The 14 Days of Christmas

I lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around my waist, but instead of heading to the bed, I turned and sat her on the chest of drawers opposite. It was the perfect height. And this way, I got to see her face-to-face while I drove into her.

“Here?” she asked, a little uncertain.

“Everywhere.”

I pulled off her knickers and unsnapped the back of her bra. Cupping her breasts in my hands, I leaned forward, grazing each nipple with my teeth, breathing in her whimpers. I pressed my lips against the skin of her throat, trailed my tongue down between her breasts, over her stomach and down, her heat radiating into me and straight to my cock.

I paused, just above her clit. “You’re fucking delicious.”

She leaned back and pushed her tiny fingers into my hair, causing my erection to rear, as I pressed my tongue against her clit and through her folds, licking and sucking and pushing and pulling over and over and over until her body snapped and she shuddered around me.

I liked hearing her Christmas puns, despite my complaining. I liked talking to her and having her listen. But I really liked making her come.

“I thought I must have imagined how good this felt,” she said, her voice whispery and light.

I shook my head, a growl of desperation gathering in my throat. “No. It’s really this good.” I grabbed a condom and pushed it over my tightening cock.

I took a breath, trying to relax, to push the stirrings at the base of my spine away, silence the thud of the blood in my veins.

I wanted this to last.

Sliding my crown over her gleaming wet pussy, I traced up and down her folds, coating my tip in her juices, trying to steady my heart rate before I pushed into her. It wasn’t working.

“Sebastian,” she whimpered, shifting.

“What?” I asked, touching my forehead to hers.

“I want you.”

I bit down on my bottom lip and pushed into her as she gripped my shoulders. “Yes,” she said, her voice soft but victorious as I pushed deep, deep, deep.

I lifted her knees and pushed deeper, grinding into her. She moaned my name like she’d never felt pleasure like it. Pulling back, all I wanted to do was get as close as I could and I slammed back into her, making the dresser rock back and hit the wall. She gripped the edge of the wood and lifted her knees, urging me deeper still.

I slammed in again and again, blocking out everything but her heavy breaths on my neck, the grip of her fingers on my arms and the slide of her pussy.

I was so close so fast that I paused, trying not to focus on the soft, tight wetness surrounding my cock.

“You okay?” she asked. Her hand skidded up my sweat-sheeted back.

“More than okay. You’re just so fucking perfect, Celia.”

She pressed small kisses on my temple, my forehead, my cheek, and they brought me to life again. I began to move. Slow, lingering strokes, plowing deep into her.

I brought my forehead to hers, trying to control my breathing.

“It feels so good,” she said. “Like you know exactly what I need.”

That’s how I felt—like somehow we were what each other needed, in bed and out of it. I groaned and pushed into her again, a little less controlled, a little more desperate to come, to make her come again.

She tipped her head back, exposing her smooth neck. I buried my face there, breathing her in, pushing hard and fast as if I were seconds away from victory in a marathon and only the scent of her was keeping me going.

She screamed my name, and convulsed underneath me. I let go, finally giving into the gnashing impatience of my climax. I pushed up and into her, half launching myself onto her.

The delicate press of her fingers stirred me back to consciousness.

“It’s not enough,” I said, half desperate, half delirious as I discarded the condom. “I just can’t get enough of you.”

She swept her hand over my bicep and wriggled off the chest. “Then take more,” she whispered, a devil on my shoulder. She smoothed the back of her hand down my arm and placed my palm over her breast.

I groaned as I squeezed and pulled at her nipple. My cock reared back to life and I spun her around, facing the chest. One hand roamed over her breast and the other reached for her deliciously swollen clitoris. She reached around for her long plait and began to undo it as she squirmed under my fingers, hot against my chest.

She freed her hair and it fell like rain across our bodies. I pushed her forward. “Hold on,” I choked out. I rolled on another condom and slammed straight into her, delighting at her gasp, driven half mad at the feel of her hair against my skin.