Page 8 of Her Christmas Beast

Pretty much anybody else, I confess to myself when Billy leans over and boldly takes one nipple into his mouth. He sucks andswirls and sucks some more, pressing down tightly with only his lips. It’s like a gentle tweak that wakes something up in my core. My feet spasm. He repeats the pattern twice more and I’m starting to get a vague idea of where he’s going with this.

“Do you want me to do the same to your other breast?” he asks softly, gazing straight into my eyes.

“Uh-huh.” I bob my head emphatically.

“Then I need you to reach over, take a strawberry, and eat it.”

I glance at the bowl of fruit then back at him, confused as to what one has to do with the other. He waits, watching me, not saying a word. My gaze on him, I reach a hand out, blindly bumping the bowl before finding a fat berry. Slowly I slide it into my mouth and bite down. Chewing is difficult, but somehow I manage. The fruit is sweet and tangy. I’m not sure what I’m waiting for, but nothing changes in Billy’s face until I’ve swallowed.

“Good girl,” he finally says and angles his body to take my other nipple into his warm cavern of a mouth.

He repeats this over and over, slowly moving down my body, caressing, nipping, kissing and ordering me to eat if I want it to continue. Until by the time he reaches my pussy, all he has to do is raise an eyebrow and I’m automatically reaching for a strawberry. I recognize psychological conditioning when I see it, I just don’t understandwhy.

I stop trying to figure that out when he slides a single blunt finger into my slick channel. I hadn’t realized until then how hungry my pussy was to have something to hold on to. My back arches off the bed and Billy soothes me with slow strokes. Until the tension starts to build and he curls his finger, still moving it in and out. Billy bends low and sucks my clit in tight exactly like he did my nipples earlier. Pressing down with his firm lips, I explode in an avalanche of sensation. My hands reach down to clutch his head, attempting to push him back, pull him closer. Ican’t seem to decide. “Billy!” I scream as my knees come up and I see stars. I thought that was something poets said to make it all sound more exciting than it actually was. But I really did see pinpricks of light dancing in front of me.

Billy slowly moves back up my body, dropping light kisses as he goes before reaching my lips. He stares down into my eyes solemnly for a solid minute, before dropping another small kiss on my nose.

“Come find me when you’re ready. I’ll kiss your lips properly then.” He pops the last strawberry into his mouth and gets up from the bed, seemingly unaffected by what was an earth-shattering event for me. He spreads a light blanket over my limp naked form and leaves. He just leaves.

* * *

I lie there in a sex-induced pleasure stupor for I don’t know how long. Even if I wanted to move, it’s some time before my limbs will respond to my brain’s commands. It’s okay though because my brain is already busy trying to process everything it thought it knew and suddenly had tossed out the window. I knew sex could be pleasant. I’d expected to feel closer to Billy after the fact. But not to crave his touch, to still feel the glide of his hands on me an hour or so later and be warmed by it. And he didn’t even penetrate me with more than a finger!

For the last decade, I’d pretty much convinced myself that I wasn’t missing out on much by focusing on my work. Or for a few hours on a Friday night forgetting that work with old reruns on TV. It seemed satisfying at the time (as in last week). But I was missing out big time onsomething.

Except deep down in my bones, I know I could never have found this with anyone else. Thoughts of Billy have me wantingto feel his hands on me again. I get up and instead of getting dressed once more, I throw on a thick black bathrobe I find behind the door. But it’s far too big — it could wrap around me twice and trails behind like a ballgown train. I take it off and try one of his fancy shirts. It’s still huge, but the fabric is less bunchy and it only goes to my knees. I belt it with the tie from the bathrobe. Not exactly high fashion, but hey, it’s Christmas.

I wander down the hallway, thinking that at some point, I need to take a few minutes and explore my dream house. I find Billy on the huge dark red, leather sofa in the living room in front of a blazing fire, his feet up on the matching ottoman. He’s reading the back of some package, but he glances up when I reach the doorway. He smirks slightly at seeing his shirt, but then his gaze wanders down to my feet and his expression hardens. “Where are your slippers, baby?”

I shrug my shoulders. “In my bag? I didn’t look for them. I’m fine. What are you reading?”

His eyes turn an interesting shade of silver. He pauses a long moment before responding, “I found what I was looking for in the attic. I was reviewing its… specifications.”

“Are you going to tell me exactly what you’re planning to do with it?”

“Later. It needs to charge first. Did you come for your kiss?”

I tilt my head affirmatively, suddenly feeling shy. I’ve no idea why, not after the way he played my body like a violin.

“Come here, then.” He sets the package aside and removes his reading glasses then holds out a hand. I stumble over to take it. He guides me onto his lap, my legs curled up underneath me. “Show me how you want it, Angel.”

I open my mouth to tell him, but he shushes me with a finger. “Showme, Angel. This isn’t going further than a kiss right now, no matter what, so you can let your guard down for a few minutes.”

That takes me another minute to process. I didn’t realize I had my guard up, but I guess he’s right. I want cozy and comfort, desire and teasing. I need a Christmas kiss. Leaning into him, I try to express that with my lips and fingers. I’ve no idea if I’m succeeding because he’s not responding. I’m about to give up in frustration when suddenly he seamlessly takes over. His thick tongue invading my mouth to gently tease mine. His hands holding me are firm but loose, with small touches down my sides that send me wriggling.

He deepens the kiss while still keeping it in check. He tilts my chin to achieve a deeper angle and I melt into him. When our lips part, he tucks my head under his chin and draws circles on my back. I can feel the warmth of the fire and the heat of his hands through the thin cotton of the shirt I’m wearing.

“In fifty years I want to be right here, holding my wife exactly like this,” he says quietly.

“Is that your way of proposing, or are you trying to let me down easy?” I smile into his broad chest, too relaxed to be worried. That kiss was perfect and I’m filled with holiday cheer.

“Neither. Of course I’m talking about you, silly woman, and I’m not proposing. You already agreed when I said you were mine and there was no going back.”

Hmm. Tacitly, I suppose I did. “So, when exactly are we getting married? Fifty years leaves a lot of leeway.”

I feel a small chuckle work its way out of him. It makes me realize he doesn’t laugh all that much. I can hear the smile in his voice when he finally speaks, “Soon. When the time is right.”

I poke him in his side. “Ugh, why do you always have to sound like a cartoon oracle?”

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