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“Anthony… Oh God… Anthony… I think…Oh…”
The warmth that filled my mouth was no surprise, and I took every drop.
I stilled my fingers inside him and cleaned his cock with my tongue. When at last his shivers died away, I eased out of him, then lay beside him on the wide couch, my own dick so hard it ached.
“I think it’s my turn to pleasure you,” he said breathlessly. He wrapped his hand around my shaft, and gave it three or four tugs. I came on his belly, spattering it with my warmth. He cupped my head and pulled me close to kiss me as I shot my load.
It had to be the sweetest orgasm ever.
When I was done, I lay in his arms. “I still can’t believe this. I just made Santa Claus come.”
“Is it always like this?” he murmured. “So… intense, so overwhelming.” I craned my neck to glance at him, and he kissed me on the lips. “You just gave me everything I’ve been dreaming of for so long. And yes, it was amazing, but what made it so was that… I experienced it with you.”
His words echoed what lay in my heart.
“And we’ll experience it again—together,” I assured him.
“At least I know that’s all I’m getting until next December.” When I gazed at him, my eyebrows arched, he smiled. “‘Christmas comes but once a year.’ That’s what they say, isn’t it?” His eyes sparkled with humor.
I groaned. “I thought you said no Santa puns.”
Silently I made a promise. Next Christmas I’d make him come as many times as I could manage.
After all, he had some serious catching-up to do.
He shivered. “I don’t know about you, but I’m a little cold.” From out of nowhere a warm blanket covered us.
I sighed happily. “I could get used to this.” I snuggled up to him, my head on his shoulder. We were both damp with sweat, and it felt glorious.
“Living with magic?”
“Yes.”
Except that was a lie. What Ireallymeant was, I could get used to living with him.
I was fooling myself, of course. I got one night a year, and that would have to be enough.
“Thank you.” He kissed me.
“For what?”
“Making my first time so special.”
“It takes two, remember?”
“Yes, but I didn’t do anything.”
“But youwill, next time,” I assured him.
His face fell. “Except next time is a year away.” He sighed. “I suspect 2016 will be the slowest year ever.”
“Why?”
His arms tightened around me. “Time is a fickle thing. It speeds up when you don’t want it to, and it drags when you’re waiting for something to happen. And I’m going to be waiting until the next time I get to hold you… to do this…”
“Me too,” I confessed.
“But you don’t have to wait that long.” Santa gave me an earnest glance. “You have your own life to lead. And if you meet someone…”
