A Holly Jolly Deal

by Ember Flint

  Normally, it takes me quite a bit of fantasizing to get me to this point, but now I’m so slick, I can feel the wetness through my cotton panties.

  I have never been so needy in my life.

  I let my thighs fall open and slide my hand under the elastic, pulling the panties away from my inflamed lips.

  My eyes close of their own volition as I start to rub tiny circles over my swollen clit.

  I try to keep the thoughts running through my head general, like I always do when I pleasure myself, imagining one of the heroes from the racy romance novels I like to read as he touches me intimately, but the undefined male features soon morph into those belonging to Chris.

  I remember the feel of his lips on my own, the insistent strokes of his tongue against mine in my mouth, the way his large hands wrapped around my hips roughly as he pressed his stiff thickness against me.

  A moan escapes my throat and I bite down on my lower lip to keep quiet as more of my hot juices trickle down the inside of my thighs while I let my innermost desires run free.

  I picture him, his scent, the tickle of his beard on my jaw and neck, the feel of his huge, big body against mine, his hot breath fanning my mouth as he panted my name while we kissed deeper and deeper, forgetting about our shocked audience.

  I gasp when my clit starts to pulse under the brushing of my fingertip.

  My entire body goes up in flames as I think about all the things I’ve never done, all the things I find myself suddenly wanting to do with him.

  What it would feel like to rub my fingers over his cock, to squeeze it in my fist, feel it grow bigger, hotter, harder.

  What sounds would Chris make?

  Would he moan?

  Grunt?

  Hiss my name maybe?

  My pussy clenches on emptiness at the thought.

  What is he doing right now?

  In his big bed, just down the hall from mine...

  So close… so damn close…

  Is he sleeping soundly or is he awake, feeling as confused and aroused as I am?

  I don’t want to think about the possibility of him not wanting this…

  It makes my heart hurt.

  I want him to want this, to want me.

  I want to feel his hands all over me.

  Behind my tightly closed eyes, I see him grasping my hand and guiding it to his need, I hear him tell me exactly how he wants to be held, stroked, pleasured.

  In my fantasy, he wants me just as much as I want him and nothing else matters.

  We are together and we aren’t merely acting out a part.

  We didn’t make a stupid deal and there’s no countdown, we aren’t about to be pulled apart by our respective lives; everything is easy, and we know what this mean: we want it to never end.

  My fingers rub my sopping clit and my whole body trembles and shakes as I choke out a moan, trying once again to keep quiet.

  I relive our kisses over and over and I go beyond them, I go all the way in a world where we are not friends: we are more, we are everything there…

  I feel myself grow wetter and then I start to go off as the fantasy plays out in my mind.

  Pleasure like I’ve never known before rolls up and down my body, shocking me as I bow off the bed.

  Then I’m coming down, my heart is beating so fast, I can hear it clearly in my ears, my breath is chopped, my cheeks are burning and I’m alone.

  I’m alone and I’m so confused.

  I don’t know how to feel now, or what I want.

  My eyes drift close again as I force myself to banish thoughts of Chris from my mind.

  How am I ever going to face him in the morning after this?

  Chapter 6

  CHRISTOPHER

  It’s Christmas Eve and we’re all acting a little silly for the kids’ benefit, goofing around and singing Christmas carols.

  My brother Charles is holding Simone, his little one-year-old daughter, in his arms, I’ve got my sister Ruby’s twins, four-year-old Casey and Crystal, wrapped around each of my legs, my nephew Potter is on my back and his little sisters, Ariel and Jackie, are held tight under each of my arms as I swing them up and down.

  We all fall in a heap in a fresh layer of snow laughing, and madness ensues when all the oldest kids, each dressed in a colorful snowsuit, start to run circles around us adults throwing snowballs at us.

  Hope is rolling on the snow giggling uproariously; little Francis and Avery, her sister’s twins, are all over her, holding her down while Steven, my three-year-old godson, keeps on charging them, dumping snow all over them.

  Potter lets go of me and starts to make a huge ball of snow with the help of his little cousins.

  When I grasp from their chortling murmurs that they intend to throw it at Hope’s head, I shout out to her.

  “Watch out, babe!” I scream and then feel my face redden when I realize once again I let that particular endearment slip from my lips.

  Hope stops playing around with the kids and looks at me sharply for a second, before she rolls to the side ducking low to avoid a collision between the huge snowball the kids can barely carry and her head.

  Her face flushes a bright pink as she looks at me intently.

  I tell myself it’s just the cold, but I don’t want to really believe it.

  I’d like it much better if I could go with the scenario in which she is blushing because she’s affected by all the little nicknames I’ve been using on her for the last three days while we acted like the perfect couple, appearing madly in love, exactly like we were supposed to.

  It would be only fair if it was true, after all since she’s been driving me insane for the last seventy-two hours with no let-up.

  I feel a snowball hit me straight in the face and I chuckle when I see her standing over me smiling brightly, before she runs away, giggling and holding hands with her nieces.

  I dust the snow off my beard, nose and hat and pick up the little terrors as I stand up. “Come on, guys, let’s get Auntie Hope! We can’t let her win.”

  The boys run forward and start another snow battle, while the little girls drop on the soft snow and start to make angels with their moms.

  I catch up with Hope and easily throw her over my shoulder to the delight of our little nieces and nephews as they all jump up and down around us.

  She giggles and squeals for me to put her down and I don’t think I’ve ever loved her as much as I do right now.

  I’ve missed this so much. Us. Just being playful like this like we used to.

  My glee is bittersweet, though, even as I play with her and the kids, it tastes like all the things we could have if only she would fall in love with me.

  Not that I can make her.

  I wish I could.

  God knows if I’ve tried.

  Sometimes I even tell myself I could love enough for the both of us, but I know it doesn’t work like that.

  I sigh and let her slide down my body until her feet are on the snow-blanketed ground again.

  Hope stops laughing and looks up at me, her fingers brush some of the snow stuck in my beard off my face, her touch so gentle, so caring, it almost makes me believe we really could—

  No.

  I can’t go there.

  This is just play-acting for her, all of it.

  Telling myself it’s something else would only make this hurt more when it’s over.

  I need to pull myself together.

  It’s only four more days, then we’re out of here, each of us back to a reality where there’s no deal, no kisses, no fantasies, not even real friendship anymore and certainly no love.

  Hope stands on her tiptoes and throws her arms around me and as usual my heart stops and then it begins to beat fast and out of sync.

  I go rigid as she puts her cold lips on mine, her unique scent hits me and I want her so much it makes me mad, at myself, at her, at this, at everything.

  She kisse
s me softly and I go with it, I can’t help myself, but when I see her throw a glance at our parents all huddled together on the porch as they watch us all play in the snow, I grow even madder and I pull back, breaking the kiss.

  I almost lost myself again, but to her this is still a game, we’re supposed to be all wrapped-up in each other according to our well-rehearsed story and we are meant to frequently forget about our surroundings and get carried away in uncontrollable PDA’s acts, that’s what she’s doing right now.

  Fuck this.

  “Can’t you stop acting for a fucking minute?” I hiss through clenched teeth and her bright green eyes widen in surprise at my tone.

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “Never mind.”

  I shake my head and glare down at her.

  Maybe I’m not being fair, but I can’t help being angry.

  I know I could have said no after all, I could have told her the deal she proposed was a stupid idea and refused to play along to begin with, but I didn’t, and now I can’t blame her if she doesn’t feel what I feel, if she doesn’t really get how painful this is for me and the extent of the damage she’s doing to my heart, but I can’t stand this anymore either.

  This ends right fucking now.

  “Chris? Are you okay?” she asks.

  My voice is stuck in my throat. I’ve been lying to her for so long, hiding what’s in my heart because I’ve always been sure she didn’t want it and now all of a sudden, I don’t know how to go back, how to keep on lying to her.

  I take a step back and say nothing, walking back to our parents’ cabin.

  My mom and hers are still standing in the doorway, wrapped under a dark red blanket, each sipping hot cocoa cups, I can see the steam swirl in front on them and melt the falling snow as soon as it twirls through it.

  They call after me when I make my way through them, but I don’t stop. I can’t.

  I get inside and walk through the living room and to the kitchen. I’m gonna use the backdoor in there and get the fuck out of here for a while, or maybe I should just leave and say fuck it to the possible consequences.

  I can’t fucking breathe anymore like this.

  I feel her in the room before I see her just as my hand is closing around the doorknob.

  “Christopher! Stop. What’s going on? What’s wrong with you?”

  I let my hand drop and look down. My body is shaking and I’m too fucking close to just letting everything show.

  Just get the fuck out of here, man, before you do something stupid.

  Hope calls my name again.

  I shouldn’t turn and look at her, but I do.

  How could I not?

  I can’t resist her. I never could.

  “Please tell me that you’re okay,” she whispers, her voice so low I have to strain to hear it.

  I take a shaky breath and turn around.

  My eyes meet hers and she’s so fucking beautiful to me right now, I’m hanging by a thread.

  ‘Yes, I’m okay.’

  The lie is on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t say it this time around.

  I say nothing at all.

  Hope frowns and walks up to me, she shakes me a little and I look away.

  “Chris?”

  She pulls her gloves off and I feel the cold touch of her fingers on either side of my jaw as she pushes my face down until my lips are but a single breath away from hers.

  My eyes widen and I find my voice.

  “What are you doing, Hope?” I ask, my hands gripping her shoulders.

  There’s something in her eyes, something I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. She looks almost wistful… sad even.

  I don’t have much time to think things over, because then she’s erasing the distance between us and she’s kissing me hard. Harder than she ever has.

  I feel a mixture or arousal and rage battle within me.

  Why does this Christmas have to suck this much?

  Why can’t I have what I want for once?

  Is she really so blind that she can’t see how this is killing me?

  Why does she taunt me like this?

  I bite her lower lip and pull away. “There’s no one here for the show, Hope,” I remind her.

  Hope sighs and looks up at me. “I know… but maybe… maybe we could rehearse some more?” she ventures, and my brain goes on fucking lockdown.

  “You gotta be fucking kidding me,” I growl, but I still pick her up and push her against the nearest wall, pressing my entire bulk onto her small frame, caging her in as my lips devour hers, not stopping even when we both start to gasp for air.

  Before I know it, her thighs are spread and wrapped around my hips and my hard cock is grinding against her jean-covered pussy.

  I feel her hips gyrating against mine and pre-cum starts to bead at my crown, my body shaking with furious need.

  Hope mewls into the kiss and I feel her hands clutching at my shoulders as she pushes me closer to her.

  I don’t know what kind of game she’s playing, but she’s definitely poking the bear right now.

  I feel her nibble on my lower lip and I break the kiss, grunting deep in my throat as my hands trail lower from her back to knead her ass, while I drive myself up into the cradle of her trembling thighs.

  I slide kisses down the column of her neck, and she moans my name, making my aching dick jerk between us.

  I let go of one of her cheeks and push one of my hands between us until my fingers are squeezing one of her large, firm tits roughly.

  “Oh, God, Chris,” she whimpers and her head lolls against the wall.

  She almost looks like she’s gonna pass out and I have to literally pry myself away from her, before I do something we are both gonna regret, if for different reasons.

  I let her go and take a step back, my hands shaking and my heart beating out of my chest as my painful cock throbs away in the tight confines of my jeans, dying to get to her and the precious heat between her supple thighs.

  “Go away, Hope…”

  For a moment she looks like I’ve slapped her, and I feel something barbed and jarring clutch at my heart.

  “Why? What’s going on?” she asks.

  “You don’t wanna know, trust me…”

  She glares up at me. “Yes, I do! Don’t patronize me!”

  I huff out a breath. “Fine I won’t. I’ll make it plain and simple for you. Open your eyes, Hope.”

  “What—?” she starts to ask again, but I cut her off.

  Let’s get this over with.

  I palm my cock and give it a squeeze.

  “Do you see this, Hope? Do you see how fucking hard I am right now? How much is it taking for me not to take you up against that fucking wall?!”

  She gasps, taking a small step back, her eyes widening and growing brighter.

  I go on, though: I’m not about to fucking stop now.

  “What’s going on is that I’m at the end of my fucking rope here. I know it’s just play-acting to you, but it’s fucking killing me. Don’t you see how much I lo—? Does it look like I’m faking it to you? This kind of stuff a man cannot fake. The rest of it, that I faked, to protect you… because I knew… I knew you didn’t— you couldn’t— I faked for so long, I can barely remember the last time I was really myself around you. I won’t fucking do it anymore. I can’t. Don’t ask me to. You pushed me too fucking far, baby. I gotta go. Can’t stay here any longer.”

  She blinks as she stares up at me in shock, her fingers reaching up shakily to touch her swollen lips.

  “Chris…”

  I turn around and storm out. I can’t take this anymore.

  I need to get the fuck out of here. Now.

  Chapter 7

  HOPE

  I just stare in his wake, stunned and frozen in place, as he stomps out the door, living me alone in the darkened kitchen.

  I’ve never seen him so angry with me since
I’ve known him.

  He can’t mean…

  Can he?

  I feel something very much akin to my own name start rushing into my heart.

  He said…

  “Oh my God,” I whisper to myself, feeling tears roll down my cheeks.

  He’s in love with me!

  How could I be so damn stupid!

  With the way he touched me, the way he held me, I should have known.

  Suddenly, everything becomes clear and I’m laughing through my tears.

  God, I love him too. So freaking much I can barely breathe without him.

  It’s not that I was broken then, it’s that I was already taken, and I didn’t know it.

  That’s why there was no falling in love for me, not ever, and that’s why I never wanted to be close to a man before.

  I start to shake as I hug myself.

  It’s always been him.

  It wasn’t that I missed my friend when he moved, I was disappointed, I wanted this.

  I don’t simply love Chris: I’m in love with him!

  I’ve always been in love with him.

  The smile slides off my face.

  Crap, now I’ve messed this up big time, but hopefully not beyond repair.

  His words come back to me:

  ‘Does it look like I’m faking it to you? This kind of stuff a man cannot fake. The rest of it, that I faked, to protect you… because I knew… I knew you didn’t— you couldn’t—’

  There was so much pain in his voice, in his eyes.

  What have I done to us?

  And why would he have kept such a thing from me?

  Was I so cold, so unapproachable that he couldn’t tell me?

  Or maybe it was fear that stopped him from showing to me what was in his heart, fear I would reject him, that this would hang between us awkwardly forever?

  He thought I couldn’t love him, not the way he wanted me to, not the way he wants me to, but I do.

  I do.

  I run out of the cabin and into the snowy backyard, calling his name, but I waited too long and he’s already gone.

  Gone.