Page 33 of Their Christmas Miracle

“Holly—” a fierce whisper now “—don’t. I’m sorry. This was a mistake. I didn’t mean—please don’t—”

Her voice — stiff, strained — cuts me off. “Daddy?”

My heart drops ten feet down and shatters. Holly shifts, getting onto her knees, her face twisting into a scowl.

“Hey. Are you still at work?”

My hand falls to my side, my stomach twisting.

My career is over.

I’ll never get back from this. If Mr. Hill fires me, it’ll be a black mark on my resume for the rest of my natural life. I’ll never be able to retire at forty like I planned. Never have time to work on that novel, the one about the financial analyst who develops superpowers and predicts the financial futures for every major corporation in the world — and causes World War Three in the process. I’ll never make enough from my book deal to buy that island I’ve been dreaming of.

I draw a deep breath and slowly resign myself to a miserable life.

“No, I understand. It’s okay, Daddy. Really, it’s fine,” she says.

I blink. What?

“Yeah, listen…” Holly’s scowl fades. Her free hand disappears under her vest. She tugs it up, sliding out her arm again. “That guy from your work had to go home. Said something an important project.”

I did what? Said what?

Holly’s features transform into something foxy and about five years too mature for her face.

“So I’m going over to Lisa’s, okay? Her folks are out of town so she’s got the place to herself and she’s literally dying of boredom.”

Holly transfers the phone to her other hand. Her vest comes off. She tosses it at me, and I barely manage to catch it in time. I lift it, catching her ginger-snap scent.

“Then I’ll see you for Christmas lunch?”

Her hand slides over her breast. She squeezes it, so hard that a tremor courses through my muscles.

“Okay. Yeah. Noon’s fine. Okay. Love you too, Daddy. Night..and Merry Christmas.”

The phone drops to the bed.

I clear my throat. “Holly, I’m so s—”

“Take it out,” she cuts in. “I want to watch you jerk off.”

My hand doesn’t seem to mind obeying orders from little Holly. Whether this is because my brain’s decided it’s taking an imaginary vacation on that island I might still someday own or what, I don’t know.

I guess my hormones are in control right now instead of the usual left-hand side of my brain.

“Closer,” Holly says.

Now both her hands are on her breasts, her nipples tight little buds from all the attention she’s been giving them.

The only thing still keeping a modicum of decency to her thin frame is that skirt. That is, until she hikes it up to her waist and slides one of her hands under it.

Someone groans — probably me. Okay, definitely me.

I take a step closer. Tug down my zipper — God, I can feel every one of those teeth rasping over my engorged shaft — and then yank down my briefs. My dick springs out like one of those foldaway beds.

Holly’s eyes flash down.

They widen.

And then she looks up at me, her lips twitching into a naughty grin. “No wonder you had so much trouble keeping it in your pants,” she whispers. “Go on. Don’t be shy.”

She tugs away her underwear and slides her fingertips over her sex, shuddering.

Again, I’m only too happy to comply.

---