Page 6 of Christmas Cheer

Keira Hughes was a tiny nothing of a girl, not yet five feet tall, lost and embarrassed in her cheerleading uniform the week before classes began our freshman year of high school. I wasn’t much bigger than her and still getting groomed to be a wide receiver, but no one really knows what they’ll be at fourteen. I was intrigued by her; I don’t even know why. I was just then becoming interested in girls, a late bloomer there, and she was a late bloomer herself, physically, so it’s not like she had the boob beacon going on or much on the backside.

Yet.

She awkwardly followed the routine set by the older girls. She had every move perfectly timed, but she wasn’t comfortable. And then the cheer captain led them to the end of the track just past the bleachers and sent them off one by one to get a running start into their somersaults.

She hesitated when it was her turn. She glared at the track like it was her mortal enemy. She peered up at the clouds. I thought she was terrified of being singled out.

I knew I was wrong before she even took the double step that launched her feet into the air. What she did was all somersaults to me, but each had its own unique touch on it, both feet landing at the same time or a tuck that had her whole body spinning in the air. It kept going and going, at least thirty yards before her momentum slowed and she landed on her feet.

The world stopped around her. I wasn’t the only boy staring, trying to figure out what the fuck she’d just done. I personally was worried that something had gone wrong and she’d just had the most dramatic spin-out in recorded history.

One of the older cheerleaders cupped her hands as though to yell, but the head cheerleader cut her off. She shook both her hands to communicate something to the little auburn-haired wonder, who cringed as she kicked one foot back and spirit-fingered like her life depended on it.

The entire cheer squad erupted, running up and congratulating her, making her blush hard as they showered her with love.

Two weeks later, she rejected me for the first time. I had no idea where our lives would go at that point, but that rejection felt important. It was a rejection that lingered and grew as it happened over and over again.

It became its own entity that I can’t help but force on Keira now. Her cry is not one of pleasure when I punch my cock into her. I want to feel bad that I’ve hurt her. I want to apologize and ease out of her and promise I’ll be gentle.

But I’m not sorry. I’m not going to be gentle.

“How the fuck are you this tight?” I snarl, pissed I can’t even vent my frustration properly now that I have this chance.

Her muscles spasm hard over me, already coaxing my cock to spill into her even though I’ve been inside her for all of two seconds. And that’s not who I am. I take pride in taking my time and making sure the women I fuck are thoroughly satisfied before I finish, but this is Keira fucking Hughes.

I’m fucking Keira Hughes.

I can’t believe this is happening.

She doesn’t answer me with words. No, her entire body seizes up, her arms going around me and clinging to me like she’s drowning and I’m her life raft. I slip one arm behind her for support as I go still for a moment to give her time to get used to me.

This is okay.

This is what I need. Not anger. Touch.

I run my lips up her jaw line and down her neck. I want the scent that lured me into the women’s locker room, but I washed it all away.

This isn’t the end of us. I don’t know what she thinks happens after this, but I’m already thinking about all the things I want — no,need— to do with her, and they’re not all happening in the gym shower. I breathe in her fruity shampoo and anticipate a moment in the future when she’s worked up a sweat for me and I get to just fucking drown in her natural scent.

“Evan,” she whimpers.

My mind takes this journey of imagining her in bed at night alone, stuffing her pussy full of silicone and saying my name just like that, going to town on herself and unable to picture any man but me. How many times have I pictured jerking off all over her face and her fucking loving it because she’s secretly as obsessed with me as I am with her?

How many times have I imagined finding her in my bedroom, where she’s been waiting for the opportunity to admit that the only reason she befriended my brother was to get closer to me?

How many times have I imagined her dropping to her knees to apologize for all the rejections? In high school, the fantasy was of her kissing my cock — not sucking it, just kissing — but then she dated Percy Judge our freshman year of college. This one time, I saw her teasing his lip ring with her tongue. That moment became my most vibrant obsession.

“Why are you so tight?” I ask again, but I mean it this time.

Her brows furrow a little, the two perfectly shaped bands pulling in like she’s confused, but she’s feeling that too. “I–I just am. I don’t know. I—can we not talk about this?”

I nip her earlobe, playfully but painfully too, needing to feel that tremor of shock race through her. “When were you fucked last?” I need to know this. It’s essential.

“Are you serious? After what you just told me—”

“I’m not doing a body count. I just need to know.”

She drops her head back to the tiles as her pussy finally begins to relax around me. “I don’t know. I broke up with my last boyfriend over the summer, so I guess then.”

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