Page 13 of Christmas Kisses

This is usually when I’d take over, where I’d lead the procession to the ultimate thrill.

I can’t do that this time around.

I’m too busy admiring the view. The princely swell of Kelsey’s breasts as she arches her back so her clit gets as much attention from my pelvis as her pussy gets from my cock, the rosy hue that lightens the coloring of her nipples the more she moans, and the wetness that gets more pungent the damper it becomes are better than anything I’ve ever experienced.

This girl is a dream.

A dream you’ll only experience once if you don’t man up and get the job done right.

In a flurry, I lift her off me, fold her over the couch, and slam into her with one brutal pump.

Kelsey screams before she convulses around me.

The tightness of her pussy as she rides the waves of ecstasy is almost my undoing. It takes everything I have to simmer my urge to come. But I do it. I achieve the impossible. I fuck her until her words are incomprehensible and the roots of her hair are as damp as the slit between her legs.

Then I move our exchange to the bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen.

I show Kelsey the time of her life, so the last thing I expect to wake up to the following morning is an empty apartment and a note next to an unlocked iPhone.

5

KELSEY

“I’ll approve the ride as soon as I get inside. I promise.”

The Uber driver isn’t happy with my request, but he can do little about it since I booked my ride with the app on Zane’s phone. I was already on the verge of outstaying my welcome before I reached a stage of unconsciousness where I groggily requested that he spoon me, so I refused to steal his phone to prevent a driver from thinking I was trying to dupe him out of a fare.

The Uber driver’s eyes connect with mine in the rearview mirror. “I’ll wait here.”

“It’s thirteen dollars…” I stop myself. It isn’t my right to judge others on what they can or cannot afford to let go of. I thought it would take me weeks to get over Peter’s betrayal, yet here I am, doing the walk of shame only days later. “Okay. I’ll be just a minute.”

I wait for him to nod before I slip out the back of his SUV and race up the stairs of my building. The several-floor climb is no easy feat with how deliriously sore my muscles are. I lost countof how many times I climaxed last night. I’m confident it was close to double digits.

Zane was… I can’t find the words to describe how magical last night was.

It went above and beyond my greatest expectations, but I refuse to be one of those women who try to make out a one-night stand is more than it is. If we all did that, we’d ruin the handbook for relationships and breakups. With how misguided some men are these days, no one wants that.

My pace slows when I reach the floor my apartment is on. A notice is pinned to my front door. I have little experience with them, but if the bold letters at the top are anything to go by, it is an eviction notice.

“You slimy snail,” I snarl out while ripping the eviction notice off the glossy wood.

Peter is the official owner of this apartment, but he promised I’d never be homeless if I gave up the rent-controlled apartment I’d been leasing since college.

It was the only affordable one-bedder left in Ravenshoe after Bronte’s Peak commission surged house prices to unreachable levels.

And let’s not forget who paid the mortgage on this apartment over the past two years. I put more time and money into our home than Peter ever did, so it is mine as much as it is his.

With my anger high, it takes the Uber driver honking three times before I remember he’s waiting for his payment to clear before he can leave.

After dumping my house keys and eviction notice on the kitchen counter, I race into my bedroom and fire up my old laptop.

I close a dozen “Back to the drawing board?” and “What am I meant to do with a twelve-piece dinner set?” messages beforelogging into my Uber account on Safari and approving my latest ride.

Its announcement that I was online only a minute ago exposes how close I came to having my walk of shame busted by Zane. I had intended to log out of the app after booking my ride, but the creep of Zane’s hand as he searched for me under the sheet revealed how close he was to waking up.

I didn’t have time to do anything—not even brush the knots out of my hair Zane’s fingers caused when he brought me to climax over and over again.

I’m grateful for the cool December breeze when I open my apartment window to signal to my driver that his fare has been paid. My skin is still on fire.

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