Page 99 of Mismatched

“You look like a Christmas present,” I say, taking in the sheer red and green thong below the beautiful swell of her belly. She reclines and gazes at me through her lashes like some kind of festive fertility nymph.

“Will I be on the naughty list for letting you unwrap one of your presents early?” she asks, circling her fingers around one of her nipples through the fabric.

My mouth goes dry. I run my hands up and down her smooth legs. “I doubt Santa will be pleased. He might send one of his elves to spank you...”

She presses her thighs together, her blue eyes darkening until they’re almost black.

“But I have a gift I want to give you too,” I say.

She bites her lip. “We shouldn’t open everything. It’ll ruin Christmas morning.”

I rise to my feet, flashing her a wicked grin. “Oh, I’m pretty sure it’ll only enhance it.”

My erection is so stiff, I can barely walk down the hall to the office-nursery. I finished painting a couple weeks ago, and recently it’s just been accumulating boxes of things needing to be set up and assembled. The perfect place to hide an awkwardly large gift.

I pull off the blanket I stowed it under, stick on a large red bow I’ve been saving, and carry it back down the hall.

“What . . . is that?” Lydia asks, uncertainly.

I place the long gray fabric object on the floor in front of the Christmas tree and stand back. It’s S-shaped, with one end arching up higher than the other, separated by a dip in the middle. “It’s a chaise.”

Her brows draw together, studying the curving lines of the new furniture. “Like a chaise lounge?”

“Uh huh,” I say, extending my hand to help her off the couch. “Try it out.”

I hold her hand as she approaches it, my mouth salivating at the sight of her bare ass cheeks framed in red and green when she turns around. She steps over the lounger, then finally settles into the dip, laying her head back against the larger curve and draping her legs over the smaller one.

“It’s comfortable,” she says, running her hand over the velvety fabric. “But where will it?—”

“In our bedroom. Or out here. I guess we could even try it in the yard...” Our eyes meet as I pull off my shirt and sink to the curve where her legs rest. “It’s a sex chaise.”

Her lovely lips part, and I shudder, imagining sliding my cock between them. Ten weeks is a long time. Lydia studies the furniture again, like she’s viewing it for the first time, looking at the way it cradles her body. “So how?—”

“Like this,” I say, grabbing her ankles and giving her a firm tug, sliding her further down into the scoop of the S until her hips are propped up on the lower curve. “And... a lot of other ways. But this is the one I want to try first.”

I home in on the Christmassy green thong with its decorative red bows, sliding my fingers under the edges, forcing myself to go slow even while I’m dying to tear it off.

“This...” I sigh, running one finger along her already-damp center. “I want you to wear this for me again Christmas Day.”

Hooking my fingers under the lace at her hips, I slide the colorful fabric down her legs, exposing her glistening pussy, all trimmed, turned up, and waiting for me on the curve of the lounger.

“Oh,” Lydia says, suddenly understanding as I sink my face easily between her legs. Her entire sex is upturned and accessible to me from this position. I slide my tongue between her labia, spreading her copious juices everywhere, lapping up the taste of her like it’s already Christmas morning.

“Fuck, you taste even better now,” I mutter, sliding one finger inside her slick canal and darting my tongue over her hardening clit, then clamping my lips over it and sucking quick and firm.

“Ah!” She arches up off the fabric curve. “Anton, I—I need?—”

“I know what you need, Mrs. Richie.” I straighten up, kneeling in front of her, but keeping my finger pulsing slowly in and out of her. I watch her eyes close, then curl my finger inside her, pressing and sliding the tip firmly up against her inner wall until she moans. “You need something a little bigger inside you, don’t you?”

She nods vigorously, eyes still closed while I continue to slide my finger in and out of her soaking pussy. With my other hand, I reach out and pinch one nipple still trapped under the fabric of the holiday bra. She gasps, then I move my hand over and tweak the other. “And I need to finish unwrapping my present.”

I repeat this a few times, still stroking my finger inside her, until she is utterly whimpering. Then I withdraw gently. I help her readjust until she’s sitting up, then I hold my glistening finger in front of her mouth. “I want you to taste how much you want me.”

Her eyes flicker to mine for a moment like she’s not sure, but maybe she sees the desire in my eyes because she looks at the finger in front of her again, and takes it into her mouth just like it’s my fucking cock. I groan.

“Fuck. That’s right. Don’t miss a single drop—it’s the most delicious taste in the world.”

By the time she finishes cleaning my hand, I’m regulating my breaths to stay under control. I pull my pants off quickly, then straddle the chaise naked and throbbing in front of her. She reaches behind her, thrusting her chest forward as she releases the clasp of her bra, and I pull it off as soon as it loosens, her swollen tits springing free in front of me like a fucking dream.

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