by Anthology
“You’re not wearing any underwear,” he says. For the first time, it’s with a hint of surprise. Not just surprise – delight.
“You were fresh out of girl’s panties,” I whisper, threading my fingers through Dylan’s long black hair. It’s so soft. My fingernails graze his scalp. He pulls the sweat pants down until they are past my knees. He kisses my mound. “Lower,” I groan.
Dylan does as he’s told. He kisses, and he nibbles, and in my mind I’m watching him follow a map made of freckles.
“Are you ready, doll?” He asks, looking up at me. His eyes glint different colors, like precious stones set into a face of gold.
I wish I could see myself through Dylan’s eyes, from his head between my legs. I wish I could see my skin heaving every time he touches me. I nod – the movement is quick and messy. I’m losing control.
The first time Dylan kisses my wet, pink lips, my world explodes. It’s like a dam breaking – hours and hours of sexual tension releasing in one thunderclap.
“Ohhhh…” I murmur. There’s no way my brain is capable of stringing a proper sentence together right now. Besides, that said everything I wanted it to.
Dylan grazes my pussy with his lips, dragging them down from top to bottom. My back arches again, my hips buck and my knees buckle. His breath kisses my lips, stroking it, caressing it. I’m on the edge and he hasn’t even used his tongue.
When he does, I let out a low, guttural moan of satisfaction. Dylan knows what he’s doing. Not that I had any doubt about that… He licks my pussy from top to bottom so slowly I’m scarcely capable of taking the pleasure. It feels so good, but I can’t bear it.
I squeeze my legs together, trying to hide from the explosion of sheer delight, but Dylan roughly pulls my thighs apart. He holds me down, spread wide – open to the world. My face flushes red with embarrassment, but a second later Dylan’s finger disappears inside me, and embarrassment is the last thing on my mind.
I don’t think I’ve ever been wetter. Dylan kisses and nibbles and sucks at my pussy. Every time his tongue twitches and strokes, every time his lips graze my nub, my mind explodes with pleasure.
I’m writhing underneath Dylan’s expert touch. My fingers scrunch huge handfuls of the bedcovers: my fingernails scrape against Dylan’s scalp; I bite the thin section of skin between my thumb and forefinger until I almost break skin; all to stave off the inevitable.
I’m going to come, and come hard, but I don’t want it to happen yet.
I want this to last forever.
But who am I kidding? I’m not strong enough to resist. I give into Dylan’s temptation.
My body jerks one last time as Dylan sucks on the bundle of nerve endings between my legs, and I grab his hair with both hands, and try to drag his body up mine. He’s fully clothed, and it’s so unfair, and I can barely make my mouth form the words to tell him.
“Please,” I beg, sticking to simple words, “I need you inside me.”
Our eyes meet, and Dylan’s expression fills with hunger when he hears what I want from him. But he shakes his head. My head tips back with frustration. God! This man must have nerves of steel.
“Not so fast, doll,” he whispers. “I’m going to make you come, all right: again, and again, and again. I want you to feel so good you can’t move, can’t speak…”
That’s the last thing Dylan says. His head drops between my legs again, and this time he’s a man possessed. I feel another finger inside me, scraping against that sensitive area inside me, beckoning in a come-hither motion. It is all I need. It’s enough. It’s more than enough.
My pussy clenches around his fingers. Stars explode behind my eyes. My nipples are burning suns, both of them shining bright. Dylan pushes through, sucking on my clitoris, and my orgasm crushes over me. For the briefest fraction of a half-second, everything goes quiet and black. I could be anywhere – in space, at the bottom of the ocean.
And then the pleasure breaks on my body like a wave on the beach. It explodes into every nerve ending and every sense. I’m seeing sound; I’m hearing colors; and still Dylan doesn’t stop.
My body writhes beneath him. I never knew that this could feel so good.
I’m done. I’m spent. And Dylan comes up for air.
He climbs my body, pulling the T-shirt off my upper body in the process. Dylan’s lips graze mine, and I can taste myself on him. It’s sweet and musky, and I don’t care because it’s perfect. He’s perfect.
“How was that?” Dylan grins. I still can’t speak. My fingers reach down for his cock. I don’t think I can operate a belt buckle yet, so I just shove my fingers past his waistband.
“That good, huh?”
I bite my lip, and I nod, and my eyes scream a message: I want you inside me. Now.
“Let’s see what you got for me, doll,” Dylan says breathily. I hear the metallic clatter of his belt buckle opening, the crack as he pulls the leather out and throws it, the thud as its weight lands on the floor. And then his waistband is open, and my hands are closing around his cock – my tiny fingers barely capable of encircling it.
The second I touch it, Dylan’s eyes flicker shut. It’s just for a second, but it fills me with joy. I can make this man feel just as good as when he played my body like an instrument.
“Take them off,” I whisper, “everything.”
You’ve never seen a man move so fast. His T-shirt meets his jeans in his underwear and socks on the floor in seconds. Then I see his body, his whole body: not just that perfect, thick torso lined and rippled with muscle; not just his cock, huge and wide and standing proud; not just his thick biceps, or his perfectly defined legs. I see everything.
“What do you think?” Dylan asks. He’s got a cocky, self-assured grin on his face. He knows exactly how good he looks.
I shrug. "You’ll do for now. I guess…” I say, noncommittally. But I can’t stop the excited, proud smile that flits onto my face.
I watch as Dylan’s eyes wander to the right – to a cabinet. I shake my head. “Are you clean?” I ask.
He nods. “I was just tested last week.”
“Then screw the condom,” I say with vigor, “I’m on the pill.”
Dylan’s eyes light up with unbridled delight. There’s no hiding that.
His lips dip to mine again. “God, you’re perfect, doll,” he growls. We kiss, he presses his mouth against mine, and then I feel the head of his cock parting my lips.
I lift my arms around his back and I dig my fingernails into his shoulder. I let out a little gasp as he presses inside me. Inch by inch, Dylan’s cock stretches my pussy. I never believed that I could take something this big.
I let out a little moan. I didn’t mean to, it just escapes my mouth. “Oh my God,” I groan. “Don’t stop…”
I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean; like Dylan’s going to stop, anyway. He keeps pushing, and then our hips meet, and my head falls back, and a little aftershock of an orgasm explodes behind my eyes. My body’s still quivering from what he did to me a few moments ago, and it doesn’t show any signs of stopping.
Dylan’s eyes close. “Jesus doll, you’re tight,” he mutters, biting his lip. He levers his body up, and strokes his right hand from my cheek all the way down the front of my body, paying particular attention to my nipples, until his hand joins my hip. The caress leaves a trail of fiery goosebumps exploding like shooting stars across my body.
“Are you ready?” Dylan asks, as a smile plays on my lips. I nod. And then I do it again, just to make sure.
Dylan takes my permission like the sound of a starting pistol. His fingers dig in to the flesh of my hips, and he pulls his hips back and presses his cock into me.
I grab his shoulder with one hand, and pinch my nipple with my other. Dylan thrusts inside me, his muscles bunching and rippling. He feels like a machine – endless power contained within such a perfect physique.
Little gasps of pleasure explode from my lips. I can’t take it, not much longer. Another
orgasm is building – maybe the last one never left. My body is on fire; every inch of skin bursts with pleasure.
I dig my fingernails into Dylan’s shoulder. His eyelids spring open with surprise – but he never stops thrusting. He’s well-trained.
“I want you to come inside me,” I moan, thrusting my hips forward. I kind of shock myself with the foul mouth I’m developing around Dylan. I’m talking like a sailor. But I don’t care. I’m going to get what I want.
Dylan tips me a mock salute, and grabs my hips harder. His eyes close again, and he thrusts inside me, and I watch with astonishment as waves of pleasure ripple across his face. I see every muscle on his taut frame starting to pop, and I know he’s on the edge.
I clench my pussy, and now it’s harder for him to thrust, and there’s more friction, too, and Dylan’s body falls on top of mine so that our skin is almost touching, and his fingers loop around my neck, and his breath kisses my cheeks. My breath is ragged and messy.
“Oh my God,” Dylan groans, or maybe it was just a sound – no words, no vowels, just pleasure.
His ass tightens, and I feel a heat explode inside me, and I let myself go, and we come together.
When I come to – when I’m myself again, and not drowning under the pleasure of the best orgasm I’ve ever experienced – Dylan is stroking my hair. He pushes it across my eyes with a playful smile, and I have to huff and puff to clear my vision of a forest of light red hair.
“You never did tell me,” he says, speaking quietly – carefully – “why you’re alone this Christmas.”
I feel disconnected from my body. I know me. I know that usually if someone asked me that question, I’d tense up, choke up, and want to be anywhere else.
But not now, not with Dylan: maybe it is just the aftershocks of pleasure speaking. Maybe my brain has pumped too many happy chemicals into my veins to care. But that’s just the thing – I don’t care. Around Dylan, my tongue is looser – I’m looser.
“I was an only child,” I say, caressing Dylan’s chest. “My mom left when I was oh –,” I raise my palm parallel with the mattress, “about yea high.”
“And your dad?” Dylan asks, looking down at me with caring eyes.
I chew my lip. This one is a little harder to answer. But right now I feel like I can – like I’m not going to be overwhelmed by years of emotion.
“He,” I say flatly, without bitterness, “was an asshole. He’s better off out of my life.”
Dylan nods. “I get that. I’ve got a proposal for you.”
I glance up at him. His cheeks are rippling with the early tremors of a proud smile. “Go on…”
“How would you like to spend Christmas with me?”
I answer without needing to think about it. A smile creeps onto my face, greeting the one on Dylan’s.
“I think, Mr. Byrne, I would like that very much.”
Dylan’s lips meet mine in the only reply that I need.
Epilogue
Okay.
I know a lot happened in a very short period of time. You don’t need to tell me that! Believe me: my head is still spinning from it all. But you know what?
I don’t regret any of it.
I was ten when mom left. Twelve when dad decided that words weren’t enough discipline in his eyes. Apparently the back side of a leather belt was better. That’s what he needed – apparently – to mold me into the girl he just knew I could be.
I’m twenty-five now. That’s fifteen Christmases that I dreaded. Fifteen Christmases where I listened sadly to all the other kids chatter nonstop for weeks before “that day” came. Fifteen Christmases where I would turn away from Christmas lights to keep my loneliness hidden. It didn’t get better as I got older – I just found myself ever more adrift, alone, and empty.
In total, it was fifteen Christmases I spent waiting desperately for January to come around.
Well, fourteen.
Because the fifteenth was the one I just spent with Dylan. The fifteenth was perfect. It was everything I’d ever imagined it could be. Not because of where I was – it was still a cold, dark, windy Boston, and I was in a rattling old wooden house with one heck of a draft – but because of who was with me.
Dylan.
He made it perfect. We ate Christmas dinner on the floor, would you believe it? We cooked it together; at least we did when we could keep our hands off each other. Somehow we managed to whip something together. It wasn’t much, but it was ours, and that is kind of all I’ve ever wanted.
It felt a bit too formal to eat it side-by-side at the dinner table, and Dylan could tell I was still just a little bit uncomfortable with the whole thing. So like a flash, with a wicked grin on his face, Dylan picked up every last platter and plate and carried it to the floor by the fireplace.
It was a little touch and go, at first. Dylan lit a fire, and it didn’t quite go as planned. The whole house filled with smoke. “Seasoning”, Dylan called it while I was trying to blow it away from the food and he was opening every window in the house…
I thought the chimney was blocked, but things worked themselves out. Heck, maybe I’ll make that my motto: “Things worked themselves out”, in the end.
So – what about the whole mob thing.
Yeah.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. Sure, the idea is cool. And, sure, it was pretty helpful to have Dylan’s cousin’s muscle turn up to cart Russell’s moaning body off to the police station…
But is that the life I want to lead? I might be crazy – heck, I almost certainly am – but I’m thinking about kids. Can I trust that Dylan is going to settle down for that kind of life?
You know – I think I can.
Dylan is a good guy: a really good guy. He’s kind of reckless sometimes – like when he rushed out to confront a drug-crazed maniac in his bare feet…
But when Dylan is around me, he’s a changed man. He’s calm. He’s caring. I think we’re better together than we ever could be apart. We’re a team, and I’m going to make sure we stay that way.
Besides, we’ve only been dating for like a month. We are going to his cousin’s wedding at the start of this year. It’s a big step, but I’m looking forward to it. We just got the invitation through the mail – on heavy card stock. We are “cordially invited to Declan and Casey’s wedding”. It feels real.
I’m looking forward to it.
I’ll keep you posted. But I think things are going to work out all right. You know what I say.
Things work themselves out.
Happy Christmas.
L.
Oriental Essence
By Linnea May
Chapter 1
Ava
I have never won anything in my life before. Never. It is almost cynical to me that the first time I do win something, it has to be this.
“Aaand, our jackpot for tonight, a luxurious spa treatment at Mandarin Oriental goes tooo...!”
Our boss, Mr. Cooper, stands in the middle of our gathering, his cheeks flushed from a few too many glasses of champagne. He is holding up a little piece of paper he just drew from a fishbowl. All eyes are glued on him.
Well, almost all.
I am one of the few people who do not stare at him in anticipation. Instead, I am using the few moments of his overly dramatic presentation and drawing of the raffle winner to stock up on mini quiches at the buffet.
Our agency has used this caterer before and the mini quiches have always been a hit. It's no surprise that their tables have been crowded the entire time our Christmas party has been going on. Until now, there had been no chance for me to get a taste of them.
Until now.
Just as expected, they are already half gone at this point. My favorites—the ham quiches—are gone completely.
I fill my plate with what is left, mostly vegetarian quiches and two little meatballs to make up for the lack of meat in them. Everybody had been lining up at the buffet the entire party, but because I showed up late I didn't hav
e a chance to grab anything but a glass of champagne.
That's what you get for being too involved and too diligent when it comes to your job, I guess.
Just like I do every morning, I had a very light breakfast early on. And just like every morning lately, I had been crammed with work and stressed to the limit so my light breakfast only consisted of coffee—no time for food. Because it's the end of the year, many deadlines have been set for the upcoming week, which is why I wanted to get as much as possible done before midday.
There was no time to eat anything. No time to snack. I literally haven't ingested anything today except for coffee and champagne.
I am starving.
This series of unfortunate circumstances leads to me stuffing my face at the very moment when Mr. Cooper yells my name, announcing me as the winner of the raffle.
Heads are turning to me as I stand there, where I thought I would be shielded and secluded from everyone else, safe to indulge on the heavenly mini quiches that I have been craving for so long. Not thinking that my name would be called, I had just stuffed an entire quiche into my mouth to ease my painful hunger.
People are staring at me as I stand there, my eyes as wide as my cheeks are full. There is a moment of silence while some eyes are still searching for me. I can see Mr. Cooper stretching himself behind a row of people in front of me, in search of the lucky winner.
“Ah, there she is!” he announces.
And then the entire workforce bursts out in a hearty, alcohol induced laughter.
I start chewing frantically, trying to swallow the food as soon as possible so I can join their amusement. I wouldn't be me if I wasn't able to laugh at this scene myself.
I smile and nod, still chewing, as cheers and laughter are thrown in my direction.
“Come on, Ava, get over here to collect your reward!” Mr. Cooper says. “There’s always time for food later!”