Page 32 of Their Christmas Miracle

Joshua

This is no little girl lying on my bed. Somewhere between arriving here, me sticking two fingers inside her, and her sucking the taste of herself from my mouth, I’ve begun to realize that she’s probably more experienced at this than I am. I’m not a virgin, but I’ve been busy, okay? I won’t tell you how many notches I have in my belt because you’d either laugh or cry. But that’s not going to stop me. I don’t think a freight train with faulty brakes could stop me right now.

Holly stares at me with those glittering black eyes of her. A section of purple/blue/green hair is laying over her collar bone. It shifts as she moves her shoulders, bringing them forward, moving them back.

Her vest falls over the swell of her breasts, unveiling them to the gloom of the bedroom, and she lies back on my bed. I’m tempted to turn on the light. But experience has taught me — aha, experience — that women don’t like it with the lights on. There’s enough of it though — I can see the sensual spheres of her areolas — surprisingly dark, but I guess she was a brunette before she dyed her hair — and the pale swell of her breasts behind them.

“Now you,” she says.

Holy hell, her voice has turned into this rough, sexy-as-shit thing I’d listen to all night if I could.

A thought which, unfortunately, leads to another.

What time is it? Wasn’t her father sending a car for her?

I try and push it down, but it just rears straight back up again — almost like my erection every time I tried to subdue it tonight.

“I’m waiting…” Holly croons at me. Her hand slides over her breast, and she tweaks her nipple, watching me from under her lashes.

“What… what time is it?”

For a moment, her face doesn’t change. My heart rate accelerates — not because of sexy fun time, but in acute panic.

“What time—?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Holly yells, shoving herself up on her elbows. Her eyes are wide, her lips open. “Are you gor real?”

She sounds so disgusted I take a step back, my hand falling away from my pants.

“Holly, it’s just—”

“Un-fucking-believable.” She sits up, yanking her vest over those gorgeous, petite breasts with enough force to make them bounce. “I should’ve known. What was I expecting? A fucking dweeb like you would never—”

Her voice slides into a low-pitched whine.

…Did she just call me a dweeb?

“What are you, like, three?” The words fall out of my mouth before I can snap my jaw closed.

Holly freezes in the process of sliding her arm into her jersey. “Three?” She turns to look at me, eyes wide and interrogatory. “Three?” Her voice isn’t husky anymore — it’s shrill.

I lick my lips. “Look, it’s just, your dad—it’s late—if he—”

She’s staring at me so hard, I give up. Then her face sets like Jell-O. Her hand disappears into her jersey, emerging a second later holding her phone.

Holly only looks away once — and that’s to unlock her phone and open a menu. Then her eyes flash back to mine.

Her mouth pulls into a thin line. Her eyes narrow.

I take another step back. “Holly, no. Please. Don’t…”

Those eyes narrow even more.

“Don’t send it.”

She lifts the phone to her ear.

Oh good God, no. I begin shaking my head as I take a step forward and lift my hand — placating as all hell.

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