Page 16 of Their Christmas Miracle

For a moment, I pause, hand on my cock, as I revel in the fantasy playing out in 3D in my head.

Holly runs her pastel-blue fingertips over her entrance — God, but that color contrast is exceptional — before sliding a finger inside herself. She makes a noise, a soft groan in the back of her throat, and starts pumping that finger in and out.

I vaguely realize I’m the one making that sound, but I’m too transfixed in my reverie to stop. I begin sliding my hand up and down my shaft, teasing my climax into a halt, letting it build up.

My thumb flashes over my crown. Got my own lube now, don’t need any more spit. I work that liquid into my skin, slowing down even more until I’m shuddering for release.

Holly still has a finger inside herself. She uses her thumb to draw a languid circle around her clit, watching me with that curious expectation on her face.

“God,” I murmur, my shoulders hunching.

I know this was supposed to be quick, but damn, it feels so good. My hand slides down, and then I tug up, hard. That jar of pain snaps me out of the fantasy.

I’m so close I hardly needed to give my dick the extra few tugs it needs, but I want to draw out what feels like a blazing orgasm. Who cares if the janitor finds me laying in a sodden heap on the bathroom floor three hours from now?

I flash my thumb over my crown again. My lips part and my jaw draws back.

Holly flickers into my mind, unbidden. I groan — too loudly, but it can’t be helped — as she brings that finger up to her lips and licks it.

The bathroom door crashes open.

“—telling me he hasn’t read it yet?”

I manage — barely — to stifle a yell of surprise.

“I meant what I said about keeping that shit private, man.”

The stall beside me opens, and the man slams the door shut behind him. I stare down at my engorged, shivering cock, feeling every pulse of adrenalin flickering through those blood vessels.

Maybe he was the kind of guy that peed sitting down. If he took less than a minute, I should be able to—

A loud fart cuts off that thought. I grimace, manhandling my cock back into my pants.

My zipper refuses to close.

Again, I’m struck with the overwhelming urge to slam a fist into my dick and beat it into submission.

“Yeah, well, just delete the fucking thing before anyone sees it. I mean, shit. You two have to share a brain cell?”

Another fart takes care of enough of my erection to allow me to pull my zipper up. I don’t even bother to flush, hurrying out of the stall and washing my hands in record time. I pause just long enough to splash water on my face, fix my hair, and force a smile on my face.

I do look better when I smile, I guess.

You can do this, Josh.

My dick throbs as if to spur me on and I laugh. The guy in the stall stops talking, and I laugh again, shaking my head as I jerk open the bathroom door and step outside.

No one’s ever called me Josh before, and now I’m doing it.

Holy hell.

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