Red.
White.
“Stay,” I beg, my back arching off the desk as the pressure of his fingers inside me fills me with need. “Stay.”
He chuckles, his fingers twirling and hitting the spot that has my toes curling and my stars dancing in my vision. “Please.”
“Shhhh...” he coos, as he continues to fuck my ass with his fingers. Slow and precise movements that drive me head first towards the brink. The sound of his belt buckle hitting the floor, stops the movement of the room. And when his crown brushes against the spot I need him the most, I nearly see double from the delicious pain that comes from being stretched by a thick cock up the ass.
The lights flicker..
DING !
DONG!
DING !
“NO!” I shout, my legs wrapping onto him and pulling him into me. The head of his cock pushes inside me with the movement, leaving me breathless, but I didn’t care. I just need to anchor myself to this moment.
To him.
“Neno,” I whisper, fingers clutching at his curls when he leans over me. His hips are pistoning slowly and in circular motions.He lifts his head, his eyes are different now—greener, darker, almost glassy.
Dead.
He chuckles low, the shake of it vibrates against my chest. “That’s the thing about miracles,” Neno whispers softly, “they never last.”
The warmth drains, the fullness evaporates and the light bleeds away. The air sharpens until it tastes like smoke again. The desk is gone, replaced by the cabin's table. The mug of coffee becomes a cracked bourbon glass and the plants vanish. In its place only lays dust and frost. I blink once and then again, even rub my face—smacking it a few times. “Wake up, wake up.”
But I’m not fucking dreaming… I’m wide awake. The fire is dead, the warmth of it no longer lingers in the space. The phone on the counter buzzes, and through blurry vision, I stumble towards it.
“What the fuck?” I mutter as I look down at the text.
Emily:
Sector B, drivers reporting whiteout. They want to stop early.
Leaning into the counter, I hold the phone up to my forehead, relishing in the coolness of it against my fevered skin. I read the text over and over again, it’s like I’ve been here. A full circle, one might even call itdeja vu.
Inhale.
Exhale.
I practice my breathing, like my therapist taught me a couple of times, as my body regulates and instinctively begins to work. My fingers typing on the screen's keyboard with ease.
Me:
Tell them Santa Claus wouldn’t stop because of the weather and neither would we.
Send.
The screen goes dark, and the air goes still. The sound of the wind howling against the white backdrop, the snow drifts in slow spirals. Dead branches lean from the mounted pressure, the tip scratching against the glass. Somewhere beyond the pines a figure emerges, watching from the shadows, sending a shiver throughout my body. I run a shaky hand down my face, feeling the sweat that has gathered on my forehead. Turning my back to the window, I walk towards the kitchen sink and turn on the faucet.
Gathering water in my palms before splashing it on my face. “Wake up, Toy King,” a menacing voice purrs against my ear.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “No, please.” I take a step back and then another, the sound of the bells tolling inside my head has my knees giving out.
DING!
