Her Night With Santa (Toy Runners, #1)

by Adriana Herrera

My uncle Mel, a.k.a. King Melchior, is one of the three kings of the Magi, who for millennia have delivered gifts to brown, Christian children worldwide.

Especially my decision to leave my six-figure paying design job to start my own adult toy company.

I have this gorgeous mansion by the ocean all to myself until the morning and I’m going to go hard on the hedonism.

He’s also the only one in the family currently not looking down his nose at me because I’m thirty-five, unmarried, and just trashed my perfectly good job to design ergonomic butt plugs and vibrators.

Just like most people don’t realize that for the last decade all the children writing lists to Santa Claus have been getting their presents from a butch lesbian with a penchant for winged eyeliner and red lipstick.

Being the first female Santa in more than a thousand years, means I have to do my job better than any of the dudes that did it before me. And even with the full support of my dad, I still feel the pressure of living up to the legend.

Holy snowballs! There’s a gorgeous, curvy, caramel-skinned goddess on my bed with a vibrator pressed to her pussy, wearing nothing but nipple clamps. I feel a rush of liquid pooling between my thighs, and I’m certain my brain’s shorting with this much new information to process all at once.

“If you’re part of the amenities, my answer is yes. Yes please, festive butch fantasy. I would very much like to have whatever you’re offering.”

I enjoy a lot of things about sex. I can appreciate any lover’s body and all the parts they come with. But I love pussy. I love how it smells, how it tastes, how it looks, how it feels on my hand, and on my tongue. I worship it, really. I can spend hours tasting a lover. Feeling orgasm after orgasm drenching my fingers and soaking my tongue. I’m a faithful and devoted servant of good pussy, and Kristina’s is fucking perfect.

I’m pretty much living my best sapphic porno life.

“Who is that, babe?” she asks pressing kisses to the nape of my neck. I feel that casual, amorous, sleepy “babe” in the deepest recesses of my soul. I want to be her babe.