by Allysa Hart
“W-what does it say?” I stuttered.
“It says, ‘all I can do is pray.’”
I nodded, unable to speak, and fidgeted with one of the charms on my bracelet, without looking to see which one it was.
“I counted several lies, little elf.”
I shrugged, not arguing the nickname this time.
“But I’m glad I read your file,” he continued, refolding the letters and sticking them back into the pocket of his blazer.
“Why? Because now you know how broken I really am?” I scoffed. “I’ve got news for you, Santa. I’m not that little girl anymore.”
Yule’s gaze was sad as his eyes met mine before dropping to my breasts with a mischievous smirk. “No, you certainly are not,” he answered with a lascivious grin. “Let me ask you something, Crystal. Did your mother ever remarry?”
“No. She did not.”
“So you never got the daddy you so desperately longed for.”
“So? Stupid little girl dreams. My mom was more than enough.”
“One thing I have learned being Santa and watching my father over the years is that the things we yearned for as children never go away. We may move on, we may outgrow them, we may come to peace with broken dreams, but they never go away.”
Date night had certainly taken an interesting turn, and if the conversation didn’t take a lighter route here soon, I was going to be a blubbering mess. The problem was, I was incapable of speaking at the moment, and it didn’t look like Yule planned to let up. On the contrary, it looked like he was just getting started.
“One of Santa’s most classic tricks for turning nonbelievers into believers is to grant and sometimes even re-grant those long-forgotten wishes. Sometimes, like in this case, that requires a little outside-of-the-box thinking.”
“Forget it,” I sniffled. “There is no ‘in this case.’ The timeline has long expired. I don’t want or need a daddy.”
Yule was silent, stroking his beard thoughtfully.
“Not in the traditional sense, no. I’m unable to go back in time and fulfill those little girl desires. But something tells me, little elf, that a daddy and a magical Christmas to go with it is just what you need.”
My stomach twisted, and my heart filled with hope. I wasn’t about to admit it, but he was right. The long-forgotten desire had never fully gone away. But what did it matter? I was a grown woman. Even if my mom magically found someone and remarried, that man would never fill a daddy role in my life.
“Let me ask you something. Two somethings, actually.” Yule’s voice was pensive and his expression serious.
“I know you don’t know me well, but I think you know that you can trust me, don’t you, little elf?”
Dammit. I did. Against all my better judgment and all my adult sensibilities, I knew deep down that Yule Claus, whoever he was, was someone I could trust. “If I didn’t know that, I wouldn’t be here,” I confirmed grudgingly.
Usually, when I went on a first date, at least two people knew where I was and who I was with, and I had an escape plan. I had taken no such precautions with him.
“Okay, second question. This is a hard one. How is it possible with the sleigh ride and those letters and all the Christmas magic you have seen with your own two eyes, you still don’t believe that Santa exists, and I am him?”
“It’s getting harder and harder,” I grumbled. At this point sheer stubbornness was keeping me tethered to my nonbelief. I was thirty-one years old, almost thirty-two, and far too old to start believing in Santa.
Yule was watching me shrewdly, and I got the distinct feeling that he could see into my soul and hear the things I was not saying.
I met his gaze, and we engaged in a good-old-fashioned staring contest for what felt like a full minute.
Finally, he nodded, stood, and threw some bills on the table. “It’s settled, then.”
“Wait, what’s settled?”
“Give me the weekend, little elf. That’s all I ask.”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the exit.
“The weekend for what?”
“To be your daddy. To fulfill every abandoned-little-girl desire and to put all your doubts about me to rest once and for all.”
This was crazy. He was insane. Be my daddy? What did that even mean? Make me believe in Santa? Why? Why was this all so important to him?
I opened my mouth to answer, and before I could stop myself, I said one word. “Yes.”
Yule snapped his fingers, and everything changed.
When I say everything changed, I mean everything changed. Not only did we teleport back to my house, but, apparently, Santa could manipulate time as well. It was no longer the pitch dark of a cold winter night, but the chilly crisp dew of morning could be seen on the trees outside my windows. What the hell?
One minute I was enjoying a ham dinner by a fireplace, in a killer little black dress, and the next, I was back in my bedroom, dressed in a ridiculous pair of pajamas covered in little teddy bears dressed as elves, complete with little elf-shoe slippers that curled up at the ends, pigtail braids, and a fluffy velvet hat, and it was bright outside. What in the ever-loving hell?
And where was Santa? He had left me emotionally wrung out with those letters, gotten me to agree to participate in yet more of his ridiculous antics, teleported me home and into this ridiculous getup, and then disappeared?
Oh hell no. “I should have said no,” I grumbled to Dixie who was currently oblivious to all the craziness around her. What was I thinking? I mentally berated myself. Even if he really was Santa, he couldn’t do anything to change the past. I’m in my thirties, not some six-year-old child. I don’t need a Daddy. I was heated now, stomping around the room with such fervor, I nearly tripped over my own feet, thanks to the ridiculous slippers I was wearing. Shrieking, I sat on the edge of my bed and ripped them off my feet, hurling them across the room with a satisfied grin. That was slightly better, I thought, as they hit the mirror on my closet door. I caught a glimpse of myself and rolled my eyes. I looked ridiculous. Flinging off the hat, I went for the braids next. Carefully undoing the perfect plaits, I fluffed my hair and pulled it back into my favorite messy bun. The next thing to go had to be these ridiculous pajamas.
Already feeling more like myself, I pulled open the bottom drawer of my dresser, and rummaged through my favorite lounge clothes, pulling out a pair of yoga pants and a shirt from a local bar that had a drawing of two monkeys doing it. That was more like it. Far more apropos of a thirty-one-year-old professional woman.
I was thinking maybe a shower before I changed, to wash off the tears I had cried and the stench of ridiculousness I was currently feeling. I grabbed a fresh bra and panties from my top drawer and padded toward my adjoining bathroom. I shut the door behind me and had put my hand on the shower faucet when I heard him bellow my name. Well, my name, and that ridiculous nickname he insisted on calling me. He announced gleefully that breakfast was ready.
So, he was here. And apparently, he had cooked breakfast. What the hell?
I contemplated ignoring him and seeing how long it would take him to disappear, but curiosity got the better of me again. Exactly what did he have planned anyway? I had to know. I had agreed to some Christmas magic Daddy weekend thing, and I was going to stick it out.
At least for the weekend. Come Monday, I was changing the locks, putting bars on the window, and figuring out some way to proof the place against magical mystery men who seemed to pop in and out at will.
He called for me again, and I sighed, turned off the faucet, and padded down the hall. I was in too far to quit now.
Watching her emotional reaction as I had read her forgotten letters out loud had almost been my undoing. Getting through dinner without throwing them down on the table and pulling her into my lap had taken every ounce of strength and self-control I currently possessed, but I had needed that kind of emotionally gutted reaction from her. It told me that my plan, however unconventional, was on the right track. When I decid
ed we would have a Daddy weekend, the idea had touched my soul and left me feeling warm and protective. By the time I had been through planning out details before our date, I was sure that I wanted it more than she needed it. But she did need it. Of that I was certain. That desperate little girl inside her was alive and well, and as soon as I got through the tough outer shell, the rest would be like feeding carrots to a reindeer.
I sipped my coffee as I flipped the last of the pancakes then turned around to survey my handiwork. Something about actually cooking the breakfast, instead of making it magically appear, was satisfying. I hoped my little elf appreciated it once she recovered from the time manipulation and switcheroo I had pulled on her. “Crystal! It’s time for breakfast, my little elf!” I hollered down the short hallway, keeping my eyes on the breakfast table.
The table was full of festive decorations and delicious breakfast offerings. I had whipped up a huge stack of fluffy pancakes, a pile of crisp bacon, and half a dozen perfectly prepared eggs. And, of course, hot chocolate with tiny Christmas tree marshmallows. It looked like my mother’s table every Christmas afternoon when my father finally woke up after sleeping off his long night of deliveries. The only problem was the rest of my decorations from my first visit had disappeared. I had known they would, of course, but it was still disappointing. My little brat had boxed everything up and put it out with the trash, but a simple snap brought the boxes all back to me. It actually worked better this way because now we could decorate together. It was part of the fun.
“What the fuck?”
I cringed when I heard the vulgar language coming from behind me. “That will have to be the first lesson you learn, my little elf. Christmas and cursing do not go together. We don’t use that kind of vulgar language at the North Pole. If you must cuss, say things like son of a nutcracker, or jingle balls, or cringle crap.”
“Cringle crap? Jingle balls? You’re out of your motherfucking mind.”
The thought of spanking her sexy backside again had my cock twitching with excitement, but the juxtaposition of her filthy mouth and the adorable little Christmas pj’s I had picked out melted that fantasy from my mind, and I was back in Daddy mode. She looked adorably cozy covered from neck to toe in teddy-bear elves.
“I may be out of my merry fruitcaking mind, but you, little elf, are getting a spanking. Right after we eat.”
Her eyes widened as she took in the breakfast table.
“Oh God. I’d hoped it was a dream, but it’s like every time I wake up it gets worse and worse,” she mumbled as she made her way to the coffeepot, turning to glare at me when she found it empty. “All this and you couldn’t have made coffee? What the hell is wrong with you?” She shook the empty pot in my direction.
“Actually, I did make coffee. I made it and then I drank it. Your hot cocoa is on the table.”
“I don’t drink hot cocoa. I am not a child. I want coffee. I need coffee to deal with life in general, but with all this,” she hollered, flailing her arms at the table, “I’m going to need the coffee strong as shit with some Bailey’s Irish Cream topping it off.”
“What kind of Daddy would I be if I allowed my little girl to drink coffee or alcohol?” I questioned, shaking my head at her as I inwardly chortled at her coffee-craving rant. This was going to be far more difficult than I had originally anticipated. That just meant it would be far more rewarding as well. “You need to stop cussing at me, little elf, or there will be consequences.” I quirked my brow, subtly reminding her of our agreement.
She rubbed her temples. “I cannot with you right now. This is too much. I went thirty years without a father. I do not need one now!” She balled her fists at her sides and stomped her foot before turning around and opening the cupboard above her. “Where is my coffee?” she snapped.
I crossed my arms and steeled myself for her tantrum to reach epic proportions. “It’s put away. You will not be having any coffee this weekend, little elf. You agreed to give me the weekend, and that is my decision. No coffee. Not now, and not later.”
“Fuck you and the fucking reindeer you rode in on. I’m an adult, and I can have coffee if I want to. Give it back right now!” she shrieked, stomping her feet like an overtired toddler.
I unbuttoned the sleeves of my flannel shirt and rolled them up to my elbows as I listened to her continue her tirade about domineering fake Santas taking over her life. I was about to show her exactly how Santa felt about her behavior, but I gave her one more chance to redeem herself. “Crystal, you have already earned a spanking for your language and your behavior. And now it will be happening sooner rather than later.”
She stopped yelling long enough to pick up a coffee mug and hurl it in my direction. I caught it in midair and set it on the table between us before advancing on her. She could see from my expression that I meant business, and she quickly backed away, her eyes wide.
“Don’t you dare!” she yelled as she backed away as quickly as I advanced. Before she could run, I grabbed her arm. She turned to punch me, but I ducked and threw her over my shoulder. Carrying her back into the bedroom, I peppered her backside with some warning swats. “This is not how I wanted to start our special weekend, little girl, but your behavior is deplorable, and Daddy does not appreciate it.”
“You are not my father!” she yelled, kicking her feet in the air and slamming her fists into my back.
As soon as we were in her room, I sat down on the bed and set her on her feet in front of me. Keeping a tight hold on her hands, I channeled my own father and gave her the sternest look I could muster. “You’re right. I’m not your father. I wish I could bring him back for you, but I cannot. However, you agreed to let me be your Daddy for the weekend to introduce you to the magic of Christmas, did you not?”
She tugged her arms, testing my hold. “You tricked me. You didn’t tell me about any of this.”
“I also didn’t tell you I was taking you on my sleigh or any of the other things that occurred last night, and you didn’t complain.”
“That was different.” She pouted.
“Was it? You had no control of where we went, what we did, or what we ate. I took care of everything just as I have this morning.” Her resolve was melting. She wanted this badly, I could tell, but she was having a hard time letting go of her control. A spanking would help to get her in the mindset I needed her to be in to get the most out of everything I had planned for us this weekend.
“But you took my coffee.” Her arguments were getting weaker by the second, and her shoulders sagged.
“Coffee isn’t good for little girls.”
“But I’m not a little girl.”
“You are my little girl this weekend,” I said firmly, determined to stop the coffee argument before it got too out of hand. “I am your Daddy, and I am going to take care of you as such. I’m going to spoil you thoroughly. We are going to do all of the things you ever dreamed about doing with your Daddy and then some.” I let go of one of her hands, smiling when she did not try to run again, and pulled the folded letters out of my pocket. Holding them up between us I threw out my Hail Mary. If she was still reluctant to continue, I wasn’t sure how I would move forward. “The little girl from these letters still lives in here.” I tapped her chest with the papers. “And she deserves to experience the magic of Christmas with a loving Daddy, doesn’t she?”
I sent up a silent thank you when Crystal sighed and nodded, tears filling her eyes.
“Will you let me be that Daddy, little elf?”
What are you doing, Crystal? Bail now! Tell him he’s nuts, and you want nothing to do with any of this! “Yes.” No!
“Thank you, sweetheart.” He put the letters next to him on the bed and pulled me into his lap. Why I wrapped my arms around him and cuddled in tight, I will never know, but I did and it felt…right.
“I have completely lost my mind,” I mumbled into his chest, and he chuckled.
“Not so, little elf. Now, let’s handle our business, and then we will
eat breakfast. You are going to need lots of energy for all of the activities I have planned.”
“What business?” I peered up at him suspiciously, but I was pretty sure I knew exactly what he was referring to.
“I told you. You’ve earned yourself a spanking.”
“I hoped that was an empty threat.”
“Daddies don’t make empty threats, little one. They make promises, and they keep them. And my promise to you is this: You are going to learn about the magic of Christmas either on my knee or over it, little elf.”
I groaned and held his neck tighter when I felt him try to lift me off his knee. “I don’t want a spanking.” I faintly remembered the sting from my unexpected first trip over his knee.
“You should have thought about that before you threw a tantrum.” He peeled my hands from behind his neck and stood me in front of him once more. “My little elf does not say naughty words. She does not demand things after Daddy has already said no. She certainly does not throw things at her Daddy. If any of those things happen again, this spanking will feel like a holly-jolly love tap, understand?”
I covered my face in embarrassment. I had done all of those things, but in my defense, I was uncaffeinated. “I wasn’t thinking because I didn’t have coffee.”
“Well, you need to learn to control that temper and that mouth. Clean up your language, or I will clean it up for you, with a bar of soap.”
Covering my mouth, I shook my head vehemently. He had no idea what he was asking. I’d been cussing since I was ten. My mom had the mouth of a sailor, and she never cared much about it. How the heck was I going to quit?
“This will leave you with a nice reminder to watch your mouth,” Yule said with a chuckle as he pulled me over his knee. He had done it again, I noted. I was going to have to be very careful around this man as it seemed he could read my mind.
Once he settled me over his knee, reality set in. I was going to be spanked like an errant child. My only experience with spanking was the abrupt assault on my backside that marked the moment we met.
