Page 13 of Silent Night Temptation

“I’ve got a thought,” I say, the words forming as the idea takes shape. “How about we set up the Christmas tree? It’s already morning. You can help.”

Before she can respond, I’m already on my feet, moving towards where the tree stored. I position it, my hands busy with the familiar task of fitting the pieces together.

Nyree hesitates, a shadow of caution crossing her face. I pause, sensing her unease. “What’s wrong?” I ask gently, looking up from the half-assembled tree.

She exhales a small sigh. “It’s just... I don’t really like winter or the holidays. And Christmas... well, especially Christmas.”

Her admission catches me off guard. The thought of someone not liking Christmas is a little strange to me, despite not being too keen on the holidays myself many years ago. I can’t help butlet the surprise show across my face. She notices and quickly adds, “…but I can help.”

With a small smile, she stands and joins me, handing me the ornaments and decorations as I continue assembling the tree. Her movements are careful, almost tentative, but there’s a quiet determination in her gestures.

"So... why don’t you like Christmas?" I ask, my voice soft, careful not to tread too heavily on a subject that might send her back into herself. I appreciate this lighter side of her, this version that feels more at ease and unguarded.

There’s a pause as her expression turns inward, reflective. “Just some sour memories,” she finally says, her voice quiet. The weight of her words settles between us.

The way she says it, curt and almost distant, tells me enough. I know this is a door that shouldn’t be opened any further, not tonight. I nod, a subtle gesture of understanding, and choose not to press. Some topics are better left untouched until they are ready to be shared.

"Well... it’s great that you’re here," I say, shifting the conversation to safer ground. "Christmas has always been a time to be around people." My tone is lighter, almost cheerful, as I step back to admire the tree. The last of the ornaments hangs in place, and the room feels more alive, wrapped in soft light and the scent of pine.

I pick up the tree’s star, turning back to her with a smile. “Here…” I hold it out. “You get to put the star on the tree.”

She laughs, and it’s not just a chuckle or a polite laugh, but a full, vibrant one—rich and unguarded. It echoes through the room, catching me by surprise. I stand there, momentarily stunned. Part of me is confused by what’s so funny, but another part is captivated by the sight of her at that moment. She seems so innocent and free. Her face is bright with genuine joy.

“What? Like a kid?” she says between laughs. “That’s something kids get excited about.”

“That’s the beauty of Christmas,” I reply, unable to help a grin. “We can all be kids for a little.” I thrust the star toward her being playful now.

She shakes her head, the laughter still dancing on her lips as she takes the star from my hand. “Fine... I’ll do it,” she says, and moves toward the ladder that is set beside the tree.

As she climbs, with her back to me, I’m suddenly caught off guard. Her movements, the sway of her hips as she ascends, the soft jiggle of her curves… I swallow hard, my eyes betraying me for a moment. I force myself to look away and focus instead on the fire, with its quiet crackle from the wood.

“The ladder’s a little farther out,” she calls down to me. I look up to see her reaching for the top of the tree, but she is just a few inches short of her goal.

“I’ll move it closer,” I offer, stepping forward to adjust it.

“Don’t worry, I got it,” she says confidently, stretching out her arm just enough to catch the edge of the tree with her fingertips. She fixes the star at the top, her body tensing as she steadies herself. But then, in the space of a breath, her foot slips.

It all happens so quickly. In that instant, time feels like it slows. Her hand loses its grip, her body wobbles precariously on the ladder, and in the blink of an eye, she’s falling, helpless. Her balance was completely gone. A sharp, startled cry escapes her lips, and my body reacts before my mind can catch up.

I surge forward, arms outstretched, my heart hammering in my chest. She tumbles toward the floor, but I catch her, her weight colliding with me as I hold her tight against my chest. The impact nearly knocks me off my feet, but I hold firm. The adrenaline rushes through me; every nerve is alive.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing, her body pressed against mine. The air feels thick, charged withthe sudden closeness. I look down at her, her face inches from mine, her eyes wide with shock, and her lips are parted slightly.

She’s so close. Her soft body nestles in my arms, her warmth pressing into me. Everything else seems to fade. The look on her face, so vulnerable, her breath still shallow from the fall. And then, without warning, my body betrays me. I feel the heat rush downward, and I stiffen. The allure of her thick, soft body ignites a reaction that I can’t control.

Her eyes widen even more. An expression of realization crosses her face as she shifts slightly in my arms. “Is that your…?” she begins, her voice quiet but unmistakable.

The words jolt me into motion. I set her down quickly, too quickly, as if by freeing her from my arms could free myself from this humiliating situation. But there’s no escaping it now. The bulge in my trousers is evident, embarrassingly so, and I’m standing there…utterly exposed.

“I am so sorry,” I blurt out, desperately trying to adjust myself, but it’s pointless. It all has a mind of its own, and no amount of quick apologies can erase what she’s just noticed.

An awkward silence hangs between us, heavy and suffocating. My heart pounds in my chest as I stand there, caught between shame and disbelief, unsure what to say. But then, to my surprise, her voice cuts through the tension.

“It’s okay… it just happens sometimes, I guess,” she says softly. Her tone is kind, almost reassuring, though it only deepens my embarrassment.

It just happens? Not to me.I’m no inexperienced boy, certainly not a hormone-driven teenager. This…shouldn’t be happening. I stand there, dumbfounded and trying to process her words. But the awkwardness feels like it’s crushing me. I feel like I’ve lost control, not just of my body, but of the moment itself.

Then she speaks again, her voice tinged with a hint of self-consciousness. “I should be the one apologizing…” she murmurs, scratching the back of her neck. “I just dropped on you like that… and I’m quite heavy.”

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