Page 55 of Confessions of a Christmasholic

Sutton pressed a gentle kiss on his chest before rising, her eyes fixed on his sexy mouth. He’d shaved but stubble was just appearing, and because she loved his facial hair, she rubbed her cheek against his jaw. ‘If you need an explanation then we didn’t do it right,’ she teased him.

‘Any more right and I’d be dead,’ Gus told her. She felt movement and looked down, her eyebrows raising at his half-stiff cock. Noway.And seeing him hard, for her, caused her nipple to tighten and her clit to throb.

She had genuinely believed she was done, she’d come super-hard. Her last orgasm had been so intense she couldn’t handle another one so soon. Gus smiled, pushed her knees apart and slipped two fingers into her, finding her wet and oh-so-willing.

‘You need to clean up, get another condom,’ she murmured against his mouth. As brilliant as sex with him was, they didn’t need to make an Alsop-Langston baby.

Gus curled his fingers inside her and rubbed her clit with his thumb. ‘You know what’s better than having an amazing orgasm?’

Up until tonight, she would’ve said salted-caramel ice cream, being upgraded on a long-haul flight, a tangy cider after a sea swim on a super-hot African day. ‘What?’ she asked, not able to think of one damn thing.

‘Having another one.’

Yes, please.

ChapterThirteen

Late on Saturday afternoon, the day of Conningworth’s Christmas market, Sutton walked down the hill into the village, beanie on her head and her gloved hands jammed into the pockets of her coat. She’d been on twin duty for most of the day, which involved her following them around the market until Moira rescued her at two, taking them back to the hall, kicking and screaming, for a nap. Thankful for the break, Sutton returned to Gus’s house, made herself a sandwich and watched TikTok reels for an hour, slowly making her way through two cups of coffee.

Gus had left the house very early that morning, but not before sneaking into her room and waking her up by climbing into bed, naked. To be clear, his climbing into her bed didn’t wake her, but his hand between her legs did. Before she was properly awake, he’d made her come twice. She wasn’t complaining.

She’d only caught glimpses of him earlier as he rushed around, organising extra power points, consulting his iPad, his calm facade never dropping. Sutton patted the small flask she’d tucked into the inside pocket of her fancy coat. As soon as she reached the green, she intended to track her lover down, pull him behind a tree or a tent and give him a belt of whisky and a quick snog. That should keep him going until he could collapse later.

Damn, it was cold. Crisp air burned her nose and throat, and the hedges and fields were peppered with patches of clumpy snow. As she reached the outskirts of the village, coming in past the open pub and the closed butcher, the scent of pine and wood smoke drifted over her. Sutton took a deep breath. It was the essence of Christmas. Despite it being colder than a polar bear’s toenails, the village, nestled in the heart of the valley, the cold waters of the lake forming one border of the town and the snow-capped mountains another, was a pretty place to live.

‘Jared, you tosser!’

‘Wanker!’

Sutton jumped as teenagers on bikes sped past her, trading insults. She grinned, happy to know the spirit of goodwill to all men was alive and well amongst the younger population of the village. Dodging a couple pushing a pram, their baby all but buried under blankets and a snowsuit, she looked toward the green and smiled.

The afternoon was fading but twinkling lights on the charming wooden cottages cast a warm and magical glow over the busy green. A huge, unlit Christmas tree stood in the middle. A local celebrity – a jockey or a disc jock, Sutton couldn’t remember which – would enjoy the honour of lighting it up later. It looked magical, picture-postcard pretty. Good job, Mr Christmas.

She walked past the stalls, stopping now and again to linger when a stall or a product caught her interest. The stalls were lavishly decorated – she’d heard there was a prize for the best-dressed one – and Sutton sighed over the handmade chocolates, the handwoven woollen scarves and the selection of cheeses on display. Thanks to Gus, she now had a little money, but she needed to save it, so she gave the stall owners, bundled up in big coats, smile after regretful smile.

Sutton looked around, inhaling the delightful aromas of freshly baked gingerbread cookies, roasted chestnuts and spiced mulled wine. A quartet of Christmas carollers drifted through the crowd, looking a little bored and quite tired. Sutton wondered whether they were on their sixth or tenth rendition of ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’.

Small bonfires in steel dishes were placed round the edge of the green, and people congregated around them, coffee or mulled wine in their hands. Kids and adults alike, under the supervision of a village volunteer, roasted marshmallows over the hot coals. Sutton stumbled as a toddler careered into her knees and she put her hand on the child’s head to steady herself. She looked up into the eyes of her hot dad who grinned and apologised. Hot dad was accompanied by an even hotter mum, who scooped up her kid in a practised move and balanced the pretty toddler on her hip. She sent Sutton a suspicious look and a tight smile.Relax, lady…jeez.

Sutton watched them walk away. The market was a place for families, and everyone but her seemed to have someone. Grannies and granddads handed out money to pre-teens, teenage couples melted into one another, and people walked hand in hand. It felt like she was the only single person in Conningworth that night.

It didn’t matter that she was sleeping with Mr Christmas. No one knew they were and she would be moving on soon.

Sutton stumbled as she was rugby-tackled from behind. Just managing to remain upright, she twisted to see Felix’s sturdy arms around her knees. Rosie, dressed in a pink beanie, red jacket, blue jeans and bright yellow rain boots, held Gus’s hand. Her pink-with-cold face was smeared with candy floss. Great, Rosie on a sugar high was hard to handle.

Felix also had candy floss; his was blue. But the candy floss from his face was now on the thighs and knees of her jeans. Oh, well. Looking clean and presentable was overrated.

Gus lifted his head as their eyes met. He wore dark jeans, boots and an open thigh-length coat over a red jersey, and Sutton tried to make out the figures on his Christmas jersey. Were those? No, they couldn’t be…

When he stopped in front of her, she pulled open the lapels of his jacket to look at his jersey again. Trying not to laugh, she patted his chest. ‘Nice jersey, Gus.’

He looked down and shrugged. ‘Moira brought it down this morning and insisted I wear it. It’s Christmas and, according to the law of Moira, I need to look the part. She also wanted me to wear an elf hat and pointed ears. After five minutes of arguing, we settled on me wearing this jersey.’

Right. She bit her lip. Moira? The Lady M gave him that jersey? Really? It took all she had to hold back a giggle.

Gus squinted at her. ‘What’s wrong with it?’

Felix saved her from answering. ‘Sutton! Sutton! Sutton!’ He patted her thigh, each pat getting harder. So close to laughing, she was happy to move off the subject of Gus’s jersey. She looked down at his son. ‘Yep?’

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