by Hazel Kelly
“What does that mean?”
“It means you don’t need to tell me that money can’t buy everything,” he says. “I saw firsthand how it couldn’t save my mom. I wish every day that it could bring my dad peace, and despite my best efforts, it can’t change the fact that I find my brother-in-law’s family traditions unbearable.”
“So you spend Christmas alone? Every year?”
“Only for the last few,” he says. “And I only left the stupid tip because I thought it might give you an excuse to knock off early. I never meant to get you in trouble. Even though I’d do it all over again to get you fired from that place that can’t get you where you want to go.”
“You’re a fucking lunatic.”
“And you’re a very average waitress.”
I start laughing and can’t stop. The whole thing is so ridiculous. I don’t know what’s more outrageous, his unwaveringly stubborn belief in me or the fact that his favorite Christmas sweater is shedding tinsel. Soon tears are falling from my eyes while he watches me with folded arms and a serious expression that doesn’t go with his sweater at all.
When I finally catch my breath, he tops us up and neither of us speaks over the crackling fire for ages.
“Now what?” I say, sloughing my jacket onto his barstool.
“I figure we have two choices.”
“I’m listening.”
“Option number one,” he says, raising a finger. “We can sit down and make a plan for how we’re both going to achieve our goals in the new year- starting tomorrow- complete with deadlines and categorized to do lists.”
“And the second option?”
“You put on your Christmas jammies and we watch It’s a Wonderful Life.”
I smile. “I’ve already seen it. Let’s go with the first option.”
His mouth falls open.
“That was a joke,” I say. “Obviously I want the jammies.”
“Don’t move,” he says, lifting his palms as he backs away.
I swivel on the barstool and look around. The apartment is very bachelor pad, all leather and soft throws like a real designer came in and did it. I smile at how grannyish he must’ve found all the blankets in my apartment that first night.
On the far wall there’s a large canvas of the London skyline beside three smaller family photos. One is a picture of him and his sister in their little league baseball uniforms. It’s next to one of his nephew dressed as a Minion. Finally, there’s one of his mom smiling at a picnic while his dad plants a big kiss on her cheek. Or at least, I assume it’s his parents because the resemblance is so strong.
“What’s all this?” I ask as he lays a stuffed stocking and an advent calendar on the counter.
“I know I’m a bit late on the advent calendar seeing as how we didn’t even meet until after the start of the month,” he says. “But once I got the idea, I couldn’t help myself.”
“Is it filled with chocolate?”
“No,” he says. “Weak coffee and day old pie.”
“Don’t be a dick.”
“Start with the stocking.”
It’s nearly bursting at the seams. I pull out a pair of red silk pajamas that look like Santa’s suit, complete with a fake belt printed on the front and a silk sleeping cap. “I can’t wait to put these on!” I squeal, unable to hide how excited I am.
“I can’t wait to help you.”
“What about the advent calendar?” I ask. “Am I supposed to pop open all the doors tonight?”
“You can pop open all the doors up to the 24th,” he says. “But you have to save the last door for tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry I came in here and ranted like a crazy person.”
“My only regret is that you didn’t get here sooner.”
I slide to my feet and put my arms around him. “What did I ever do to deserve such a handsome, thoughtful man?”
“Remember that thing you did at the hotel when you dropped to your knees and-”
I swat his chest. “Way to ruin a nice moment.”
“Let me make it up to you,” he says, scooping me up.
“Wait- I need my PJs!” I say, reaching for the counter.
“No you don’t,” he says, carrying me to the bedroom. “What you need is help getting out of that awful uniform for the very last time.”
“Says the man in the hideous sweater.”
He lays me down on his bed and pulls his sweater off. He has a plain white t-shirt on underneath that hugs the muscles of his chest just right.
“Now,” he says, climbing over me. “I’m going to start kissing your body, and every new taste I find, you have to take off a piece of clothing.”
I smile. “Deal.”
He kisses me on the lips first. “Wine. Definitely wine.”
I lean up and remove my shirt.
“Hmmm.” He kisses my cheekbone and then my neck before scrunching his face. “Powdered sugar?”
“It was an accident.”
“Rules are rules,” he says, watching as I slip off my black pants.
I lay back down and he kisses my collarbone and down one of my arms all the way to my wrist before smacking his lips. “Maple Syrup,” he says. “The cheap kind.”
“Watch it now,” I say, taking off my socks.
“Socks don’t count,” he says, reaching behind me and unhooking my bra.
“Fine,” I say, pushing my panties down. “What do I have to do to get you to strip?”
“All you have to do is ask,” he says, kneading my breasts.
“Anthony,” I whisper, already aching from how bad I want him.
“Yes?”
“Take your pants off.”
He kneels over me and pulls his shirt off.
I laugh. “We need to get your hearing checked.”
His mouth curls up into a smile as he unzips his pants, revealing a pair of boxers that have a red nosed reindeer on them. The red nose is pointing right at me. “What the hell are those?”
“Do you like them?” he asks.
“No. They’re awful.”
He laughs. “In that case, I’ll take them off right away.”
I shake my head. “What were you thinking?”
He shrugs, the muscles in his stomach rippling as he does it. “I was thinking I’m trying to impress this gorgeous woman who’s a little Christmas crazy.”
“Nice save.”
He tosses the boxers to the floor. “No one must ever know I own those.”
“Ooh.” I flash my eyebrows. “I like finding myself in a position of power.” I reach up and grab his dick, stroking it over my stomach while his face twists in knots.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his eyes dropping to my lips.
His proximity is enough to make my mouth water, so I lean up and sink him to the back of my throat. He groans, and I grab his ass to let him know I want more than a taste.
He falls forwards on to his hands, rocking his hips slightly as I tighten my lips around him.
“Oh Holly,” he moans, fucking my mouth nice and slow. He swells, and I grab his balls, pulling them gently as he forces my jaw wide open.
I’m about to run out of air when he pulls out and scoots down so his wet dick is against my leg as his eyes search mine.
“What?” I ask, a guilty smile escaping my lips.
“You are a fucking goddess,” he says, reaching down to feel how wet I am.
“I’m ready for you,” I say at the same moment he realizes it.
He grabs his cock and teases my slit with it before sliding inside me, watching my face as he does it.
I flinch when he sinks the last inches in. No matter how many times we have sex, I’m never completely prepared for the size of him.
His stomach ripples as he thrusts his dick inside me, forcing the air from my lungs.
He’s sucking on my throat a second later and pinning my wrists against his pillows.
I’m so high on his attention everything fades away except for the sound of
him having me as I whimper and writhe beneath him. Never in my life have I felt so sexy, so safe, so deliciously merry, and the heat building inside me pools in my core.
Anthony rolls on his side, pinning one of my thighs to the bed and pushing the other away so he can rub my clit while he fucks me. My body is on display for him and his dark eyes devour my curves as he works me into a frenzy.
“You’re going to make me come,” I whisper.
“Do it,” he says, fixing his eyes on me. “Come for me.”
My gaze drops to his lips and follows his jawline back to his eyes again. I keep them there while my orgasm overwhelms me, letting him watch me unravel.
The second time my pussy squeezes him, he clenches his jaw and reaches for my breast, holding it while he fucks my orgasm right back up inside me until every hair on my head feels like it’s burning. Then he rolls back over me and empties himself with two deep thrusts, his breath mingling with mine as he throbs inside me and collapses, the heavy weight of him the only thing that keeps me from floating away.
I trail my fingertips across his strong back and sigh.
He turns his face and whispers against my neck. “Merry Christmas, Baby.”
F O U R T E E N
I stretch my arms over my head and sigh. I feel rested, but Anthony’s bed is too cozy to encourage me to spring up. Instead, I roll over and take a deep breath, inhaling a breakfast smell that gently rouses my senses.
When I crack my eyes open, I’m alone in the bed, wondering what kind of lottery I won to spend my Christmas Eve on such decadent sheets with such fine pillows. It’s nicer than a hotel bed, and the company I enjoyed last night has already made this the best Christmas ever.
I raise my head and take in the scene. Twenty four days of advent calendar goodies are strewn around the room. There are candy wrappers on the floor and perfume samples on the bedside table along with mostly empty mini bar sized liquor bottles.
A moment later, I’m overwhelmed with a strong desire to look out the window. The gauzy shades are drawn so I reach for the thick robe that’s been thoughtfully laid on the opposite side of the bed, slip it on, and make my way over.
It’s snowing, and from the look of it, it’s been snowing for hours. The entire city looks like it’s been hidden under a thick blanket, and the snowflakes passing by the window are as big as gumdrops.
A smile spreads across my face as I hear something land in a pan and sizzle in the kitchen.
I tiptoe out of the bedroom towards the noise.
Anthony’s face is full of concentration as he dips slices of bread in a yolky egg mixture. I don’t know what’s funnier- the look on his face or how pleased he seems with the mess he’s made- and I notice he’s playing jazzy Christmas music in the background a second before he notices me.
When he does, he does a double take and his whole face lights up. It’s a morning welcome I’m not accustomed to but one that makes me feel warm fuzzies in all the right places.
“Merry Christmas, Emeril,” I say, walking around the counter to see what he’s up to.
“Emeril’s got nothing on me,” he says, pulling me towards him and kissing my forehead.
A warm feeling wells up in my throat as I realize I’ve never felt more home for Christmas. “It smells delicious,” I say, thinking I could use a big breakfast after the appetite we built up last night.
“Wait until you taste my patented syrup,” he says, puffing up his chest. He’s in flannel pajama pants and a worn grey sweatshirt. I can’t help but think it’s the sexiest he’s ever looked.
“Your patented syrup?”
“Shhh,” he says, his eyes darting towards the ceiling. “The place could be bugged.”
I laugh. “Something tells me you have secrets that are far more valuable than your syrup recipe.”
“Actually, there is one thing I have that’s worth more than all my other assets combined.” He flips the Texas toast in the griddle.
“What’s that?”
“The gorgeous woman in my kitchen.”
I pretend to play along and look over my shoulder. “What gorgeous woman?”
“The one with the Christmas hickey,” he says, his eyes falling to my neck.
My hands go up as my face drops. “You better be joking.”
“Hey- did you see it’s snowing outside?” he asks, trying to change the subject.
I disappear to the bathroom. Sure enough, I have a hickey on my neck. It’s not the worst. I mean, it genuinely looks like an accident, but there’s no explaining it away as something else.
I return to the kitchen, slide onto a barstool, and make a pouty face. “Not cool, Anthony.”
“I really didn’t mean to,” he says, obviously amused. “You’d think a guy like me could handle his mulled wine.”
“Very funny,” I say. “For all the worrying about that I did in high school, I truly thought those days were behind me.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that so I don’t spoil my appetite.”
“A hickey for Christmas,” I say, staring at the sizzling griddle. “Sounds like a One Direction song.”
“Can’t you fix it with make-up?” he asks. “I’ve seen women change the entire shape of their face with makeup.”
I shrug. “I could, but I’m supposed to be at my parents’ by noon, and by the time I get back to my place, shower, fix my neck, pick up the car… Besides, the traffic will be horrible. I’m probably better off taking the train just to avoid having a headache before I arrive.”
“I can offer two solutions.”
“Great, because that’s one more than I need.”
“Maybe even three.”
“Do any of them help me avoid being the butt of every Christmas joke this year?”
“Hey- there are people who wish they’d wake up on Christmas with a hickey.”
“You’ve obviously confused me with one of those people.”
He stacks some steaming toast and lays two more in the pan. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please, and the other two solutions when you’re ready.”
He laughs and sticks a small cup under a contraption that looks like it could self-launch into space. “Actually, coffee wasn’t one of them.”
“The suspense is killing me, Anthony, so if you can come up with any reason why I actually have time to stay for breakfast, now would be a good time to share.”
“Well, my first idea is that you could wear my ugly Christmas sweater to your folks’,” he says. “Not only will it be huge on you, but they’re unlikely to notice anything but the tinsel exploding from your chest.”
“I hope you’re leading with your weakest suggestion because that is not happening.”
“How about this,” he says. “You can get cleaned up here-”
“But-”
“And you can borrow something of my sister’s.”
“What?”
“She usually keeps a few things here in case she has a dramatic argument with her husband and wants him to stew in it.”
I furrow my brow. “And then she comes here?”
He shrugs. “There’s usually a bottle of wine in it for me.”
“When you say a few things?”
“I mean I’d be shocked if there wasn’t a selection of whatever you need. Every time she does it, she jokes that she could run away with the stuff she has here and never look back… if it weren’t for my nephew, of course.”
“And you don’t think she’d mind?”
“I don’t think she’d even notice. Plus, what kind of woman wouldn’t share her emergency closet with another woman during an emergency?”
“I would be very grateful,” I say. “Has that gotten you in trouble before? Having women’s clothes in your closet?”
“First of all, they aren’t in my closet. That would be a step too far.” He grabs my coffee and sets it on the counter.
“Thanks.”
“They’re in the guest room, and anyone who has a problem wi
th me doing something nice for my sister has no business here as far as I’m concerned.”
“That’s very cool of you.”
“It’s nothing.”
I wrap my hands around the tiny mug. “What’s your last idea?”
“My driver will take you to and from your parent’s house.”
I crane my neck forward. “Excuse me?”
“Then you don’t have to worry about your teeny car in the snow and taking public transportation on a major holiday when everyone’s at their most unpredictable.”
“Doesn’t he have somewhere to be?”
“That’s for me to worry about, not you.”
“And what are you going to do while I go to my parents’?”
He plates up two stacks of French toast, dusts them with powdered sugar, and walks them over to the table, which he’s already set. Then he grabs a glass pitcher of orange juice from the fridge, which I didn’t even see because it blends right in with the cabinets. “Talk to you on the way and tell you how invisible your hickey looks?”
I groan and take a seat kitty-corner to him at the table, setting my coffee off to the side.
He slides the syrup boat towards me and pours us each a glass of orange juice.
“This looks wonderful.”
“Thanks for coming over so I had an excuse to make it,” he says. “My mom always made French toast on Christmas morning so it’s one of those things...”
“What happened to her?” I ask, lowering my voice. “If you don’t mind me-”
“Breast cancer,” he says. “She beat it twice, but she was all out of fight the third time around.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m proud of how hard she fought and just as proud of her for letting go when she did. She was a formidable woman.”
“And your dad?”
He sighs. “My dad was never the same after she died. He faked it for a while, went through the motions, but he couldn’t see the point of anything anymore.”
I swallow.
“He basically checked out. He handed the business over to me, and as soon as he made the arrangements, he explained that he had to go somewhere and start over, figure out if he could learn to live on his own again.”