A Snowflake Wish

by Renee Harless

  “What are you -”

  “You’re not going to come unless it’s my hand, my mouth, or my cock in that pussy.”

  He began to grip the edges of her sweater and lift it up her body, but January was too lost in his words. Damn, it was like adding pure oxygen to an already stifling fire. January wasn’t sure if she could explode from a sentence alone, but she was pretty freaking close.

  “You teased me earlier. I want a better look,” he added as he tossed her sweater off in the distance. “Damn, you are perfection.”

  January couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. She could barely remember to breathe as Deckard unhooked her bra and used his large hands to cup her breasts. They felt like ice against her heated skin and her back arched at the sensation, her nipples pebbling beneath his palms.

  For some reason, January didn’t second guess their actions as she had yesterday. This moment felt different, it felt right.

  He must have known that she was getting lost in her own head again because he leaned forward and captured one of her breasts in his mouth. January had to slam her hands against the counter to brace herself against the onslaught.

  It was a heady sensation overtaking January’s body that she had very little conscious thought about the things going on around her. All she knew was that she wanted was Deckard’s shirt gone. She blindly reached out and gripped the back of his shirt, tugging with very little strength to slide it over his head.

  Deckard seemed to realize her desire because he pulled away to lift the shirt from his body. January found herself groaning as she pried her eyes open to look. He was tanned and muscled to faultlessness with a small smattering of hair across his chest. A soft trail of hair led from his navel to the cock still nestled within his jeans, and January couldn’t look away, but Deckard took the choice away from her.

  With a quick flip, the button on her jeans came undone and Deckard expertly slid down the zipper plunging his hand under her lace panties. Her moans echoed in the kitchen at the intrusion of his fingers skimming across her clit seeking out her core.

  “Deckard.” She ached for him, yearned for more than just his touch, and Deckard somehow read her mind as he slipped two of his fingers deep within her tight sheath. “Oh my god,” she mumbled incoherently.

  As her second climax approached with his deft fingers, January couldn’t hold back. One of her arms swung out and clawed at his back as she rode his hand to her release.

  “Let go, baby,” he whispered against her neck and January tried to chase her release over the edge, but she couldn’t get there. Her muscles and legs were strung so tight waiting for the sensation to take over, but she just couldn’t get there.

  Deckard heard her mewling plea and leaned forward, sealing her lips with his. That’s all it took, just the second of time where she was lost in him and not her own head. She bit his bottom lip as she fell apart, feeling the twinge of metallic flavor swirl in her mouth.

  He held her up as her muscles loosened, one of his arms braced against the counter while the other wrapped around her waist. It took January a few minutes to drift back into herself. The smell of gingerbread filtered through her senses and she remembered where she was.

  Sitting up straighter, her eyes immediately fell on the bulge, still thick and solid, beneath his jeans. Wanting to do something for him, she dropped down from the counter and skimmed her hands up his legs as she knelt before him.

  But he didn’t let her get very far as his hands slipped under her arms and lifted her back onto her feet.

  “What are you -” she began, but he cut her off with a kiss.

  “As much as I would enjoy seeing your mouth on my cock, this was about you, not me. You can thank me later.” He winked. He freaking winked and January almost melted into a puddle at his feet.

  Deckard glided his hand across her shoulder as he brushed her hair away from her face. “I enjoy you like this.”

  “What? Naked from the waist up?” she joked, but Deckard only lifted the corner of his mouth a smidgen.

  “No, I mean relaxed and sated like this.”

  “Oh.”

  He continued to trail his hand back and forth along her naked back. Normally she would feel exposed and attempt to cover up her bare breasts. Instead, January felt a sense of freedom. But the reality of where they were and their plans went off like a buzzer in the back of her mind.

  “I should probably put my clothes back on,” she sighed as she looked around the kitchen for her bra and sweater.

  Deckard reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head, covering up all the beauty that was his chest and abs. She still couldn’t locate any of her items, though. Deckard must have spotted one piece because he reached into the leftover batter bowl and pulled out her bra, now covered in brown sugar and molasses.

  He held it out to her, the strap dangling from his fingertip. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly, his chin tucked down as he shrugged his shoulders.

  “That’s okay. Let me go grab another. Can you look for my sweater?” January walked away to her bedroom to search for another bra leaving Deckard with the task.

  New bra in place, she continued to replay their kitchen exchange in her head as she reappeared out of the hallway. So engrossed in her thoughts, January never heard her front door open or hear her parents speaking with Deckard – who was trying to frantically toss her the sweater.

  But it was too late. Her mother and father turned just as she tried to back away into the shadows of the hallway. A knowing smile grew on her mother’s face while her dad turned an angry red face toward Deckard, who was quickly shuffling toward her with the sweater in hand. Without her assistance, he pulled the garment over her head and tugged it over her body, capturing her earring in the loose fabric.

  “Ow!”

  At her cry, Deckard stopped his frenzied movements and let her finish dressing. “Sorry,” he mouthed referring to both catching her earring and for her parents arrival.

  Pulling herself together, January attempted to act as if nothing was amiss. “Mom, Dad, this is Deckard, my. . .”

  “Boyfriend,” he added on as he held out a hand to her parents. “It’s great to finally meet you.”

  January didn’t want to admit how nice it was to hear Deckard call himself her boyfriend.

  She watched her father squeeze Deckard’s hand, trying to intimidate the poor guy, but Deckard simply adjusted his hold and pressed right back. Her mother looked at the men admonishingly and then turned to January and asked, “So, what about these gingerbread houses you were telling me about.”

  “I still need to make the icing, but first, let me show you my Christmas tree.”

  Her mother clapped gleefully when January flipped on the lights and she delicately touched each handmade ornament. But instead of feeling content with the joy she was giving her mother, the guilt that January had been battling came back in full-force.

  She left her parents at the kitchen table as they assembled their gingerbread house while she went to work making another batch of royal icing for the other two houses.

  “Hey. Still upset about the no shirt thing?” Deckard asked as he sidled up next to her, placing his hand over hers to stop her maniacal stirring of the icing mix.

  “No,” she scoffed. “I’m over that.” Her whisk began slamming against the edge of the glass bowl as she thought harder about the damage she had caused with that stupid wish.

  Deckard gripped the edges of the bowl and pulled it away, causing her to look up at him in confusion. “Then what has you so worked up?” Reaching out, he gripped the whisk from her as well and set all of it aside so that their attention wasn’t interrupted.

  “I’m just feeling guilty, that’s all. My mom loved the Christmas tree, as I knew that she would. I stole that joy from her. It’s my fault, Deckard.” She shamelessly turned her attention to the flecks in her granite countertop, not wanting to see Deckard’s face as the realization of her mistake would finally hit him.

  Something co
ld touched her cheek and January’s head jerked up in an instant to find Deckard standing even closer to her with icing dripping from his fingers.

  “What the?” she asked as he swiped more icing down her nose. “Are you serious right now?”

  “Stop thinking about the wish,” he said, and when she opened her mouth to argue, Deckard attempted to run his sticky fingers across her other cheek, but she ducked and spun away before he could reach her. January neared the bowl and stuck her own fingers in the gooey mess, collecting a blob and reaching for Deckard’s face. Except due to his height, she was at a severe disadvantage.

  Instead, he captured her wrist in his hand and brought her fingers to his mouth, sucking the fingertips between his lips as he licked away the icing. She tried desperately to ignore her growing desire for him as he swirled his tongue around her fingers, but the sensation was overwhelming. January even tried to pull her hand away, but Deckard’s hold didn’t relent.

  Her free hand reached out to grip the counter but she failed when she came in contact with the bowl of icing. Coating her other hand with the concoction, January used Deckard’s hunched stance to her advantage and ran her hand from the top of his head down and across his cheek, covering his hair and half of his face in the icing.

  He immediately released his hold and looked at her in surprise.

  “Did you really?” She tried not to laugh at his look of complete shock, but a giggle slipped free. “You’re going to pay for that,” he said as he reached for the bowl, but she beat him to it and held it against her body as she took a step back, and then another. But he only followed until soon they were both running through her house, dodging furniture and laughing hysterically at the same time, January barely remembering that her parents were sitting at the kitchen table. When she caught her mother’s eye, January watched as a knowing grin spread across her lips and then turned her attention back to the completed gingerbread house on the table.

  January had slowed enough that Deckard was finally able to grab the bowl from her grip and captured it in his own. He scooped out an overzealous amount onto his hand and hovered it in the air as he devilishly grinned down at her.

  “Deckard, don’t,” she warned as she took a step back and then another, her hands held in the air in surrender.

  “You got icing in my hair. That means war.”

  “I’m sorry, I’ll even help you clean it out,” January placated.

  Shrewdly, Deckard stalked toward her, his hand still floating above the bowl with dollops of icing dripping from his hand until he had her back pressed against the refrigerator door. He leaned forward and January closed her eyes, anticipating the chill of the icing skidding across her face, but all she felt was the gentle brush of lips against her nose.

  Her eyes flashed open with a blink and looked up at Deckard in confusion.

  “I accept your apology,” he said as he carried the bowl and his hand over to the sink. “We can make another batch of icing, but I need to get it out of my hair first.”

  Filled with relief January joined him at the sink. Using a dish towel to drape over his shoulders, she had him lean over the basin as she used her faucet to clean the gunk from his hair. He moaned as her nails scraped across his scalp in a gentle massage.

  When she was done cleaning the white icing from his dark strands she turned the faucet off and took a step back to grab a clean dish towel from an island drawer to dry his hair with. But as she turned around with the towel in her hand she was met with a sprinkling of water against her face.

  Deckard had stood up and flipped his hair away from his forehead, which caused the loose droplets to land on her. It appeared that he was about to stage war number two.

  With the towel in hand she remembered the way her father used to twist the material and flick it toward someone, resulting in a smack of whatever body part the end of the cloth landed one. It was always in jest, but she remembered how the tip of the material would sting like hell.

  Grabbing two ends of the rag, January twisted the cloth in her hands creating a line of swirls, then with the flick of her wrist she let the towel go on one end, expecting it to land against Deckard’s hip. But she should have known better, that man knew what she was thinking before she even did most of the time.

  His reaction was better than she could have ever imagined as he caught the loose end of the towel and tugged her toward him. She smiled sheepishly as she landed against his body, expecting him to retaliate against her assault, but he did nothing more than sink his free hand into her hair, tilted her head back, and crushed his lips against hers. She was lost instantly. Her fingers lost their grip on the rag as she trailed her hands up his chest and around his neck, clasping her hands together behind his head. He drank her in, swallowed down every ounce of fear and guilt left in her body and set her free.

  A cough sounded breaking them apart, finding her father looking back and forth between the two of them.

  “Where is your house?” her father asked referring to the gingerbread house. January tried her hardest to come up with a believable excuse, not that it would matter; her parents had been in the same room the entire time.

  Luckily, Deckard chimed in, “That batch got a bit overmixed.”

  “Yeah,” she added. “We need to make a new batch.”

  Her dad looked like he wanted to say something more as he pinned his eyes to Deckard’s arm still wrapped around January’s waist, but her mother saved them all.

  “How about your dad and I go into the living room and order a pizza for dinner?”

  Grateful for the suggestion, January said, “That sounds great, Mom. Thanks.”

  She watched her parents walk hand-in-hand to the living room, leaving January and Deckard alone in the kitchen.

  “You know what this means?” Deckard asked and January looked up at him in confusion. His one-sided grin caused her hackles to rise.

  “No, what?”

  With a forceful tug, he turned her in his arms again and brushed his lips against hers. She liked that he always wanted to hold her close. “Now we’re alone.”

  It wasn’t long before they were lost in each other again. January never expected to connect with someone so quickly, but with Deckard, she couldn’t imagine being with anyone else. Time ceased to exist when they were together. Gravity held no power because she was floating on cloud nine high above the stratosphere just by being in his presence. But she had to remind herself that none of this was the way it should have been. The guilt was what was going to drag her through Hell until she could figure out a way to make it up to everyone. Not just her mother and family, denying them their love of the holiday, but even Deckard’s smile wasn’t as bright as it had been when he was pointing out the different ornaments on the Christmas trees in his grandparents’ shop.

  And she knew that none of them would ever understand the burden that she felt. All that she could do was show them what she had denied them and hope that they didn’t hate her for it.

  She hated herself enough for all of them.

  Chapter Seven

  The previous night had been fun with her parents and Deckard. Unlike most events with her family, January didn’t feel overshadowed by her siblings and their amazing achievements. Not even her parent’s grilling Deckard about his life and job made January feel any less significant. Of course, how could anyone fault a man that was a doctor and looked as dreamy as Deckard did?

  Her mother was smitten with him after he explained how he was helping his grandparents during the solstice season at their shop. Her dad fell for the man when Deckard offered to help remove a fallen tree from her parent’s backyard. As if she hadn’t already felt like she was falling head over heels for him, her parents had to approve of him too. It was only going to make it so much more difficult when he left on the twenty-fifth.

  She had ushered both Deckard and her parents from her house after they finished the pizza, much to Deckard’s surprise. But she was struggling coming to terms with how she was feelin
g and what she knew was going to happen when he left. January needed space and time to think if she was willing to risk the hurt.

  When she woke the following morning she texted Deckard and declined his invitation to spend the solstice celebration with him and his family. He continued to message her after the initial declination, but January was too embarrassed to answer. She ended up spending the morning in bed feeling sorry for herself.

  Lying in bed reading a book seemed like a good way to keep her mind off her new boyfriend and how she was being a complete bitch to him at the moment, but of course, the book she was finishing up from a year ago was an epic romance that left her crying at the end of the story.

  She had thought about taking a long bath, or wrapping herself in a layer of blankets and settling in a chair on her back porch watching the snow fall, but neither of those seemed appealing. She was depressed about the fact that she was falling in love with a man that was going to leave. Her heart set her up for failure. January thought that maybe there was something she could do to get him to stay, but there wasn’t much that she, or Pineville, could offer him.

  This feeling was slaying her and she felt she had no say in how her future would turn out. But January knew better; she had changed her own future, she had changed it for everyone.

  Lazily, she finally made her way from the bed to the couch where she snuggled under a heavy blanket and turned on a channel of sweet romance movies, determined not to leave that spot through the afternoon and evening.

  So thoroughly engrossed in a scene playing on the screen she almost missed the knock on the door, but when the door opened without her assistance, January knew she had to reason to worry. There was only one person that would barge into her house unannounced – Samantha.

  “Get up,” her friend declared as she ripped the blanket off January’s sweat suit-clad body.

  Trying in vain to capture the blanket from Samantha, January shouted, “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to get you out of your funk.”

  “I’m not in a funk,” January huffed as she sat up on the couch and crossed her arms against her chest in defiance.