Page 1 of Her Night With Santa
Chapter 1
Farnaz
“Uncle Mel, are you sure I can crash in this house for the night?” I ask nervously as I drive up to the massive gate of the beachside mansion.
“Yes, sweetheart.” My uncle’s voice assures me through the Bluetooth speakers of my rental car. “It’s fine. You have the codes for the gate and the door, and that’s all you need. No one should be there until tomorrow night, and by then you’ll be on your way to us. Seriously, no big deal. Kris was thrilled to help.”
I make a sound of agreement as I look around in case there’s a guard or something, but the place seems deserted. When your uncle is a literal legend it can be hard to assess when things are regular “no big deal” or “king-level” no big deal. My uncle Mel, aka King Melchior is one of the three kings of the Magi, who for millennia have delivered gifts to Christian brown children worldwide. Not the OG Melchior, he passed centuries ago, but my uncleishis direct descendant and the acting Melchior for gift delivering purposes. And his friend “Kris” is none other than Santa freaking Claus. The jolly bearded dude who hooks up kids with gifts in the colder parts of the world. Which means I’m punching a code to enter Santa’s secret beach villa…on Christmas Day.
It’s a bit of a mindfuck, but I roll with it because my Uncle Mel has never steered me wrong. And as promised, the black wrought iron gates begin to open as soon as I press the green button on the keypad. “Looks like the code for the gate worked.”
“Excellent.” My uncle exclaims happily. “We’re off to the slopes then. Your mother wants you to call her when you get settled in.”
“Okay.” I say weakly, not feeling ready at all for a conversation with my mother.
I love my family, and usually our annual ski trip in the Alps the week after Christmas is one of the highlights of my year. But things have been tense given some of the life changes I’ve made recently. Especially my decision to leave my six-figure design job to start my own adult toy company. That career change is the reason I’m in the Dominican Republic and not in a Swiss chalet with my loved ones.
I was invited here to present my designs to potential investors in Santo Domingo. Even though there’s no offer yet, things look promising. So, despite the rushing around of the last forty-eight hours—and the blowout that ensued after I informed my mother I wouldn’t join the family until late on Christmas Day—the trip was worth it.
I was supposed to fly out first thing this morning out of Punta Cana. But when I got to the airport after driving all night from Santo Domingo, I was informed all flights were grounded due to a snowstorm on the flight route. Which was when I made the frantic call to my uncle—he knows people everywhere—and he found me a place to stay. And if I’m honest, I’m kind of thrilled. Bad weather has done me a solid in the form of some peace and quiet before a week of family time.
“Farnaz are you still there?”
“Yes,” I nod as if he can see me. “I’ll text you once I’m in the house.”
“Enjoy yourself. Kris has exquisite taste, and he loves hosting. Use anything and everything you fancy.”
I give him a distracted yes and make my way into the property. I drive in slowly expecting security guards to jump from every direction or at least to find a groundkeeper trying to block me from driving in, but nothing happens. I stop in the middle of the circular driveway a little in awe. This place is fucking amazing. Being the niece of a king has its perks, don’t get me wrong. But my uncle’s tastes are a little bit more on the baroque side. This place is sleek and modern. A lot of glass and metal, and white. Lots of white.
I feel a little disappointed I only get one night here, because just from the peek I get as I drive in, the private beach looks spectacular and I know there must be an infinity pool somewhere. I do a little shimmy in the seat of my rental as I think about the fucking baller afternoon I can have in this place. I have this gorgeous mansion by the ocean all to myself until the morning and I’m going to go hard on the hedonism.
Once I park the car in one of the spaces of the six-car covered garage—the toy business in the north must payreallywell—I go to the door I assume leads inside the house. The code works on the first try and I quickly grab my two bags and head inside.
“Wow.” I say to no one as I look around the huge foyer like I’m a heroine in a Nancy Meyers movie. I tuck my suitcase and my carry-on in the corner and literally turn in a full circle. This place is aperfectbeach getaway. Decorated in a simple and minimalist style—and with sunlight streaming in from every direction—it just beckons me to take a load off and relax.
There’s an upstairs, but I’m too blown away with the room I’m in now to go exploring yet. The floor plan is an open concept and from where I’m standing just off the main entrance, I can see the living room which faces an entire wall of floor-to-ceiling glass. The view of the private beach is stunning, and yep, there’s the infinity pool.
Off to one side of the room is a dining room table for twelve, and right behind it is a kitchen that would make any professional chef weep with joy. Even though the décor is on the low-key side—I guess it makes sense for Santa to have more of a Scandinavian vibe going on—the furniture looks comfortable. Lots of teak and white everything with red accents. I grin thinking that Santa clearly does not play with the branding.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I smile when I see the one-word message from my uncle.
Uncle Mel: So?
Farnaz: You did me a solid unc!! OMG This place is TIGHT. Do I really need to leave tomorrow morning?
I type only half-kidding. It’s past noon and I already know I’m going to want more time here.
Uncle Mel: Don’t even joke, your mother’s already being a handful because you’re going to be a day late. But enjoy your little reprieve there. Treat yourself darling, you deserve it.
I smile at the message knowing my uncle means it. For a man who is a literal legend, he’s the most down to earth guy I know, andalwayshas time for his family. He has like a dozen nieces and nephews and still manages to be regularly in touch with each of us. He’s also the only one in the family currently not looking down his nose at me because I’m thirty-five, unmarried and just bagged my perfectly good job to design ergonomic butt plugs and vibrators.
“Mm.” I moan loudly, as it occurs to me I have all the prototypes I brought for the meetings in my suitcase. Every toy I could possibly want and an afternoon and night to myself in this secret hideaway. My pussy throbs at the thought of all the times I can make myself come.
Time to get on with my solo sexcapade.
I type another thank you to my uncle, turn off my phone, then hurry up the floating stairs in search of the bedroom. There’s a door down the hallway and when I walk inside, I squeal…again. Gleaming wood floors, and a California King four poster bed with a view of the ocean. I literally clutch my chest when I take in the blue sky and the swaying palm trees.
“I’m going to get off so many times in here.” I say as I caress the fluffy snow-white comforter. Immediately I run down to get my bags and take a quick look at the kitchen supplies. Like my uncle promised it’s fully stocked, including half a dozen bottles of champagne.
