Page 13 of Santa's Pretty Helper

Gabe, my years long crush, just stroked his massive dick to orgasm on camera.

I watch, feeling limp and sated, as he grins at the camera while he cleans himself up. He looks so much more relaxed now as he works the towel over his stomach, his half-hard cock.

“So sexy,” I whisper, longing sitting like a weight in the center of my chest.

“See you next time,” Gabe says, his voice languid and lighter than before. He winks at the camera before ending the stream. I’m left staring at his profile picture, my body still humming with the aftermath of my orgasm. I can’t believe I just watched that. I can’t believe he does this. I take a deep breath, the shock starting to wear off. And as the shock dissipates, I’m left with something akin to hunger.

I need more. I’ll never have him in real life, but I can have this, and maybe it’ll be enough.

I scroll through his profile, scanning the menu of subscription tiers. I immediately subscribe to the VIP option,which gives me access to everything—replays of live shows, access to a private chat channel, exclusive VIP only shows, alerts whenever he’s online.

A thrill runs through me as the subscription confirms and I’m prompted to create a user name. I type MistletoeHolly in, and when I’m finished, a glittery red VIP badge appears beside my name. I scroll through his exclusive content, and I feel like a starving person at a buffet. There are photos of Gabe shirtless, photos of Gabe naked, photos of Gabe with come dripping down his cock. There are a few archived live streams I have access to—it looks like he’s only been on the site for about a week—and a couple of teaser videos.

I’m relieved to see that he’s only ever alone in the videos. I don’t think I could stomach watching him with someone else. It would kill me, quite possibly literally because it would tear my heart to shreds.

I hover my cursor over the videos, and I already know that as soon as I’m recovered from my recent orgasm, I’m going to get a toy out and go again. In one of the videos, Gabe’s stroking himself with a Fleshlight. In another, he’s washing himself in the shower and slowly fucking his soapy fist. In another, he’s fucking another toy, this one shaped like a woman’s pussy and ass.

My stomach flips and my pussy clenches. That’s the one I want to watch. I can imagine it’s me he’s fucking, me on the receiving end of his attention.

I sit up, head to the bathroom to wash my hands, and get a bottle of water from the fridge. I’m parched, probably because I’ve been panting and salivating over Gabe. I lean a hip against the counter, and then it hits me.

How on earth am I going to be able to look him in the eye and act like everything is the same as it’s always been? I know what he looks like naked, how big his beautiful cock is, what he sounds like when he comes. My face flames.

Shit.

I’ve been looking forward to the Christmas tree decorating party, but know I don’t know how I’m going to make it through. Can I act normal around him? I’m not a good actress, and I get flustered so easily.

I head back to my room and flop down on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Maybe I shouldn’t go. I could lie, say I’m sick, hide out here. But even as I mull that over, I know I don’t want to do that. I want to go to the party, my family will be sad if I don’t, and it’s not like I can avoid Gabe forever. He’s Eric’s best friend and often comes to family events.

And even though it’s going to be awkward and I have no idea how I’m going to navigate it, I still want to see Gabe. I can’t pass up the chance to be near him. I want to hear his laugh, smell his cologne, feel his arms around me when he gives me a hug. I’m drawn to him like a magnet, and watching him cam hasn’t changed that.

In fact, it’s only made me want him more.

Eight

Bella

It’s cloudy today, with low whitish gray clouds and crisp cold air whipping through the trees. The dusting of snow we had a few days ago didn’t stick, but it looks like more might be headed our way. But despite the chill outside, my parents’ house is warm and festive when I step inside. Christmas music plays merrily from the stereo in the living room, and I can smell the comforting scents of a fire burning in the fire place and mulled wine on the stove.

From the front hallway, I can see through to the living room and the bare tree waiting to be decorated. It stands proudly in front of the large window that looks out onto the backyard. I can’t wait to see it all decorated and lit up in just a couple of hours.

I pull off my coat and toss it over the banister—the spot where coats have been tossed my entire life. This is the house I grew up in, and even though I have my own place with Madison now, this is still home to me. It probably always will be.

I can hear voices from the kitchen, so I start to head in that direction when there’s a knock on the door behind me.

I should’ve braced myself first, because I’m wholly unprepared for the sight of Gabe standing on the front porch, bags in each of his gloved hands. My heart leaps into my throat and I feel like I can’t move. All I can do is stare at him. He looks so handsome today in his black wool coat and soft blue scarf that matches his eyes. His cheeks are pink from the cold, and his gaze pins me in place.

“Hey, Bella,” he says, his voice low and smooth.

I can feel the blood rush to my cheeks and I have to look away. I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye. Not when I watched his live show just a few days ago. Not when I held a vibrator to my clit and watched one of his VIP videos this morning. I feel like I’m spiraling out of control. My crush on him, my feelings for him were already intense and consuming, but now?

Now, I’m like an addict, and he’s my secret fix.

I force myself to glance up at him, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a smile. Immediately, my mind conjures up the memory of the way he smirked at the camera, muscles gleaming and sweaty as he worked his big fist over his lubed up cock.

I realize that I’m staring like a complete idiot now, so I take a breath and smile. “Hi, Gabe,” I manage and then step back from the door. “Come on in.” I deserve an award for how normal I sound. As he brushes past me into the warmth of the house, I catch a hint of his woodsy cologne and I have to resist the urge to lean forward and breathe him in.

God, everything about this man makes me weak.

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