She hovers by my shoulder with a dish towel. Despite assuring her that I could manage it, she insisted on drying them.
“Christmas is literally tomorrow and you’re up here without a smidge of tinsel or glitter. It’s almost a crime nowadays.”
“Is that right?”
“Certified misdemeanor,” she says eyes twinkling with laughter.
“Guess we’ll have to fix that.”
“Really?” she asks, her excitement bleeding into her tone.
“We’ll start with a tree. Got plenty of them on the property. We should be able to find one.”
My hands are drenched and covered with soap when Rachel’s arms wrap around my waist. Her tits squish against my back, soft and warm, just below my shoulder blades. I drop the plate I’m washing into the sink when her hands sneak under my shirt.
“Are you going to chop it down with an axe?” she asks as her hands run up and down my stomach.
I shake my head, hands clutching the sink while she trails a teasing hand down to the waistband of my pants.
“A chainsaw,” I mutter through clenched teeth. “I’m not a damn lumberjack.”
“No?” she asks hand retreating back to the plane of my stomach, teasing the fine line of hairs that lead from my belly button to the base of my cock. “Are you sure?”
Am I being manipulated into swinging an axe like a barbarian instead of using a perfectly good chainsaw? Is my innocent little baker seducing me? All signs and hands that are drifting back down towards my cock point to yes.
Yes, she is. The little brat.
“It’s ten degrees below zero, Rachel,” I try to reason with her. “A chainsaw will be faster. We’ll be done in minutes, and you’ll have all day to decorate the tree.”
“We’ll have all day,” she corrects. “And why should we rush? It’s so isolated up here and I don’t think there’s much for us to do. Aren’t you worried we’ll get bored?”
“Not in the slightest,” I growl.
Her laughter is like a jingle bell, merry and bright.
“Hm,” she hums against my back. “I don’t know. There’s something about a handsome man swinging an axe that just feels right.”
She unbuttons my fly with a quick flick of her fingers. Forgoing boxers when I got dressed this morning, my cock springs out heavy and hard into her waiting hand.
Fuck. It’s better than I imagined.
Soft and warm her fingers wrap my cock in a snug grip. I’m seconds away from spilling all over her hand.
“You think I’m handsome?” I manage to ask.
Her hand runs up my length, the pad of her thumb tracing the tip with light teasing pressure.
“Of course I do.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My cock jerks in her hand, seed splashing across her fingers.
“Oh, that was fast.”
“Your hand feels so much better than mine.”
I step aside so she can wash her hands in the sink. She looks so pleased with herself. I always want that expression to go away.
