Kissmas Wishes (Love In All Seasons 3)

He chuckles. “I like your honesty.”

“What else do you like? I ask coyly as I watch him stroke his ever growing cock.

“I like the way you look in that nightie.”

I twist my lips playfully. “This old thing?”

He laughs, tucking my loose hair behind my ear. “I love the way your tits look in it. So fucking round and perky. It makes me want to suck on them, to press my cock between them.”

I suck in a sharp breath. This flirty banter is fun and all, but I’m not used to it. I’m not used to any of it. If Sophia had any idea how confident I am being right now, she wouldn’t believe it.

But Brooks somehow brings out a different part of me. An honest and vulnerable part that is okay with taking this risk.

It’s like I know he wants it too, but this isn’t a one-sided crush. We both want this to happen.

Need it to happen.

“Are you nervous?” he asks, his big palm on my breast. I whimper as he touches the silky fabric covering my skin, which is prickling in anticipation.

“A little… not because I don’t want this, but because of how much I do want it.”

“I want it real fucking bad too, Noelle. I want you to touch me, to make me come. I want to run my hands between your thighs and touch your sweet, tight pussy. I want to make you moan, make you scream, make you cry.”

I close my eyes, my head falling back, his words making me dizzy in the best possible way.

“God, you look like a Christmas angel,” he whispers.

“And you have one mighty fine candy cane.”

He laughs again, and I love how easy it is to stand here with him -- a man so utterly masculine -- and not feel small beside him. Instead, I feel safe. Protected. I feel like I am going to be very well taken care of.

“Here,” he says gently, placing my hand on his thickness. “You like that?”

I nod. “Yeah.” I blink, his hot pulsing rod causing a flutter in my tummy. “You’re going to need to get me ready for this, so I don’t break in two.”

He runs his hand over my back, lifting the hem of my little nightie. His hand on my bare ass.

“Fuck me, Noelle,” he groans, as he picks me up in one fell swoop. “I’ll get you ready all right.”

He places me on the bed, then lowers himself to his knees. “You’re not sitting in Santa’s lap yet.”

I cover my face with my hand as he spreads my knees, and he lowers his head and begins to lick my creamy slit.

“Oh, Brooks,” I moan, my knees falling open even further as he takes his time exploring my pussy. I’ve never had a man with a beard go down on me… and this… oh, God. “Don’t stop,” I say, running my hands through his thick hair, loving the way it feels to have him so intent on pleasing me.

A smile spreads across my face as my body relaxes. I haven’t stopped focusing on the wedding and my job at the bakery in so many weeks, and now, for the first in ages, I am the one being taken care of.

“You taste so good, Noelle. Like a sugar cookie.”

I giggle. “You’re making me blush.”

“I don’t think that’s what this is called, sweetie.” He presses a finger to my pussy, and I whimper as he begins to caress me, opening me up until I’m gasping for breath. He lowers his head again, exhaling warm air against me, my clit throbbing until he presses his mouth to it, sucking me as I begin to moan loudly.

“Oh, oh, oh, Brooks.” My back arches and I come hard against his mouth, against his hand. The orgasm starts in my toes and winds its way through my body. It’s so real, so raw, that I moan loudly, without censoring myself. He loves it. He then lowers himself on top of me, his hand still on my creamy cunt. And he kisses me.

Hard.

Our mouths open as we begin to explore one another using our tongues, my legs wrap around him as he pulls me up from the mattress. He teases my bottom lip between his teeth and my slick pussy is pulsing with the need for more. So much more.

He knows.

He pulls me onto his lap, his big, thick cock so hard and eager, as he sits on the edge of the bed. With my legs wrapped around him, he begins to fill me up. It feels so good as his cock eases inside of me.

“Is this what we’re calling sitting on Santa’s lap?” I ask as he massages my breasts, pulling one into his mouth, his tongue swirling around my nipple.

“No. This is what we call giving Santa his milk and cookies.”