12 Naughty Days of Christmas 2020

by Megan McCoy

  There were no utensils, so the couple ate with their fingers in comfortable silence, sharing the cups and each other’s company. It was easier for Elena to sit cross-legged in bed due to the swollen weight of her stomach, and necessity demanded she either use both hands to cover herself or to eat. Given how hungry she was, she knew he was enjoying her deliberate lack of modesty.

  “You needn’t stare quite so much, my husband,” she said, narrowing her eyes good-naturedly at his smirk.

  If anything, the smirk widened. “Perhaps not,” he said, “but I’m enjoying the view all the same.”

  Elena faked a sigh, showing it to be a lie when she smiled. “Men.”

  The food was good, and Elena felt quite sated and content when it was gone. The tray and its contents were left by the door, and when Hugh returned to bed again she wasted no time in sliding into his opened arms once more. It was likely that the merrymakers in the main hall would still linger until well after midnight, but the sound of them was too muffled for her to hear. She relaxed, knowing how Hugh liked to bask in her nakedness, admiring her like some kind of pale statue carved by a master stonecutter’s hand.

  But the silence between them lasted too long, and the muted sound of the revelers downstairs sent Elena’s mind wandering down paths best left untrod. She became very quiet when old memories of one particular Cristes Mæsse holiday returned. It was almost two decades ago, nearly to the day, but she’d heard the story so many times that it became hard to discern what memories were hers and what details she’d heard about after the fact. She remembered fire, her father John’s tannery going up in flames. Elena was later told that he carried her out, then went back inside to find Helen, her mother. There was billowing smoke, an immense fireball, an explosion that knocked Elena off her feet.

  Neither of them came out after that.

  The fire was so great that more than a quarter of the town was damaged or burned down. It was the talk of Corfe for years, talk that Elena had to listen to, had to relive, over and over again. That story became her Cristes Mæsse tradition, year after miserable year. It was supposed to be a happy time, not the mockery of heartache and tears it had turned into; she was tired of it all, tired of having to remember such things. Elena wanted something happier to focus on - she still did - but she couldn’t outrun her own memories.

  Her husband seemed to sense something, or perhaps he felt the tension in her breathing, her entire body. “Starling?” He kissed the top of her head; the warmth of his breath made her close her eyes. “Are you well?”

  “Well enough, my lord,” she said. “My sad memories of the season are... more robust than I’d hoped.” Elena rolled over in bed, resting her head on his chest, fingernails sliding through the curls below his neck.

  Hugh knew what had happened; everyone in Corfe knew. “My poor starling,” he said a mournful sigh. “You were so young.”

  When he reached down to touch her face, Elena flinched away. Regretting it immediately, she grabbed his hand, pressed his knuckles to her cheek. “I suppose I was,” she answered, softer than she meant to. Elena knew it was too dark to see the town through the windows near their bed, but she almost looked anyway, as though the darkness would part like a curtain before her eyes, to show her Corfe as it was all those years ago.

  Hugh rested his other hand atop her head. “Do you need to speak more of it?” He spoke with slow, hesitant curiosity, perhaps not wanting to dredge up more unpleasant memories.

  Elena might’ve smiled at any other time. Not that time, not tonight. She shook her head. “No.”

  “Are you sure-”

  She sniffed, cutting him off. “Husband, please.” Elena didn’t even know what she was asking for, yet he went silent all the same. For a time, she rested her head, closed her eyes, just breathing in and out. The smell of him was strong then, a mix of flesh, old sweat, a leftover hint of their simple, evening meal together. Turning her face down, she cupped one hand across her belly, stroking the little life trapped inside of it, the living proof of the love she’d come to find for the man next to her.

  “Do you love me?” she said. She knew he did, but it wasn’t the knowing that she wanted - it was the hearing, the affirmation of it.

  “I do,” he said. He didn’t kiss her when he said it, something she was strangely grateful for. There was a time for affection and tender kisses. Thoughts of fire and death seemed like a poor occasion for such things.

  “And this child. Do you love him, too?” She almost wished that the little thing would wake up again, coaxed back to consciousness by the tender touches of his mother’s hand, at how her heart swelled just thinking about him. It was almost the same way that it filled to bursting when she thought about Hugh. So similar that they could’ve been identical, but just different enough in a way she could comprehend, but not explain.

  “Even before he has a name, a face or takes a breath, yes.” Hugh forced her to look up, into his eyes. “I swear it.”

  “Then I am content, Hugh.” It was a little easier to smile then. The ache in her chest wasn’t so painful, and her breathing came a little easier. “Maybe even happy, knowing that. So, we don’t speak of the past. Not tonight. Just... be with me. Help me to forget about that day. Please?”

  “Of course.” Hugh bent down to kiss her face, and she closed her eyes, leaning into each of the kisses with a need. This love, this life they had together - it was real, not just some collection of faded memories and stories. Those... remembrances never went away, but with Hugh there and with the power of his hold over her - his love, his attention, his dominance - their strength was considerably lessened. Soon they would be no more than another winter wind in the back of her mind: cold, unwelcome, occasionally overpowering, but always fleeting.

  Elena went willingly when his hands pulled her closer, sliding her in-between his legs, her back to his chest. More kisses ran in a line from her temple, down her neck, under her chin. His hands seemed to be everywhere, touching down her arms, fingers whisper-soft over her collarbone, hands cupping underneath the half-orb of her belly. They lingered there for a long time as his chin dipped down to rest on her shoulder.

  She stole a peek at his face, saw him looking down at her stomach, which he caressed and stroked with such a cautious love and gentleness that it nearly took her breath away. “Methinks your son is still sleeping,” she said, turning her head up to press tender kisses to his temple. His presence was driving the shadows in her memory away, and she nuzzled her face to his, reaching back to touch his neck and shoulders, squeezing tight with her small fingers. The feeling of his hands on her belly, cupping the heavy weight, holding it like she imagined him cradling the child inside of it one day, left her feeling warm and cherished. She felt loved.

  “He feels... very small,” he said, with a note of wonder and wistfulness in his voice. “So very like his mother.”

  She snorted and scratched her fingernails under his chin. “Size isn’t everything, my lord.”

  Now it was his turn to snort.

  “Not that I’m complaining,” she added with a teasing little grin.

  Hugh just shook his head, but he was smiling again, which lifted her heart even further. Elena let her hands fall to press over his, fingers lacing together. “He shan’t break so easily, Hugh,” she said, adding with a hot whisper, “And neither will his mother.” Pulling one hand up with hers, she kissed the palm of his hand, then slid one of his fingertips between her lips, suckling on it for a moment before letting it free with a wet pop.

  That got his attention, just the way she’d hoped. Sometimes a woman had to make things obvious.

  Elena’s head fell back against her husband’s shoulder as his hands went back to exploring again, fingers stroking her warm flesh, waking up nerves hungry for his caresses. She was pliant in his hands, letting him pose her like some kind of toy or plaything. He coaxed her legs wide open, her bent knees resting atop his thighs, leaving her so lewdly exposed to the night air. Her sense of smell h
ad sharpened dramatically during the course of her pregnancy and she could easily smell herself again, the arousal he instilled in her. Elena wanted him to push her down into the bed and take his pleasure without another word, but he was scheming something, that much was certain. When he pulled her arms up to rest her hands behind his neck, she didn’t struggle. Then he whispered into her ear. “Keep your hands where I put them, starling,” he cooed.

  Elena wanted to squirm.

  After that, the need for words fell away. She obeyed his command and curled her fingers tight at the nape of his neck as he began to touch her more earnestly, his hands roaming up and down from the curve of her neck to the bend of her knees and back again. His fingertips on her thighs were slow and ponderous, applying just enough pressure to make her catch her breath. The caresses at the bottommost curve of her swollen stomach were too firm to tickle, but not close enough to her mound to do more than leave more warm memories of his touch behind.

  When he cupped her breasts, Elena pressed her head back and sighed, squeezing one lip between her teeth as she rolled her hips. She could feel him, his maleness, half-aroused and nestled behind her buttocks; she rolled her hips again, pushing back, grinding against him. She could’ve said anything at that moment, but nothing felt right, so a moan spoke for her instead. The sensation of his fingers brushing across her darkened nipples made Elena whimper, as he ever so gently squeezed and pulled at her breasts, giving her more of that mixture of pleasure and pain that he was so skilled at administering.

  Hugh’s hands lingered there for a while, never causing enough discomfort that she wanted to ask him to stop. She couldn’t climax from such stimulation alone, something she knew he was aware of, and the consternation she felt after several minutes of his attentions had her groaning with frustration. But she kept her hands in place, just as he’d commanded, although her arms trembled and her toes curled so tight her legs began to do the same.

  Just when Elena thought she couldn’t stand it for another moment, when she was ready to disobey and risk whatever consequence would come, Hugh ceased his fondling of one of her nipples and sent his hand roaming again. That only seemed to make it somehow worse, because the slow burn deep in her belly feeding the heat between her opened thighs continued unabated. The sound of her breathing was dark, even ragged at the edges, as she turned her head towards him. “Do you not wish to take me, Hugh?” she said, deliberately using his name, cooing it like sweet music.

  “Always,” he answered. She heard no smile in his voice, didn’t see one on his face, but rather heard a deep, hungry sort of satisfaction in his voice. This appeared to be his plan: to use her own need, her own body against her. It wasn’t the first, or perhaps the hundredth time - Hugh had his habits, same as any other man - but he took such a pride in his ability to drive her half-mad with lust. She loathed it, but not as much as she loved it, and they both knew it.

  Did he intend to tease and torment her all night and into the next morning? There were worse ways to bring in Cristes Mæsse, Elena was sure of that.

  Her wet softness longed for his touch, for his cock, for anything he could use to fill her up. He was good and truly hard now, and she used every effort in her to tempt him, rocking and rolling in her seat, squeezing him tight between the halves of her bottom, rubbing her shoulders against his chest, pressing more kisses under his chin. He put a stop to that a moment later when he sank the fingers of his other hand into her thigh, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp, to quiver and moan. By now she could feel a damp spot in the sheet beneath her bottom, and she bit her cheek to muffle the urge to moan again until he released his grip on her quivering muscles.

  Elena’s lover continued to gently flick and tease a nipple with one hand, and the other slid over her hip and thigh, promising to finally give her aching quim the attention she was craving. Her belly was of no consequence to Hugh and his long arms, and the feeling of him sliding a fingertip up and down her slit made her moan. It roamed as far down as just on the periphery of the tingling pucker of her ass, then back up to her clit, the barest of touches, but still enough to almost steal the breath out of her heaving chest.

  “Mmmmm.” She held out the sound like a prayer to him, hoping that he would finally tire of his torment and give her some relief. All of her long-lived aches - her feet, her back, her neck, breasts, or anywhere in-between - were forgotten. Elena curled her arms tighter around her husband’s strong neck, opening her legs so far that her hips wanted to protest, but if he kept touching her, she didn’t care. Her body was hot and willing, and Elena could feel his cock straining behind her, so she knew the torment couldn’t continue on indefinitely. Eventually, Hugh would need satisfaction as well, and eventually he would take it, which suited her just fine. Elena permitted herself to enjoy the tiniest thrill of victory to sweeten the anticipation. He would have to take her soon, unable to resist the allure of her body, just like every time before. That was the power she had over him, and Elena never tired of it.

  Just when it seemed like she was ready to come again - her toes curling, her breath shaking, the pressure building and burning inside of her in preparation of release - Hugh raised his hand to take her other breast again, as though he’d forgotten about it until just then. Elena took sharp, gulping breaths for a second as her pounding heart was permitted to slow down its pace just a bit. She scrunched up her mouth in consternation, knowing better than to complain or scold him somehow. She closed her eyes, focusing on the sparks of pleasure shooting from her tender breasts, on her breathing, on the solid reassurance of his body behind her and his cock that was so hard by that point she was half-certain she could feel it throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

  When he began sliding his hand back down over her belly a second time, Elena smiled, licked her lips and managed to sit still when his fingers easily found the warm, slick bud waiting for him between her legs. She opened her mouth, arched her back as best she could and squeezed her arms tight about his neck as she waited for the orgasm she was already craving. Sweat beaded out all over her naked body, glistening in the light of the candles; she swiped a tongue across her upper lip, tasting the salt, expelling another hot breath into the night. It was any wonder that she couldn’t see shining waves of heat over her head. When her climax started to fill and was nearly ready to overflow, Elena welcomed it.

  But Hugh was a more devious sort, something Elena had forgotten at her own peril. Again, he slowed down his caresses, and in the case of her clit, he stopped entirely. Not long enough for her arousal to vanish, but with just enough time for the pressure building inside of her to dissipate, leaving her feeling empty and unsatisfied. With a wordless whine that needed no explanation, she pressed her ass against his cock again, rocking to and fro, while her open mouth gave desperate kisses over any bit of his flesh that she could reach. She wanted to ride him, to be filled up, made whole in the way only he could.

  Two more times, he did the same thing: burning her from the inside out, stoking the fire of her pleasure, his fingers knowing just how to stroke her in the right way to take her right to the edge of oblivion, and then he backed off again, leaving her more and more in need of the thing he refused to give to her.

  “Have I... displeased you... my lord?” Elena said, breathing hard from her exertions. She felt stretched taut, like a leather strap ready to break. Frustration and desire made for a heady mix, as though she’d had too much to drink. She felt trapped under glass, with release just on the other side - so close she could see it, sense its blessed warmth, but was still unable to touch it.

  “On the contrary,” he said.

  Now she most certainly heard him smiling, knowing that he was pleased at her helplessness. Smug bastard.

  “Then take me!” she said, begging him, daring to raise her hands and slide her fingers into his hair. She was pressed so tight against him that not even the night was between them, and her slick skin slithered against his. “God, please Hugh. Don’t... don’t torture me like t
his! I need you!”

  Feeling him penetrate her with his fingers was a blessing and just more accursed torment, but she savored it all the same. Anything was better than rising and falling, always reaching for an ending that she was denied again and again.

  Now Hugh was the one to whisper, with such desire and pleasure in his voice that she nearly wept. It sent her heart into such palpitations that she was quite sure she was ready to faint. “Would you still beg me for relief, starling? Even after toying with you this way?”

  “Yes!” she said, never hesitating. “Please, please, my Hugh, my love, please!” It felt like every word needed its own breath, so tense and helpless and hungry was she. “Take me, release me, fill me, mount me, whatever it takes to please you. Please, I beg you, I beg. Please, Hugh, please.” When his fingers, so wet that they had to be dripping, began swirling around her clit again, she repeated the word in-between haggard breaths. “Please,” she repeated. Please. Please. Please.

  Elena cried openly when she felt it start, the beginning of the orgasm she’d been denied for what felt like so long, regardless of the number of minutes that had passed. Biting her lip to silence herself, ignoring the sweat and tears stinging her eyes and sliding down her cheeks, she froze, every muscle locking in place as he continued flicking her little bud, daring to hope that he would finish, dreading the possibility that he might stop. Her body, already over-sensitive from her pregnancy, felt like it was tingling in a thousand places, and she was quite sure that if he didn’t give her that release, she would simply faint instead.

  But he didn’t stop. She felt Hugh’s jaw clench against her temple as he continued, and now Elena had no blankets to muffle her long, loud scream of pleasure when she crashed over the precipice and fell down, down into the burning, suffocating heat of her orgasm. Knowing it might displease him, not caring, Elena’s hands flew down and grabbed hold of his wrist, pulling his fingers away. She was too sensitive, too weak for one of his prolonged teasing sessions after coming, and bless the man, he didn’t fight or resist. Instead, he wrapped both arms around her, her breasts resting atop one arm while the other cupped his fingers below her belly, cradling Elena while she rocked and spasmed in the midst of a climax stronger than any she could remember.