tagRomanceUnder the Evergreen

Under the Evergreen

byggroyale©

Lucia clutched her vintage plaid-print Thermos. She wanted desperately to take a swig of the peppermint-schnapps-laced hot chocolate within it to fortify herself against the cold outside the truck, but instead she watched the scenery pass by the window as her fiancé, Dean, drove down the rural highway.

Hell, she needed to fortify herself against the guy sitting in the driver's seat next to her. Our first Christmas together, she thought. Our first Christmas tree. She hoped she'd gotten the directions to the Christmas tree farm right. Neither she nor Dean had ever come out here, and she'd hate getting lost to ruin their day. To either side of the road, farms and pastureland stretched out, a few inches of snow painting the scenery into a portrait suitable for the front of a Christmas card. Lucia couldn't believe it had actually snowed the night before their big adventure. It made the entire day seem too perfect. "Perfect" really was the word of the day. Everything seemed just that.

"Look," Lucia said as she pointed to a hand-painted sign on the right side of the road. "That must be it."

Dean turned the truck off the highway and onto a gravel drive. Lucia stared out the window. Spreading out beyond a white wood fence, row after row of perfectly symmetrical Christmas trees grew, dusted in snow. As they drove, Lucia could see flashes of bright color where children darted through the trees, probably playing tag or hide and seek as their parents debated whether to pick a spruce or a pine. She could hear their laughter even over the heater vents.

She rolled down the window, letting the brisk air wash over her face. She smiled and took a deep breath. The ice on the ground around them made the air taste crisp and clean, and she welcomed the burn as it entered her lungs. Lucia thought back to her childhood in San Diego. She couldn't remember it ever snowing, and though some of her classmates' parents took them to the mountains to ski, they'd never invited her, and her mother had no money to take her. She'd never seen snow until she'd moved here for college.

"Come on, baby," Dean said. "You're letting the hot air out."

They both wore layers of clothes, and the heater ran at its highest setting. Lucia welcomed the cold, but she rolled up the old truck's window for Dean.

She looked over at him, and suddenly her nerves attacked in full force. Her contentment from only a moment before receded. She'd never had a perfect Christmas growing up, and this trip could mark the beginning of her first real holiday season. She didn't feel sure that she even knew how to have a perfect holiday. Her mother had always tried, but a wilted tree bought from the drugstore the night before Christmas, decorated with paper ornaments, didn't seem like a real Christmas to Lucia. She didn't want to ruin this year for Dean.

Dean parked the truck in front of a big red barn. Around them, families tied trees to the tops of sedans or forced them into the backs of SUVs. A church group sang carols, and inside the barn, people bought pies, fresh pine wreaths, and decorations. Santa milled about, passing out candy canes and ruffling little kids' hair. Lucia couldn't believe how absolutely perfect it all seemed. I have to stop thinking "perfect," she thought.

She opened the door of the Dodge and climbed out. She took the Thermos too then shut the door. Her rough wool kilt scratched her bare legs as she moved around to the front of the truck. Wellies and wool socks kept her legs warm to the knees, and a down vest over an Irish wool sweater kept the rest of her warm. Even her clothes made her feel festive; she'd found all of them at a local thrift store and assembled this outfit for this specific outing. Red and green plaid, green boots...

Dean wrapped his right arm around her and squeezed. He leaned over and pecked her on the cheek, and Lucia relished the quickly disappearing flash of warmth there.

In his left hand, he carried the bow saw they would use to cut down their tree. Lucia took a deep breath, and the smells of evergreen, peppermint, and damp earth filler her nose. Her exhale came out with a cloud of white.

"This is going to be fun, huh?" Dean asked. He started humming along to the carolers' version of "Winter Wonderland." He dropped his arm and shoved his empty hand into the pocket of his coat. "I haven't cut my own tree since I was a kid."

Lucia sighed. She'd never cut her own tree. Dean, as far as she knew, had had picture-perfect Christmases every year of his life, even if more recent ones hadn't include cutting down his on tree. His mother had shown Lucia photo albums full of holiday pictures when they'd visited from Thanksgiving just last week. One of the reasons she wanted to hang on to him was because she hoped he'd bring that happy childhood into their future with them, hoping to balance out her bad if they ever had kids of their own.

Don't get ahead of yourself, Lucia reminded herself. That would probably come years down the road, if ever. Right now, this is just about us. Part of wanting him, and making sure she kept him, was giving him what he wanted, and she knew one thing he wanted this Christmas.

Her.

"Come on," she said. "Let's find our tree."

They headed off into the orchard, traveling farther and farther away from the barn, into the rows of trees. The laughter of the kids and the songs of the carolers faded into the distance until only the crunch of their footsteps on the frosted grass and the occasional call of a bird remained.

This deep in the orchard, the trees had reached heights most ceilings couldn't accommodate. Lucia figured most families probably didn't bother to come out this far. She hoped she was right. She didn't want to get caught doing what she was about to do.

They walked through the trees, commenting on shape and the feel of the needles. Dean seemed to grow suspicious. "None of these will fit in our house," he said.

"I know, but I have a feeling the perfect tree's out here somewhere."

And she was looking for a perfect tree, only not for the house. She wanted something big, with wide branches, close to the ground, like...

That one.

Lucia smiled. The tree stood at the end of a row, tall, almost as big as a forest pine rather than a farm-raised one. Its long, sweeping branches hung heavy with the previous night's snow, and the boughs brushed the ground, creating a tent of green. A mocking bird, seeming to ignore the cold, sang from a branch near the top.

Perfect. There it is again. The tree grew far enough away that people probably wouldn't hear. Its branches offered the perfect shelter. Lucia turned to Dean. "Follow me," she told him.

She nearly ran across the distance to the tree, took one up-close look, and then ducked into the bower its branches created.

Beneath her, dry pine needles covered the ground, creating a springy bed. The air in the small alcove felt warmer, as if the tree produced just enough to heat to warm Lucia, knowing what she planned.

Dean ducked in, and Lucia could see he'd finally realized what she had planned.

"Remember the camping trip in August?" she asked.

"Oh yeah." Dean nodded and crawled toward her.

They had gone out to camp by some lake in the hills near their house. Dean had wanted to do some fishing, and Lucia had wanted to paint some landscapes. That weekend, Lucia had learned one of Dean's little fetishes included sex in the open. He didn't necessarily need other people around -- he wasn't an exhibitionist -- but he did like the feel, he said, of being that close to nature. On that trip, they'd ended up at a secluded site away from all the other campers, and Dean had taken her several times on the rough wood picnic table supplied by the Parks Department.

Lucia's favorite time had happened at dusk. With her head hanging off the edge of the table, she'd watched the sun set over the lake, the expanse of water turning orange to pink to gray and then black as Dean thrust into her. Her fingers gripped the wood of the table, strong enough, she was sure, to leave marks, and the only sounds around them had been the occasional sound of a leaping fish and the buzzing of the insects.

Now, in the warmth of the pine bower, Lucia unfastened the pin holding her kilt and then spread the skirt beneath her like a blanket.

Dean gasped. She knew he took in her bare pussy. She'd risked the discomfort of the wool on her ass during the truck ride for this.

"Hot chocolate?" she asked, holding up the Thermos.

"I'd rather go right for the main course," Dean said, but he sat crossed-legged next to her instead and waited for her to pour him out a serving in the Thermos's lid. She sipped some right from the container herself.

Her first sip of the drink ignited feelings of nostalgia to which she had no actual memories to tie. She wished everyone of her Christmases had started like this, but then she realized that, if they had, this one, right now, would not hold the meaning it did. She'd not look back at this one day and remember how beautiful and perfect it was.

As they drank, Lucia's pussy started to feel the cold. Goose bumps broke out across her thighs.

"Need something to warm that up?" Dean asked. He probably hadn't taken his eyes off her.

Lucia put the lid back on the Thermos. "Yes, please."

She leaned back on her elbows and spread her legs.

Dean shrugged out of his coat and then draped it across his back as he moved between Lucia's thighs. The rough tweed of his overcoat scraped across her legs but offered a welcome barrier to the chill. In the nook created by her knees and the heavy fabric, Dean leaned down. Lucia could hear him inhale deeply.

"You smell so sweet," he said. "Spicy like nutmeg. Like spiced cider." She felt his breath against her tender flesh as she heard his speech. His hands ran up and down the inside of her thighs, and her goose bumps broke out anew, but not from the cold. The heat from Dean's mouth warmed her pussy, and she reclined all the way, stretching her arms out and grasping handfuls of dried needles. She reveled in the contrasting sensations: cold and warm, soft and prickly, rough and smooth...

She gazed up into the branches of the trees. She could hear the bird above still singing, and off in the distance, the faint sound of the carolers. She imagined a squirrel peering down at her. How would she look? Her brown hair fanned out on the carpet of needles, her eyes half-closed in expectant bliss, this man between her legs.

Lucia wondered what it would be like to have a tree this big in her house, to be able to climb beneath it and hide as she did now. She wondered how many presents she could fit beneath its broad spread of needles.

Then she looked down to see the top of Dean's head between her legs. She didn't need any other presents. Just him. Just this now.

He licked, finally, and Lucia sucked in a breath. His tongue traced up one side of her pussy, then up the other. His hands made prints of heat on her thighs. Then he parted her lips with one strong thrust.

"Dean," Lucia said as his tongue lapped across her clit. Her hips raised up off the fabric beneath her. She didn't want him to tease; she wanted him inside her. But he'd make her come like this first, and then he'd force another out of her later. And if she came too quietly, he'd make her do it again. He wanted to hear her cry out, she knew. That excited him as much as any other part of this adventure.

The tip of his tongue flicked back and forth across her clit. Dean's hands moved off her thighs, trailed up her belly, forced themselves under her sweater and camisole and then slid up to her breasts. He continued to lick and stab with his tongue at her clit, and now his fingers pinched her nipples too, sending jolts of desire down to her pussy. The sharp, cold air filled her lungs with every breath, and Lucia could think of no place she would rather be.

Well, she could think of one. Under Dean, with his cock filling her cunt.

Lucia dropped the needles in her fists and grabbed Dean's hair. She ground her pussy into his face. She wanted to come, hard and fast, so that he'd take her rather than just playing with her. She also worried that someone would discover them. Though they'd come out late in the afternoon, hoping families would be packing up and heading home as they set out, one could never discount latecomers.

Lucia groaned as she felt her orgasm gathering at her core. Her muscles punched, her calves contracted beneath their woolen socks. She rubbed her cunt against Dean's tongue, and he lapped at her eagerly, small slurping sounds escaping him as he worked her over.

Lucia's body finally gave in, and she came, her hands knotted in Dean's hair. She held him there against her for a moment the convinced her fingers to release their grip. Dean pushed up to his knees and looked down at her, a smile on his face, his lips glistening with her juices.

He moved to her side, spreading the heavy coat over both of them like a blanket. Dean reached up and brushed a tendril of hair from her forehead, then leaned over and kissed her.

Lucia could taste herself on him, and she did taste of spice and sweetness, put she thought more like pumpkin pie than hot cider. She smiled against his mouth, and for a moment, they lay like that together, lips just touching, breath mingling in the cold air. Then Dean pushed back and propped his head up on one arm. "You're beautiful like this," he said. "Your face is pale from the cold, but your cheeks burn red."

At his compliment, Lucia felt her cheeks heat even more.

"Will you ride me out here?" he asked.

Lucia nodded and rose up to her knees. Dean leaned back. She bent over him and busied herself with his fly. He raised his hips, and she pushed the pants down just enough so his cock came free, standing tall and proud.

"Quickly," he told her. "It's cold."

Lucia swung her leg over him and settled her wet cunt down over his length, taking his fullness to the root. She readjusted the coat over them and positioned her knees to give herself the perfect angle.

"You're so wet and so hot," Dean said.

Lucia braced her open palms against his chest and began to move. She thrilled at the friction his rough pubic hairs created against the freshly-shaved flesh of her pussy. The thick cable-knit of his sweater offered good handholds, and the rubber heels of her Wellies gave good purchase against the ground. She rose and fell along his length, touching her clit to his skin, rubbing, and lifting again. She found her rhythm, watching her short, ragged breaths leave her mouth in brief puffs of white. Beneath her, Dean's eyes slid shut. His hands grasped her ass, and he moved with her, encouraging her with slight movements to increase or decrease or circle at this point.

Together, there beneath the evergreen, they found their pace, body matched to body, breath matched to breath, heart matched to heart. The world outside darkened. Singing faded. Engines started then diminished as families headed home.

But these two lay, fucked, frozen in time, in their bower.

Even in this chill, sweat beaded across Lucia's brow as she worked.

"So close." Dean's words came out in a gasp, but they spurred Lucia on. She rose above him, nearly letting his prick slip from her slick sheath before sliding back down again. She could feel his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips.

She'd have bruises in the morning, but she didn't care.

Her nails dug through his sweater and, she felt certain, he'd have marks on his chest tomorrow too.

"That's it," Dean said, and his body lifted, carrying her up with him. He cried out, the sound bouncing back at them from off the boughs and branches. As Dean held her, Lucia ground against him, working her clit against him, and brought herself to her own climax. She called out too, and as the sound died, she heard the flapping of tiny wings above.

Lucia collapsed beside Dean, and he wrapped his arms around her. Around them, silence reigned.

When the awoke from their post-coital stupor, full night hat fallen. Lucia knew workers would have locked the bar tight, no one would be there for flocking or baling or for selling pies.

But this didn't seem to bother Dean. He hefted his saw, looked at the tree under which they had made love, and pointed to one branch.

"It's perfect," he told Lucia.

Lucia tilted her head, confused.

"We don't need an entire tree," he told her, "and this would mean more than any other tree in the grove.

He cut the one branch, and when they got home, they decorated. The branch could only hold half a dozen ornaments, but it was the best tree Lucia had ever had.

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