Page 22 of A Very Fumbling Merry Christmas

“Let go, Faith. I’ve got you.” I set a punishing rhythm with my fingers, my cock aching to be inside her. She detonates, so much pent-up frustration trying to hold back.

“Oh my God! Yes… Hunter… oh God… yes!”

“That’s it, Faith. Let me hear you, love.” She’s lost in wave after wave of orgasm, her muscles tightening around my fingers, making my cock twitch in my pants. I need to be inside her. As she rides her release, I pull my fingers from the warmth of her sex just long enough to unzip my pants and position myself at her entrance. With a hard thrust, I sink balls deep, and she feels so fucking good—warm, wet, and tight as a drum.

As I circle my hips, I grab the sides of her underwear and literally tear them off. I can still hear the vibrator as the panties fall to the floor. I can’t even see Faith’s face right now with a mountain of dress between us. Her voice is muffled, but I can just make out what she’s saying.

“Move the dress. I can’t breathe with it all shoved in my face.” Without thinking, I just grab layers of tule and start ripping them as I continue to grind my hips. I couldn’t pull out right now, even if I wanted to. My cock is begging for relief.

“Rip the layers, Faith! Fuck, I can’t pull out. You feel too fucking good. Do you want me to stop?” My brain is screaming, please don’t ask me to stop!

“No! Don’t stop. Please, God, don’t stop.” I continue to thrust, her hips moving in time with my own as we tear at the layers of fabric until we meet in the middle. She immediately fists her hands in my hair and pulls me in for a kiss, her lips crashing down on mine in a desperate plea for more.

I feel like I’m having sex in a candy floss machine. Fucking hell, I’m never buying Faith a dress of this magnitude ever again. This is making it almost impossible to have hot, dangerous sex in a public place—almost. Designers really need to think of this shit. I want to touch my wife’s body right now more than I want my next breath, but literally, the only spot I can reach is with my cock. Lucky I’m well-endowed, or this might have been an impossible feat.

“Hold the ripped shit out of the way, love. I need to grab your hips, and I can’t fucking see them.” Faith starts laughing, which would make any man flaccid, but I know my girl. This is just par for the course.

“I’m trying.” I slow my pace to help her, but she just yells at me through a mound of silver tulle. “Don’t stop! I’m so close, please, Hunter, don’t stop!”

“Then grab the damn dress.” She yanks it out the way and up into her face. Now all I see is her sweet pussy. Fuck, if I wasn’t ready to come before now, I sure as hell am now.”

“Come with me, Faith. Say the word, and I’m yours.” I press down on her hips, holding her steady, and I hammer into her, letting her take every last inch of me as deep is she can handle.

“Now, Hunter. Oh God, I’m coming.” Her muscles start to spasm, her thighs trembling as she screams my name. I lose control, chasing my own release as she rides wave after wave of ecstasy. A string of expletive, unintelligible words pour from my lips, and I come, my cock pulsing inside of her.

It takes me a few minutes until I can make a coherent sentence.

“Holy shit. You’re so fucking hot when you come, even when you’re stuck in the center of a marshmallow.”

“Does that make you the smore? Give me smore, Hunter, smore!” She amuses herself with that one, a little snort giggle escaping her.

“I’ll be the smore for your soft, warm center any day of the week. Anytime, anywhere.”

I reluctantly pull out, still sporting a semi. When I look at Faith, realization damns—her dress is in tatters, she has no underwear, and the minute she stands up, she’ll have my cum trickling down the inside of her thighs. How the fuck are we going to get out of here?

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