Hello Dr Christmas by Olivia Noble

Author:Olivia Noble [Noble, Olivia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ThunderWords Press
Published: 2019-12-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Mr. Claus begins kissing me and removing my clothing. It seems silly to call him that in my head after he’s shared such intimate details about his life with me. But when he begins to touch me, I remember that I am still fairly drunk on good Christmas wine, and all the warmth floods back to my body.

I am also fairly drunk on him. On his body, and his scent, and his sexy sadness. I don’t think I’ve seen a man show so much emotion in… ever. Maybe witnessing the fact that he was able to care so deeply for his wife makes me wonder if there are any scraps of that affection left for me.

I mean, that woman’s leftovers are probably more delicious than any meal I’ve ever eaten.

As my dress falls to the floor, Mr. Claus realizes that I am still wearing my boots—or rather, one boot, and he moves to unzip that and slide it off my foot. I love watching him undress me. He is so careful and elegant in the way he moves. It’s kind of a reverse Cinderella moment.

But when he goes to remove my sock, I freak out.

“Wait!” I call out, halting him. “Leave my socks on! My sock, rather. Singular.” The other foot is still heavily wrapped up in bandages.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Yes, please.”

“Why?” he asks.

“Well, you know I injured that one ankle… but the other one is kind of bruised up too, and I just don’t want you to see how awful my feet look,” I say with embarrassment.

“Whatever you want, Mrs. Claus,” he says, as he begins to rain kisses along my calf and thigh. “You have amazing legs. Holy crap. You must work out a lot.”

“I do,” I say, moaning as his kisses move to my sensitive inner thighs.

One look at my feet will tell my whole life story. One look at my feet, and most men go running in the other direction.

Have you ever seen the feet of a prima ballerina? Google it. I dare you. There, that’s what my feet look like. Calloused as hell, warped and covered in weird nubs and bruises. Broken, smashed toenails, bleeding under the nails, black and blue. Horrible bunions that you wouldn’t believe could be possible on feet. My toes are usually covered in bandages where the skin cracks and bleeds, but not for the moment, because I haven’t danced in a few weeks. So I guess they are slightly less awful than usual, which is still pretty awful.

I’m usually proud of my feet. But when it comes to the bedroom, I realize that they aren’t the most delicate and feminine aspect of my body. Keeping my socks on is a way to hide my insecurity.

When Mr. Claus removes my underwear, and positions me on the bed so that he can begin to pleasure me with his tongue, I gasp and moan.

“I should probably warn you,” I tell him between moans, “that I’m… really bad at this.”

“What?” he asks, with his face still buried in me.

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