Page 7 of Dark Christmas

I imagine the sounds of her mouth working on me—the wet, eager sucking as her lips glide up and down my shaft, her tongue swirling around the tip, then traveling down to my balls, taking one gently into her mouth, teasing me with slow licks. The thought alone nearly drives me over the edge.

In my mind, I reach down into her top, slipping my hand beneath the fabric and taking hold of one of her full tits. Her nipple is already hard against my palm, and I squeeze, feeling her moan around my cock. I pull her to her feet, turning her around and bending her over in front of me.

"You want this, don’t you?" My voice is low and commanding. She nods, biting her lip, her breath coming out in shaky gasps.

She’s not wearing any panties. Her pussy is pink and glistening, already wet and ready for me. I grab her hips and mount her, sliding inside her in one swift motion. She cries out, her back arching as I take her from behind. Her ass bounces against my hips, and I can feel her body trembling with every thrust.

She’s moaning my name, her voice breathy, desperate. Her pussy clenches around me, so tight it feels like she’s pulling me deeper with every stroke. I grip her hips harder and pound into her, the sounds of our bodies slapping together filling the room. She’s close and so am I, her cries growing louder, needier.

I can feel her about to break, and I’m right there with her, holding back for only a moment longer.

"Come for me," I growl, gripping her hips even tighter, my voice commanding and low.

"Yes," she gasps, her voice shaky, desperate. "Yes, I’m so close, please..."

"Say it," I demand, thrusting deeper. "Tell me you’re mine."

"I’m yours," she moans, her body trembling. "I’m yours, I’m—oh God, I’m coming!"

She breaks, her body tightening around me, gripping my cock like a vice as she shudders, coming hard. The feeling of her pulsing, squeezing me, pulls me over the edge, and I lose control. My orgasm hits like a hammer, and I erupt inside her in my mind, imagining the heat of my release filling her up, draining into her until it overflows down her thighs.

I keep thrusting until every last drop is gone, her body still quivering beneath me. The pleasure is blinding, overwhelming. I can barely hold myself together as I ride it out, feeling every inch of her as she trembles in my grip…

Just then, I snap back into reality. I’m in my bedroom, my hand still wrapped around my cock, slick with my own cum.

Fuck. I can’t believe I got so carried away.

I quickly clean myself up, wiping away the mess and shaking off the fantasy. But the images from those pictures—her curves, the teasing smiles—won’t leave my mind.

I know better than to let sex distract me, but right now, it’s all I can think about. All I want is to see her again, to make that fantasy a reality.

I grin to myself. I’m a man who always gets what he wants.

And right now, I want her.

Chapter 5

Amelia

“Done!”

The day is finally winding down.

It’s 3:30, and the last of the afternoon customers have trickled out, leaving the bakery quiet except for the hum of the ovens. I’m beat, but it’s the best kind of tired. The kind where you know you’ve killed it.

Now comes one of my favorite parts of the day: gathering up what’s left for Saint Martha’s, the women’s shelter a couple of blocks down. It’s kind of become my thing, donating whatever we don’t sell. The only problem today is that we’ve sold so much there’s barely anything left. A good problem to have, I guess, but I hate the thought of showing up nearly empty-handed.

I scan the shelves, hoping there’s at least something worth taking. The display case is looking a little bare. There are a couple of blueberry scones, one pumpkin muffin, and a few cranberry-orange cookies that I’m honestly surprised didn’t get snatched up.

I lean against the counter, tapping my fingers and thinking. It’s not much, but I’m not about to skip the shelter run just because we had a killer day. Maybe I can whip something up really quick—anything to bulk up the offering. Those women deserve it.

I grab a box and start packing what’s left, my mind already spinning with ideas of what to make.

I glance around the back, my eyes landing on a tub of cookie dough we prepped earlier. Perfect. A quick tray of chocolate chip cookies should do the trick. I grab the dough, preheat the oven, and start scooping, keeping one eye on the front door through the kitchen window.

Just as I pop the cookies in the oven, Claire walks in, rubbing her growing baby bump. “What are you up to now?”

“Whipping up some chocolate chip cookies for the women’s shelter,” I explain, wiping my hands on my apron. “We sold so much today, there’s barely anything left. Gotta make it worth the trip.”

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