by Hazel Kelly
He nods. “I did love the eggnog.”
Suddenly my face drops and I put the bottle down, running over to where I set my soaking silk shirt on the coffee table when I was flicking on the lights.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just forgot about this stupid shirt,” I say, holding it up with one hand while the other tries to keep rogue drips from dotting the floor. “Please pour yourself a glass while I throw this in the washer.” Great. Now I’m doing fucking laundry while he’s here. I shake my head, surprising myself at how quickly any whiff of glam has gone right out the window.
He’s standing with two full glasses when I reenter the nook that is my kitchen. It’s the first time I notice he hasn’t completely tucked in his dress shirt. I don’t care what he says. We were definitely getting looks for the wrong reasons.
“Please,” I say, taking one of the glasses from him. “Have a seat.”
He nods and watches his step, but Rudolph has disappeared on other important matters. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s leering at the street below my bedroom window.
Anthony takes a seat on my sofa and stretches his arm along the back of it.
Everything in my body says I should nestle right under his arm, but I resist the urge because I don’t want to get too tongue tied if he’s in the mood to chat.
“So,” I say, my eyes sweeping his face. He looks more handsome all the time and more relaxed than he has all night. It strikes me as funny that he would look so comfortable in my dumpy apartment, but I don’t know why I’m surprised. The guy’s been making it impossible for me to stereotype him all night.
“What are you afraid of?” I ask, desperate to figure him out.
He cocks his head and an amused expression lifts his face. “Where did that come from?”
“Are you dodging the question?”
“No,” he says. “Just curious.”
I shrug.
“I suppose I’m not afraid of much,” he says. “Just the normal stuff.”
I take a large swig of my wine. “What counts as normal stuff?”
“You know,” he says. “Showing up at school naked without my homework, waking up to find out I’ve ground my teeth down to powder in my sleep, falling down a hole that never ends.”
“Those are just bad dreams,” I say.
“Scary ones,” he says, turning towards me. “Why? What are you afraid of?”
I scoff. “How much time you got?”
S E V E N
Anthony studies me in a way I’m not used to, which isn’t entirely surprising. Most of the time I’m a means to an end, a person merely standing in the way of what another person wants, whether it be a stack of pancakes, a chat with Santa, or the perfect girl for the part.
So I’m not used to holding someone’s attention this intensely, and I must say it’s a nice feeling, a feeling I could get used to. Even though he doesn’t know me well, his attention makes me feel important, makes me feel like my thoughts and opinions actually matter.
I’m not so self-centered as to think everyone should treat me this way, but I can’t help but think it’s been too long since someone has.
He glances at his watch. “I have a little time,” he says. “Let’s start with your top three fears and see how we go.”
Now I wish I’d never mentioned it.
“You don’t have to pretend you’re interested in my neurosis,” I say.
“I’m not pretending,” he says. “Besides, I’m genuinely curious what a woman as beautiful, funny, and charming as you are could possibly be afraid of.”
Compliments like that, for one. “Top three, huh?”
He nods once and takes a sip of wine.
“I’m afraid of something happening to my parents,” I say. “Or my sister.”
“Like what?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Anything that I wouldn’t be able to help them with.”
“What else?”
“I’m afraid I’ll find a sufferable job that actually pays the bills and give up on my dreams.”
He raises his eyebrows.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with an honest day’s work, but-”
“You don’t have to explain,” he says. “That’s a perfectly legitimate fear. What’s number three?”
“I’m afraid I’ll turn into a pumpkin at midnight and wake up with no proof that this night ever happened.”
He smiles. “That would be terrible.”
I look down at the couch between us, relieved that he feels the same.
“Keep the shirt,” he says.
I lift my eyes back up to his. “What?”
“My shirt,” he says, nodding at my chest. “Keep it.”
I can’t help but let a smile break through. “Spoken like a man who’s had his clothes robbed by women before.”
“You aren’t robbing it,” he says. “I’m giving it to you. Besides, you look so good in it I wouldn’t dream of taking it back anyway.”
“Thanks,” I say, tucking some hair behind my ear. “What about you, though? What proof will you have?”
“Maybe I should take some illicit pictures of you on my phone,” he says, his eyebrows jumping. “That’s a souvenir I could get excited about.”
I roll my eyes and try to hide how light my chest feels at his admission that he liked what he saw earlier.
“Or I could leave some hickeys on your body for you to find tomorrow that you couldn’t possibly have given yourself.”
“Another filthy suggestion,” I say, not surprised. “But one that is slightly more likely to happen.”
He pours the last of his wine down his throat.
“Can I interest you in a refill?” I ask, finishing mine as well.
He moves to the edge of the couch and reaches for my glass. “How about I get the wine and you get ready for bed?”
“Ready for bed? But it’s not even late.”
“It isn’t now,” he says, “But I suspect it will be by the time I’m done tucking you in.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“I have very exacting standards.”
“I can’t remember the last time someone took it upon themselves to tuck me in.”
He nods towards the bedroom and rises to his feet. “I’ll give you a head start.”
I scrunch my face. “Is it a race?”
“It’s not a race if I already know who’s going to finish first.”
I swallow.
“Hurry up,” he says, setting the glasses on the counter. “You’re about two minutes away from ready or not here I come.”
I walk into my bedroom, grab all the clothes on the floor, and shove them into my closet. Then I grab Rudy from the window sill- much to his audible dislike- and set him down in the sitting room. After that, I waste no time stripping off my clothes before squeezing some toothpaste onto my toothbrush.
Thirty seconds later, I feel a pair of eyes on me and freeze.
“I like your pajamas,” Anthony says, his eyes dripping down my body.
“I only wear pajamas on Christmas Eve,” I say, bending over to spit in the sink.
“I knew I liked you,” he says, folding his arms and leaning in the doorframe.
I set my toothbrush in the holder hanging from the mirror. When I look back up, he’s right behind me, and his eyes are dark with lust.
My breath grows shallow as I watch his hands smooth their way around my hips and explore my body. They move so slowly it’s as if he’s trying to memorize my exact dimensions.
He wraps one hand across my breasts and reaches the other down, cupping my pussy just enough that the tips of his fingers can feel how wet I am. Then he pulls me against him so I can feel how hard he is already, and I know I won’t be happy until I feel the length of him deep inside me.
His gaze drops to my ear and his lips trace the outside of it, his hot breath waking my senses.
I tilt my head so he can drag his teeth against my earlobe and nibble the most h
idden part of my neck. “You taste too good,” he whispers, almost to himself as my nipples darken.
I close my eyes when he starts sucking my neck harder, the feel of his desire overwhelming me as he pulls me against him.
“Take me to bed,” I whisper, waiting for his eyes to meet mine in the mirror.
He extends a hand, gesturing for me to lead the way. “After you.”
I walk around to my side of the bed and slip between the covers.
He turns them over so I’m exposed again and stands at the side of the bed, his eyes already devouring me as he unbuttons his shirt.
My heart is pounding so hard I can barely breathe, and a lump clogs my throat when he pulls a condom from his pocket and tosses it on the nightstand.
His expression is serious as his hands go to his belt. He undoes his zipper and lets them fall to his ankles. I can’t tear my eyes from his boxers, which look ready to tear at the seams.
My mouth is watering when he sets a knee on the bed, but he doesn’t give me the glimpse I’m after.
“Show it to me,” I whisper, my voice so soft I don’t recognize it.
One of his eyebrows jumps and he hooks him thumbs in his boxers, pulling them down to the floor. When he stands again he looks the spitting image of a renaissance sculpture- except for his erection, which is obscene even by today’s standards.
Holy shit he’s big. When my gaze climbs his rippling abs up to his face, his jaw is clenched. A moment later, his hand goes to his dick and he strokes himself several times in front of me.
I feel my body gush in preparation and scoot up against the pillows a little.
He kneels again, his cock like a pole between us before he lowers himself over me, careful not to crush me with his weight.
“I really like your tucking in style so far,” I say. “It’s very thorough.”
“We haven’t even gotten to the best part,” he says, giving me a gentle kiss.
“What’s the best part?” I ask, my breath mingling with his in the dim room.
“The part where I eat your pussy till you cry.” He only looks at me long enough to register the shock on my face. Then he slides down between my legs and forces my thighs apart.
E I G H T
I take a deep breath and brace myself against the mattress, unsure whether I can come again as hard as I did before and knowing that I desperately don’t want to disappoint this man.
His tongue follows a line from the bottom of my slit to my swelling bud a second later.
I close my eyes and silently beg for him to slip his tongue inside me, but he only teases me, tracing delicate circles around my opening until I feel a head rush. “God that feels good,” I whisper.
He plants his thumbs on both sides of my pussy and squeezes the fleshy mound so he can suck my clit between his lips, the edge of his teeth making every hair on my body stand up. I moan and his tongue slips inside me before the noise is all the way out.
He laps at me slowly at first and then faster until my pussy tries to lock him out, but he pushes his way in until it feels like he has control over my whole body.
I don’t fight the high. I embrace it, letting his hands roam my curves as I press my head back against the pillow. “Anthony,” I whisper as his licks sync up with the rapid rhythm of my pulse.
The warmth inside me builds slowly, and I’m on the brink for so long my eyes start to water, as if the extreme pleasure I’m feeling is trying to find alternative escape routes. I can’t even vocalize the fact that I’m about to come because my voice feels as far away as my thoughts and my limbs, and all I can feel is Anthony’s fingers digging into my thighs as he moves his head between my legs.
When he finds a spot that makes my eyes burn, I slide a hand in his mess of dark hair and clench my fingers around it. The gesture gives me some semblance of control over the situation, but the truth is I’ve never belonged to anyone more than I belong to this man right now.
I’m about to explode when he slides his fingers inside me, flipping a switch that releases the flood gates. I writhe on the bed as I spill my hot pleasure into his greedy mouth, which consumes me so completely it sends tremors up my spine.
I’m still shaking when he sucks my swollen bud one last time, and a fat tear falls down my cheek like it’s the very last drop of energy inside me.
When his broad shadow moves over me, I’m still panting, but he doesn’t let me catch my breath before he kisses me again.
I can taste myself on his lips and tongue, and it turns me on to know how light and sweet I taste, to think of how much of me he’s just devoured.
“That was amazing,” I say, though it feels tragically understated.
“It was for me too,” he says, his warm lips peppering mine as he speaks. “You have no idea how hot you make me.”
I reach to the side and pat the nightstand until I feel the crinkle of his condom wrapper. “Show me,” I say, handing it to him.
He tears the package open with his teeth right in front of me, his eyes on me the whole time.
“I’ll do the honors,” I say, curious to know what I’ve gotten myself into.
He raises himself up so I can see how hard he is for me. I’m salivating at the sight of him, and I swallow as I grab his girth and roll the condom on.
My heart is racing by the time I reach the base of his swollen shaft, and I can feel him watching me as my hands shake in anticipation. “How do you want me?” I ask.
“Just the way you are,” he says, lowering himself over me. He keeps his eyes on mine as he presses his tip against the warm puddle that’s replaced my satisfied pussy.
I still can’t feel my legs, and I feel so open and relaxed I fear I won’t feel as good as I might’ve earlier, but my whole body clenches around him when he enters me.
My mouth falls open as he stretches me wide, and his face grows serious as he sinks deeper. I didn’t know it could be like this- that someone could fill me this much- and I feel a sharp pain when he pushes all the way in, like new ground is being broken.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I can feel him throbbing through the condom, and it’s a rush to feel how bad he wants me. Somehow I manage a nod, but I actually don’t know if I’m okay. I mean, I’m better than okay- perhaps better than I’ve ever been- but I know I won’t be able to relax again until he gets his release.
“You feel enormous,” I whisper.
A slight smile breaks through his grave expression for a moment, but he regains his focus and lets me feel every swollen inch of him again, watching me as he does it. I feel like he can see straight through me, like he can see too much, like he can see things in my eyes I never would’ve shown him so soon or told him so early.
But I can’t read him the same way. His expression is one of simple, masculine lust, and I feel like the sexiest piece of meat on the planet as I worry that my body may be overdosing on oxytocin without my consent.
He lifts one of my thighs to my chest and turns me ever so slightly on my side, hitting me so deep I cry out when he buries himself inside me.
“Am I hurting you?” he asks, rocking his hips slowly.
“More,” I whimper. “Give it to me harder.”
A growl rumbles up his throat and he picks up the pace, slamming into the spot that hurts so good I’m convinced I should be asking him to stop. But I’m curious about this new sensation, too curious to turn away from it.
He flips me flat on my back again and lets go of my thigh so the whole weight of him is rocking over me so hard I hear my bed move across the floor.
I wrap my legs around his waist and dig my fingertips into the flexing muscles of his back, willing him to spill his seed.
My moans become stagnated grunts as he fucks me harder, revealing an aggression I haven’t yet seen from him.
“Come for me,” I beg, dragging my wet lips across his ear.
And he does, slamming into me with two final thrusts and a groan so loud I’ll have to hide out from the n
eighbors all week.
I’m smiling at the ceiling as he catches his breath beside my ear, his broad pecs crushing my shoulders into my soft mattress. I let my legs fall back to the bed and hold him close, twirling my fingers in his hair as I wait for him to say something.
Then, as if he’s read my mind, he raises up on his elbows and looks at me.
“What?” I say, suddenly conscious of the extreme heat in my cheeks.
“You.”
My mouth curls into a smile. “Me what?”
“You make me want to be on the nice list.”
I laugh. “I’m afraid there’s no place for you on the nice list.”
He kisses me and it feels real. It occurs to me that the feeling of connection might only be so intense because he’s still inside me, but I know this isn’t like any one night stand I’ve had before. Hell, it’s not like a spark I’ve ever felt with anyone, and I begin to think all my Christmas’s might be coming at once.
“It’s snowing,” he says, sliding out of me and collapsing onto his side.
I look out the window as he pulls the covers over us. Sure enough, big fat flakes fall past the window lit up by the yellow glow of the street lights. “It’s beautiful,” I say, thinking there mustn’t be anything more divine than being cozy in bed with a warm man when it’s snowing outside.
When I turn my head back to look at him, he’s watching the snowfall too, a relaxed expression on his face that’s so handsome and masculine I think he could’ve been a fifties movie star.
He takes his eyes off the window and pushes some hair out of my face.
“You can stay, you know?” I say, though what I want to say is that I’d love if he would hold me all night.
“I can’t,” he says. “I have that early meeting.”
“And if you didn’t?” I ask.
“Like if I won the lottery?”
I nod.
“If I won the lottery, I’d cancel my meeting this second and make you French toast in the morning.”
“That sounds nice.”
“It does,” he says. “And what about you? What would you do if you won?”
I twist my mouth while I decide. “First I’d stick around for that breakfast.”
