Twisted Christmas

by Sara Cate

  Ashton presses his lips together, gives me a nod, and wipes the crumbs from his hands. Then he steps back, pulling me off the reef by my wrists.

  “Come on.”

  I allow him to guide me, frowning when he drags me towards the sliver of the shore between the wall and another tower of rocks.

  “What are you doing?” I quiz, my brows knitted together when he takes off his shirt.

  He moves on to his jeans, unbothered by the startled grimace plastered to my face. “We’re going swimming,” he deadpans.

  “No, we aren’t.”

  Ashton shoves the material down around his ankles, and he steps out of them and his shoes at once. Standing in front of me in nothing but his boxer briefs, ink covering his skin, and determination laced within his features, he juts his chin, silently encouraging me to undress.

  But all I can do is take him in—every ounce—from his head, down his chiseled chest, and the very noticeable bulge between his legs. I zero in on one of the most prominent designs, realizing that my thoughts were correct. His moniker, Baby, is inked in large gothic lettering, and across his right hip is his last name, Ciccone.

  Other tattoos fill the canvas that is his chest, arms, and shoulders, but I can’t even begin to tell you what they are because I’m distracted by the inadvertent flex of his muscles. I fight the urge to lick my lips because I know that if I do, he’d never let me live it down.

  Everyone has a non-sexual kink, that thing that turns them on like nobody's business—this is mine. Pure, adulterated lust builds in my core, and I have to blink to control myself. Ashton clears his throat, pulling my attention back to his face.

  “Why are you so random?” I say after a breath.

  He takes a tiny step forward. “Why were you crying?”

  I sigh, my shoulder slouching heavily. “I told you-”

  “And you’re lying. Something happened between the moment I left and came back. You’ve spent most of the night talking around or avoiding whatever it was that had you worked up in the first place. I don’t do unanswered questions. So you’ve got two choices, tell me the truth, or strip out of that dress and hit the water.”

  “How about I don’t do either?”

  Ashton closes the gap between us, towering over me, forcing me to crane my neck to look up at him. His naked chest is flush against me, and even though I am still fully clothed, his warmth consumes me.

  “We made a deal, Ivy. Anything I say for the rest of the night, so take your pick.”

  I inhale through my nose, letting his demands roll around in my head. I’ve had enough of taking orders, especially from someone sixteen years my junior. I should leave. I’ve already crossed the line with him, and there is no need to continue this charade. We’re not fooling anyone, and it certainly doesn’t erase my circumstances.

  Yet, I don’t move. I don’t tell him to screw his plan or where he can shove it. I don’t back down because the truth is, I want to defy it all and run tail blazing across the bridge of the forbidden. Just once, I need to do the wrong thing, feel something other than pain and misery. For once, I want to hurt Jerry, even if I’ll never be strong enough to rub it in his face.

  Ashton cups my cheek, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Tonight, you’re with me.” He nods, silently asking me if I understand that. “And tomorrow, you can go back to doing everything right.”

  I mimic his movement, using my eyes to let him know I’ll go along with it.

  “No more tears. Just fun.”

  “Okay,” I mutter, giving him my back while holding my hair to one side.

  He gets the message and slowly reaches for my zipper, dragging it painfully slow until he hits the curve of my ass. Ashton hooks his fingers around the fabric, peeling the black dress from my body. A chill runs the length of my spine as I face him again in a strapless bra and matching bikini panties.

  It’s weird how well he handles me, considering we met only a few hours ago. He’s an asshole, arrogant, and crass, but he’s treated me a lot better than my husband of seven years. Even with his snarky comments, he’s proven he cares, and for some wild and crazy reason, I like that.

  His eyes are fixed on me, low and hooded in a way that tells me he’s admiring me. Between the flash of arousal weaved into his expression, the night air on my bare skin, and the buzz from the joint we smoked, my body heats up. With a mind of its own, it reacts. Nipples tight and sensitive behind the satin padding of my bra. Thighs clenching to still the need pooling at my center.

  And as Ashton mentally traces my curves from where he stands, he licks his lips while running his palm down his chest and over his growing bulge. Not out of shame, though. No, because he doesn’t get embarrassed. I know that because even though he’s turned on by me right now, he never drops his gaze. He’s touching himself to wordlessly point out the obvious.

  It’s hot the way he’s watching me, but not all lust-filled either. It makes me feel seen and not for the fact that I’m down to my underwear. He’s looking at me, not just my body. But aside from his muscles flexing periodically, Ashton doesn’t move except to breathe. Sucking in a breath of my own, I roll my shoulders back, accepting what little confidence I have at this moment.

  When he rakes his sights from my face down to my breasts, my chest heaves, then suddenly the sultry look he once wore is replaced with a sore frown. I flinch when he attempts to touch my rib cage, my eyes shut when I realize he notices the bruising.

  I’ve undressed in front of him to avoid answering his questions, to keep from acknowledging with a stranger what I've been through. Letting him touch the wounds Jerry’s left behind defeats the point of all of this. So, instead, I politely block his hand and walk around him.

  From the corner of my eye, I see him turning and observing me while simultaneously following me into the ocean. A low hiss slips past my lips when the cold water meets me, but the chill subsides almost immediately. Once I’m out far enough for the tide to reach my hips, I spin in his direction as I run my outstretched hand through the sea.

  With the only light coming from the lamp post, I can barely see all of his features. It’s better that way, and it hides the tears that are threatening to pour down my face right now. I exhale in frustration, not liking that I’m breaking down so much tonight. Then suddenly, I remember why I haven’t smoked since college. This—the emotions—has always been a side effect for me. Yes, it helps me relax and escape for a bit, but that leads to a clearer mind, and then the wandering begins.

  Ergo—tears.

  Ashton moves closer, and I can now see that his gaze is still trained on me despite the low lighting. But before he has a chance to invade my space, I drop under the water. For as long as I can, I hold my breath, rubbing my hands over my face when I come up for air.

  Expecting to find him waiting for me, I’m shocked that he isn’t. I immediately search the shore. He isn’t there, so I observe for any indication he’s still with me, a ripple in the water, a splash—anything. It comes a second later. Something grabs at my thighs, scaring the life out of me. I scream, my fight-or-flight instincts kicking in.

  “Ah,” he groans as he swims to the surface, checking his lip to see if it’s busted. “Fuck,” he mutters.

  I wince sympathetically and rush toward him. “Sorry,” I say in a near whine. “You scared me.”

  Ashton leans out of my reach, frowning for a beat. “What the hell did you think I was?” He wears a twisted expression with his brows drawn together.

  If he was Jerry and this was any other moment, fear would rip through me. But I’m not afraid, and I can’t quite figure out why. Is it because he’s not Jerry? Or because Ashton’s done nothing but take care of me all night?

  We’ve just met, yet, I know I’m safe with him. Ashton wouldn’t hurt me. But then again, maybe it’s the weed that has me so relaxed in his presence. Laughter takes over, and no matter how hard I try to hold it back, it comes pouring out of me. He drops his arms and gives me a pointed glare while still work
ing to avoid my touch.

  “And you think it’s funny?”

  The moment continues, my stomach twisting into knots because I can’t get it to stop. “I—I don't mean to laugh.” I gasp in a breath and huddle over with my arms over my stomach. “But your face. I got you good, didn’t I?”

  “Ya think,” he snips, his snarl still in place.

  At this point, it’s uncontrollable, my giggles now inaudible. It takes me a second to somewhat pull it together, and when I do, I move toward him again, but he doesn’t back away this time. The evil eye he’s giving me hasn’t wavered, though.

  “Let me look.” I cup his face, the water from my hands rolling down his chin. “You’re okay, no blood, no bumps, no bruises,” I add while rubbing the pad of my thumb over his mouth. “You’ll live.”

  My chest buckles as I continue to keep cackling at bay. Ashton shakes his head, a smile threatening to peek through.

  “No more weed for you for the rest of the night,” he admonishes.

  “Deal,” I agree, with my hands up in surrender. “I have no arguments there. But, I needed that laugh.”

  “Not at my expense,” he exclaims.

  I smile.

  “You still think it’s funny, don’t you?” Ashton yanks me into his arms.

  “Okay, okay.” I try to get away but him tickling me makes it hard to do.

  “Ain’t too funny now, is it?”

  I swat at his hands, failing with every attempt. “No.” I chuckle. “I’m sorry!” I singsong.

  Finally, he stops torturing me but doesn’t release his hold on me. As my adrenaline levels and my breathing returns to normal, I make eye contact with him. He surveys my face, his eyes darting between mine, down to my lips and back.

  I swallow and shiver from the sudden chill down my spine. Our chest heave in tandem, the beat of his heart seeming to match mine.

  Thump, thump.

  The rhythm feels so loud it drums almost poetically in my ear. Ashton slips his hand down my back, resting his palm where my spine and ass connects. The moment goes on forever with us staring at each other. Then he runs his touch up and down my flesh, his fingers disappearing under my bra repeatedly.

  His grasp is rough, the calluses on his hand scraping across my skin. It’s shocking at first, the coarseness being something I’m not used to. Hmph, I think to myself—another non-sexual thing that arouses me. Or maybe it’s just him, the waves rocking us back and forth, or the weed.

  I lift my hand to his chest, hesitating to feel him finally—the lines of his tattoos pebble under the pads of my fingers. Ashton glances down, watching as I trace the design. Then he places a hand over mine but keeps the other at the top of my ass.

  Licking my lips, I scan his face, leaning in a bit only to stop to contemplate what I want. He’s impatient and brings his mouth to mine but doesn’t kiss me. No, he’s waiting for me to do it.

  I graze against him, giving him a subtle peck only to pause and wrap my arms around his neck. He releases a husky breath when I dig my nails into his flesh then gives me an open-mouth kiss.

  My eyes shut on their own accord as he deepens our embrace. He slips his tongue into my mouth, and I savor the taste of him. Because I know that come morning, we’ll need to forget all about this night. I’m grateful for the escape, but this is all it is, a dream I’ll wake up from. And my life will resume as normal. Or at least my normal.

  Tears prick the back of my eyes, one escaping and trailing down my cheek. Thankfully due to the droplets of ocean water that splashes on us, Ashton doesn’t notice. But I bury myself in him anyway, my face twisting from the rush of emotions.

  Suddenly I’m in his arms, his palms splayed beneath my ass for support. He groans into my mouth, and I release a low moan at the feel of him hardening between us. I can’t control the way my body responds to him, but he doesn’t mind it at all when I grind against him.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he huffs out, then devours me again.

  Our make-out session grows ravenous, my hands all over him, his nails digging into my skin. The waves add the perfect amount of friction, making it nearly impossible to stifle my whimpers.

  The need to feel him takes over and I force enough space between us so that I can tug at the waistband of his boxers. Ashton stops me by gripping my wrist and staring into my eyes. Confusion creeps across my features. I open my mouth to speak, only I don’t get the chance.

  He holds me close, his bottom lip grazing mine. “That’s not what you really want.”

  With bated breaths, I observe him, not sure if he’s serious. “You said you’d fuck me when I asked you to,” I remind him.

  “And I would if that was what you wanted.”

  I frown.

  “You’re hurting, and right now, this feels good to you. It’s a convenient distraction. So even though my dick is begging to be inside you, I won’t fuck you.”

  I huff, forcing myself to accept that he’s right. I’ve never done anything like this before. Hell, I’m not entirely sure why I left with him in the first place.

  “Yeah,” I whisper and look away. “You’re right,” I add, then swipe my hair out of the way. I attempt to separate us, except he doesn’t allow me to.

  “But I will make you come,” he affirms.

  My breath hitches at his words, and I gulp down the lump that forms in my throat. Ashton carries me back to the shore and over to our previous place on the reef. He sits me down, nestling himself between my thighs. Our skin is starting to dry from the saltwater and cool breeze.

  All I can do is wait for what he plans to do next. Every nerve in my body is on fire, the anticipation quickly becoming too much. He rubs my legs, kneading my flesh twice before gripping my waist and guiding me to him for a better angle.

  I tense when I realize he’s staring at the bruise along my rib cage again. It’s fading now, a dull black mark that was once a screaming purple. I prepare to cover myself up, but he moves my hand out of the way, catching me off guard when he leans in. Ashton meets my gaze for a fleeting moment, then lowers his mouth to the wound, kissing me there.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Three times he attends to that spot before hooking his fingers around the thin material of my panties and dragging them down my legs. We make eye contact, and all the air leaves my lungs. His gaze turns dark, and his aggression builds.

  “Mm,” I moan as he yanks my legs apart. The rocks dig into me, biting at my elbows, but none of it matters.

  Not when he’s staring at my pussy as if he’ll swallow it whole. Hooded eyes glance up at me, a sinister grin tilting at the corners of his mouth. He licks my slit from the space between my ass and my canal, all the way to my clit. It pulses on his tongue, my expression now matching his—mouth ajar, eyes squinted, desire begging to present itself.

  My mouth forms an O shape when he pins my legs back to stretch me open more. I reach between us and rub his head while resting mine on the hard surface. Completely unfazed by the jolt of pain at the base of my skull from coming down too fast. Ashton devours my sex, stroking my sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue.

  “Ah, fuck,” I groan and crane my neck to watch him.

  He’s focused; all of his attention is on giving me pleasure. Ashton dips his thick tongue inside of me, and my walls constrict around it.

  “Shit, you taste so fucking good.” He slurps. “Do you know what you taste like?”

  The question is rhetorical. That or he doesn’t care to know my answer. He has two fingers inside of me with one swift motion and his free hand around my neck. Pulling me to him, he kisses me, making sure I taste every last drop of myself.

  I cup his face, reveling in his affection, but it all becomes a blur as he finger-fucks me. He works my hole like it’s second nature to him. First, with his palm facing down, but it’s when he flips his wrist and rubs my G-spot in rapid succession that I start to lose it.

  “Oh, Gahhh-” I manage to get out, involuntarily squeezin
g my thighs around his wrist.

  He forces me back open, wrapping an arm around the underside of my legs to keep me from closing them again. “Naw. Keep them legs wide,” he demands. “Fuck me back, momma,” he orders, and with one hand holding me open, he cups me with the other, stroking my clit and G-spot simultaneously.

  I do what he says, bucking my hips and breathing through my teeth. Tears form at the corner of my eyes, and as the pressure builds, my channel convulses around him.

  “Fuck, I feel you gripping my fingers.” He bends to suck my bud into his mouth, stopping long enough to spit on my clit and gazing at me as he does.

  That drives me wild, and I start to writhe in response. “Shit...shit...shit,” I curse.

  And the arrogant fucker grins.

  “You gonna be a good fucking girl and come for me?”

  I don’t respond because anything I say will come out gargled by my cries.

  Ashton increases his delicious tortures, slamming his digits into me over and over. “Hm?” he mutters, then sucks my clit again. “Are you ready to coat my face with your cum?”

  “O-o...yes.”

  “Beg for it.” He licks me. “Beg me to make your pussy cream.”

  “Make me come. Please, make me come.”

  He replaces his mouth with his thumb again, fucking me like before. Except for this time, he fights with his boxers as he does it. Thanks to his height, he’s at the perfect angle for me to glance down and watch.

  Ashton tugs his cock through the hole of his underwear, and my mouth waters. Even in his large hands, his dick is huge. He strokes his shaft, the tip staring back at me angrily. Beads of precum line the head, droplets coating his fist.

  He pumps hard, choking the head, then uses my juices as lube. His dick glistens under the low light, and he goes a little stir crazy. Fucking me and himself with his hands. I reach between my legs to play with my clit, my head falling back again.