Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 56462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
My father gapes at me. “It’s Christmas Eve. You can’t seriously be thinking of entertaining this . . . this filth.”
“Sorry, Pops. It’s my call. I’m Santa Claus now. I was able to spend time with her last year and get my job done. I don’t see why I can’t do it again this season.”
My old man simply stares at me in horror, and I can only imagine the million thoughts running through his mind. He regrets retiring because he thinks I’m going to fuck this up, but at some point, he’s going to have to learn to trust me.
“Dad,” I say, stepping around my desk. “I truly am sorry for the letters. I’ll do better to keep that shit to myself in the future, but I won’t apologize for anything else. I love her, Dad. I’ve loved her since I was eight years old, and now that she finally knows who I am, I’m not about to turn my back on her. She’s waited twelve long months to see me, and you bet your ass that the moment the last present is delivered, I’ll be right there on her rooftop, rushing to see her.”
Dad watches me for a moment, his gaze softening. “You’re really in love with this woman? This isn’t just some filthy need to get your rocks off with some random girl and get under my skin.”
“No, Pops. Getting under your skin is just an added bonus.”
He lets out a heavy sigh, and I watch as his walls slowly fall down. “Alright then. See to it that you talk to Frederick, and remember, the job comes first. No child is left without a gift before you go see her.”
“I know.”
“Good,” he says, before turning his back and striding to the door, only to stop and glance back. “Oh, and Nick. Keep your filthy sexcapades out of the Christmas wishes. Find another way to communicate with this girl that doesn’t traumatize our helpers.”
I nod. He has a point. “Noted.”
And with that, he’s gone, leaving me to prepare for the biggest night of the year. Only this year, everything is going to be different.
9
MILA
The revealing black lingerie fits better than anything I’ve ever worn, and as I tie a big red bow around my waist, I can’t help but feel like the most desirable woman in the world.
God, I can’t wait for him to arrive. It’s going to be perfect, even better than last year because, this time, I’ve spent every day of the last year anticipating his return, trying to remember what he smelled like, how big he was, how demanding. Just the memory of his deep voice gives me chills.
Every day I’ve thought about him, and despite how badly it’s going to hurt to have to see him leave again, I can’t help but need this. I’ve struggled this year. I’ve had no one in my corner. No family. No friends. It’s just been me and my wishes, but it all changes tonight—at least for a little while. Come tomorrow morning, I’ll wake up and everything will be back to normal. Back to missing him. Back to wishing I could be right there with him, wherever that might be. Back to waiting and anticipating.
It’s too much. This past year has almost destroyed me, and there were times I wanted to give up. Times where I considered writing him one final letter and begging him to let me go. The truth is, this is absurd. What kind of woman waits around all year for a man she will see just once? I should be trying to move on. I should find someone to settle down with and do the whole big white house on a hill with a picket fence thing. I should think about my future. A wedding, kids, and a dog. Yet here I am in my lonely apartment, dressing up for a fictional man who holds my whole damn heart.
I truly am a sucker for punishment.
I’ve stayed up watching silly Christmas movies, each one of them ending with a happily ever after, and honestly, fuck them. Why do they get to have all their dreams come true when I only get to have one raunchy night per year? I mean, Nick doesn’t even respond to my letters. Not that I have any idea how all of that shit is supposed to happen.
Has he even received my letters?
He told me to keep making Christmas wishes, and that’s exactly what I did, but what if he’s only getting the wish part of the letter? Nah, that’s ridiculous. If he’s getting the wish, then surely he’s getting the letter. But fuck. Would it kill him to pick up a fucking pen and write me something in return? It’s not as though I’ve been waiting on bated breath for him all damn year.