Page 26 of Touchdowns and Tinsel

"You're fucking stunning like this, you know," I say, letting my fingers dance across her skin, lingering at the edges of the lights. "These lights... they make you look like a fucking goddess... an icy goddess," I slip in the last part, wondering if she's made the connection on who I am yet.

But her silence tells me she still has no fucking idea that she's been fucking her stepson and his teammates.

The flush deepens on her cheeks, and I see the conflict twist across her lips. She's drawn to me, I can tell, but there's still a thread of hesitation that lingers—a choice yet to be made.

"Q, we shouldn't—" she begins, but I cut her off.

"Don't think about what we should or shouldn't do. Just feel." My fingers graze her jawline before I lean in, capturing her lips once more.

This kiss is softer, more deliberate, a dance rather than a frenzy. I want to show her the sweetness in surrender, the thrill of giving in to desires unspoken. As we pull apart, the vibrant lights sparkling around us, I notice her breath is still heavy, and for a fleeting moment, I allow myself to believe that she wants this, too—wants me.

"Let’s just stay like this for a little while longer," I murmur, my forehead resting against hers. "No expectations, no outside world. Just you and me."

She nods ever so slightly, and in that small gesture, I see the flicker of alignment in our desires. For now, we can be lost in this stolen moment, away from prying eyes and the complications that everyday life demands.

And as the night continues to unfold, I know we're treading on a precipice—balancing between the thrill of the forbidden and the reality that will inevitably crash back down on us. But in the flickering glow, with Noelle wrapped in a dance of lights and shadows, the world feels infinitely more manageable. Even if she has no idea who we are... it's better this way.

"I'm gonna fuck this wet cunt and fill you with my cum, Noelle. Is that what you want?" I ask desperately, trying to quickly undo my pants.

She nods. "Yes, Q. Fuck me so hard that it takes all the pain away that's still consuming every part of my insides," she whispers, and her words touch my soul in more ways than one.

Right here, as vulnerable as can be, my stepmother just let me in without even knowing it. I didn't know she felt so broken, so lost. I thought my father's death didn't bother her, that shemight have had something to do with it, so I've tortured her for fucking years because of it.

"Tell me what pain you have, Little Freak," I urge her, tugging on the string of lights to pull her onto the porch steps as I bend down, taking my place behind her.

I rub her ass, getting a moan out of her as she arches her back, her chest pressing into the edge of the snowy step. But the cold air or the painful wood doesn't seem to phase her, which gets me going even more.

"I miss my husband," she blurts out, her voice quivering as she tries her best to hold in her sobs, wanting to get the pain from the last few years off her chest.

I grit my teeth and take a few deep, quiet breaths, wanting to regain my facade before I lose it and flip out on her like I've done in the past. I hate talking about my father and his murder, mainly because I still haven't found a way to deal with it, but to be honest, I haven't tried much to deal with it. I found that if I push all the hurt and suffering down as far as I can, I won't ever have to think about it.

But it's impossible not to.

"Tell me about him," I ask softly, tracing a slow line along her spine with the tip of my tongue, making her shiver.

She sighs heavily, dropping her head from both the form of questioning and the feeling of my warm lips gliding along her tender flesh. And of course, I tighten my grip on the string and gently tug her trembling body back until she's kneeling on the snowy step, and I'm snug like a puzzle piece between her bent legs.

"Do I have to talk to you like a fucking asshole in order for you to answer me?" I growl, feeling the animal within me clawing its way to the surface. "Do I have to degrade you, slut?"

"Nicholas was the love of my life, and the night I lost him, I lost everything that mattered to me. I lost the will to go on," shewhispers, lowering her head again. "If it weren't for his son, I would have given up long ago."

I'm intrigued, a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth as I continue to caress her silky skin, her form pressing intimately against me.

"What do you mean?" I ask, eager to hear more.

"I had to be a mother to him. Even when I felt like I was dying inside, I knew I had to care for Cole. He lost his father, and I realized he would face a tougher path than I ever would. He doesn’t know it, but he saved my life—even if he hates me to this day."

I slide my hand over the gentle curve of her hips, giving the string of lights a soft tug that elicits a moan from her parted, trembling lips. "I'm sure he doesn’t hate you," I counter softly, wishing I could reveal the truth right then and there.

Yet, the pact I made with the guys weighs heavily on me. We promised never to share our secrets beyond our circle; I can’t betray that oath.

"No, he hates me. He makes sure I feel it," she sighs, pressing back against me with a mixture of desperation and longing.

And before I know it, I'm sliding into her until my pelvis is firmly pressed against her ass. I wrap her hair around my hand and tug on it as I slowly begin to move inside her, giving her what she wants—what we both want.

Her breath catches, a mix of pleasure and pain swirling in the air between us. I can feel the tension in her body, both from the physical connection we share and the emotional weight of her words. Each thrust feels like a dance—a delicate balance of desire and the unspoken sorrow that lingers in the shadows of her heart.

“Tell me more about him,” I murmur, urging her to forget the bitterness. “What was Nicholas like?”

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