Briana didn’t sniffle and cry when they brought up Josh, just patted my chest and proudly declared she had come to her senses and found a mature man with a lot more to offer.
And then her hand did something devilish to me, and I had to keep a straight face!
Tonight, my ego was the size of the ocean, and Mrs. Wasserman told me I had a beautiful smile.
Take that, Mum.
“Merry Christmas,” she whispers, stretching out in that black lace number that has little slits for her nipples and a much bigger one in the panties, giving me access to my new favorite hobby—making Briana scream in pleasure.
“Happy Christmas.”
“That’s a British thing, huh?”
“It is. Merry used to mean you were drunk.”
“Ooh. Got it. Well, I might be later. There’s champagne to go along with Christmas dinner. Or breakfast,” Briana giggles, and slides from my arms to rest much lower.
“What are you doing?”
“Learning,” she says simply.
“You’re not in the most conventional spot,” I point out, seeing her chin resting on the middle of my long barrel of a chest.
“I don’t have the most conventional boyfriend, either.”
“Ooh, is that what I am? Boyfriend?”
“Yes.” Briana gives one firm nod of her head, and my heart about bursts into flame. The rest of me is about to follow.
My Briana rocks and glides on me, drawing my long cock between her legs, and fitting me into her snug warmth, looking up at me while my fingertips study her face, tracing her parted lips, feathering over her eyelids when she gasps and closes them in pleasure.
One of her legs tucks up against my belly, and the other rests over my side.
“This might be more comfortable if you faced out,” I suggest.
“But this is better because I can see you. And I like watching your face—even if it is way too far away,” Briana explains, ending with a pout.
“I’ll be closer soon.” I press a kiss to my fingers and lay it on her lips as she works her hips down, sheathing me inside of her with a groan.
This afternoon and evening were torrid and naughty, but this is slow and sweet. Simple.
This is all I would ever need. She gives me so much more.
While she takes me to new places, tender, sweet, sleepy places where lovers spend, and then curl up as one, my mind is already several hours ahead.
I hope she doesn’t wake early on Christmas morning, I think, wrapping my arms around her and loving how she uses me for warmth. I tuck the blankets over her flushed body, eyes drinking in every curve, every streak of wetness we painted her with.
“Do you know what?” I whisper.
Her answer is a sleepy grunt.
“I finally got what I wanted for Christmas.”
MY VAN IS ALWAYS FULLof lumber and spare bits and bobs. Always full of tools, too.
While Briana sleeps on Christmas morning, I wash, dress, and slide outside.
The world is picture postcard perfect. Bright blue sky. Bright white gold sun. Gusts of wind that blow snow in powdery twirls.
