Christmas Carol

“Your turn, Bebé,” he orders. It feels as if my heart flips in my chest. With shaking hands—although it’s all about nerves, not fear—I grab the hem of my shirt and slowly pull it off my head. It kind of gets tangled somewhere around my head, so I’m definitely not as eloquent or sexy as Cyrus, but I finally manage to get it off. I’m rewarded with Cyrus’s sexy smile when I’m finished. The cool air causes goosebumps to splatter across my skin, but I don’t cover myself. The way he’s looking at me makes me feel sexy and I don’t want it to stop.

“Now the bra.” His voice sounds smokier, deeper, and it vibrates through me. I’m so wet, I can feel the inside of my thighs covered with my desire. I might have never known a man, but I know what that means. I’ve had a personal relationship with my little egg-shaped vibrator for years. It doesn’t fill the ache inside of me, but it manages to help pause the frustration that builds inside of me. Now, however, that ache seems monumental, and I know it’s an ache that only Cyrus can stop. Those butterflies have turned into a raging herd of water buffalo in my stomach, but I still do as he demands. I don’t even think about denying him. I unhook the clasp under my bra and let it drop to the ground. In my head, it’s really sexy, but I’m sure it doesn’t appear that way to Cyrus.

“Fuck, woman, you’re perfect,” he groans. “I’m going to fuck the hell out of those tits.”

Surprise moves through me at the guttural quality to his voice. Desire pools in my tummy, but more than a little fear. I’ve read books, even watched movies, but what if I’m a disappointment to Cyrus?

“Kick off the shoes,” he growls, as he does the same. I sit on the edge of the bed, and it’s a relief that I don’t have to make my legs hold me up anymore. I slide those and my socks off and take a breath before I work up the courage to look into his eyes again. “Now, it’s time to take off those fucking pants you have on that have been driving me wild, Bebé.”

My eyes go wide, because just as I’m about to do exactly as he orders, Cyrus unzips his pants and his thick, wide, cock, falls out. He’s hard and intimidating and so long that even though he’s obviously hard and fully erect, he’s so heavy and long that he bobs out toward me, the head glossy and shiny. Oh God…. “I’m not sure you’ll fit,” I squeak, unable to contain my fear, but undressing like he told me to.

He continues undressing, and my heart beats so fast—so hard—that I can barely breathe. He stalks toward me completely naked. With each step my breathing grows harsher. He pulls me roughly from the bed, his hand going against my neck. His blue eyes have deepened in color and looks almost as wicked as the rest of him. Cyrus’s body was made for sin, to be adored and I can barely believe that it’s me he wants. I feel his heavy cock, press against my stomach. It’s so hot and I tremble at what is to come next. I want to touch him, to hold his cock in my hand, but I’m not quite that brave. Instead, I put my hand on his arm, needing that touch to keep my legs from completely giving out. Cyrus tilts my head so that our gazes clash with one another.

“You want me, Carol, and I fucking need you. I can’t wait any longer.” I nod, my throat too dry to form words. Despite my nerves, he’s right. I do want him. His hand releases my neck and then glides down my chest to encircle my breast, gently massaging it in his palm. I moan, as pleasure explodes through my body. I’m practically panting, my lips parted, my face flushed. I gasp as I feel Cyrus move his fingers against my pussy, squeezing it. “This is going to be mine, Carol. You’re going to be mine,” he rumbles and that turns me on almost as much as his hold on me. I can feel how wet I am, and I know I’m drenching his fingers. There’s no hiding how hungry I am for him and I don’t even want to try. He somehow makes every part of me feel delicate and feminine, even though his hold is rough—almost harsh. His fingers slip inside of me and I cry out as he rubs against my aching clit. My entire body seems to vibrate from that single touch, and I widen my legs to give him more room, wanting more—needing more.

“You want me, mi corazón,” he declares, and I nod helplessly, because I do. In this moment, I want him more than anything or anyone I’ve ever wanted in my life. “You belong to me,” he purrs against my ear as his fingers continue working their magic.