Twelve Months of Kristal: 50 Loving States Maine

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I thought I could do this. I’m not a professional like Eloa. Or smooth. Or so pretty it hurts to look at me.”

“Kristal…” He puts down his glass.

“This was a huge mistake. I’m sorry. Maybe I can, I don’t know, sell an organ or something to pay you back.”

“Kristal…”

“I should go,” I tell him. “Save us both the embarrassment of me in bed.”

“Kristal,” he says, this time much more firmly as he takes the bottle of water back from me. “Stop. Stop talking.”

It’s a command. So I do.

“Breathe,” he tells me.

I do that, too, letting out a shuddering breath.

Then he reaches up and takes off my elf hat before saying, “Kiss me.”

Kiss me. I don’t do that right away. But I want to. Gosh, I want to…

I step forward, heart racing, mind a careful blank, because I know if I stop for even a minute to think, I will completely freak out. Manga heroes like Hayato don’t happen to elves like me. Situations like sex in a billionaire’s penthouse don’t happen to nerdy elves with only twelve days of Christmas vacation in the human realm.

But I press my lips to his, and suddenly Hayato is happening to me. He immediately takes over the kiss, hands framing both sides of my face, as he pulls me into his ocean.

I had a question before, but in an instant, it is answered.

Yes. Yes, he wants me. For some reason, he wants me. With a hunger unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.

I can feel him…swollen and thick against my stomach as he devours my lips. And I moan into his kiss. Merry Bacchanoel, baby. I want this, too… So bad it’s an aching hurt in my core.

I am no longer dazed or uncertain. This is happening. I kissed him, and then I was immediately consumed by his lips. And now I’m all in, kissing him back.

We don’t even make it to the bedroom. Unzipping and yanking down. Unbuttoning and pulling off. We dispose of clothes until we somehow tumble onto the nearest couch.

It’s so finely patterned. I’m sure it has one of those fancy design names, like tuxedo or Queen Anne.

It doesn’t matter. Right now, it’s just a surface from which I watch him pull on a condom, impressed that he had the wherewithal to hold on to it during our clothesmageddon on the way to the couch.

That’s his last rational act. As soon as the condom’s on, he falls on top of me, kissing me silly again, before lifting and…

I moan into his lips when he pushes in. We’ve done nothing other than kiss until this moment, but even without any foreplay, it doesn’t feel uncomfortable like my last few attempts at a bacchanoel one-night stand. I pulse around him. Loving the sensation, loving the way he fills me up.

I can’t believe, simply cannot believe he’s inside of me. Can’t believe anything on earth could feel this good.

Then it gets even better. He starts moving. At first, it’s a slow pull in and out. Sipping on me like he did on the pots of sake we drank earlier tonight with our meal. I roll into his careful strokes, savoring him the way I tried to slowly drink the brandy. But then his pace picks up, and so does mine, and the next thing I know, it’s an all-out frenzy. Hayato falls out of the kiss, Japanese words that sound like curses issuing from his lips.

“Kristal…I’m not…able to control myself,” he says in tight English, his Japanese accent becoming much more pronounced. “You must…”

My body fully understands. I come in the next moment, the orgasm taking me as if it were merely waiting for Hayato to say the word. A bliss better than presents on Christmas morning rolls through me, and soon after, I feel Hayato thicken before releasing with an explosion of guttural Japanese.

He’s experienced. I can tell even if he didn’t pull out any of his tricks tonight. Yet, as we both come down, he stares at me in true astonishment. As if this is the first time he’s ever done anything like this.

I understand his look. I’m pretty sure I’m wearing the same one on my face as I stare back at him. So good. So good. Better even than the meal I waited for all year. I wish it could go on forever.

But it can’t.

Eventually, he pulls out and sits up on the couch. Quiet, like he’s in some kind of shock.

Again, I understand. I feel the same way, too. Like I’m surprised and maybe won’t ever stop being confounded by what’s happened here tonight.

I reach out for the nearest item of clothing. The green dress with the sweetheart neckline.

“What are you doing?” His voice is no longer an elegant fusion of accents, but coarse and a little rough.