by Logan Chance
Really, it’s hard to decipher who is getting the gift here. With Graham feasting on me like I’m plum pudding and his tongue is the spoon, I think it’s me. I need to give back. Before I can, he inserts two fingers and white hot heat ignites low in my stomach and spreads until I’m coming all over his gorgeous face.
“God, I love to hear you come,” he rasps out.
He licks the candy cane again. It really is the most wonderful time of year.
Two
I still don’t care for Christmas. But I do care about Zoe. This past year with her is worth the array of atrocious sweaters surrounding me. None of them can hold a candle to mine, though.
“Having fun?” Zoe asks. Even in her fuzzy green sweater, decorated with god awful soap ornaments, she looks stunning.
“Loads,” I tell her.
Her blue eyes narrow on me over the rim of her eggnog glass. “Admit it, Mr. Grinch. You love it.”
“I’ll give it to you, this ugly sweater party is pretty damn funny.” I steal a kiss from her ruby lips as we wait in line to have our picture taken before the tapestry draped on the wall that reads “The Uglier The Better.”
If the ghost of Ebenezer Scrooge himself would have told me a year ago that I’d be holding a giant candy cane while wearing a sweater with fucking marshmallows on it, I would have laughed in his pasty face. But here I am. It’s ok, though. Not many can rock this ensemble like I can.
Zoe blushes when I look at the candy cane and then down to the sweet spot between her thighs. And just like that, my dick hardens. It’s a hazard of being within twenty feet of her.
After picture taking, Zoe is swept away to deal with hostess duties so I check in with the Mountain Goat Resort to make sure everything is ready for our stay. Then I check email. Vacation is never really vacation. There’s always work to do. Thankfully, Zoe is very understanding.
“Can you grab some sparkling water from the kitchen?” my mother, draped head to toe in gold tinsel, asks.
I slide my phone in my jeans. “What have you become?” I ask with unbridled amusement.
“Says the guy wearing marshmallows,” she retorts, with a smile. “Love looks good on you.”
I laugh. She knows she’s said the words to send me off like a rocket to retrieve her request. “I’ll be right back.”
I pivot on my heel and walk away before she can say anything else. It’s not that I mind discussing my feelings for Zoe, I just don’t want to field all the questions I know are coming. Marriage. Babies. Forever.
I’m not opposed to any of that, but I’m still enjoying the dating phase with Zoe. I want to savor each part of the journey—things like candy canes on a bare pussy—and my mother wants to express mail us to the end. It already seems like time is moving at warp speed with Zoe. I’m forever wanting to slow it down, so the seconds tick by at an excruciatingly slow pace. So this sublime feeling of freefalling never ends. Besides, Zoe is busy becoming a soap mogul and who says she wants to get married? Hm. Would she marry me? We haven’t had that discussion. She loves me, but does she love me like that?
Speaking of...my little vixen has disappeared from her party.
As I weave through the chattering guests in the living room, there’s no sign of Zoe’s dark tresses under the twinkling lights. I want to steal her away for an impromptu fondling, put my dick in her box, but she’s nowhere to be found. Probably because she’s tucked in a corner...next to the refrigerator...amidst a bustle of workers...whispering with York.
She’s oblivious to my entrance, and I’m a little offended she’s so wrapped up in her conversation with York that she didn’t feel me enter the room. Isn’t that cheesy shit supposed to happen? I’ll admit, there is an ugly insecure part to love that rears it’s demonic horns at times like these. York’s dark head is bowed down toward hers and the carrot protruding out of his ugly ass sweater pokes her breast. Twice. Instead of yanking it off and slapping him over the head with it, she continues talking to him in an animated frenzy, the golden star atop her head bobbing.
I amble closer, still undetected, and stop cold when she pulls what looks like a baby sweater from one of the wrapped presents dangling from the bottom of her cardigan. He shakes his head and grins.
And I may faint.
Zoe is pregnant?
Three
“How are you feeling?” Graham asks for the millionth time as we leave the French restaurant where we dined on an extravagant dinner of roasted hen. Yes, he ordered three. I’m flabbergasted at the thought he’s put into this. Yesterday, he gifted me a bracelet with two diamond turtle doves. For someone opposed to Christmas, he deserves an award. Maybe I do too, because my return gift to him was my ass. TMI?
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “Why do you keep asking that?”
He takes my elbow and leads me to his Range Rover across the parking lot. Although the pavement has been plowed from the recent snowfall, small slushy spots remain. He navigates me around them as if I’m made of porcelain.
“Careful,” he warns as I sidestep an icy patch. “Want me to carry you?”
I laugh. “Um, that’s very chivalrous of you, but I think I can manage to walk.”
His brow creases and his dark eyes bore into mine. “You’d tell me if you were feeling sick?”
“Sick? I mean, I’m stuffed, but I don’t feel sick.”
I didn’t eat that much. I’m not shy about eating, and I certainly wouldn’t let a good meal go to waste, so yes, I had two hens. But honestly, the portions were tiny, so it’s really like I only ate one. He nods, and opens my door.
As we pull away from The Chateau, I reach over and palm his cock through his black slacks. “So,” I coo to his stubbled profile, “that was very romantic. I’d like to show my appreciation with a little surprise when we get back.”
“Oh, damn.” His head whips to me. “You feel ok to do that?”
“Mhm. Better than ok.”
His cock stiffens beneath my caresses. When I lick my lips, he lets out a nipple-hardening hiss. Even his sounds are sexy.
The passing car lights illuminate his chiseled face as he glances over at me. “You’re irresistible. Do you know that?”
“You’re amazing. Do you know that?”
“Maybe,” he jokes. Traffic is minimal on the ride back and it seems like only a few minutes before we are pulling in the drive of his parents' home. We hustle past the snow laden shrubbery and indoors. His family is still out at a showing of The Nutcracker, so we fly up the staircase to our room where I’m about to give true meaning to it’s namesake, Vixen.
“I need you to shower or something so I can get ready.”
“Fuck. This is something you have to prepare for?” He locks the door and kicks off his shoes, followed by his clothes, until he’s completely nude, already erect.
I nod, tempted to just skip the surprise and impale myself on his thick cock.
“Don’t peek,” I tell him as he strides across the spacious room into the bathroom.
Once he’s inside and closed the door, I spring into action. Graham told me once, he found my elf uniform incredibly sexy. Obviously, I catalogue all these things in the Graham Rolodex in my mind, so I brought it with me. And now I’m about to become a very naughty elf on a shelf.
Graham takes exactly fifteen minutes to shower, so I grab paper from my bag and scribble off some notes to help him locate me.
Follow the clues to find your naughty elf on a shelf...Here’s a hint, you light a fire in me.
If you found this, woohoo! The next clue can be found beneath a tiny version of the giant tree where we first met. You better get this one! Kiss. Kiss.
Your naughty elf is behind a door where clothes you won’t be needing are located.
The first goes on his pillow, because he’ll go to the bed immediately, the second on the mantle of the fireplace, and the final in the Nativity scene on the bookshelf. Ok, that’s just wrong. Forgive me, Jesus. I snatch up the clue and place it beneath the miniatur
e tree on the dresser and then snag the strand of lights off of it.
Five minutes later, I’m dressed in a red felt dress, elf hat, and thigh high candy cane striped socks. Since I won’t fit on an actual shelf, I’m perched on the square cabinetry/island thingy in the walk-in closet. I cross my legs and wait for Graham. Hopefully, he doesn’t find this creepy. I’ve never liked the idea of the Elf On A Shelf. It’s his grin. He looks like a serial killer who will come alive and smother you to death while you sleep. But, sacrifices.
Which, how can this even be considered a sacrifice, when Graham enters wearing nothing but a Santa hat on top of his still wet hair? It’s another gift.
“I’ve been a very naughty elf, Santa,” I drawl out. “You may need to tie me up.” I hold up the string of lights.
“Damn, you are such a bad girl but no, I want you free to touch my cock.” He strokes his dick and walks closer, a confection of abs and rippling muscles. He’s so delicious, I want to devour him whole, but also not, because then I wouldn’t have anymore.
“I love these.” He trails a finger up my socks. Explores the exposed skin of my thigh. Then discovers I’m not wearing panties. He groans.
When all is said and done, Graham is a simple man. Six dollar Target socks turn him on just as much as expensive lingerie, and I love that I can still be me.
He leans in and nips my bottom lip with his teeth before he hoists me up from my seat on the cabinet. Forehead to forehead, he walks us to the oversized leather chair in the corner of the room. I wish I could capture his scent for a soap. I’d call it...well, I don’t know what I’d call it. Man-a-licious seems too ordinary. Maybe I’d just give it a symbol like an exclamation point. That’s how he makes me feel.
He sits, and I straddle his lap. “Tell me what you want,” he rasps.
“Well…” I reach between us and fondle his balls. His hooded eyes mesmerize me. “I want a dark eyed man who doesn’t like Christmas, but loves to give.” I ease down on his dick and moan as his thickness stretches me. His fingers grip my hips. “I want a man who fucks like a god, but is so mortal he feels everything.” I rock against him. “You. I want you.”
“Fuck, Zoe.” His hips buck and heat spreads throughout my limbs. Sometimes I worry this insane sexual chemistry we have will destroy us both. He cups my face in his warm hands and seizes my lips. Our tongues mate with each other as he thrusts into me. I wonder if this longing for him will ever fade. This need to make him as happy as he makes me. I hope it doesn’t.
He pulls back. “Do you love me, Zoe?”
His earnest question stabs my heart and confuses me all at once. We’ve said the words so many times. “More than Christmas,” I whisper.
He pumps his hips in a frenzy and then I shatter, like a million snowflakes drifting and swirling.
“Yeah, baby, keep coming.” He pumps faster, sliding me up and down, until he groans and his own release sends me spiraling again.
My heart drums against my chest and our pants fill the room. “Wow. You really jingled my bell.” I remove my hat and toss it.
He chuckles just as a knock sounds at the door. I spring from his lap and bolt into the bathroom. Don’t really want anyone wondering why I’m dressed as an elf. After a few minutes, Graham peeks his head in to let me know his family is back and his dad needs help bringing in firewood.
While he’s gone, I shower, and once I’m tucked in bed, my phone buzzes. I retrieve it from the nightstand and read the text message from Nick, my future baby goat’s owner.
“I’ve got some other people interested in Jack.” I gasp. “Just want to give you the first opportunity. Can you come by tomorrow morning?”
“Yes,” I reply instantly. “I’ll be there by ten am.”
Well, this is throwing a wrench in my plans. Tomorrow, I’ve been invited for tree cutting with Graham and his dad. To say I was excited is an understatement. I slump in the bed. I’ve never been on a tree finding expedition. But, baby goat trumps everything. It’s a small sacrifice. Now, I just have to figure out a way to sneak off with York without Graham knowing.
I’ve never seen anything as cute as Jack in my life. He’s white, and soft as a marshmallow, with a chocolate smudge between his doe eyes. But now I have to take the mom too. Cause I can’t take a baby from its mother. Even if Nick assures me it’s ok. Baby momma studies me like she knows what I’m up to, and I just can’t.
“I want Star too,” I tell Nick. “They’ll have a great home at the Mountain Goat Resort. Thanks to York,” and his connections, “a barn and fence have already been installed.”
York slides his hands in his coat pockets and grins. If it wasn’t for his hockey star status, I wouldn’t have been able to pull this off. I’m very grateful for all of his help. But if I can’t have Star too, it’s a deal breaker.
Nick drapes his arms on the wooden fence. “I can come up and help them get acclimated.”
I clap my hands, full of glee. “Yes. I’d appreciate that.”
“Tomorrow I’m free. Sorry, that’s the only day I can do it.”
“That’s fine.” We return to the lodge tonight and there’s no way I can hide the barn until Christmas, anyway. “Thank you so much. They’re going to be so happy.”
We work out the details, and I sign the papers. Graham is going to be a father.
Four
My baby will be cuter than baby Yoda. My feet trudge forward through the snow, but my mind is back at the house where Zoe is sleeping. This morning, after I gave her the custom made pajamas with four birds talking on the phone, and she cried over how ‘adorable’ they were, she said she felt a little nauseous and needed to skip the tree cutting. I offered to stay, hold her hair back, but she shooed me away.
While I have a mini panic attack over a baby shooting out of Zoe’s tight as fuck vagina, my father scopes out the abundant evergreens and inspects their branches, like his life depends on it. “What do you think about this one?”
I walk next to him and touch the stiff needles. “I think Zoe is pregnant.”
His head turns in slow motion to me. “And how do you feel about that?”
“Like I’m going to fail as a father.”
For the first time in my life, I realize this is something I might not succeed at. Sure, I’ve got more money than I can ever spend, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be good at parenting. There’s psychological shit that goes into it. I sit on a fallen log and look up at the clear blue sky. It’s the color of Zoe’s eyes.
“Well,” Dad says, “you probably will at times.”
“That’s reassuring.”
Dad laughs. “It’s all trial and error.” He rubs a hand against his red cheek. “I’m happy for you.”
I stand and give him a wan smile. “Let’s get this tree. Zoe and I have to head to the resort early.”
Thirty minutes later, we’re on our way back with a fat evergreen loaded on the sled. When we enter the foyer, Zoe stands by the stairs, radiant and beautiful.
“Oh, it smells so good,” she says.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“Much better.”
She stands on her tiptoes to give me a kiss and then heads toward the living room. Dad and I drag the tree in while mom gives directions as if we don’t do this every year. We set the tree in the stand and Zoe helps my mother string the lights.
“Looks good,” York says.
I turn and meet his brown eyes. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
“Sure.”
He follows me into the kitchen.
I lean against the counter and cross my arms. “You’d tell me if you knew something?”
He tilts his head. “About what?”
For some reason, Zoe has decided to confide in York. Unless it was an immaculate conception, that’s my child in her, so shouldn’t I be the first to know?
“Zoe.”
He rubs a finger against his lower lip, then clasps his hand on my shoulder. “I can tell you this, your peaceful e
xistence is about to be no more. Double trouble is coming your way.”
Fucking hell. I’ve got super sperm. Twins. I can’t parent one, much less two.
“Hey,” Zoe says from the entrance, “we need your help.”
In a daze, I follow her to the tree and with numb hands hang ornaments until the tree is barely visible beneath the array of glass baubles. The rest of the day is a blur as we pack our things, say our goodbyes, and drive to the resort.
“Are you ok?” Zoe asks as we settle in our cabin.
“Yeah, I‘m just beat. I have an early call in the morning.”
Worry floods her blue eyes and she places a cool hand on my forehead. “You don’t have a fever, so that’s good.”
She mother hens me and once we’re in bed, I pull her close. She falls asleep immediately, but I lie awake, running through all the ways I’m going to fail at being a father, until my lids become heavy.
And then I dream.
A dark figure enters the room garbed in a long black gown. For a moment, I think it’s Darth Vader. He’s breathing that heavy.
Because I’m cool, and don’t dream like an ordinary man, we don’t walk down the hallway—we fly. Right through the damn walls, over a canopy of trees, to a two-story log house adorned with Christmas lights and smoke puffing from its chimney.
“Why are we here?” I ask faceless dude.
“You’ll see.”
I stand next to him in the snow. Two children, in coats so puffy their arms barely bend, waddle across the snow. Giggles float through the air and claim my heart. Zoe chases after them.
“Wait. This is my future?”
“Obviously,” he drawls.
“Well, you skipped over past and present,” I point out.
“Well, sometimes you need to just fly to the end.”
Ok, this isn’t so bad. I’m not freaking out. Palms aren’t sweating. No reindeer hooves battering my chest. Until York zips across the snow and lifts up a squealing tike. Zoe rips a snowball at him. He laughs and they proceed to have a jolly good time. Twin One in his arms giggles as he runs from Zoe and Twin Two.
