Santa Daddy (Fantastical Daddy Doms Book 3) by Allysa Hart & Rayanna Jamison

Author:Allysa Hart & Rayanna Jamison [Hart, Allysa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-11-25T00:00:00+00:00

I woke up the next morning feeling lighter and freer than I ever remember feeling. I was very surprised to find that my bottom was still a bit sore and tender to the touch as I shifted in bed, but the memory of the spanking put a smile on my face. Yawning, I sat up and stretched, wondering what the day had in store. Yesterday had been full of surprises, and I found myself excited to see what my Santa Daddy would come up with next. I quickly dressed and pulled my hair into a ponytail. The smell of cinnamon permeated the air, and I let my nose and growling stomach lead me to the source.

“Oh my God. I’m going to weigh a thousand pounds if you keep feeding me like this,” I groaned when I caught sight of the heaping tray of fresh cinnamon rolls.

Santa smiled. “You could use a little meat on those bones.”

I shook my head, wondering how early he had risen to bake, or if he had conjured these up with a snap of his fingers. “Do you even sleep?”

“Sure I do. I don’t need many hours, especially this time of year when there is so much to be done. Did you sleep well, little elf?”

I felt a pang of guilt that I was keeping him from his work, but then I reminded myself that the weekend was his idea not mine.

“My father is overseeing my duties right now, little elf. It’s tradition for the first year.”

“Get out of my head,” I muttered, sitting down at the table.

“I can’t help it.” Santa chuckled. “Your brain is an interesting place to be.”

“Didn’t your mom ever tell you it was rude to spy on people like that? It’s a total invasion of privacy.” I was half kidding. I mean, it was kind of strange to think he heard every one of my innermost thoughts, but what could I do about it?

He chuckled, and I belatedly realized that every time he laughed it sounded more like “ho ho ho.” It was unreal. “No, she hasn’t had the chance. It’s kind of a new thing, a perk to the Santa gig,” he said with a wink, setting a frosted cinnamon bun on a snowflake-shaped plate in front of me. He followed it with a huge mug of cocoa, complete with a small mountain of whipped cream and red and green sprinkles. Setting it down, he kissed the top of my head.

“Good morning. You didn’t answer my question. How was your night?”

“Surprisingly restful. This looks delicious.”

“Fresh from my mother’s oven. I can’t take credit for this one.”

“I thought ‘real Daddies do things the hard way’?” I lowered the tone of my voice, trying to mimic his baritone timbre.

“Ha ha, very funny. Me and baking don’t mix. That’s one of the many reasons I need a Mrs. Claus. But I’m still working on that, so I called for backup.”

“Wait! Your mother is here?” I screeched and looked around in a panic, completely ignoring his Mrs.

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