Christmas Congratulations

CHRISTMAS
CONGRATULATIONS

CAT
SUMMERFIELD

This is a
work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and
incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination
or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Copyright
© 2014 Cat Summerfield

All rights
reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed,
or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying,
recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the
prior written permission of the author.

CHAPTER ONE

Being
Mrs. Claus isn't always easy.

To
say that my husband – Nick, better known as Santa – is a
workaholic is putting it mildly. I mean, deadlines stress everyone
out, but when that deadline is making sure that every child in the
world has their presents on Christmas Day? Can you imagine what would
happen if Nick missed that deadline?

He
works hard, especially in the months leading up to Christmas. October
through December are a whirlwind of designing and making toys - and a
time of constant cookie production for me. They help Nick think.
Chocolate chip cookies, gingerbread,
pfeffernuesse
- baked treats are a speciality of mine. In fact, my cookies are
what first made him notice me, all those years ago.

Because
Nick does eat those cookies you put out for him, you know? And if you
happen to walk in to the kitchen, wearing nothing but lacy lingerie
just as he's tucking into the goodies you've put out for him, well.

You
might see that dear old St. Nick has terrible PR, and is neither fat
nor old - he's not particularly jolly either. He's got a pretty dry
sense of humour, actually. You'll see that Nick is six foot six, with
muscles to die for - that sack of toys is pretty darned heavy and
makes for a good workout.

That
was fifty years ago now, but the memory is still fresh. It always
comes back to me a
t
this time of year – it's our anniversary, after all.

I
go out into the workshop to help make sure that everything is in
order. Nick and the elves are down checking all the presents are
wrapped, so everything here is pretty quiet. There are some wood
shavings on the floor so I grab a brush to sweep them up, and as I do
I think back on the night I met Nick.

I'd
been awake, suffering from a bout of insomnia. Deciding that lying in
bed wasn't doing anything to help me sleep,
I
went into the kitchen, planning on getting one of those cookies for
myself. And what do I find there but this gorgeous guy, standing
there and munching on them himself.

Obviously
my first thought was of an intruder and I froze. Before I could get
my brain into gear and scream, or run, or
something
,
I realised a few other things. First, this maniac is wearing a Santa
suit – part of one, anyway. Red velvet trousers, thick belt,
tight white t-shirt that clings to every muscle- Following on from
that came point two: the guy was a hottie. A serious hottie.

Yes,
I was – and am – that shallow. I had a probable burglar,
possibly worse, in my kitchen and I was too noticing how attractive
he is to do anything sensible.

But
then he turned to me and put a finger to his lips. By that point I
had been well on my way to finding my voice and screaming the damned
neighbourhood down, and I wasn't going to be stopped by some guy
shushing me.

"I
know this looks odd," he'd said, and that's when I realised the
guy had a voice like caramelised sugar, rich and sweet and something
I could never get enough of. "But you
did
say that they were for me." He pointed at the note I'd left for
Santa.

"Huh?"
I managed like a queen of eloquence.

"I'm
Santa Claus," he'd said, turning to me and trying not to be too
obvious as he looked me up and down in my lingerie . "But you
can call me Nick."

It
took more than that to convince me, but a bit of honest to god magic
did the trick. He took me into my living room, where my entire
holiday decorations consisted of a tiny two-foot tree in the corner
of the room, with a single lonely star on top. Just one click of his
fingers and a whole lot of sparkling lights, and then there's a six
foot tree, trimmed to capacity, in the corner of my room. Tinsel,
baubles, fairylights - everything you could possibly think of. By
that point I'd been pretty sure I was dreaming and maybe that's why I
was so easily charmed. Either that, or I was still looking at his
damned arms.

We
talked for a few minutes, and I offered him some of the eggnog that
my mom had brought over the night before.

"If
you're not too busy," I said, a little hysteria leaking into my
voice as I realised I was trying to seduce Santa.

He
smiled. "I travel by magic. I can spare twenty minutes."

"And
what are you going to do with twenty minutes?"

He
grinned then. "Well, that's up to you, of course. But I'd
like
to make
you feel better than you've ever felt in your life."

"...Okay
then," I said, because what else can you say to a proposal like
that? He scooped me up in his arms like a princess, carrying me up to
my bedroom-

A
crash drags me out of my memories and I go over to the window, poking
my head out.

Down
in the yard, Yolena, the reindeer handler, is grabbing at Rudolph's
reins, pulling him back into the stable. Out of all the reindeer,
he's the one who's a real asshole. Don't believe the song. No-one was
picking on him, if anything he picks on the others. Poor Dancer and
Blitzen especially. He thinks that red nose makes him special; he's
made a scene every year since I got here.

I
go back inside, pick up the ribbons that have fallen to the floor and
then go into our personal rooms. I smile at the picture on the
mantlepiece. Our wedding. We look almost like a normal couple, Nick
in a sharp black suit, me in a sleek white dress. The wedding was
eighteen months after that first incredible night. It would have been
sooner, but Nick wanted to make sure that I'd lived with him for one
Christmas so I knew what to expect. I expected chaos, and I
definitely got it, but not enough to put me off.

And
that's how I became Mrs. Claus. Oh, there was more to it, of course.
Marrying a legendary immortal like Santa Claus is a lot trickier than
marrying Billy Bob the auto mechanic. It was worth it, through. Not
least because I've looked no older than twenty-five for the past
fifty years. That's definitely a plus.

Right
now, on Christmas Eve Eve - the 23rd December - it's the height of
the chaos. Nick will be frantically checking his list - checking it
twice - and making sure that everything's just so, ready for the big
day tomorrow.

It's
long past midnight when I go down to the workshop to drag him to bed.

"You
do this every year," I tell him. "And every year it's
fine."

"But
what if it isn't this year?" He asks, looking up from his
inspection of the train sets. The fairylights make his green eyes
sparkle. "What if-"

"I
think the biggest danger now is you not getting enough rest," I
say, and put my hand on the curve of his bicep. "Come to bed,
Nick. I'll make it worth your while." I give him the flintiest
wink I can manage, just to make it clear I'm not talking about a mug
of cocoa.

It
works.

He
straightens, and smiles at me. "Mrs. Claus, are you trying to
seduce me?”

"I
most certainly am," I say, looking up at him. He towers over me,
and it's always made me shiver. It makes me feel safe and protected,
but it makes me feel - like I want him to control me. Like I want him
in charge of me.

Luckily
Santa always knows what you really want for Christmas.

"So,
my love," he says as he steps closer to me. "Have you been
naughty or nice this year?"

"A
bit of both," I say as he wraps his arm around my waist, and
he's so
strong
.
It makes my heart race. "Life's more fun that way."

"Indeed
it is." He kisses me swiftly and then throws me over his
shoulder without a word of warning. I yelp as he carries me through
to our bedroom like a caveman carrying off the girl he's stolen from
the next village. It makes my heart thump dramatically in my chest,
wondering what he's got planned. Nick is always very imaginative, in
the bedroom as much as everywhere else.

He
throws open the door to our bedroom and in a few long strides reaches
the bed, and throws me onto it. As I bounce on the mattress I look up
at him. So tall, so strong. Sometimes I still think of the jolly fat
man from the Christmas cards and the movies when I think of Santa;
when I look at my gorgeous husband, the two just refuse to gel
together in my mind. Even though our bedroom has a huge decorated
tree in the corner, even though there are lights everywhere and
tinsel is draped around the wooden columns of our four poster bed.
Everything's so
Christmassy
–
but
I still can't wrap my head around the fact that Nick is Santa.

"I
would like you to take your clothes off," he tells me, and I
scramble to do so. It's not like it takes long - I'm wearing a silky
slip with nothing underneath, and as I drop the slip to the floor,
where it pools in a shiny pile of white fabric, Nick's eyes roam my
naked body as hungrily as they did that night so long ago. As his
gaze goes over my breasts, my nipples harden into points, as surely
as if he'd tweaked them with his fingers, or licked at him, teased
them with his tongue. That thought makes me bit my bottom lip, and I
can already feel myself getting wet, just from being looked at.

He
doesn't do anything at first, just looks at me. I can see his cock
getting hard, straining against the fabric of his trousers. It makes
me even wetter and I want him so much - but I'll wait. I want him to
make the first move. I want to do what
he
wants.

When
he steps forward, expectation rises in me, but it's not me he steps
towards - or not exactly. First he reaches for the tinsel wrapped
around the column of the bed, and tugs the end free.

"I
want to tie you up," he says. "I want you to look like
my
Christmas present.”