by Frankie Love
“I don’t suppose so.”
“So you and I... we’re spending Christmas Eve together then?”
“Merry Christmas Eve, Evie.” I smile at her, the sky blue and everything around us blindingly bright. “What should we do today?”
“We are going to make wreaths and then Christmas cookies. And this thing between us... well, let’s just say, the magic on Mistletoe Mountain isn’t over yet.”
Chapter Eleven
Everett’s all man… and yes, he may be good at setting traps and chopping wood but I’m learning that his strength is certainly not wrangling cedar branches into a circle.
“This is fucking impossible, Evie.” Everett has managed to break his fourth branch in a row.
“Let me help. It’s not completely unsalvageable.” I use the wire to mend his nearly broken branch. “You just need to be gentle,” I tell him. I grin and add, “Pretend it’s my body, you wouldn’t just bend me over and expect things to work. You have to be tender, coax the branch into shape.”
“That’s not what you said yesterday afternoon.”
I laugh and jab him with my elbow. “Well, I may have bent over the bed, but you had certainly eased me into submission. The same thing is needed with this branch.”
I finish my wreath and add mistletoe to the center. “I would usually add a massive red ribbon to the center, but this mistletoe you gathered is even better.”
“So you really walk door-to-door and hand these to your neighbors?”
“It’s just a little something,” I shrug. “I started the tradition a few years ago when I began my blog. I was writing this post about creating traditions and being thoughtful, you know, thinking bigger than yourself. Connecting with people, whether online or in real life, is sorta my thing.”
We’ve finished a dozen wreaths and our fingers are red from the working with the wire and scratchy branches. “Thank you, Everett, for helping.”
“I don’t think I helped too much, but, watching you work has been nice. This cabin has never felt so… so much like a home.”
“I guess you’ll have to keep getting yourself a Christmas tree.”
“I was thinking I’d have to keep rescuing you the day before Christmas Eve. Bring you back here, help me get this place in shape.”
“Oh, yeah?” I twist my lips not quite believing him as I put the scraps of cedar in a basket for Everett to add to the fire. “You want to start a Christmas tradition with me?”
I don’t know what I even want Everett to say because there’s a cost to any of his words.
He could say yes, stay here with me -- which would be crazy. First, my sister wouldn’t believe me if I was to say I am giving up my life in town to come live in the middle of nowhere with a stranger.
Not just my sister, all my friends. And me too… except maybe not.
Maybe living in the woods with Everett would give my life meaning that I haven’t found anywhere else.
In a lot of ways, my life is amazing. I have a job I love and my work excites me. But at the end of the workweek, I know I’m filling my time with things that don’t matter.
Compared to my sister and her husband and son, my life feels a little empty. I’m not saying I must get married in order to be fulfilled.
But maybe this rendezvous has given me an opportunity to reflect on what I want. I could be doing so much more.
I could be volunteering on the weekends instead of getting drunk with my friends. I could be stocking shelves at the food bank instead of getting my nails done weekly. I could be donating my extra clothing to the women’s shelter instead of having an overflowing closet.
“You’re in your head again, Evie. You said that wasn’t your thing.”
Everett sets his hands on my waist, and beside us, the dining room table is stacked with Christmas wreaths. A blazing fire heats the room.
My heart feels like it could burst.
I feel so complete right now, but also… undone. Like what I truly want is something that isn’t mine for the taking.
Everett.
“I’ve had such a great time with you,” I tell him pressing my hands against his chest.
His lips are on my forehead. And I swear to God he’s smelling my hair. The same way I’m smelling his flannel shirt. Wanting to soak everything up from this moment, knowing that it won’t last forever.
“I’ve had a really good time too.” Everett’s words are hushed and solemn.
I smile, believing this is the best Christmas Eve of my life. “We need to bake cookies for Santa,” I tell Everett.
“Santa doesn’t need any cookies tonight,” he tells me.
I look up at him, his beard tickling my cheek, his eyes twinkling in the glow of the fire. “No? I thought we wanted to stay off the naughty list.”
Everett shakes his head, his hands on my face, pulling me toward him. “I changed my mind. I want to be on the naughty list. With you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Then I think it’s time I sat on Santa’s lap.”
Chapter Twelve
Evie isn’t playing around. She wants Santa’s lap, and she wants it now.
God, my cock is instantly hard, fucking ready for this girl to ride me.
She pulls down my pants and then pushes me down on the couch in front of the fireplace
“Bossy tonight, are we?” I tease. My head falls back into the cushions of the couch as Evie runs her fingers over my balls, squeezing them ever so gently.
“Very bossy,” she purrs. “I’m one of Santa’s helpers and I have a job to do.”
She strokes me up and down. When she looks up at me with those pretty eyes and her blonde hair falling over her shoulders, she looks more like Vixen than Rudolf.
“You’re into role-playing too? Good God, Evie, you’re more than a dream.”
“Then what am I?”
“You’re a fucking fantasy.”
She must like that, because her mouth opens and she takes my cock, sucking me up and down, stroking me as her head bobs, full of me.
I can’t help but press my hand on her neck urging her to suck me more, fuller, faster. Now.
She moans, on her knees before me, and I close my eyes, feeling ready to explode.
“Oh, oh, oh,” she pants, her tongue moving over my hard rod, licking me from base to tip before sinking her open mouth on me again.
And then I’m coming in her mouth, hard and fast. She swallows me and then pulls me from her as ribbons of my cum coat her face.
“Oh, Everett, come on me. Come all over me.” She presses my cock back in her mouth and sucks more as if she can’t get enough of the way I taste.
When I finish, she takes me from her mouth with a pop, pulling off her shirt and wiping her cheeks clean.
They’re nice and rosy, hot.
Bothered. Willing. Mine.
“You better keep stripping those clothes off, like a good little elf,” I tell her.
Evie’s eyes raise, and she stands, her fingers moving over the buttons on her shirt.
She undoes one button at a time until she slides the shirt off her shoulders. Her perfect tits are covered in a bra and I watch as her fingers deftly unclasp it before tossing it to me. Her tits are rounds and full, and I want to suck her hard nipples as my cock fills her tight pussy.
I catch her bra, smiling as I watch her shimmy out of her pants, as I watch her tease down the waistband of her panties. Her dirty panties. Wet with her sweetness, wet with her desire.
“You like what you see, Santa?”
“Holy fuck, you are the perfect Christmas gift.”
“You never asked what I wanted for Christmas,” she says stepping towards me, between my legs.
I run my hands over her soft ass, squeezing her perfect cheeks. Her hands are in my hair and she tugs the strands, lifting my face; our eyes meet.
“And what do you want for Christmas, little elf?” I ask.
“I want you to spank me, Santa,” she taunts. “I’ve been very naughty.”<
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“Tell me all the naughty things you’ve done this year,” I tell her.
“When I’m at home in my bed, late at night, I part my legs,” she says, pressing her own hand to herself. “And I stroke my pussy until I cum.”
I groan, imagining Evie on her back, all alone, her fingers running up and down her slit until it is wet and creamy.
“What other naughty things have you done?” I ask, pulling her ass closer, kissing her belly. Her fingers still on her pussy.
“Sometimes when I’m lonely,” she says. “I watch porn. I turn on a video of a man licking his woman’s pussy, and I get out my dildo.”
I inhale, sharply. I swear to God my cock is hard as a rock again. This woman’s naughty list is going to make me cum so fast.
“And what would you do with that dildo?” I ask.
“Well,” she starts, before biting her bottom lip.
“No teasing,” I tell her, spanking her ass. “Tell me what you did with that dildo.”
She coos, liking my hand spanking her.
“It was a big dildo, Everett. Not as big as you, of course, but big for me. It had a suction cup on the bottom, so I would get a kitchen chair,” she tells me. “And I would suction the dildo to the seat. Then I would straddle the chair, riding that cock until I came.”
I run my hand over her ass, softening the spot where I spanked my little elf, so fucking ready for her. “Do that now,” I growl. “Ride me until you cum.”
I pull her pussy toward my mouth, kissing her soft hair, before forcing her down on my hard cock.
She straddles me, her tits in my face, and I squeeze them together, loving the way her round globes bounce as she sits on me.
“Oh God, oh baby,” she moans, filling up with my dick.
“Your pussy is so nice and tight baby.”
“Take me, take me hard,” she moans.
“You’re such a dirty little helper,” I tell her, letting my fingers run up her bare ass crack, pressing my finger into her little hole, until she falls against my chest, grinding against me in pleasure.
I finger fuck her little hole as her pussy tightens around my raging cock. Her tits bounce in my face and she wraps her arms around my neck.
I tell her what to do and how to do it. “I want you to cum, I want you to cum now.”
She listens. An orgasm washes over her; her back arches and her cries increase.
She’s not panting anymore.
She’s not moaning.
She is undone.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she screams. Her body is overcome with pleasure. Her pussy dripping sweet juices down her thighs, and my cock explodes inside of her.
“God yes,” I tell her, thrusting myself deeper inside of her, her pussy tightening around me as I cum.
I run my hands down her back, her body slick with sweat; our hearts beating fast.
I shake my head at this Christmas miracle. “Who knew being on Santa’s naughty list could feel so fucking good.”
Chapter Thirteen
The next morning, I wake to an empty bed. When I open my eyes, I instantly wish Everett were beside me. But then I smell bacon. And coffee. And I realize it’s Christmas morning.
I pull on Everett’s robe and pad out into the hallway toward the kitchen.
The fire is going, the Christmas tree in the corner. Snow framing every window.
It’s early, but I can tell Everett must have completed his chores. His coat is wet and hangs by the fire. His boots are there as well.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” he tells me. I walk up behind him, wrapping my arms around his torso, resting my cheek against his back.
“Merry Christmas,” I tell him.
As he turns around, he offers me a cup of coffee. I wonder how in the world I ended up here. How in the world my regular life is ever going to compare to this?
“I was out this morning, for a few hours,” he tells me. “I was able to get the path for the truck cleared, so I’ll be able to get you home. The storm has passed, but I reckon your little car is probably buried awfully deep. You can get that towed later, for now, my truck will get you home. I know how much you wanted to be home for Christmas with your sister and nephew.”
A tight knot is growing in the pit of my stomach, but I don’t know how to put words to it. I want something that isn’t mine. I’m certainly not going to ask for something no one has offered.
“Thank you,” I say before taking a sip of the coffee, not knowing how to tell this man exactly what I want. Him. “So after breakfast we should...”
“Yeah.” Everett nods. “Yeah, after we eat I thought we could get in the truck and down the mountain. It’s a ninety-minute drive to your place, so we should get a move on. I should get back here before dark.”
“Right, I wouldn’t want you to get stuck.”
Our eyes meet, and I know there is so much unsaid.
But maybe that is just me. Me who wants to say more, but is scared.
“Okay then,” Everett says, breaking eye contact. “The bacon is ready, and eggs too.”
I smile tightly, swallowing words that I don’t even know. Pushing back the longing I can’t understand.
Once we’re in his truck and headed down the mountain, I try to focus on what is, instead of what could be.
What is: I’ve had an amazing two days. What is: I should stop taking my life for granted, and start doing something more meaningful with my time. What is: I suddenly know what I want, a man as good as Everett, and nothing less. Those stupid guys I’ve dated will never have me again. From here on out, I’m not settling.
How could you have Everett and ever go back to anything besides a man from Mistletoe Mountain?
“Bet your cell phone is working again,” Everett says, his eyes on the road.
I pull it from my pocket and power it on. It starts beeping and ringing and singing immediately.
“Damn, you said you are a busy woman,” Everett whistles. “But that’s a lot of people beating down your door to make sure you’re okay.”
“Yeah, looks like I missed thirty-eight texts from my sister, fourteen from my neighbor. Three voicemails. Oh, and my friends who I was supposed to go to the party with, left me angry messages. Until they apparently heard my sister, then they were apologetic,” I tell him, laughing.
“So no one’s worried?”
“No,” I tell him reading through the texts. “Sounds like the state patrol got in touch with my sister pretty quickly.”
“So you’ll go over to her house later today?” Everett asks.
“Yeah, I mean after I deliver the wreaths and get cleaned up.” I look out the window, my stomach in knots. “Would you want to come to her house for dinner?”
“Oh, I should probably get back to my place before another storm hits.”
“Oh, right. That makes sense.” I swallow back the tears. He is just straight up rejecting me now.
I text my sister and tell her I’m okay and that I’ll see her later tonight. She immediately calls me.
Pressing accept, I hold the phone to my ear. “Are you okay? We’ve all been worried sick.”
“I’m good. Really. I’ve been very well taken care of in what could’ve been a terrible situation,” I tell her, my eyes on Everett’s profile. His face turns towards mine.
“You swear to God everything is okay? Talk about a freak storm.”
“Everything is just perfect. Is Tommy good? Is he having a good Christmas morning?”
“We’re having a perfect Christmas morning. In fact,” she says, practically squealing, “now that you’ve told me you’re okay, I’ll tell you my big news. I’m pregnant!”
“Wow,” I tell her, stunned by the news. Though, there’s no reason for me to be surprised. Of course, my sister’s pregnant. Of course, she’s having this life that is perfect. “I’m so happy for you.”
We say our goodbyes and I hang up the phone, my hands shaking.
“What were you pretending to be happy about?” Eve
rett asks in a steady way, seeing through my fake enthusiasm.
“My sister is pregnant.”
Everett nods but doesn’t say a word. Neither do I. We drive down the mountain in silence, the whole time I force myself to look out the window, and blink back tears for what isn’t mine.
Chapter Fourteen
The drive to her place is fucking torture. I know she’s upset.
Damn, I know I haven’t known Evie forever, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together. Evie has this wild life, but it sounds like she wants something different.
I can tell by the way she looks out the window, not wanting to talk -- which isn’t like her at all. And I swear to God she’s been blinking back tears for the last hour.
I want to wipe those tears away; I want to pull her in my arms and tell her that I’ll give her a baby. I’ll make her a mother. I’ll give her everything she wants.
But I don’t tell her any of that. I have no right to make promises to a woman who isn’t mine. No way do I want to rip Evie away from the life she has made for herself.
And dammit, I know I was cold and detached on the drive, but what the fuck could I do? I could never ask her to give up everything for me.
We pull up to her driveway, I see a house that I was not expecting. “This is it, right here,” she says pointing.
In her driveway, I turn off the truck. I’m about to say something that resembles a goodbye when she asks me to stay.
“Before you go, you want to come inside, use the bathroom or have something to drink?”
I nod slowly, grateful to have a reason to stay. I don’t want to leave her yet.
I don’t want to leave her ever.
“Sounds nice.” I start unloading the wreaths and set them on her front porch.
Her house is a little cottage. Tiny, really. Gingerbread trim, a white rocker out front. Garlands hung across the porch, and twinkling Christmas lights everywhere, covering every square inch of her molding.
