Jingle Balls: A Holiday Romantic Comedy Anthology

by Dylann Crush

  “Ooh,” I moaned, the breath knocked out of me on impact.

  I fluttered my eyes open and looked down at Prescott. No wonder I wasn’t seriously hurt. I’d landed on top of him.

  “Prescott? You okay?” I asked in alarm, trying to climb up his body to his face, when I probably should have just climbed off where I wouldn’t do more harm. But hello, muscles.

  His eyes blinked open, and I held my breath. The song switched to Jingle Bell Rock, back at a normal speed. Prescott lifted his head, his nose brushing mine, then his head dropped like a rock on the carpet. He burst out laughing and I heaved out my held breath as I rocked on top of him.

  I went to push off, relieved he was fine, but he held me close, laughter cutting off as he rolled us over with a speed not even the mechanical bull could replicate. I looked up at him, even happier to have him above me, even if we were now partially underneath the mechanical bull. My legs parted and his hips settled there like they’d found a new home.

  His smile was still in place, but his eyes held something else. Something deeper and more serious than I’d seen all night. He paused there, poised above me, the dangle of the bull’s balls right above his head in some twisted form of mistletoe. Then his head dropped, and his lips pressed to mine. My heart stopped and restarted again when I felt his tongue dance across the seam of my mouth. I opened for him, tasting the beer, the weird beer, and something uniquely Prescott.

  “I want you, Jazzie,” he muttered between kisses, his hands everywhere all at once.

  My hips shamelessly ground up against his, seeking the slide of him against me, the ten-inch proof that a man this handsome desired a nerdy scientist like me.

  “Me too, me too,” I mumbled back, wanting him more than I wanted to find the cure for infertility, or cancer, or anything bigger than just a one-night stand with Penelope Fines’ brother with a bull’s balls swinging above my head like a metronome.

  A quick tug here and a wrench there and before I could properly document all the sensations coursing through my body, we were naked. Skin to skin. Hot flesh with a dusting of coarse hair pressed against my soft white skin, lighting me up to a fevered pitch. His tattoos were massive, extending over every inch of available skin, the designs morphing into one huge canvas of muscled man. I think he impregnated me with just a glance at his ink.

  “Protection!” I blurted out, causing Prescott to lurch back, knocking his head against the balls and making them swing maniacally. Like a pro boxer, he dodged them, pulling me away from that sight that couldn’t be unseen.

  “Sorry about that,” he muttered, reaching for his pants on the floor, fumbling with his wallet, and coming back to me with a condom in hand.

  He slid the condom on while I adjusted my glasses to get a better look.

  What?

  It was for scientific purposes only, I assure you. I’d just never seen one that long and girthy at the same time. If I’d had my phone on me, I would have taken a picture just to examine it all over again later, the proof I needed to believe my ten-inch hypothesis.

  Prescott pushed me back down, his knee parting my thighs wider, his gaze almost frantic in the way it raked up and down my body.

  “You’re freaking gorgeous,” he said through a clenched jaw.

  “You don’t need to butter me up. I’m already willing,” I informed him.

  He stilled, that gaze turning into an inferno. “I don’t want you willing, Jazzie. I want you begging for it.”

  My breath caught and a thousand things I’d be willing to barter with flew through my head. I’d be the best goddamn beggar in the history of begging beggars if that’s what it took to ride this tattooed bull.

  “Yes, please,” I sputtered.

  He shook his head, and I wanted to crawl in a hole for disappointing him. Who had I become and where did Jazzie Michaels go? He slid down my body, and I pouted. Literally turned my bottom lip out like a two-year-old and pouted.

  “Not good enough,” he said, right before he face-planted between my thighs and licked his way into my heart like a drunk thief. A girl couldn’t survive fellatio that spectacular without growing a slight attachment.

  The song from the speakers switched to O Come All Ye Faithful and like a good girl, I came. Over and over and then some more when he didn’t let up. My body convulsed violently, and I could have sworn I saw Santa’s reindeer flying through the room by the time Prescott climbed up my torso.

  “Please, Prescott, please” I chanted, the words not even making sense to my own ears. I just knew I wanted. Something. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but my girly parts did as he slid inside, waiting patiently for me to adjust to him.

  “That’s. More. Like. It,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. A sheen of sweat dotted his forehead as he held himself back.

  O holy night, my insides were on fire, and I was full. Deliciously so. I bucked my hips, and he slid an inch further until I felt what I hoped were Prescott’s jingle balls and not the bull’s slap my sensitive flesh. Which gave me what seemed like a brilliant idea.

  “Let’s do it on the bull!” I sang triumphantly, running my hands through Prescott’s thick, dark hair.

  He blinked. “On the bull?”

  I nodded, suddenly energized after the first orgasm. Maybe there was something to the health benefits of kombucha after all. I’d never felt this good before.

  He paused, but then pulled out with a grimace, standing and reaching down to pull me up. My head only hit mid chest and boy, did I like that tattoo of a crown between his pec muscles. He climbed on the bull and then yanked me up to straddle him.

  “If I get a staph infection, I’m going to make you clean it and bandage it,” he said as he lifted my hips to line us up.

  I grabbed his shoulders and grimaced as the image came to mind. “Eww,” I muttered right as he let my body sink down on his lap, taking all ten inches. “Ooh.”

  With his feet in the stirrups, Prescott could thrust up into me as I held on and bounced. A giggle escaped as I watched him try to catch my nipple in his mouth, a split second too late each time. I took mercy on him and pried one hand off his shoulder to hold my breast to his face. He sucked eagerly, a dart of fire heading straight to my lady parts. It wasn't long before I felt that familiar pull, the one that wanted to suck me under and send me shooting for the stars.

  “Oh God,” I yelled. “Keep going.”

  Prescott thrust harder, and we lurched to the side, the bull starting to move.

  “Oh no,” I cried, chasing that orgasm and not really in the mood for a bull ride on top of the ride I was already taking.

  “Shit!” Prescott kept one hand on my hip and the other held on tight to the padded strap. The cords in his neck strained, and I watched the tattoos ripple like they’d come alive with each muscle in his body fully engaged.

  The bull leaned left, then right, and then bucked, sending me right over the edge with the exaggerated mechanical thrust. Prescott must have been right there with me as I heard him grunt in my ear, followed by a shudder. My eyes squeezed shut as I clutched on to him and rode out the best orgasm I’d ever had. The third time really was the charm. Or should I say three and a half?

  The bull lurched left again, oblivious to our pleasure, and we both slid off with a mangled scream. We made the trip a second time in one night, lying in a heap of limbs on the floor. I panted, not feeling a damn thing but bliss. If I had a broken bone, it would just have to wait. I would ride this high till the cows came home.

  5

  Prescott

  The next day dawned bright, despite the chill in the air. I had a certain blonde wrapped around my body, a faint snore letting me know she was recovering from our night activities. I guess what they said was true: the nerdy, quiet ones are actually the crazy ones. I’d never had a night like that. We didn’t get to sleep in my bed until dawn showed up. The silver lining to all that incredible sex being I was too exhausted to lie there and fret over my future in Auburn Hill.

&
nbsp; I was awake now though, the churn in my stomach letting me know I had some unfinished business to take care of. Previously, I would have been bummed to have to leave Auburn Hill to set up shop somewhere else, simply because it would have been a pain to move. But now? Now I had a hot scientist who blew my mind—among other body parts—and I wanted to stay in town for personal reasons.

  Who knew where she and I were headed, but I wanted the freedom to explore something with her beyond our Bonnie and Clyde adventure of last night. She shifted, her hair dragging across my chest as she rolled onto her back.

  “Did I ride a bull last night?” Her voice came out like a frog was strangling her.

  I froze, staring up at my ceiling fan. Did she not remember anything? She’d acted pretty damn sober by the time we got to my house. Oh shit.

  “Kidding!” She sat up in bed like a possessed kid in a horror flick, tossing back the covers and straddling me before I figured out how to approach the subject of last night.

  She looked damn good first thing in the morning, her blue eyes sparkling without her glasses to block their beauty, her hair a sexy halo mess around her face. My dick took notice too, and though he had some sore muscles this morning, he was valiantly attempting to rise to the occasion.

  “Got time for breakfast before I find out if I’ve been blackballed in Auburn Hill?” I asked, my hands exploring all the tantalizing pale flesh in front of me.

  “How about you spend another half hour in bed with me, and then I’ll make you my special pancakes?” She bit her lip, and my answer was an instant yes.

  “Is ‘special pancakes’ a code word for something else or actual pancakes?” One could never tell with this woman.

  She giggled and then kissed her way down my torso, where I soon forgot about breakfast, Kombrewcha, or even my first name. All I knew was Jazzie Michaels and her wicked mouth.

  “Call me later?” Jazzie asked quietly, a stark contrast to the bubbly woman I’d spent the morning with. She was heading home to shower while I dealt with the fallout of my Jingle Ball performance. The mood between us felt like the clock had struck midnight and our magical night was over. I didn’t believe in fairy tales and I didn’t believe for a second that Jazzie and I were over.

  I leaned into the window of the baby blue Cadillac to push her glasses back up her nose. “I’ll be counting down the minutes until I hear your voice, sweetheart.” I kissed her, thinking maybe I could deal with Hazel and the mayor later. Going home with Jazzie was a much better idea.

  Pulling back to float that plan out there, her lips lifted into a brilliant smile. “Go get your business stuff done and then come over. I don’t have to be at work until eight tomorrow. So many things we can do…”

  She bit her lip, and I had to adjust myself. Right. Work, then play.

  “Get out of here before I pull you out and spread you across this enormous hood.” I rapped my knuckles on the top of the car.

  She squealed and then blew me a kiss, pulling away from the curb and heading home. The car backfired two houses down and I nearly went down to the ground, thinking there was a drive-by shooting. I rubbed my chest. Not enough sleep last night to deal with everything going on in my life.

  Heading back inside, I grabbed my phone, wallet, and car keys. I’d walk to Coffee and grab breakfast for Hazel, then get my truck back from the curb outside the park where I’d left it last night. Then I’d bribe Hazel with everything I had. Depending on how that went, I’d hit up the mayor next. The plan relied on a lot of luck and the magic of pastries and caffeine, but I had little else to offer.

  Half an hour later, I knocked on Hazel’s door, a newly constructed home with a grand entrance. Maybe one day I’d have the resources to own something similar. The door whipped open and Hazel stood there, one eye closed and the other squinting at me like she’d had a rough night.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she muttered. Then she slammed the door shut in my face.

  Shit, this wasn’t going well at all. I hadn’t even given her the donuts fresh from Coffee. I waited a minute, and when she didn’t open the door back up, I turned, deciding I’d need a plan B.

  “You better have chocolate glazed.” Hazel’s voice came from behind me.

  I spun around and there she was, a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Both eyes open. I smiled widely and approached cautiously.

  “I got two chocolate glazed,” I sang, handing the bag to her and following her into the house.

  She shoved one in her mouth, half the donut disappearing in one bite before we even hit the kitchen. I was impressed. And while her mouth was occupied, I got busy apologizing.

  “I’m so sorry about last night, Hazel. The batch came out way too strong. I tried to fix it, but there wasn’t time to make a whole new batch. I figured small shot glasses of it would solve the—”

  “Shup up,” she said around the donut. She lifted her index finger, swallowed, and continued. “By the time you left, and I came back inside the tent, the servers had the coffee going to each table. By dessert, everyone was at least sober enough to bid on the auctions.”

  Her eyes danced, and the first trickle of relief came flooding in. Maybe she wasn’t going to kill me.

  “We made more money this year than ever before,” she announced, shoving the rest of the donut in her mouth.

  My mouth dropped open, and I went to give her a celebratory hug. She darted out of my embrace, and my arms dropped. Okay, I wasn’t in trouble, but we weren’t exactly friendly yet. I could take that.

  “I’m so relieved to hear that. Congratulations, Hazel. You put on a killer event.” I gave her two finger pistols instead of a hug and I could have sworn I saw a smile tugging on her face. “Here’s a coffee too. Now I’m off to the mayor.”

  I handed her the coffee and tried to collect the rest of the donuts. She clasped the brown paper bag to her chest with an exaggerated pout. I guessed I’d have to stop by Coffee again. I sighed, but wasn’t annoyed. She forgave me and I hadn’t ruined the Jingle Ball. Things were turning out pretty perfect.

  The mayor’s office had a cluster of old guys milling about. The second I entered with a bag of donuts, they were on me like flies on shit. Mayor Bennett didn’t even get one by the time he made it over to me.

  “Boy, I got a spring in my step I haven’t had for years! That booch really cleaned me out this morning, if you know what I mean.” A guy in denim overalls and ruddy cheeks elbowed me in the side.

  The visual was a little much so early on a Sunday morning, but I attempted a smile. “Glad to hear it.”

  “Now the wife will let me drink without nagging me about my cholesterol. Did you know that kom-boo-cha stuff can help clean out your arteries?” A guy no younger than eighty whacked me on the back and almost made me spill the no-foam, extra-caramel-drizzle, skinny, almond milk latte I’d gotten the mayor.

  “I see you’ve made some devoted fans already, Prescott.” Mayor Bennett stepped in front of me and pinned me with a steely gaze.

  I held out the latte like a peace treaty. He took it, taking the first swig and smacking his lips. “Any man who memorizes my favorite coffee is okay in my book. Consider your shop approved.”

  My heart nearly pounded right out of my rib cage to dance around with the old men shooting the shit before the regular Sunday church service started. I’d done it. It hadn’t been smooth; it hadn’t been easy, but I’d made a home for myself and my business in Auburn Hill.

  “Thank you so much, Mayor,” I gushed, sticking my hand out and shaking his a bit too vigorously.

  I stayed a while longer to chat with the locals, my fellow citizens, before racing home to grab a mason jar of the batch from last night. With a little sweet-talking of my sexy scientist, I was hoping to have her take a look at it and brainstorm what went wrong. My booch business would be top-notch, the best in the surrounding counties, and for that, I needed to get the alcohol content nailed.

  Jazzie’s apartment complex was quiet and small with towering pin
e trees dotting the common areas, making the place feel private. I rang her doorbell and tried to get ahold of myself. I’d never felt this much of a frenzy to see a woman before. And it wasn’t just the sex. I mean, hell yeah, I wanted more of it, but I also just wanted to get to know her. Her brain was a fascinating machine.

  The door swung open and there she was, an oversized sweatshirt and yoga pants on, her hair piled on top of her head with a pencil shoved in it to hold it in place. Her glasses slid down her nose as she gave me a glance-over and then stepped back to let me in, a secret smile creeping into place.

  “I think I like you even better in a Henley and jeans, Pres-COTT,” she quipped, shutting the door and leaning back against it.

  I put the Kombrewcha down on the nearest table and walked back to her, my heart rate speeding up with each step that brought me closer. I stopped toe to toe with her, not touching any part of her body. She was breathing hard, her eyes already dilating with the same lust I felt.

  “I need your brain first, then your body. And not just for today. For as long as you’ll let me stick around,” I stated calmly, even though I felt anything but, putting my heart on the line.

  Her face went slack, and I had a flashback to how she looked as she rode me on the bull. “That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” Then her eyes filled with tears, and I couldn’t help myself.

  I pulled her into my arms, her head buried in my chest. She was so small. A fireball of wit and feistiness and so much knowledge all jammed into a tiny package. An overwhelming sense of wanting to protect her at all costs made me clench my hands into fists.