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“He’s not really Santa, is he? Just playing dress up.”
“Oh sweetheart, where’s your imagination? When he puts on the suit, he is Santa.”
She rolled her eyes and tried to flip to a chapter or scene without sex, but Mrs. Hershey wasn’t having it. “Reading sex is the easiest way to get me interested, stop skipping.”
“You know you’re gonna have to know what the rest of the story is about, right?”
Mrs. Hershey made a psshhaa sound and waved her off, wrinkled fingers turning the pages and tracing the words until she found what she was looking for. “Does that say pussy or pretty?”
“What do you think it says?” Micah asked, peering at the page before looking at the older woman.
“It could say pretty pussy for all I care.”
“This is not helping with your reading, I hope you’re aware.”
“I’m living vicariously through Janet and her Santa fetish, nothing else matters.”
She chuckled and finally took Mrs. Hershey through the scene—the word was indeed pussy and it brought the older woman much joy. But also because she got giddy over the sex scenes, they read two more that got Micah all hot and bothered before she walked Mrs. Hershey out to the cab waiting outside the clinic.
Then hours later, she’d seen Fletcher in his Santa suit and her mind was filled with all the naughty things she’d like to do with him. If Emery wasn’t with her, Micah might have said and done a lot more than kiss him under the mistletoe. For a brief moment, she was disappointed that he’d kept this from her. Sure, she wasn’t a fan of the holidays and thought it, like all other holidays, was a capitalist mess. But she wouldn’t have held it against Fletcher if he told her he liked Christmas or that he was Santa every year.
What if Emery had been ready to return to Santa’s Village years ago? Would she have run into Fletcher then? Would they have what they did now? Micah wasn’t a big believer in fate or destiny, but she know that they were meant to reconnect now. Now when both of them weren’t expecting each other. When they felt like they were ready for something more.
However, Micah had to admit seeing Fletcher in that Santa coat had done something to her. It wasn’t even the traditional outfit or something sexy, he’d managed to find a long coat that fit him like a glove. The combination of his regular clothes—dark jeans and a matching shirt—under the bright red coat with his Santa hat had been a visual she never thought she’d want to add to her spank bank. He looked so handsome, like he was meant to play that role. And the way he interacted with those kids, squatting to their level to talk and laugh with them, told her that he loved every minute of it.
The drive to his house took her about twenty minutes and the whole way, she wondered if he would still be wearing his Santa outfit. If he’d fuck her in it, because they were going to have sex. If he’d let her wear it while he did all those wonderful things to her body he once did. Or maybe he’d let her strip him naked and lick him from head to toe. Okay, calm the fuck down.
By the time she pulled into his driveway she was completely horned up and breathing heavily. The front door to his house opened and the man himself stepped through, leaning against the doorway. Micah’s chest heaved at the sight of him—long legs encased in black, full sleeved Henley that clung to his torso and strong arms crossed over his chest. He’d taken off his Santa coat, though, and she pouted for that. She loved him with every fibre of her being and she didn’t even want to think about life without him now.
When Fletcher’s head cocked to the side, she chuckled and got out of her car, smoothing down her dress. She grabbed her purse and locked up before walking up the driveway to his front door.
“Thought you were going to make a break for it.”
“And miss out on kissing Santa again? Not a chance in hell.”
He rolled his eyes, hooked his fingers into her belt and pulled her against him. Their lips crashed together and she moved as he did, stepping into the house, the slight chill vanishing the minute she heard the door close. She dropped her bag and set her hands on his chest, pushing him against the door as one of his hands cradled the back of her head and the other slid down to her ass, bringing their hips flush.
The kiss broke and Fletcher pressed soft kisses against her jaw, down her neck and she arched into him. Her fingers slid into his hair, holding him in place as he marked up her skin, his beard scraping against her.
“Fletch…” she whispered, rocking against him as he sucked on the sensitive spot behind her ear. Micah moaned, back arching as she tugged on his hair. But before she could say anything, a loud rumble echoed between them.
“Was that you?” he asked as he pulled back with wide eyes.
She nodded as her stomach released another obnoxious sound. “I haven’t eaten anything since lunch.”
“Jesus, Mick. That’s hours ago.”
“So feed me,” she simpered and mentally patted herself on the back when he growled. Except, he released the grip he had on her ass and tugged her to the kitchen. In a move she didn’t expect, he picked her up and set her on the counter before turning to his fridge to pull out multiple dishes. Micah rested her hands on the counter and swung her legs as she watched him plate the leftovers and stick it in his microwave.
When he turned to her, he frowned. “What?”
“I love you,” she said simply, legs swinging and Fletcher went still.
“Mick…”
“I fucking love you, Fletch. I was a twenty-something in love with you that night. Now I’m a thirty-something who is still so stupidly in love with you.”
He was frozen, eyes wide as his mouth flapped open and shut. She knew that she shocked him, so she laughed and hopped off the counter. When she stopped in front of him, Fletcher finally blinked and lifted both hands to cup her face.
