Page 26 of M.M. Scrooge
My climax slams through me at full force. “Fuck, Tris, now. I’m coming.” The pressure doubles, triples, threatens to eat me alive. Sensations swarm like bees, stinging and fluttering as my seed rushes forth with nowhere to go.
“Take it out. Take it out!” My whole body shudders with violent pressure, toes curling, thighs quivering, hands balled into fists.
As Tristan slides the rod from my hole, a stream of cum bursts from behind it and lands on my chest. I shiver as it keeps coming, splattering my belly and Tristan’s fingers, coating my cockhead. An endless rolling euphoria comes with it, the longest orgasm of my life, powerful and complete.
I gasp for breath, panting my pleasure with abandon. Tristan doesn’t let go of my shaft, but he stills his hand, hot on my pulsing length.
My heart pounds against my ribcage, even as I come down from the apex. Aftershocks rip through me in one welcome burst after another.
Tristan’s smirking grin and glittering eyes fill my vision. He looks pleased with himself. As he should. That was epic. I’ve never…it’s never…I had no idea…
I wet my lips and uncurl my toes. “I didn’t know it could be like that.”
“Of course you didn’t. And now that you do?”
Blinking, I collect my thoughts. A few shuddering breaths settle my mind and body into a lulled, satisfied rest. “I’ll let myself be more vulnerable, Tris. I will.”
“And?”
I’m not sure what else he wants. What else am I meant to learn? I rack my brain. My thoughts turn to my last lover, to Daniel. Though we only connected once, the memory is crisp and vivid. His lovely arched back, the long column of his exposed throat, his delectable lips, and those lovely whimpers and moans he gave in abundance. He’d given of himself so freely. So beautifully. And I took without giving anything back.
I suck in a breath, feeling unbearably chastised. “And I’ll be appreciative of my partner’s vulnerability.”
“More than that, Max. You must treasure it for the precious gift it is. Say you will.”
“I will.” I mean it too, with my whole self. I’ll be grateful. I’ll be vulnerable in return. I’ve been such an ass, but I can do better. I meet Tristan’s nut-brown eyes. Will he believe me? “Thank you for this lesson.”
11
Daniel
A particular nostalgiasurrounds Christmas Eve—peppermint, pine needles, and magic. I treasure the cozy holiday more with each passing year. Even with Dad gone, something about a long wintery night and the promise of tomorrow’s good cheer soothes my soul and rejuvenates my spirit.
Settled comfortably in a plush baby-blue-and-white plaid loveseat in the living room of my childhood home, I inhale the scent of freshly baked sugar cookies.
My mother is in the kitchen warming milk for hot chocolate—which we always spike with Irish cream—and my sister, Libby, sits on the couch curled against her husband, John. It’s late. The kids have been tucked into their beds for the night. Next to the Christmas tree, a plate of yummy cookies with messy frosting and colorful sprinkles is set for Santa’s arrival.
We’re a rotating mix of melancholy and joy this holiday season, and that’s okay. Maybe that’s how it should be. Christmas is a time for reminiscing as much as celebrating.
Mom carries her grief with the same grace she maintains in all facets of her life. She doesn’t hesitate to express her sadness alongside us. We left Dad’s seat at the table empty and set a place in his honor, a somber reminder of life’s brevity. But his absence hasn’t kept us from celebrating together.
“Who wants hot chocolate?” Mom singsongs from the kitchen.
A chorus of “Me” and “I do” rings from the living room. I hop from my seat to help Mom serve the warm mugs of steamy goodness.
Libby gets the tiger cup from a childhood trip to the circus. My mug has an image of an open book on the side with the words “one more chapter” emblazoned in blue ink. John gets my backup mug, which declares “bookmarks are for quitters,” and Mom drinks from a cream teacup with a pink floral print around the rim. Though some things inevitably must change, at least our choice of mugs stays the same.
I settle back into the old loveseat and sip my spiked chocolate. The conversation happens around me as I admire the brightly wrapped packages under the tree. The kids will be so excited tomorrow morning. The thought brings a smile to my face.
Though my family is laughing over a lively story from Libby, my mind wanders to Dad. He liked cayenne pepper in his hot chocolate. I tried it once, but it was too spicy for my taste. Maybe I’d like it now? I have half a mind to go back to the kitchen, add a dash to my drink, and give it a whirl, but I’ve become one with these cushions. I’ll try his concoction tomorrow.
“Earth to Daniel,” Libby teases.
“Huh?” It’s pretty normal for me to drift away on the current of my thoughts. All three of them look at me with varying levels of fond irritation. “What’d I miss?”
Mom’s indulgent smile warms my heart. “John asked about your work, dear. What classes are you teaching next semester?”
“It’s okay. Let him daydream,” John says. “I don’t blame Daniel for avoiding talk of work on the holidays.”
