A Hot Daddy For Christmas

He's In My Room🥵

Ariana's POV

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‎“This,” Cami announced, throwing her arms wide, nearly knocking over a delicate ceramic vase, “is home.”

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‎I took in the apartment. It was stunning—all glass, chrome, and white lacquer, looking straight out onto the bustling streets of Madrid. It was temporary housing provided by my hospital, located in a hyper-modern block near the city center. It was a sterile luxury I definitely couldn’t afford on a nurse’s salary, but Cami insisted I take it. *“It’s a Christmas bonus, Ari! Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, darling.”*

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‎“It’s incredible, Cami. Too incredible,” I said, setting my suitcase down. The simple worn leather of my bag looked out of place against the polished marble floor.

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‎Cami waved a dismissive hand, already digging into the mini-fridge.

“Nonsense. Dad’s hospital gets these flats for VIPs and visiting specialists. You’re a VIP. And you’re visiting. So drink some cava and unpack your depressing sensible cardigans.”

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‎We spent the evening unpacking and talking about everything and nothing. The loss of her mother, María, still stung, but Cami channeled her grief into fiercely living for both of them. We spoke about my mom and Michael, and Cami cheered the loudest, relieved Isabella was finally happy. We skipped over the details of my ex, Tyler, because Cami knew the mere mention of his name could still make me flinch.

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‎“Oh! Just remembered ,” Cami said suddenly, popping the cork on a bottle of cava. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there right away. I wanted to introduce you to my dad, but there was some massive emergency at the hospital. He had to drop me at the curb and speed off.”

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‎I paused, champagne glass halfway to my mouth. “Your dad? The doctor?”

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‎“The doctor, the legend, the man who thinks he’s too busy to have a social life. But I promise you, you’ll meet him on Christmas Eve. He’s hosting the holiday party this year.” Cami shrugged, totally unconcerned. “Anyway, he rushed back to the hospital. Hopefully, he didn’t accidentally run anyone over in the process.”

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‎I shook the image of the rude, devastating stranger from my head. No way was that intense, dark-eyed man Cami’s dad. He had looked like a storm, not a family man hosting a party.

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‎The next few days were a blur of Spanish culture shock and Cami-led errands. We hit the markets and the stores. Cami, a master of retail warfare, declared my entire wardrobe "too beige for Spain." She bought me deep reds, rich emerald greens, and a pair of ridiculously expensive leather leggings that made me feel like an entirely different woman.

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‎ On December 19th, I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, testing the limits of the new leather leggings. They were tight, unforgiving, and exactly the opposite of what Ariana Cole normally wore.

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‎Cami, sprawled across the white sofa scrolling through her phone, lifted an eyebrow. “See? I told you. You look like you’re about to commit some glorious, delicious sin.”

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‎“I’m about to commit an organizational sin. I have to go to the hospital tomorrow morning to finalize my paperwork,” I countered, trying to sound sensible.

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‎Cami threw her phone onto a velvet cushion. “*Boring*,” she drew out the word. “Look, this is Madrid. You’re single, right? You need a palate cleanser. Something to remind you that men aren’t all lying, unfaithful pieces of trash.”

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‎She leaned forward. “Especially since you’re going to be working at the Hospital del Sol. That place is crawling with hot doctors. Not my dad, obviously, but his colleagues? Total fire. If you meet a doctor who makes your pulse jump, you are to flirt, Ari. Full stop. No more stiff cardigans or stiff apologies.”

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‎“Fine,” I said, the word coming out husky. The challenge was tempting, but the memory that surfaced wasn’t the idea of a "nice doctor." It was the encounter at the airport.

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‎I didn't tell Cami about the collision. I didn't tell her about the man who hadn't apologized.

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‎I just remembered the *sound* of his voice, that deep, gravelly baritone speaking Spanish: *“You were the one standing in the middle of the walkway, niña.”*

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‎I remembered the silver watch glinting on his wrist and the way the suit fabric pulled taut across his powerful shoulders as he turned away. I remembered the thick, dark hair with the streaks of silver at the temples, making him look less mature and more… dominant.

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‎He was a jerk, but every instinct in my body—the submissive part Tyler had called "stiff"—had been instantly alert and craving that challenge.

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‎“I promise to focus on my personal growth,” I said, giving Cami a teasing smile.

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‎Cami finally left, and I showered, preparing for my first trip to the hospital the next day. I knew I needed to maintain my composure. I needed to be the professional, disciplined nurse I had trained to be. I would save lives and focus on building my new future.

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‎I slid into the crisp, cool sheets of the temporary bed, exhaustion pulling at my limbs. But sleep wouldn’t come. The apartment was too quiet, too unfamiliar. The hum of the city below felt distant, like it belonged to someone else’s life.

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‎I turned onto my side and stared at the ceiling, replaying the past few days—the airport, the chaos, the cold smirk of that stranger. God, the way his eyes had moved over me. The way he’d said niña, like he already knew what buttons would make my breath catch.

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‎My thighs pressed together involuntarily.

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‎“Stop,” I whispered into the darkness. “He was rude. He was an asshole. He isn’t—”

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‎But my mind wouldn’t let him go.

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‎The shape of his jaw.

‎The command in his voice.

‎The absolute, unshakable dominance he carried without effort.

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‎I blinked slowly. My eyelids grew heavy.

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‎In the silence, the sound of my heartbeat deepened, echoing in my ears… then fading… then stretching. My vision softened around the edges, the room blurring into warm shadows.

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‎Somewhere between one breath and the next, the air changed—thickened—like heat rolling over my skin.

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‎And suddenly…

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‎I wasn’t alone.

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‎A dark silhouette stood at the far corner of my bedroom, still and impossibly tall. My pulse stumbled.

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‎I tried to speak, but sound wouldn’t come out. My body felt heavy, sinking deeper into the mattress.

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‎He stepped forward.

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‎Only then did I recognize him.

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‎He takes a step closer to the bed, his intense gaze fixed upon me. "I told you to learn to be aware of your surroundings, niña," he says, his deep voice sending shivers down my spine. Despite the initial shock, I find myself inexplicably drawn to his commanding presence.

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‎As he approaches the bed, I remain still, watching with bated breath. He reaches out, his strong hand gently caressing my cheek. To my surprise, I lean into his touch, savoring the warmth of his skin against mine.

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‎I should be screaming but I was trapped, not by thugs, but by those cold, dark eyes. He was wearing a suit; but it was open, exposing a chest that was broad and heavy. His hands, those hands with the pronounced veins I had noticed near his watch, were gripping my hips, pulling me close. His breath was hot, smelling faintly of expensive cologne .

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‎His fingers trail down my neck, sending tingles through my body. "Such a pretty little thing, aren't you?" he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. I shiver at the husky tone, feeling a rush of heat pool between my thighs.

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‎His other hand finds its way under my shirt, fingertips dancing across the soft curves of my stomach. I let out a small gasp, but it's not fear - it's anticipation. Desire. "You're so responsive," he praises, his palm pressing firmly against my skin. "I bet you'd love every inch of my body inside you....

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‎Fucking Helll...

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‎I woke with a gasp, the heavy silk sheets tangled around my legs. My skin was damp, my heart was hammering a frantic rhythm, and the dark, potent scent of the stranger lingered in the air.

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‎My chest rose and fell rapidly as I stared up at the unfamiliar white ceiling. It had been decades since I’d had a dream that vivid. That demanding.

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‎I reached down, my cheeks burning with a deep, shameful heat,jeez.

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‎“What the f**k just happened!!!!!!!

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