His weight held me down, and his arms held me tight, and he kissed me breathless.
Wriggling free, I reached for his sweet, pink cock, now hard as an iron rod. Then I scooted down and took him in my mouth before he could protest. And gave him the best Christmas Morning blow job I could give him, with hearty licks and slobbery gobbling, his balls between my fingers as I swirled them around and around.
Above me he was gasping, half laughing, but not protesting. When his balls tightened, I doubled down, full throating him till I half choked. Then when he came, I swallowed and swallowed some more, kissed his sticky cock as it softened, my hands clasping his sweaty hips.
When I looked up, his hair was a mess, tousled from the sheets, his face flushed, his eyes bright, his expression a little shocked, as if he was surprised to be spun so far out into the stratosphere by my talented mouth, only to land back on earth in a rumpled bed.
“You are amazing,” he said, shaking his head slightly as he balanced himself on his arms, palms flat on the sheets.
“I am,” I said. No modesty there. I knew what I was good at.
“Let me do you,” he said, moving forward, lunging himself at me.
I pretended to shriek in terror (always funny, in my mind), and let him have at me. I’d let him have at me forever, if he wanted it.
He went down on me, full-throated me right from the start, and when I began to tighten up, he pulled back, like the monster he was. Then, with a low, evil laugh, he did that again and then one more time before my body couldn’t be backed down, and I came down his throat. Boy, he was a good swallower, goinggentle and more gentle still as I came down from that amazing high.
Better yet, he sighed as he pulled me into his arms, tucked the pillow beneath our heads, and pulled the soft cotton sheet over our shoulders for a breather.
And that was why we were late for Christmas Breakfast.
CHAPTER 12
Alex and I arrived in the special dining room off The Antlers, and apologized over and over. But everyone, dressed in special Christmas sweaters, was as calm as could be, drinking what smelled like amazing coffee and chatting over slices of toast and butter and jam.
I felt out of place as I sat down (for all the usual reasons and especially because I had no Christmas sweater), but I made sure to be on my best manners. Napkin in my lap, no elbows on the table, and stuff. I did eat with my finger, but only the toast and bacon. The scrambled eggs, I ate with a fork. Go me!
The food was amazing, and the Westmores were as welcoming that morning as they’d been the evening before.
And soon we were on to the presents portion of the morning. Forgot to mention, they were in the corner, and by that I mean PILED beneath a tiny Christmas tree—a real one, of course, that smelled amazing—that had been put up on a table covered with a soft white cloth.
No Christmas sweater to wear, and now this. I had nothing to add to the festivities. But Alex, who was sitting next to me atthe festive table, nudged me with his elbow, and then pointed with his chin to the pile of presents.
“What?” I asked him in a stage-whisper hiss because I couldseethe pile of presents.
“You got the Westmore family a Harry & David basket,” he said, in a low, less aggravated whisper.
Now I could see it. An enormous sturdy basket with large clumps of things stuffed in it. Stuff like cheese, and cookies and a box of pears, and more things than that. The crumple stuff-paper was silver, and there were even sprigs of evergreen in there.
I’d seen the Harry & David catalog at the Thackery house a week or so back. Jonah and Royce had been discussing which gift basket to send to everybody who’d been in the Fresh Start Program, as well as one for Leland Tate, who’d organized the whole thing.
“That’s almost thirty baskets,” said Jonah, a worried scowl on his forehead. “That’s three thousand dollars.”
“So?” asked Royce, because, to him, as always, money was no object.
I did the math, and it meant that each basket was around a hundred bucks. Was the delivery charge included in that? I had no idea. But what I did know was that those hundred dollar baskets of stuff were a lot smaller than the basket I was staring at now. It was as tall as a small child.
I didn’t ask Alex how much I’d supposedly spent because it wouldn’t matter, and the Westmore family would surely know I’d not been the one to get it for them. Still, it was a nice gesture, and I did the appropriate thing and said, “Thank you.” And meant it.
After breakfast was cleared away (and by cleared, every dish was removed, the table was wiped down, and a lacy white tablecloth was laid down). Tim made himself useful by handing out presents. He was so much a Westmore that he made a big deal,right off the bat, by bringing over the basket I’d supposedly bought for the family.
“Look at this,” he said. “Wow, Beck, this is amazing!”
Christ, he sounded so sincere, I believe he meant it. As did the rest of the Westmores as they oohed and aahed over it. And started picking out a cookie or a bit of strudel or a fancy pear to eat. Now that’s what I call nice because they were really enjoying the gift, and nobody called me out on it.
Then came more presents. It was like an avalanche of presents and wrapping paper and oodles of good cheer. I didn’t remember all of what everyone got, except that Baby Ginny got her silver spoon from Uncle Alex and promptly stuck it in her mouth the second it came out of its fancy white box. Brother Tim got a felt cowboy hat that looked expensive, and Lottie got a beautiful set of glittery earrings that were, of course, expensive, this being a Westmore Christmas.
I was most interested in what Alex got, which was new leather shoes, and a cashmere scarf, a date book for the coming year. Someone, perhaps hearing about how Alex had had to wear his snow-crumpled fancy shoes for a whole two days, had purchased a set of leather boots, complete with a fur coming out of the top. They were kind of a joke, but they looked warm and if Alex would only wear them, I promised myself I would only tease him a little.
