“Which shall it be?” Søren asked Kingsley.
“Better let her come,” Kingsley said. “It is Christmas.”
“Then you should do the honors,” Søren said.
As Søren moved in her, faster now, Kingsley stroked Nora’s swollen clitoris. The hard little knot throbbed against his fingertips. She lifted her hips in quick pants and pulled hard against the rope cuffs. The bed shifted and rocked as Søren fucked her and Kingsley fingered her. Her exquisite full breasts rose and fell with her breaths. Kingsley caught her nipple between his lips and sucked it while she writhed and squirmed and dug her heels into the sheets, her fingers clinging to the headboard. Søren went at her hard, pounding her mercilessly while Kingsley edged her closer and closer to release. When she was there, and he knew it because of the high arch of her back, he pushed two fingers into her vagina, and crooked them, digging into the deep hollow of her g-spot.
Nora didn’t orgasm. She exploded. Her pussy contracted so hard around Kingsley’s fingers it hurt. She shuddered under Søren, shuddered around his cock and even he, master of self-control in such moments, gasped quietly and dug his hand roughly into the soft flesh of her hip.
Now spent, Nora collapsed back onto the bed.
“Jesus Christmas,” she sighed between rasping gasps. “I think you fucked my spine. Can you put iodine on a pussy? My vagina’s going to be in traction for a week.”
“Are these compliments?” Søren asked, smiling down at her. He stroked her forehead gently, tenderly brushing the damp hair off her face.
“It’s a fact,” she said. Kingsley smiled blissfully as he lay on his side next to her, lightly fondling her breasts for no other reason than it pleased him to do so, and she was in no position to object.
“I suppose I should finish so we can sleep,” Søren said.
“Sleep is overrated.” Kingsley could do this all night with them.
“Do you know what isn’t overrated?” Nora asked. “Cocksucking.”
“Underrated, in fact,” Kingsley said.
“Are you hinting at something, Eleanor?” Søren asked.
“You might have broken my pussy,” she said. “So if you want to come inside me, I’m thinking my mouth might be the best bet. If it pleases you, sir.”
She looked at Kingsley and grinned, her eyes alight with erotic mischief.
“I’ll allow it,” Søren said. “Though I think you’re offering so I’ll untie you from the bed. If you attempt to murder me for telling you to hush earlier, I’ll make you sleep on the floor without a blanket, and if you think I won’t do it, ask Kingsley how many times I’ve punished him that way.”
“Seven,” Kingsley said. “Not that I kept count.”
He’d kept count.
“I have no ulterior motives, I swear,” Nora said, a sure sign she was lying.
Søren quickly loosened the rope cuffs so Nora could free her hands. She sat up slowly and stretched as Søren lay back, his head propped on a pillow. Nora slid on top of him, kissed him on his mouth, a deep kiss that Søren returned with teeth and tongue and passion. Nora broke the kiss first but only to kiss his neck and then his broad chest, his hard stomach, his sides and his hips. She lingered long over the hips, and Kingsley knew she was engaging in both foreplay and torture. A true switch, she could please and tease all at once.
Søren, however, was a true dominant, and all it took was a pointed clearing of his throat to communicate to her that further delay would be against her best interests. Nora got the hint. She went up on her hands and knees between his thighs and took his cock into her mouth. Kingsley watched as she sucked him slowly and deeply into her throat before pulling out to the tip which she lavished with long licks of her tongue. But Kingsley wasn’t content to merely watch. He was hard from touching Søren so intimately and needed to come again. He knelt behind Nora, who was too engrossed in her task to even notice him slipping on a condom. But when he rose up on his knees behind her, took her by the hips, and started to enter her…she noticed.
She grunted—all she could do with her mouth full—but she didn’t stop sucking. Her vagina had seemingly recovered from its brush with death. It was hot and slick and welcoming as Kingsley pushed inside her, impaling her pussy as Søren impaled her mouth. Kingsley didn’t know which of them would come first—him or Søren—but smart money was on Kingsley. Really, no matter who came first, they were all winners here. And was there any better view in the world than this—Søren on his back, his cock in Nora’s mouth, his hands tight around her neck, and Kingsley’s cock inside her pussy? He pumped into her in short, fast thrusts as she sucked Søren. Kingsley might have lasted longer if he hadn’t made the mistake of looking at Søren. Nora gave masterful blow jobs—Kingsley knew this from experience—and even Søren could be unmanned by them. His head fell back on the pillow, his long throat exposed, his eyes closed, and his fingers digging into the nape of Nora’s neck with such force she was sure to have blue bruises by morning. Søren spread his legs wide and lifted his hips, fucking Nora’s mouth. The whole scene was so utterly obscene Kingsley couldn’t stand it. He let go, rutting into Nora’s dripping wet hole and came with a low cry. He heard a gasp, a low throaty gasp, and he saw Søren lift his hips once more and Kingsley knew he was coming into Nora’s mouth. Kingsley sat back on his knees as Søren collapsed onto his back.
Nora rose up, turned her head, and grabbed Kingsley hard to kiss him. It was a sudden kiss, unexpected, and when she opened her mouth against his, he nearly came again. She hadn’t swallowed Søren’s semen. She’d held it in her mouth and now passed it to him with a kiss. Kingsley took her face in his hands and kissed her harder than he ever had before. He licked every drop of come out of her mouth and swallowed it with a hunger for the taste of Søren he didn’t know he still had in him.
And when he’d taken every drop of come from her, she pulled back and licked her lips.
Then she winked at him.
“Merry Christmas, King.”
And from the bed, Søren said, “Do I want to know what that was about?”
Both Kingsley and Nora agreed he probably did not.
A few minutes later, after water was drunk and lights turned out, the three of them lay in Søren’s bed, warm and cozy under his thick winter quilt.
Nora lay stretched on top of Søren, her head in the center of his chest, eyes closed and seemingly sound asleep.
“How does she do that?” Kingsley asked, lying on his side next to Søren. “She falls asleep just like that.”
“You’d crash hard, too, if you’d just taken two cocks in you at the same time,” Nora murmured sleepily.
“Shh…” Søren said, stroking her back. “Sleep, Little One.”
“Is it all right if we stay?” Kingsley said.
“I wouldn’t have turned out the lights if it wasn’t,” Søren said. “And even if it wasn’t, she’s out already.”
“Are we sure she’s asleep this time?” Kingsley asked.
Søren took a strand of her hair in his fingers, and tickled her nose with it. She slept on. As Nora was on Søren’s chest, Kingsley took his usual place on Søren’s stomach. That lasted all of about one minute before Søren sighed heavily.
“This is profoundly uncomfortable,” Søren said.
“For you, maybe,” Nora said. “I’m nice and toasty.”
“I am a person, not a heating pad. Eleanor, get off of me, please. You too, Kingsley.”
“I’d rather get off for you,” she said.
Søren rewarded that cheek with a hard slap to her ass. Nora giggled and rolled onto her side.
“Kids,” Kingsley said. “Can never get them to sleep when they know Santa is coming.”
Søren stretched out on his back. Even in the darkness, Kingsley could see him close his eyes and ready himself for sleep. Kingsley would sleep, too, eventually, but not yet. He wanted to enjoy this moment in Søren’s bed with his new mistress and his old master.
“Kingsley,” Søren said s
oftly.
“Oui?”
“I do want to know what that was about.”
Kingsley grinned. “The snowballing?”
“Yes. That.”
“So, ah…earlier tonight I was at Chez Maîtresse, and I might have—and this was a joke, I promise—I might have said that all I wanted for Christmas was to swallow your come. For old times’ sake.”
“Hmm…” Søren paused to digest this information. “I’m glad Eleanor was the intermediary on delivering that particular gift and not Santa Claus.”
“What? You’ve never had your cock sucked by a man in a red suit with a white beard?”
“As a matter of fact, I have not.”
“You and I lived very different lives in the late eighties, mon ami.”
“Thank God.”
Søren rolled onto his side, facing Nora. He adjusted his pillow and moved the quilt up higher. The sky had cleared—no more snow tonight—and the moon shone its light in through Søren’s bedroom window. Kingsley rolled to face Søren’s back and, before he could stop himself, he kissed Søren between the shoulder blades. He put his hand on Søren’s hip, and when Søren didn’t object, Kingsley gently touched him.
“It’s still there, I promise,” Søren said.
“I thought she might have sucked it off.”
“I tried,” Nora said.
“Eleanor,” Søren said, “sleep or death? You decide.”
She quickly feigned snoring.
Although he was soft, Kingsley still liked feeling Søren’s cock in his hand. He held it until Søren grabbed him around the wrist with so much force Kingsley winced. If Søren gripped him any tighter, he might break a bone in the wrist.
Ah, like old times.
“Sorry,” Kingsley said and started to pull his hand away. But Søren didn’t let him. Instead, he pulled Kingsley closer until he lay flush against Søren’s back. He put his nose to the back of Søren’s neck and fell asleep breathing the scent of snow and prayers.
Kingsley woke at dawn and found Nora asleep still, basking in the pale watery light of Christmas morning, looking almost angelic but for the black and blue bruise on her neck, a gift from Søren’s fingers. Kingsley felt the mattress shift slightly, and he rolled over to find Søren sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in his black trousers and t-shirt. He was freshly showered and shaved, the blond hair looking perfect as always. He was putting on his socks. New black socks.
“Nice socks,” Kingsley said.
“Santa left them for me under the tree,” Søren said.
“I couldn’t decide between getting you socks or getting you underwear, and then I remembered I don’t approve of underwear.”
“The socks are perfect,” Søren said. “Thank you.”
Kingsley glanced at the bedside clock. Six a.m.
“Ah, do we need to go?” Kingsley asked.
“Not yet,” Søren said. “And you don’t have to sneak out. My brother-in-law and his girlfriend are allowed to visit me on Christmas morning. It’s hardly a scandal.”
“If you don’t want a scandal, wipe that smile off your face or everyone will figure out you got laid last night.”
“I’ll tell them it’s Christmas cheer,” Søren said.
Kingsley slowly stretched out. He was sore from last night’s sex, his favorite sort of pain. He glanced over at Nora, seemingly sound asleep.
“Dead to the world,” Søren said.
“You sure?” Kingsley asked.
“Let’s find out.” Søren whistled softly. “Eleanor? Pancakes?”
Nothing.
“We wore her out,” Kingsley said.
“We’re good at that.” Søren started to stand and Kingsley stopped him, reaching out to put a hand on Søren’s arm.
“What is it?”
“Can I tell you something before she wakes up?” Kingsley asked. “It’s a confession.”
Søren’s eyebrow went up half an inch. “Go on.”
“I did something stupid yesterday,” Kingsley said in French. He waited for the inevitable joke, Søren saying something like “Shocking” or “Only yesterday?”.
But there was no joke. Søren simply nodded for Kingsley to continue.
“When I was Christmas shopping,” Kingsley said, “I went into a toy store. I saw this little soccer ball, a small one for toddlers. I picked it up and a woman asked me how old my son was. I told her he was one-and-a-half.”
Kingsley’s eyes burned. If he and Nora hadn’t…if they had decided to…if they had gone ahead with…yes, he or she would be about a year and a half old now. And he never thought about that. Almost never, but yesterday in the toy store, he had thought about it for the first time in months, thought about how he’d failed her, how he’d failed himself. Right after he’d gone to Nora’s house with a made-up excuse to be with her.
He waited for Søren to absolve him or mock him or order him to lay there and think about why Kingsley tortured himself like this sometimes. Søren did none of these things. Instead, he ran his fingers through Kingsley’s hair once, twice, and on the third time through, he tugged Kingsley’s hair, hard. Hard enough, in fact, to take the pain away.
“When does Juliette come back?” Søren asked, his fingers still deep in Kingsley’s hair.
“Tomorrow.” Kingsley smiled when he said it. Thinking of Juliette’s return always made him smile.
“You’ll feel better when she’s back.”
True. Kingsley only got like this these days when Juliette was gone. Next year, he’d tie her to the bed to keep her from leaving him on Christmas again. She wouldn’t complain.
He sat up and Kingsley lightly punched Søren in the upper arm. “You’re a good priest.”
“Don’t tell anyone that,” Søren said with a wink.
Kingsley stretched out his back.
“Can you get her up and dressed?” Søren said, nodding toward Nora, still lost in dreamland.
“I can do that,” Kingsley said.
“I’ll see you downstairs.”
Søren started to leave when Kingsley glanced at Nora, still sleeping. “Hey,” he said to Søren in a half-whisper. “Will you make coffee?”
Søren gave him a puzzled look. “Coffee it is.”
Once Søren was gone, Kingsley rolled over and lightly touched Nora’s shoulder. She wore the tiniest smile on her lips. What did dominatrixes dream about, he wondered. Later he would make her show him.
“Wake up, Maîtresse. Time for sadists to rise and shine,” he said.
“Five more minutes, Big Poppa,” she said in a pouting little girl’s voice.
“Oh, no, no, no,” he said. “Don’t get me hard on Christmas morning.”
She grinned, her eyes still closed.
“Elle, get dressed and go downstairs,” Kingsley said. “I got you a present.”
Her eyes flew open. “Present? What is it?”
“You’ll have to go down to see it.”
She slowly dragged herself out of bed and pulled on her clothes.
“Better be good,” she said as she walked to the door.
“Oh, it’s good,” Kingsley said. “Santa King delivered exactly what you wanted.”
Kingsley lingered in Søren’s shower for a good ten minutes. He wanted to let Nora have a couple cups of coffee with Søren before he joined them. He toweled off and dressed in yesterday’s clothes, made the bed as best he could, and went down to the kitchen.
He entered to find Nora refilling Søren’s coffee cup, bustling and beaming like a new bride the morning after a very successful wedding night.
“Morning, King,” she said, still grinning. “Your coffee’s getting cold.”
She’d poured a cup for him, too—in a Sacred Heart Catholic Church mug, of course—and for some reason that touched him so much he had trouble taking his first swallow.
“What’s on your schedule today?” Nora asked Søren as she sat in the chair next to Kingsley’s.
“Mass at seven and ten. The
n Claire is coming to pick me up, and I’m staying with her in the Hamptons for three days,” he said.
“You’ll miss our Christmas party,” Kingsley said. “Glad I brought you your gift.”
“Yours is up there,” Søren said, nodding at the refrigerator.
Kingsley picked up the small package wrapped in brown paper and white twine.
“Should I open it now?” Kingsley asked.
“Later,” Søren said. “I have to get to church. Some of us have to work on Christmas.”
“We should get going, too,” Nora said, looking at Kingsley. “Take me to your place and put breakfast in me, please.”
“I’ll put something in you,” Kingsley said.
She started to stand but Søren grabbed her and dragged her into his lap. “Merry Christmas, Little One,” he said, rocking her in his arms.
“Merry Christmas,” she said. They kissed, a quick gentle kiss, all tenderness, no passion. It was too early for that, and they were spent and tired from the night before. Kingsley pulled on his coat and soon they were at the door, ready to leave.
“See you soon?” Nora asked.
“Soon,” Søren said. He kissed her forehead. Kingsley held out his hand for Søren to shake. When Søren took it, Kingsley leaned in and kissed Søren right on the lips.
“Mistletoe drill,” Kingsley said. Then he pulled back and walked out of the house before Søren could kiss him or kill him in return.
Nora put her arm through his as they walked away from the rectory toward her car still parked down the block. She had a strange look on her face.
“You okay?” Kingsley asked her.
She pulled a framed photograph out of her handbag—a picture of her and Søren in his mother’s home in Copenhagen. Søren’s two Danish nieces sat on their laps, smiling. Anyone who didn’t know otherwise would assume Nora and Søren were married and these were their two beautiful daughters, blondes like their father.
“My Christmas present,” she said.
“A private family photo,” Kingsley said. “A very sadistic Christmas gift.”
“A punch in the stomach would have hurt less.” She cradled the photo in her hands like a Fabergé egg. “What did he give you?”
Winter Tales Page 15
