“Spread your thighs for me,” Sunny coaxed as she climbed onto the bed to perch between my legs. “That’s it. God, I love that you’re a natural blond.”
Her fingers trailed down the seam of my scrotum, brushing down to my perineum and back up again. She toyed with my balls a little bit, smiling whenever my dick jerked or my stomach clenched, and then lightly scratched along my thighs. I sucked in a breath, shamelessly trying to rock my erection closer to her touch, and she gave it a light slap.
“Fuck,” I hissed, the bright sparks of pain immediately fizzing into pleasure. My balls were drawing up, tight and ready to unload.
“It’s your turn to behave,” she scolded. “Or no gingerbread lotion for you.”
I stilled my body at once, because the only thing tethering me to reality right now was the hope that she’d give me her fingers and let me ride her hand. I needed to come, and I needed my ass fingered, and the entire world had shrunk to me and Sunny and that gingerbread lotion.
A flush spread across her cheeks and chest as she squeezed some lotion onto her first two fingers, and then I felt the cool, slippery caress of her fingers against my entrance.
I could smell nutmeg and cloves and ginger, and under it all, the lingering scent of Sunny’s pussy... and if Christmas didn’t smell like this from now on, then I had no use for Christmas.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Sunshine, I’m about to die. Please.”
She tossed me a wicked look and then pressed a finger against my opening. I made myself relax as she breached the first ring of muscle, and then the next, and then it was sweet, sweet pressure inside. My erection surged as she stroked in again, leaving a gossamer strand of pre-cum between the tip and my stomach, and then she grazed my prostate. My entire frame jolted, like I’d just been defibrillated.
“Fuck,” I breathed. “Fuck.”
“Mmm,” she said. “Again?”
She found that spot inside me again and rubbed. The pressure inside my pelvis was like nothing else, urgent and inflaming, and I was trying to move against her hand now, trying to fuck myself on her finger.
“Another finger, I think,” she murmured, and there was the click of the lotion bottle, and then the smell of gingerbread. I wondered dazedly if this meant I was going to get a hard-on whenever I smelled nutmeg, but I decided it was a small price to pay as she pushed two fingers in now, a real stretch. God, it felt so good and yet not good enough; I wanted tofeelher, feel her in the kind of way that would last until tomorrow morning. I started moving against her hand once again, and she let me, she stiffened her fingers and allowed me to find just the right angle as I twisted and bucked so that every movement had her stroking the gland inside me.
The pleasure was a raw and deep thing, tearing its way up from the base of my spine, and Sunny looked so fucking beautiful right now, kneeling between my legs with her hair in wild waves and with the swells of her tits and her stomach ondisplay, along with her deep, soft navel. With the folds of her waist, with the place where her thighs met her hips. I could see the muscles moving in her forearm as she fingered me, sliding under her tattoos, and I could see the shine of her leftover orgasm on the insides of her thighs whenever she shifted.
I went to grab my dick, needing to jerk offhardandnow, but she was faster than me and got there first. Her grip was tight and unrelenting, and there was lotion on her palm too, making everything so slick, and I couldn’t breathe and I could barely move, except I was still fucking myself on her fingers and I didn’t know if I was trying to rush headlong into the orgasm or run away from it, and then it tore into me anyway, surging up from where Sunny’s fingers were buried inside me and rushing outward and upward in a crest of screaming, leg-thrashing ecstasy.
I was twisting, shouting her name, my feet sliding on the bed as I ejaculated all over her fist and my stomach and my chest. And she didn’t let up either, milking me with one hand while her other massaged me from the inside—and the waves kept rolling, heavy and high, and I could feel them from the top of my scalp to the soles of my feet, and they lasted forever, with my stomach flexing and my thighs shaking and my ribs seizing. Every muscle was stretched taut, carved from quivering stone, from my throat to my calves, until abruptly—they weren’t.
Until all the semen had roped all over me and Sunny and my core was no longer clenching around her invasion.
My limbs slackened until I was a puddle of sprawled limbs and sweat and seed. I panted, staring sightlessly at the canopy above the bed, as Sunny mopped up the mess on my stomach and between my legs, and then disappeared to wash her hands.
Everything smelled like sex and gingerbread.
She came back from the bathroom, and after some grunting and shuffling, we got ourselves under the blankets. She drapedherself over me, one thigh over my hips and her head on my chest, and I used the last of my strength to wrap her in my arms and pull her snug to my body. I didn’t want a single micron of space between us, not a single atom of air. I just wanted her smashed into me for the next eight hours with no interruptions.
My heartbeat was finally settling down, thumping in slower and slower pulses that I could feel in my tired cock and inside my rectum, which was a little burny from the gingerbread spices. But in a nice way.
And I just didn’t know why we had to do anything differently than what we were doing right now. This was perfect! We were actually doing our jobs and writing things; we were having great sex; we were successfully co-parenting a cat-demon while sustaining minimal injuries.
This was the dream, and we were living it, and we could keep living it. If only Sunny would let us.
I kissed her hair, now almost all the way dry, summoned all of my courage, and whispered, “Be mine, sunshine. Be mine.”
In response, she let out an adorable, hiccuping snore on my chest.
She was asleep.
And despite the ache blooming just under her soft cheek, I wasn’t far behind.
Unconsciousness came and brought with it dreams of swimming pools filled with letters instead of water and lonely gingerbread men marching off to war.
Chapter Twenty-One
