Romans & histoires Not So Saint Nick

Wilder: You’re just scared I’ll show up at your house and pull my zipper down. Niko: That selfie still gives me nightmares. Wilder: Thanks, I’m blushing. Anyway, Saint, have a great time, knock her up more and fuck her into submission if she gets mouthy or difficult. Saint: Uh … thanks for the advice, Wilder, that was real solid. Not.

Rachel snorted in annoyance and said, "I also wasted my time, and I have no regrets because I do like you!" Nicko responded coldly, "You really are stupid. Instead of wasting your time chasing me. You better just look for a single man out there. They are not married and don't have a girlfriend. It is more appropriate for you to take a serious relationship." Nicko stopped for a moment, then chuckled, "Or maybe you're not selling anymore?"

Kerstman’s told her. “I doubt he’ll be staying at our little house, anyway. Too much Christmas for him there, but I did want to, well, warn you.” Mr. Kerstman’s voice now took on an ominous air. “You’re so sweet, Molly. And our Nicholas, well, he’s a bit of a hmm...How would you describe our Nicholas, Suzanne?” “He’s not a complete Scrooge, but he’s pretty close,” Mrs. Kerstman said. “He hates Christmas.”

Nick is in his late 20s, whereas Paul is in his late 30s. Before the breakup, Nick constantly visited our home, and I always used to wonder what kind of relationship the two maintained with each other. Despite the age gap, they were pretty close, and there’s no denying they looked more or less alike. Nick is a bit shorter than Alex but is definitely tall, considering that Alex stands six feet, three inches. Nick's face is square-jawed, whereas Alex's is long and angular.

Nonna asked, grinning at him. Saint let out a sigh. "I don't know, Nonna. I haven't found the right one yet." "You need to look harder, dear. We want to have some great-grandchildren soon!" The table erupted in laughter, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes at their antics. Saint was twenty-two and didn't even finish college yet and now they wanted a baby out of him. Well, I couldn't blame them, my Papa had me at twenty-one and if he was alive today, he would be thirty-nine years old.

Sebastian chuckles, finding Killian in such a fragile state. He never thought he would get to see Killian in this way; scared out of his mind. Who knew the Bad Boy of Milestone High believes in fairies and monsters? "Hey, my boy ain't no atheist. Stop judging." Nick jumps in to defend his best friend all while chuckling himself. "It's hard not to."

=DISCLAIMER= ©2021 NOT A SAINT written by JL Dane All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental. PIRATING CONTENT IS ILLEGAL: If this content is captured and published, the offender can be traced and will face the full extent of the legal ramifications stated by the law.

Piper. I gape at him, caught off guard by the arrogance lacing his words. “No,” I snap, recovering. “The CEO got me this dress. Who the hell is Santa anyway? I’ve never heard of such a name.” His grin falters just a little, but he quickly recovers, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Santa,” he repeats, his tone dripping with mockery, “is an Alpha who can grant your every wish. But I suppose if you’d rather believe it was the CEO…”

By the time Yves Golding got home, it was already midnight. I was lying in bed, staring at a photo of him and Melissa Lane. His abs showed faintly beneath his red Santa suit as she leaned against them, eyes shyly closed. Their colleagues had left comments below the post, saying that they were a perfect match and that Yves was quite bold. Melissa commented, "You guys, stop making things up. Mr. Golding was just being kind by keeping a lonely soul like me company for Christmas!"

It sent a shiver down her spine as her name rolled off his tongue. She turned slowly, her pulse quickening. Santa Claus—or Nick, as he insisted the staff call him—wasn’t dressed in his usual festive red tonight. His black slacks clung to his muscular thighs, and the white shirt he wore was rolled up at the sleeves, exposing tanned forearms dusted with white hair. He wasn’t smiling. Her gaze darted to his hands, strong and, one of them gripping a clipboard. The other… empty, but she could imagine it holding things far more dangerous than a pen.