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She reaches up and clasps my hand. “Is this a crazy Christmas dream, Saint Nick? Am I going to wake up in a second?”
“No,” I growl. “This is real. It’s me and you, Natalie. Forever.”
I lean in for another kiss, but she steps back with a cute-as-hell little gasping noise.
“I’m sorry. I just need to… process all this.”
Taking a step back, I forced myself to nod, forcing myself to calm down.
For now.
Even if all I want to do is yank her to me and touch her without anything between us.
“I understand. I guess I’ll go and be jolly old Santa. But I’ll see you soon, Natalie. Very soon.”
She nods, letting out a sigh, one that goes right to my base.
“I hope so.”
Chapter Six
Natalie
I spend the day browsing the stores around the food court, but I can only do it for an hour or so at a time without seeming suspicious. The bikers make another appearance, but I don’t see any sign of him, of the man whose image is burned into my memory like a vicious brand.
But even if I’m supposed to be focused on the bikers, I can’t stop myself from looking over at Santa’s Wonderland, at Nick sitting in Santa’s chair, and being as friendly as possible with the customers.
I study him as he works, as I lean against the railing and pretend to scroll through my phone.
He’s really not cut out for this, the huge beastly man that he is, with a large alpha male body made to tear out of that Santa’s suit and reveal the muscle beneath. My body buzzes when I remember the way he touched me, the way he owned me with his hands, the way he smoothed his touch up and down my body until I was alight with the pleasure of it.
But my mind burns even brighter when I think about his words.
I belong to him.
He’s claiming me.
It’s Christmas in just over a week… is this an early gift, or some kind of trick?
What if he hired Nick?
I squeeze down on the railing, cursing silently inside. I can’t continue to be scared to even say his name, even in my head.
Terrence. Terrence Clarke.
I bite down and let my eyes flit over the food court, where two bikers sit in the corner, one of them folding up a napkin over and over and the other staring dead eyed out at the parking lot. They look like they don’t belong, slouched there amidst the decorations and the happy families.
Then I turn my gaze back to Nick to find him with a young boy on his knee. Nick trying his best to smile, but he can’t hide the tightness in his cheeks. He can’t hide the forced note in his voice as he speaks in Santa’s silly jolly tone.
But there’s something there, a desire to make the kid happy.
My womb tingles, as though gathering up energy, getting ready to release it all in one giant explosion. I bite down, forcing myself to stop thinking about the moment I creamed for him, how sticky and messy I was afterward.
You deserve so much more.
That’s what he said about me living in a mall storage closet.
He wants to give us a future, a future where Christmas never ends, where the lights never stop twinkling, a future that makes us want to wake up every day instead of disappearing into my dreams.
I bite down, forcing away my tears.
It’s a future I’ve dreamed of ever since I was a little girl.
But is Nick being honest, or is he as fictional as Santa Claus?
Later, I sit in the storage closet on the folded-up sleeping bags, singing softly under my breath. I’ve been singing more since I worked as an elf yesterday, noting the way it made Nick look at me, with a fierceness in his expression that had my insides churning and crying out with lust.
I think he liked my voice.
And seeing that – the flaring in his snowflake eyes – makes me want to sing even more.
But I have to keep it low, just in case somebody hears me and decides to check in here.
I stop at the knock on the door, quiet and familiar.
It’s Kenny, using the secret code we discussed.
Creeping over to the door, I remove the broomstick and pull it open. He hurries inside an unusual smile on his face, almost sick-looking.
“What is it, Kenny?” I ask when he just paces over to the makeshift bed and back again.
He’s opening and closing his hands, seeming amped-up, like he’s about to burst into action. The problem is, I don’t know what kind of action.
“I did something, sis,” he says, reminding me of the way he was when we were kids before mom and dad died and he lost his innocence.
He was always so proud of everything he did. It didn’t matter what.
