One word, that’s all I say, but she nods and opens her legs, letting me press my long cock against the outside of her soft womanhood. In the shadows, I can see the neat patch of curls. Feel the wetness that spreads easily on my shaft as we move together, pleasuring each other without me entering her.
I aim up and groan when her thighs squeeze tight. She uses me to grind against, moving like some sea goddess in undulating waves, rocking back and forth to bring herself to the peak.
Every squeeze of her thighs digs my cock deeper into the outer folds of her labia, so soft and warm, so wet against me.
“You probably need more than this,” Briana whispers.
“No. I just want to feel you with me,” I say, and it’s true. “I’m going to come as soon as you finish, love.”
Love. It slips out, as common as “dear” or “hon.”
Briana doesn’t pull away; she moans and leans her head back, tilting her chin all the way back so that she can look into my eyes.
“Fuck, lass, you’re so beautiful.” No, I’m not one for sweet-talking, but I’d have to be blind not to see it.
“I am?” Briana sounds surprised, eyebrows flying up, and that makes her look even more adorable.
“I promise.”
“You keep your promises. It’s in the job description. Oh, and you’re so handsome.”
“Even the non-human bits?” I ask with a grunt as she slides faster. Her hand stops and reaches between her legs, holding her soaking heat to my crown and rubbing herself against me harder. I tweak her nipples, rolling them between my thumb and forefinger.
“Every inch. And there are a lot.”
“The ones you’ve got between your legs are the most sensitive. If you’re worried about size, don’t be. This is plenty for me.”
“I’d be enough? Just me?”
It’s foolish to think so, especially so soon, but hell, it’s Christmas Eve now. It’s a time of miracles. Joy. All the shit I was trying to avoid this year, that I hoped for last year. Maybe hope wants to live again. “I must think you could be, or I wouldn’t do this, Briana.”
She lifts my hand to her lips and kisses it, then bites down on my knuckles, soft little nibbles as her other hand does sinful things where cock and pussy meet.
It’s like that for an eternity, or maybe just ten minutes. I’m lost in her movements, in the erotic way her skin glistens in the firelight, the way we keep each other warm.
When I’m afraid that I can’t hold on another moment, her soft, drawn-out scream of pleasure echoes in the otherwise silent house.
“Come for me. Come for me,” she urges, still rocking, hips rolling erratically now.
I obey, long spurts against her curls and up over her belly, dripping down her thighs. “My Briana,” I claim her in a grunt, exhausted, scooping her closer to me, dragging her up so that my lips can finally taste hers.
She tastes like brandy and cherries, intoxicating as her starry eyes under dark, entrancing lashes.
I just pray I didn’t make a fool of myself. That she won’t regret this in an hour or two, or even a minute or two. I want my heart to stay in one piece this Christmas.
Or maybe split in two—Briana can have one half of mine if I can have one half of hers.
Chapter Six: Christmas Eve For Certain
Nigel gets the boiler going after wrapping me in a towel. The lights come back on by seven. A hot bath by eight. Eggs and toast by nine, and ankle re-wrapped and elevated by ten.
“You spoil me.”
“I care for you,” he corrects. “This is how you should treat the woman you court.” Nigel is standing next to me in the living room, a glass of water in his hand. “I should have given you some aspirin last night.”
“I’m feeling amazingly better.” Like Josh was a bad dream.
I’m sure this isn’t normal.
