Page 4 of Milk
Emma’s eyes go wide with surprise, and honestly, I’m right there with her. This entire thing feels surreal. “Yeah! But Mommy said you probably didn’t eat them ‘cause they were burnded.”
Nick chuckles, the sound wrapping around me like a fur blanket. “I ate every last crumb. Best cookies on your whole street.”
Emma beams. The mom’s staring at Nick as though he’s just done a magic trick. And maybe he has. Or maybe…He glances over at me, his blue eyes meeting mine, and I see those flecks of gold swirling in them again, more intense this time. I see little snowflakes dance around his head. I hear the sound of jingle bells.
My knees nearly buckle.
Because I believe. I believe in Santa.
I always have.
And I think the real Santa might be sitting here in my bakery.
At the thought, my breasts tingle again.
The next two hours go by in odd fits and bursts of time both crawling and flying. I busy myself with handing out the goody bags and chatting with customers, trying to ignore my aching breasts and throbbing clit.
Eventually, the last family lingers by the door, the dad shaking Nick’s hand and grinning like he’s just met a celebrity. “Best Santa we’ve ever seen,” the man says, voice thick with sincerity. His wife nods, clutching their toddler’s mittens. “The way you knew about Lily’s bear lovey…How did you know?”
Nick just winks, that slow, knowing curve of his mouth making my stomach dip and swirl. “Magic.”
I swallow hard, my thighs pressing together as another pulse of heat floods me. My nipples are so sensitive, every brush of fabric against them sends a jolt straight to my clit. My panties are soaked. I’m a mess this morning.
The family leaves, the bell above the door chiming, and suddenly it’s just me and Nick in the quiet bakery. It’s warm, the air thick with the scent of sugar and that mint and cedar smell I like far too much. It’s like some kind of olfactory aphrodisiac.
Nick stands, stretching his massive frame with a groan that makes my toes curl and my pussy clench. He rolls his shoulders, the red coat pulling tight across his chest, and then those piercing blue eyes land on me. “What time do you close, Holly?”
I blink, my fingers tightening around the tray of cookies I’m holding. Is he going to ask me out? Oh god, I hope he asks me out. Then maybe I’ll get to find out for sure if he’s actually the real Santa, or I’m just, you know, completely losing my mind. “Four.”
He nods slowly. “I’ll be back then.”
My heart kicks against my ribs, my pulse jumping. “Why?”
“We need to talk.” His voice is low, rough. “About something very important.”
Heat curls low in my belly. “About what, exactly?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he crosses the space between us in three long strides, takes the tray from my hands and sets it on the counter. Then he cups my face, and I’m glad he’s not wearing his gloves, because the feeling of his skin on mine is divine. Histhumb brushes my bottom lip, a slow, teasing stroke. “Let me show you.”
And then his mouth is on mine. The kiss is deliciously slow and sweet. Like he’s savoring me, memorizing the shape of my lips, the way I gasp against him. My awareness narrows to the firm but gentle press of his lips, the rough brush of his beard against my skin, the way his breath smells like candy canes.
He kisses me like he’s unwrapping me, one careful layer at a time, learning the taste of me as if I’m a rare delicacy. His thumb still rests against my bottom lip, pressing just enough to part my lips wider, and when his tongue glides against mine, I can’t stop myself from whimpering. His other hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in the loose strands of my hair, holding me steady as he tilts my head just so, deepening the kiss with a groan that vibrates through my ribs.
My legs feel like jelly, and I cling to him, fisting my hands in the lush velvet of his coat because if I don’t hold onto something, I’m going to fall to the floor in a puddle of hormones. The scent of him fills my lungs, and I swear I can taste winter on his tongue, crisp and sharp like the first frost.
My breasts start to ache even more as he kisses me, heavy and full. My nipples tighten almost to the point of pain, straining against the thin cotton of my T-shirt. Nick sucks on my tongue and a damp warmth spreads across my chest, plastering the fabric to my nipples. I realize with a jolt of humiliation that I’m leaking milk, faster and thicker than I ever have before. It’s soaking the cotton, and my face burns, yet I can’t bring myself to break the kiss. Nick’s mouth is still moving against mine, his beard scratching deliciously against my face, and I moan. I press my thighs together as arousal floods through me, making more milk drip from my nipples, making my panties ridiculously wet.
He pulls back just enough to murmur against my lips, “Four o’clock, little one. We have much to discuss.”
Then he’s gone.
The door swings shut behind him, snow swirling in his wake, the sound of jingle bells ringing in the air.
I stand there, stunned, my fingers pressed against my tingling lips, my shirt damp and clinging to my breasts.
What the hell just happened?
Four
