Red must sense the new arrival somehow. She drops her hand down to my sudden erection and says, “Ooh, you’re really awake!”
“What are you doing?” I ask, a warning note creeping into my voice.
“Exploooring,” she answers, stretching the word out as she works my cock with long, languid strokes. “Can I be on top this time?”
“Hell no,” I immediately answer.
“Oh, come on, it's only fair,” she says. “You got to dominate me all Christmas. Let me be the one on top today. We could call it my agreeing to stay until New Year’s Eve bonus.”
She pauses dramatically. Then adds, “Unless you're too chicken.”
“I’m not chicken. I just don’t let girls—”
She cuts me off with a “Bawk-bawk-bawk!” right before she makes a surprise move and twists on top of me.
She uses the element of surprise and, like, all of her body weight to knock me on my back. Then this girl has the audacity to try to pin my wrists above my head.
“What the hell are you doing, Red?”
“What can I say? You make me want to do bad girl things,” she answers, flashing me that wicked smile of hers. “And just remember, you can always say the safeword if you're not comfortable with any of this.”
She actually says that shit to me. Then she says, “Now, just hold still like a good boy, and let me do this”—right before she drops her mouth down on mine.
She kisses me while rubbing herself back and forth on my erection. Her pussy is already slick with desire. It feels so damn good to have her writhing on top of me. I forget for a few moments that she’s assumed the dominant position.
She’s so wet, and I’m so hard, I could slip it in right now, even from underneath. What would it feel like to take her raw, no condom? Wait, what am I saying?
Alarm bells sound in my head. All the alarm bells. It’s bad enough I asked this girl to stay with me until New Year’s Eve. I’m not going to let her dominate me—then spend the next eighteen years collecting child support because I couldn’t figure out how to take my power back and put on a damn condom.
We end up wrestling for dominance. Really, I pin her with my superior weight and strength. Then I let her go. Then, when she tries to climb back on top, I pin her back underneath me. We do this over and over again until we’re both so turned on I pull out a condom. Wrestling, Playing with Your Food—call our game whatever you want. It ends with me pinning her down one final time, with my cock pumping into her sopping-wet cunt and my hand around her neck.
“Wow, you make it real easy to lose,” she says with a husky laugh when we collapse back onto the bed.
We lie there for a moment. Her smiling up at the ceiling. Me waiting for that dead feeling to finally hit me.
But it never does.
Not when I take her in the shower a couple of hours later.
And not after I ruin the pancakes she tries to make me for afternoon breakfast.
Watching this woman cook for me makes me ravenous for something else. I set her on top of the kitchen counter, spread her legs, and feast on her instead of carbs. I don’t care about the lost pancakes. Let them burn.
And the feeling still never comes. If anything, it’s just the opposite. I’m no longer numb inside. I become a monster who lives and breathes fucking Red.
After Christmas, food becomes something I let her make and eat quickly for the sole purpose of keeping us alive. Weed gets smoked, and bourbon gets drunk when she’s too tired to go on late at night—we’re still on different sleep schedules somehow. So, I only blaze up and visit the Glendaver bottle to distract myself. To let her rest. Also, to give my hands something to do other than her during our now only once-a-day daily movie.
Sometimes we talk too. At one point, I finally run out of weed. So instead of smoking after dinner, we lie on the ground in my dad’s office and listen to Death Buddha CDs. Just listen and talk. She tells me about being raised by her grandma and having never left the state of Tennessee, much less gotten on a plane. She has a secret dream to become an event planner, and she even has a paid internship lined up in New York.
I tell her that I’m scheduled to go to Europe with the country star. Then…
“Actually, I don’t know what I’m going to do after that. Being on the road all the time is getting kind of old. I’ve been thinking maybe I could use a challenge,” I admit. Only to her.
“The Reapers don’t give you work between security gigs?” she asks.