my bed only to feel a warm mouth close over my clit and scream as he works me with his skilled tongue.
I wish to make him come apart in my mouth.
I wish to come alive, to feel things I’ve never felt before, and to be screwed so good that nothing will ever compare.
Dicked down so hard that her knees shake? Fuck yes. I am more than happy to do that for her. But what I really can’t wait for is to watch as her lips close around my cock, the way her tongue would work up and down my length, how tears would form in her pretty eyes as she forces herself past her gag-reflex to give it to me just right. But fuck, the way I’m going to fall apart in her mouth.
It’s as though she’s wanted this as much as I have. But that would be selfish, right? I don’t just want this for me, I want this for her. She clearly needs it, and who am I to deny a Christmas wish? I’m Santa Claus for fuck’s sake. It’s literally my job to give her what she wants. And tonight, that’s exactly what I’ll do.
I hope she’s ready for me.
My cock becomes painful, and I can’t help but reach beneath my desk and slide my hand inside my pants, fisting my hard length. My gaze remains locked on the words of Mila’s wishes as I slowly begin working myself, my fist pumping up and down. I picture the way I will finally taste her, how I would spread those creamy thighs and close my mouth over her desperate cunt.
Fuck, the way she will squirm for me. The way she will arch her back off her bed and cry for more. She’s going to be perfect.
My fist tightens, and I work myself faster and harder, my thumb roaming over my tip and making my hips jolt with desperation.
Fuck, that’s good. I need so much more.
I need her warm cunt to slide into. I need to fucking destroy her for anybody else. Take her as deep as she’ll allow. Fuck her all night long. Hard. Fast. Deep. In every fucking position known to man. I want to make her sweat, but most of all, I need to make her scream.
Goddamn, I’m going to fall apart just thinking about it.
My pace kicks up, and knowing I’m about to be called to get tonight’s show on the road soon, I make it quick. I fuck my hand, knowing this has got nothing on how sweet it would be to feel Mila’s walls spasming around me, but I don’t let up until I finally come, shooting my hot load into my hand. After all, I can’t mess up the red suit.
My body jolts as I finish emptying myself, my jaw clenching as the satisfaction rockets through my body. But the relief only lasts a moment. I’ve been wanting this for too long for the need to dissipate. No amount of jerking off has ever done the trick. The only thing that ever brings relief is her, and until now, I’ve never laid a finger on her. But that’s about to change.
Cleaning myself up, I fix my pants and get up from my desk, grabbing my red suit jacket off the back of my chair. Mila’s list of Christmas wishes crumples as I shove it into my pocket, and just as I pull my jacket around me and button up the famous red suit, a knock sounds at my door.
“Coming,” I mutter, reaching for the handle and swinging the door open. My father stands in the open doorway with his executive assistant Frederick. And no, his helpers aren’t elves. They are regular people like me and Mila. I never really understood where the whole elves thing came into play, but once whispers of Santa’s little helpers hit the modern world, they ran with it. I suppose little magical elves aren’t so far-fetched considering the reindeer farm right outside my kitchen window.
“Santa,” Frederick says with a chipper tone and a wide smile that makes me want to knock out his two front teeth.
I let out a sigh, cutting him off before he has a chance to say whatever he came to tell me. “It’s Nick, Fred. I don’t know how many times I need to remind you.”
A sheepish look crosses his face. “Sorry, Sa—Nick. Old habits die hard. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to calling you by your name. It makes me feel all . . . squirmy.”
“Squirmy?” I question, arching a brow as I step back into my office and grab my belt, all while my father silently watches me from Frederick’s side, clearly wondering if he’s made the right decision to retire. Though I managed the last two years without fucking up, so I think I’m good.
“Yes, Sir. Squirmy,” he says, as I nod toward the corridor, indicating for my father and Frederick to walk with me. “Now, getting on with important matters. The list has been checked and double-checked. However, there have been a few last-minute additions to the naughty list. I recommend taking one final glance at it before you take off.”
“Will do,” I mutter, forcing myself to keep my mind off Mila and get serious about what I’m supposed to be doing tonight. “How are my reindeer looking?”
My father takes it upon himself to answer this one. He’s always had such a soft spot for our furry friends. “All good, son, but you know they also get a little . . . squirmy on Christmas Eve. I believe they’re eager to get going.”
A small smile pulls at my lips. My father isn’t the only one who has a soft spot for our reindeer. They truly are magnificent animals, and for the most part, they were my best friends growing up. After all, there are not many other kids to play with out here. “No surprise there,” I say, glancing back toward Frederick. “Gifts?”
“I have a team still loading them into the sack. Maybe another hour or so and it’ll be ready to go.”
“Perfect.”
I start heading toward the vault that houses the list, determining who’s been good this year, and I smile knowing damn well that Mila would have easily found her way onto the naughty list for the Christmas wish she sent my way. Only that’s the kind of naughty I like most.
Frederick gets on his way, overseeing all the ins and outs of my workshop, and just when I expect my father to follow me into the vault, he clutches my elbow and pulls me aside. “Are you ready? It’s a big night ahead.”
“As ready as I can be, Dad. You’ve spent the last twenty years preparing me for every type of situation. I know what I’m doing.”
“I know you do, but . . .” He lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m concerned about you, Nicholas. If you remember, I oversaw the Christmas wishes this year. I saw what that girl wished for, and I don’t want you to get distracted. You have an important night ahead of you, and I know you’ve always had a certain . . . fascination with this girl.”
Well fuck. I was expecting a lot of things to come out of his mouth but certainly not that. I wonder how Mila would feel learning that the jolly old Father Christmas she grew up with saw just how filthy her desires truly are.
“Honestly, Dad. I’m good,” I lie, stepping up to the door of the vault and putting in the code. “Last year, I had an extra few hours up my sleeve. I even stopped for a concert appearance in Sydney. Blew a few people’s minds.”
“I don’t want you rushing just to try and prove a point,” he reprimands. “That’s how kids get missed. Take your time, and try to remember that Christmas is all about spreading joy.”
A smirk pulls at my lips as the vault door begins to open. I’ll sure as fuck be spreading something, though I can’t guarantee that it’ll be joy.
“I’ve got it all under control, pops. You don’t need to worry this year. I know my priorities.”
He arches a brow, and the jolly old man the rest of the world is used to seeing disappears, left with the stern father who raised me to be the perfect carbon copy of him. Only, I’m not quite sure it worked. I’m nothing like him.
“Do you?” he challenges.
Fuck. I hate when he gets like this. It’s as though he can see right through me to the dark little soul hidden within. He’s always known I was different, but deep down, he knows he can rely on me to get the job done. I won’t be letting anyone down tonight.
“Of course. I’m not going to let you down, and I’m not about to let any single one of the two billion kids down either.”
“Two and a half billion.”
I resist rolling my eyes. “Why don’t you take the evening off? Make some hot cocoa and chill by the fireplace with Mom. Maybe try to remember that you’re retired, and while I may be the black sheep of the family, you handed me the keys to the castle because you knew I was ready.”
Dad lets out a heavy sigh. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I know I am.”
“Fine, I’ll go spend the evening with your mother.” He gives me a tight smile and claps me on my shoulder before turning and waddling away, leaving me to focus on the vault.
As I move to step over the threshold, my father’s booming tone rings out again. “Oh, Nicholas?”
Stopping in the middle of the doorway, I turn back to meet my father’s dark gaze. “Try to remember to enjoy yourself.”
A fond smile stretches across my lips. “I will, pops,” I murmur, always having hated this sentimental shit. “I’ll check in with you in the morning. Tell you all about it.”
“Be sure that you do,” he says, and with that, he finally turns away to hopefully take his ass home.
With his stark warning still flashing in my mind, I step over the threshold of the vault and hit a few buttons on the other side to close the door behind me. I don’t know what it is about checking the list that feels so personal, but every time I do, I require absolute silence and concentration. There’s nothing I hate more than being disturbed in here, and knowing time is running out before I’m due to leave, I don’t want a single interruption.
I give myself an hour, going over every single name and making sure I have them committed to memory. After all, once I take off, there’s no way for me to double back and check if I forget. I’ve got one shot to get it right, and I’m not the type of man to fuck things up.
Once I’m sure I have the nice and naughty lists fully memorized, I make my way over to the side of the vault to the massive floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the workshop below. I’ve grown up here, and yet the sheer size of this place still blows my mind. There’s always a constant flood of helpers rushing around down there, but on Christmas Eve, it’s pure madness.
The last of the presents are being loaded into the shoot that takes them directly to my sack, and the very moment the last present arrives, the sack will be loaded onto the sleigh.
I give myself a minute to take it all in, making sure I’m truly prepared for the night ahead, and before I know it, I’m making my way outside.
People stop me in the hallways to wish me luck for my big night. If only they knew I was more excited about fucking Mila into oblivion rather than performing my saintly duties. But I suppose that’s something I should keep to myself.
Heading out into the chilly December night, I find my reindeer already harnessed and ready to go, lined up perfectly. Making my way toward them, I grab a bucket and fill it with water before making my way down the line, offering them each one last drink before we go.
They don’t really need it. Many homes will have carrots and water left out for them, and to be honest, by the time we return home, every single one of them will have a stomach ache. But that’s their own fault for eating so many damn carrots. I swear, these fuckers don’t know when to stop. Just because something is put in front of your face, doesn’t mean you need to eat it.
Except pussy. More specifically Mila’s. If that’s in front of my face, I can guarantee it will be eaten. No doubt about it. Perhaps the reindeer need a little more leniency. I suppose I understand their carrot addiction.
With the list thoroughly checked and the reindeer ready to go, I make my way over to my sleigh, climbing in and getting ready for the trip ahead.
“Ahem.” A throat clears beside me, and I glance to my left to see Frederick standing in the snow, my Santa hat clutched in his hand. “Forgetting something?”
“No, I made a point not to bring that with me.”
He gives me a blank stare.
“What more do you want from me? I’m already wearing the red pants, the suspenders, and the fucking jacket. Do I really have to wear the hat as well?”
“Santa isn’t Santa without the hat,” he tells me. “But you know I don’t have to remind you that any piece of Santa’s suit must be returned to head office, and between you and me, your father will be checking in during the night, and if he finds you left without the hat—”
“Fuck.” I snatch the goddamn hat out of his hand and throw it into the bottom of the sleigh. “Happy now?”
“Ecstatic,” he chimes before waving his hand toward the big, wide world. “Have at it, Santa. Go make some wild Christmas wishes come true.”
I grin as I take the reins. “That’s exactly what I intend to do.”