by Tory Baker
“Of course! It’s a pride kind of thing,” I tell him with a silly smile as the waitress serves our food.
“Is that why you offered to decorate my yard? To win the trophy, I mean,” Eb questions me.
I push my food around in the plate and then look over at him.
“Yeah. Honestly, if you don’t decorate we will never win and we always win…”
“I see. So it’s really important to you that my yard looks like Santa puked on it?”
I blink at his description.
“Santa puked? Eb you don’t really sound like you like Christmas at all. Why are you doing all this if you don’t?” I ask him earnestly, trying to understand what exactly is going on.
8
Eb
I sit there for a moment and wonder exactly what will happen with Joy if I tell her the simple truth.
Dear, sweet Christmas Joy, I’m only doing this so I can get in your pants.
Somehow I don’t think her reaction would get me where I want—which is between her legs. I have two clear paths in front of me. One has a very good chance of getting me laid and the other will probably dash all hopes quicker than Santa’s sleigh in fresh snow.
There’s a moment in every man’s life when he comes to a crossroads. Now I could tell her the truth and if that kept me out from between Joy’s legs… so be it. I mean she’s hot and has this innocent vibe about her that I really like. She looks so innocent and pure that I can’t help but want to dirty her up.
Still, I’ve never had to chase pussy in my life and I’m a little too fucking old and jaded to start now. I mean giving a girl my name these days usually assures my cock is going to get sucked. And, as delectable and little Joy appears to be, in the end she’s still a warm, wet pussy to sink into. It’s not like this is love. I don’t believe in that shit anyhow.
I’ve almost decided to pull the plug on this little endeavor when Joy does something that changes the game. Something I didn’t really expect.
Joy reaches over and drags the pad of her finger across the indention on my chin. It’s a simple touch and there’s nothing sexual about it, but then she smiles at me. It’s a sweet smile, almost shy and it’s definitely tender. I grew up with my father, who was strictly military. My mother died when I was barely three. I don’t really remember her and I can never remember tenderness. Joy gave me tenderness just now and I find myself wanting that more—or almost more—than getting between her legs.
“You look like you’re making a life or death decision, Eb,” she says softly and it must be said that I like the way she says my name. I want her to say it more… a lot more.
“Sometimes when you smile, I look at you and lose track of what I’m doing,” I tell her and for once, I’m not feeding a girl a line. I’m being completely upfront with her.
Shock moves over her face and I can literally see it. Her eyes go round in surprise and she blushes.
“I was telling you that it feels like you don’t really like Christmas and I can’t understand why you asked me to help you, if you don’t.”
“I love Christmas,” I tell her—lying through my fucking teeth.
“You do?”
“And I can honestly tell you Joy that with you involved, I’m liking Christmas more and more.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. I was actually dreading this Christmas before I met you Joy. I owe you for helping me find the old Christmas spirit.”
“Now you’re just making things up.”
“Nope. I’m being completely truthful. Scout’s honor.”
“Were you ever a scout, Eb?” she asks with a smile.
“Once a very long time ago,” I tell her, even though the memory is not a good one, I don’t let her in on that sad truth.
“Well then, I’m going to make it my job to bring you all the Christmas joy I can.”
“I can hardly wait,” I say with a grin. “I’m dying for more of Christmas Joy.” I tell her, and even though I figure we’re talking about two very different things, I still feel like I just scored the winning touchdown.
Joy has no idea what’s in store for her.
9
Joy
“Want to come back to my place? We could have a nightcap, watch a movie…” Eb asks, his full lips stretching into a smile that looks inviting, but also reminds me of a wolf getting ready to devour its prey.
My legs go weak and it feels like I have to push air through my lungs. He wraps a strand of my hair around his fingers, his dark gaze following the movement. I moisten my lips with my tongue, trying to find my voice. I really want to say yes, but I barely know Eb and I have a feeling if I took him up on his offer—I wouldn’t be leaving until morning.
“I better not, I have to work early in the morning,” I answer, my voice a mixture of breathless excitement and nerves. “If I don’t get to bed early, I’ll oversleep,” I add, clearly rattling.
“You could grab your pajamas and come stay with me. I’ll make sure you get in bed really early.”
“Uh—”
“I’ll even make sure you get up early too.”
“I’m not sure we know each other enough for me to take you up on that offer,” I answer, and I have to force the words out of my mouth. I really don’t want to tell him no, even if it is the wisest thing to do.
“If you come home with me, we’ll definitely get to know each other much better.”
“Are you trying to seduce me, Eb?” I ask, because I know he is. It’s just a shock that he’s coming on so strong after a fun and flirty day.
“Could I?”
“Probably…” I whisper, as his head drops closer to mine. “In time…”
“Kiss me, Joy,” he says right before his lips touch mine.
There’s something about the taste of a man’s lips, the elemental flavor when they invade your mouth that I’ve always liked. I’ve not kissed a lot of men, but each one has been different, unique. Some I have liked. Some I never wanted to repeat and one or two that I have held close in my memory. I’m thirty years old and I don’t think I’ve ever tasted a man’s kiss that made me want to moan from the beginning. And, it’s not just his taste. It’s the growl he emits as he devours me. The forcefulness of his hold on me and the way he takes charge. It’s all of that combined and more. In all of my thirty years, I’ve never been exposed to someone as masculine as Eb.
When we finally break apart, I have to lean on him until my legs can hold me up once again. His fingers are biting into my skin, but I like it. There will probably be bruises on my hips where he’s holding me and I find I don’t care at all.
“Last chance beautiful,” he says and it might be my imagination, but I think his voice is filled with hunger.
“I…” I war with myself. I want to say yes, but I’ve learned that snap decisions are not good—especially when it involves romance. I’ve been burned before and I’m not ready to go down that road again. “I better not,” I whisper instead and it’s surprising how much those words hurt.
He pulls away with a frown. He walks backwards a few steps, his gaze appraising me.
“You know where I am, Christmas Joy,” he responds and then turns around and leaves. I stand there looking at him, watching until he makes it to his house and closes the front door.
Sadness fills me, along with a feeling that I’ve made a mistake…
10
Eb
I may have outplayed this little endeavor. I’m never had a problem getting a woman underneath me. Usually my fame, pocketbook, and the fact my books hit the New York Times Bestseller list on a regular basis do that for me. Joy is different. She didn’t ask one damn thing about my writing, not over dinner and not throughout the day. We talked about a million things, but none of them revolved around my work. I didn’t realize that until the night came to an end. I have no idea what it means.
I probably know more about Joy after our day together than I’ve known about any other woman in my life, which is fucking we
ird.
I know she owns her own bakery, loves Christmas, and decorates her trees in themes every year. I know that this year the theme is old fashioned snowmen and last year it was Santa. I know she loves to bake, but hates cooking. I know she will be alone this Christmas because her sister is out of town with her fiancé’s family, and they usually spend Christmas together. Hell, I even know that her favorite color is red and her favorite tree is a Holly tree.
This is all useless information that for some reason I took in today, because… I liked her. I even talked about myself, which is something I’ve never done much of. I don’t share myself with others easily—it’s different with Joy for some reason.
Still, I don’t need to tie myself up in knots over a girl and I don’t have time to invest in a long term thing. Today was good, but without a reward I don’t need to waste the effort. I have a damn deadline looming over my head.
I stare at my laptop. I could write, but I’m not feeling it tonight. I’ll take a shower, clear my head of all things Joy and start fresh tomorrow.
It sounds like an excellent plan, but when I get there even the hot water and steam fails to remove Joy from my mind. The feel of the water moving over my skin just makes me think more about her. Drying off, I imagine her drying me.
Christ. I need to get laid. I’ve been without a woman for far too long and for some reason Joy has started a fire in my blood. One that apparently she’s not willing to quench. Damn her.
I toss and turn for a few minutes and curse all things Christmas and blond women everywhere when I decide to quit fighting it. I flop to my back and grab my cock in my hand, closing my eyes and picturing Joy between my legs with those thick, lush, wet lips about to slide down on my cock and devour me.
I’ll make her swallow every drop for punishment.
11
Joy
I’m insane… or maybe bipolar. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Especially since I’ve had one date with the man. Actually, I’m not sure you can call the day we’ve shared a date. Eh, it doesn’t matter either way. I’m going to his house to get laid after one non-date, first date. I’m pretty sure that equates to me being one of those scarlet women my grandmother used to talk about with her church friends, while shaking her head and clicking her tongue in disgust.
Luckily, grandmother is long gone and will never know her granddaughter is one of those fallen women. Of course she never liked me much either and now I’m probably going to hell for loose morals and thinking it’s good she’s dead. I guess I’ll see her again after all.
I stop raging a war with my brain when I come to Eb’s door. He didn’t close it. It’s pulled together, but not shut, there’s about a two-inch crack. Surely he didn’t mean to do that. It can be dangerous and his electric bill will skyrocket. He can’t mean to heat all of the outdoors. I frown at that thought, because now I’m even starting to sound like my grandmother.
I tighten my hands into fists a few times, trying to gather together my courage and then I knock on the door. I look, but I don’t see a doorbell. I wait for him to show up, or at least yell a response but a few minutes pass and there’s nothing. I knock again. Still nothing. I know he’s here, maybe he’s done with me since I just turned him down. Not that he knows this is me. I don’t think he could—unless there’s a camera around here. I look around trying to spot a security camera. How embarrassing would it be if Eb is watching me from his computer and laughing because I turned him down, but changed my mind. I frown, when I don’t see a camera or anything. I start to turn around, but instead I knock one last time. I need to get a grip. Maybe he was just in the restroom or something. He could be asleep, which is just another reason the door should have been closed and locked. Eb could be murdered or anything with his door open like that while trying to sleep. I start to pull it closed and then freeze. Images of Eb, lying in a pool of blood, bludgeoned to death by a hammer, which is lying close to his lifeless body, flash through my mind.
I watch way too many true crime shows, but still I am panicking. Before I can second guess myself I push his door open the rest of the way and walk through.
His house is dark. I use my hands to pat the wall, finding a light switch. Pale light floods the room. There’s a desk with a computer on it, and it looks like sticky notes have exploded all over the room. There is, however, not one sign of a murder or break in.
I start to back out of the room and run to my house, before Eb finds me and decides to call the police on me for breaking into his house, when I hear a moan. It’s faint but clearly a moan. I take a hesitant step forward when I hear it again. Now those visions of Eb’s bloody death come back to me and I walk hesitantly toward them. I see the canister of cookies I brought the other day, sitting on the edge of the desk. As self-defense goes it sucks, but I grab it. Maybe I can throw it at him and distract him enough to get away if he turns his knife on me.
I feel like I’m walking on hot coals as I make it to the last door at the end of the hall. I hear small indistinguishable noises coming from in there. I reach out to open the cracked door a little more, while simultaneously trying to talk myself out of it so I can run away. Just as I’m about to turn the knob I hear Eb again. It’s his voice and I know a moment of relief, because he’s obviously alive.
“Yes,” he moans out and it’s definitely a moan. I open the door thinking of nothing more than the fact that Eb’s alive, but he’s moaning. Maybe he fell… “Joy,” he growls as I open the door.
My eyes go round. My mouth drops open.
Eb is lying on the bed with his hand wrapped around his cock. A very large cock that is hard and glistening. He’s stroking himself and his head is thrown back against the pillow. He’s jacking himself off and from the looks of things he’s very close.
He’s jacking himself off.
And it’s my name he growled.
Mine.
Oh boy…
12
Eb
God. I haven’t jacked-off into my own hand in fucking years, but with visions of Joy floating in my head, sucking my cock, I can feel cum rising in my balls. I’m so close to exploding, I just need one little push over the edge. I throw my head back and close my eyes tight, conjuring up a picture of Joy bound to my bed, her legs stretched apart to the point it’s almost painful, her pussy glistening with her juices, and begging for my tongue.
I’m so lost in the fantasy I can smell Joy now. That scent of sugar and vanilla that’s oh so sweet it makes me hungry to taste her. Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to have her body to paint with my…
“Eb…”
My body jerks. That wasn’t part of the dream I’m playing in my head. My hand tightens on my dick as I stop mid-stroke. I look up to see Joy standing at my door, her gaze is glued on my dick and she’s licking her lips.
Fuck yes.
“See something you like?” I ask, my voice hoarse, throaty and full of hunger.
“I… I thought you were hurt,” she whispers, but she still doesn’t tear her gaze away from my dick. I stroke myself again, just to see what she does. I can literally here her take a shuddering breath as her hand comes up against her chest.
“I am hurt.”
“You are?” she asks and finally she looks at my face.
“I’m in a lot of pain, sweet Joy.”
“I… you are?” she asks again, her eyes round and she’s biting down on her bottom lip and something about the way I can see a hint of her teeth against the lush red lips is fucking sexy.
“I’m so fucking hard it hurts, Joy. I need your help.”
“You… Eb, I… shit,” she whispers.
Her whispered curse makes me hungry. I want to make her say all kinds of bad, bad words. Somehow, I think they’d be fucking hot coming from her lips.
“Take off your clothes, Joy. Come make me all better,” I tell her, smiling. I hold my hand at the base of my cock and squeeze it, trying to calm myself down. Now that Joy is here, I can’t shoot my load too soon. I need to wait…
until I can paint Joy in my cum and make her beg for more.
“I shouldn’t.”
“You’re here for a reason, Joy,” I growl, I won’t let her back out.
“Your door was open. You could have been attacked. I came here to help,” she says lamely.
“And you were going to what?”
“To try and stop them so they wouldn’t hurt you,” she says, shaking the tin of cookies she gave me the other day.
Her gaze has gone back to my cock so I stroke it, hoping that will keep her from trying to back out. Pre-cum slides from the head of my cock and down my shaft and over my hand. God when I come, I’m going to drown her in it.
“Take your clothes off, Joy. Let me give you what those pretty blue eyes of yours are begging for.”
“I shouldn’t,” she says, but she starts unbuttoning her coat. She lets it fall to the ground and then lifts her shirt over her head. She holds the fabric in front of her for a minute and then lets it fall too.
“But you’re going to,” I respond.
“But I’m going to,” she softly murmurs as she unzips her pants.
13
Joy
Good sense was thrown out the window when I walked in and saw Eb stroking himself. Until that moment, I didn’t think a man could be beautiful, but that private moment I witnessed with Eb was a thing of beauty. One that blew all of the reasons why this was a bad idea, out of the water. Besides, there’s no point in pretending. I came over here because I wanted Eb. I could color it up and make the reasons why pretty, but it wouldn’t change the truth. And the truth is raw and dirty.