My head snapped up. I looked around.
Nothing. Must have been a leaf.
But there was no wind. Where had it come from?
I looked around. Something else fell softly to the ground a few paces away. Something small and white.
Then came another.
And another.
Then two more at once.
I stood, so fascinated that I couldn’t cry anymore. What was this stuff? Ash? Was something on fire? Was that why I felt so completely isolated in this part of the woods—because all the animals had run off?
Panic gripped me. I might be delusional, but I still valued my life. I started running again. Just stick to the path, I told myself. It will curve around and put you back by the pond in no time.
The white flecks started falling in thick batches. They stuck in my hair, in my eyelashes. What if the fire was between me and the pond? Should I go the other way? The air wasn’t getting any hotter, and I couldn’t smell smoke. But whiteness piled on the ground now, covering the layer of leaves under my feet, making a soft crunching noise under my sneakers that reminded me of…
I slowed.
The pond peeked out at me between the branches ahead. Something was different about it. The sickly orange illumination had ceased. But that could have been explained by a broken streetlight. The far more curious question was where were all those little waves that had once lapped against the shore? The pond’s surface was perfectly smooth, like a mirror.
I stopped. Stopped running, stopped breathing, stopped everything. Just stared.
The pond was frozen.
Around me, tiny snowflakes continued to fall, wafting separately through the air and then uniting with their cohorts in a seamless formation that stretched on to infinity. I don’t know how long I stood there, marveling at the miracle; knowing what it meant, and still afraid to believe it.
The trees rustled without making a sound. From them emerged my nutcracker.
I fell into his arms just as I had the previous year. There was no napkin tied around his jaw now, and he buried his chin in my hair, sighing, “Oh, Clara. Oh, mein liebchen.”
Being here with him, feeling his arms around me, hearing him speak my native language, was overwhelming. I cried again, this time for joy.
“Shh,” he soothed. Then he held me at arm’s length to take me in.
I didn’t look too different from the last time he’d seen me, except I wore jogging clothes instead of a nightgown. His eyes traveled down from my face, lingered on my breasts, and then flickered over my exposed midriff.
I grew self-conscious. Did he think I was wearing too few clothes to be seen in public?
“You look nice,” he said finally.
I relaxed. “Thanks.” Then I laughed. “Wait a minute, what? Nice? I’m dressed to go jogging, not for a gala at the Met.”
“You’d look nice if you wore a paper bag.” His cheeks flushed crimson. “I mean…forgive me. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. I’ve pictured this moment so many times. Wondered what I would say. Wondered if you would still want me.”
I reached up and ran my hands through his hair. It was a wanton gesture, certainly more lustful than romantic. But I couldn’t help myself. His smell was like pure masculinity mingled with the peppermint essence of his kingdom. I wanted to see what those blue eyes would look like in the throes of ecstasy. “I do still want you,” I murmured, stepping so close to him that my sports bra almost grazed the buttons on his coat. My nipples started to stiffen as I imagined the feeling. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything else, in my world or in yours.”
He caught my hands and pulled them down gently into his chest.
Then he kissed me.
My heart pounded against my ribcage. I closed my eyes, shutting out everything in the world; shutting out school, my roommate, and my family; shutting out everything but the tender touch of his lips. He had come back for me. And I loved him. It was a different feeling, this new combination of lust and romantic love. A strong one. I couldn’t restrain myself anymore.
I slipped one hand out of his grasp and moved it quickly, bringing it straight down the center of his abs, barely acknowledging the slight roughness of his waistband, until it cupped his package.
He wrenched his lips away from mine.
My heart stopped. This was it. He was going to reject my advances. He was going to make me wait until we were married. Or worse, inform me point blank that I was too much of a harlot; that it could never work between us.
But he didn’t move my hand. Instead he held still, gazing deeply into my eyes. My heart resumed its beat faintly, cautiously. “Is this what you want?” he whispered. “You’re not just doing it for me?”
“For you?” I asked. “No.”
His face broke into a smile. Then he kissed me again, more forcefully this time. His tongue pried open my lips and entered my mouth. Reflexively, my hand tightened at his fly, then loosened again as I realized I might be hurting him.
In response, he shoved himself more insistently against my palm. I could feel the outline of his penis as it hardened.
He was turned on. I was turning him on.
Within the prison of my shorts, my slit flooded with moisture. My labia were so swollen, it felt as if there were something between them already. Something that refused to push past them, something that was content to press up against the outside, teasing me, tormenting me.
His hand began to travel down, passing from my cheek to my throat, lingering a moment on my collarbone. He moved his fingers up and down, staying within the same couple of centimeters, alternating between my skin and the thick, binding material of the sports bra.
I forced my lips to leave his so that I could pull it up and over my head. Free of it, I started to press against him again. But he took a step back. Taking the hint, I held still, waiting for him to indicate what he wanted.
What he wanted was a good look at my tits. His eyes went wide and his cock throbbed in the palm of my hand. It was very thick now, thicker than anything I’d ever put inside me. I rubbed it slowly, feeling the fabric of his pants begin to strain, relishing the hunger in his expression at the sight of my bare torso.
His hand moved again. He touched me with just one finger, the index finger, sliding it down the pale skin of my left breast to a spot just above my areola.
And there it hovered.
I drew in a deep breath, arching my back, straining toward that finger, begging it to fondle me.
He removed his finger from my skin and I cried out. Gently he brought his thumb up to meet the forefinger, hovering in the snow-filled night air just beyond my erect nipple.
Then he brought it down, hitting the very tip before the thumb and forefinger parted to slide down either side of my nipple, squeezing, still drawn together as if magnetized, sending shocks all through my shaking body.
I yanked down his zipper and gripped his dick.
He sucked in a deep breath. I knew I was still moving fast for him, but I wanted him so badly. And I knew he wanted me too.
I felt his balls against my knuckles. They were hairless. Just as his face had smoothed over when he transformed from the nutcracker to the flesh-and-blood prince, so had his privates. I jacked him gently, feeling that cock in my hand, inhaling his peppermint scent.
He began to match my level of excitement. The two fingers that were playing with my nipple melted back into his cupped palm, which he used to lift my breast toward his mouth.
“Oh, yeah,” I whispered. “Lick my nipple. I want to see you lick my nipple.”
His lips parted, and a long tongue shot out of his mouth, moving deftly around and around the areola with a speed I hadn’t yet seen him use.
My pelvis strained toward him. I glanced down at his cock in my hand. It was massive, so thick my fingers didn’t make it all the way around. My pussy lips thrummed with the desire to encircle it, to let it fill me, to let it thrust its way inside me.
I shim
mied out of my shorts, kicked them aside, and spread my legs.
He worked both of my nipples, cradling my breasts in both his hands, licking and sucking each in turn. I could see the trails of saliva left by his tongue, crossing from the pale flesh of my tits over the borders of my dark areole and back again.
“Please,” I whispered. “Please put your cock in me. I need it so bad.”
He freed his right hand, continuing to support one of my tits with the left. Without pausing in his tongue movements, he slid the right hand down my stomach, gliding over the hairline on my mons. My hair tickled my clit as the pad of his index finger came to a spot just above it, and stayed there.
“Lower,” I begged him. “Just a little lower. Rub my clit.”
He tweaked it once.
I threw my head back and moaned.
He tweaked it again. This was nothing like when I masturbated. His warmth, his smell, the size and strength of his finger, the angle from which he approached me…it was all different. There was a man here, and there was no mistaking it. His every movement set my pussy on fire.
He still hadn’t put anything inside me. My labia flared. The tingling I felt as he licked my left nipple traveled quickly south, the blood rushing through my body as it geared up to be pleasured. Despite the fact that I couldn’t feel temperature here in his kingdom of magic, sweat sprung up on my forehead.
Then my prayers were answered. He moved his thumb to take over on my clit and shoved two fingers inside my waiting pussy. They went in up to the first knuckle. I bucked against them, then pulled back to draw them out slowly, feeling the movement against my inner walls. Then I shoved them back in, fast. On the next thrust, I took them up to the second knuckle and rubbed my clit fervently against his thumb, picking up speed. My breath came in shallow puffs now. I could see it, making little puffs in the air as I made a sex toy out of his hand.
He stopped everything he was doing at once, and stepped back. It was all I could do not to cry out in frustration. “Will you go down on me?” he asked.
Breathless, I nodded.
He placed a hand gently on my head, keeping his eyes on mine as he guided me down to my knees. Then, just as gently, he reached behind my head and pulled me toward him. I opened my lips wide enough to suck lightly on the tip. His hands tightened on my head. I felt his fingers wrap around clumps of my hair. I drew back, exposing everything but a small kiss-shaped space on the very tip of his dick. Then I went down again, my lips opening a little wider this time, slipping over the crown to a spot at the very top of his shaft. The next time, I lifted it and used just my tongue, licking the underside of his cock, lubricating it. I spread the moisture with a couple more pumps of my hand, and then took him in halfway to the hilt, my lips making a tight seal. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, pumping himself ever so slightly so he could feel the friction of my lips.
I stole a quick glance up at him. His coat was still entirely buttoned, his back straight. He was the embodiment of a hyper-disciplined soldier. But his cock was in my mouth, and anyone would be able to tell, even if they couldn’t see below his waist. They would see it in his eyes, in the way he moved his lower torso forward and back, fucking my mouth. He was on the verge of orgasm. I could feel him tighten in my hand, could feel every vein in his cock bulge against my mouth and pre-come-slick palm as he tried to restrain himself from going over the edge too soon.
I released him and lay back in the snow, legs spread. I could feel a crisp texture on my back and my bare ass, but the cold still refused to penetrate.
He stepped forward and stood over me, pumping his shaft with his own hand, letting his eyes dart over my body.
“Oh, God, fuck me,” I pleaded, spreading my legs wide and rubbing my swollen red clit.
He knelt with one leg on either side of my body, still jacking himself, his eyes on my crotch. Then, when he couldn’t stand it anymore, he dropped his hands down on either side of my shoulders, brought his legs back, and rubbed his cock against my inner thigh, passing within an inch of my hand. Without pausing in my masturbation, I grabbed his dick with the opposite hand and positioned it just outside my hole. He bucked forward slightly, feeling the tip press against my wet pussy lips, then buried his crown inside me.
I rode it, still rubbing my clit with my fingers, craving more of him. The other hand I brought up to grip his shoulder, to feel the power that rippled in his body underneath that coat as he held himself above me.
He pushed himself in deeper, and brought himself back out to the tip.
My fingers tightened at his shoulder, balling up a piece of his uniform in my hand, then released.
On the next thrust he went deeper still, filling me, hitting my g-spot on the way out.
Then he took me all the way to the hilt, and slid back out again. Took me in, slid back out. Faster now.
My tits started to bounce. I heard the thwack, thwack, thwack of my heaving chest; felt his cock slide in and out of me, in and out, in and out…
An orgasm began to build inside me. My inner thighs were slick with my juices. I dipped the index finger of my masturbating hand into them, spread them over my clit.
Then my pussy shuddered in a familiar way. Just before I lost myself, I gripped his shoulder and screamed, “Oh God, I’m gonna come. I’m coming. Oh fuck yeah, I’m coming on your cock!”
He buried himself in me and stayed there, letting my labia slam into the base of his shaft over and over again, relishing the sensation.
Then he started to go himself. I felt him bob up and down inside me, just once. A distinctive motion.
He pulled out and scrambled back into a kneeling position, jacking himself through his orgasm, letting his come splatter against my tits. One jet landed on my erect nipple. I watched it run down toward my collarbone in a thick rivulet, felt it trickle over my sensitive sex-charged skin. Then he lay down next to me, breathing hard, and held me close—not caring that his own come was smearing all over the sleeve of his uniform.
Now that he had moved, I could feel the snow falling again. It still wasn’t cold, but it was undeniably there, landing softly on my bare skin. The streetlights hadn’t come back on, either. There was just the silver moonlight. No parking lot. No Florida. Not even a Germany. No way would I ever feel lonely again. “Why can’t I feel anything but you?” I murmured.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
I turned to look at him. His face was flushed, his hair mussed. But otherwise he looked just as I remembered, just the way I’d known he would look when he returned. “The snow,” I said. “It doesn’t feel cold.”
He secured his arm even more tightly around me. “Here in my world,” he explained, “that means you’re in love.”
“Oh. Does it feel cold to you?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t think I’m…too loose?”
He shook his head. “Clara, I may be a romantic. But sex is a part of romance. A major part. I can’t tell you how relieved I am that you’re not a prude.”
“And I can’t tell you how relieved I am that you came back. I was starting to think I was crazy.”
He sat up and leaned over me. Our noses nearly touched. “You’re not crazy. The Kingdom of Sweets is ours forever. And I love you.”
I paused. “Enough to try role-playing next time?”
He laughed. Then we shared a long kiss.
The End
Holly's Clause
Copyright © 2010 Kerri Nelson
Chapter One
Holly Marino was in love with the UPS man. She loved everything about him. From his perfectly shaped, suntanned legs beneath those brown shorts to the dimple just left of his nose.
She was the first to admit no one really needed as many items from Stockeasy.com as she had accumulated over the past six months since buying this house and catching a glimpse of Liam Walsh.
Holly first spotted him while transporting a trash bag to the curb. It had been like one of those scenes in a movie wher
e everything moves in slow motion when the girl first sees the object of her affection. Everything had faded out of sight as she’d watched him stroll up the sidewalk across the street and ring the door bell.
After he’d made his delivery he’d made his way back to the truck and behind the wheel. As he drove by her and down the street, he’d lifted one hand in a polite wave towards her.
That was when she’d devised a plan. She’d made it her mission to see him as much as possible so he’d simply have to fall in love with her.
Of course, in retrospect, it hadn’t been quite that easy and her savings account was severely dwindling as a result of her master plan to have daily deliveries made by her dream guy.
In all these months, she’d learned very little about Liam Walsh during his brief visits to her doorstep each day. She’d learned his name, that he was a local boy, and that his favorite dessert was white chocolate, macadamia nut cookies of which Holly had baked dozens from scratch on several occasions, but never had the courage to give them to him.
But today was Christmas Eve, and even though it sounded cliché, she could feel the magic in the air. She knew it was now or never. Gazing at her watch, she saw it was just after six in the evening. Normally, she’d never expect a package this late in the day but with all the last minute holiday deliveries, it wasn’t time to panic yet. Plus, she’d already checked the tracking number online and it indicated the package was “out for delivery”.
She eyed the meticulously wrapped box of cookies she’d prepared for Liam. Today would be the day she’d make her move. She’d give him the gift and ask him out for dinner. It was a bold move, but she knew it was time to take the leap.
But what if he rejects me?
The thought crossed her mind on more than one occasion. The only answer to that question was…she’d have to move. It was a simple as that.
Making her way back to the bathroom to check herself in the mirror for the thousandth time, she heard the mantle clock strike its quarter past the hour chime. She smiled to herself in the mirror. It wouldn’t be long now.
'Twas a Dark and Delicious Christmas Page 18