tagRomanceAll I Want for Christmas

All I Want for Christmas


Outside the window, snow is falling, swirling its way to the ground. A fire crackles in the background, keeping the room nice and toasty. A woman sits on the sofa, a cup of hot chocolate in her hand. She looks pensive, as if struggling with a difficult decision; her big brown eyes seem lost in thought. She sips, the delicate china cup tipping slightly. Placing the cup on the nearby table, she reaches for a pad of paper and a pen, her chestnut hair falling forward to partially hide her face.

She sits back, a single tear rolls down her cheek. She brushes it away, a bit ashamed that it fell. She brings the pen to her lips, chewing it. With a sigh, she begins to write.

Dear Mark,

So often I think of you. The way you held me in your arms made me feel safe. That is a feeling I haven't felt in such a long time. Not a day goes by when your handsome face doesn't float before my eyes, teasing me with the memory of the nights we shared. My body longs for you, your touch and there is naught I can do about it. You sparked within me a fire not easily put out. I crave all of the things we did, together. You opened me up to so many delightful things that I likely would not have experienced otherwise. For that, I thank you.

I feel as though part of me is missing. I am listless, restless, hoping against hope for a message from you. I know that it cannot be and should not be. But it is. You brought a much needed smile to my lips, a laugh to my eyes, a song to my heart. I know, I vowed to keep my heart separate, aloof, locked away from you. It didn't work. However unintentionally, you broke through all of my defenses, scaled the walls I built around myself and wormed your way into my heart and soul.

I failed to realize it was happening until it was too late. You had already left. They say parting is such sweet sorrow and I have to agree. I cried for days after you had gone, hating myself for being so weak, cursing you for leaving and not feeling what I felt. I know it's futile to write this, but I feel that I ma receive some closure in expressing this torment I am going through. I do not intend to send this letter, not that I have your new address anyway. I hope to find some comfort, some peace in the act of putting my thoughts on paper.

You will forever remain in my soul, tormenting me. You took with you a piece of me that I can never get back. I wish you well. I hope that your decision to leave brings you good fortune and the happiness you seek. I am saddened that said happiness could not be found within my arms. Please remember that you touched a part of me that I long thought dead.

Christmas is coming and you know how difficult holidays are for me. My friends and family ask me what I want for Christmas, and I tell them that I haven't a clue. But I do know what I want. All I want for Christmas is you.

With all the love that I possess,


The tears are flowing freely now, spotting the paper and causing the ink to blur. She curses them, reaching for a Kleenex to blot them. She places the note pad on the table and gets up. Banking the fire, she turns out the lights, locks the door and heads to the bedroom. Silently, she removes her clothes and slips between the cool flannel sheets, burying her face in the pillow. Within moments, she is asleep.

Back in the living room, the letter she wrote flutters, as if blown by an unseen wind. It tears from the note pad, rising up toward the ceiling. Small starbursts surround it, twinkling in the darkened room. The paper seems to fade, growing more and more transparent until it is gone, along with the sparkles, leaving no trace that they had ever been there. The only remnant of the letter is the impression on the note pad and moist splotches.


The next few days are a blur of activity. She has totally forgotten about the letter, not even noticing that it has effectually disappeared. She wraps presents for her friends and family, bakes cookies for her coworkers, loses herself in holiday preparations. She used to enjoy the holidays, wishing everyone, even strangers season's greetings. The past few years have been hard on her, she lost things that were irreplaceable, including herself. She fights back tears once again as she hangs the final decorations on her small tree.

A solid knock at her door rouses her out of her reverie. It's Christmas Eve, who could be knocking at her door? Dusting her hands off, she opens the door.

His back is to her, bundled in a heavy winter coat and hat. She doesn't recognize him.

"May I help you?" She asks, impatiently.

He turns then and shock spreads through out her body.

"Hi, Gen," he says.

"W-w-what are you doing here?"

"I got your letter."

"What letter?"

He holds up the tear stained paper. "This one,"

She grabs it from his hands, skimming it. Color stains her cheeks as she realizes that it is the letter that she never intended to send. "How did you get this? I never mailed it."

"It was in my mailbox yesterday. Can I come in? It's kind of cold out here." he asks.

"Oh, yeah sure," She says, pushing the door open. He shrugs out of his coat, toeing his snow-caked boots off. He reaches up and pulls the hat off his head, spikes of brown hair sprout out from his head. She laughs at the sight he makes. She leads him to the sofa and heads to the kitchen, fixing each of them a cup of coffee. Handing him a cup, she sits at the other end of the sofa, facing him.

"After reading this letter, I did some soul searching. I knew that some thing was missing I just didn't know what. Every night, when I went to sleep, your face was in my head. Every morning, there it was again. I didn't know that you meant so much to me, until this letter," he pauses, sipping the coffee. "It hit me like a tons of bricks. I should have known all along but I guess I was too blind, or scared, to see it. Gen, I carry your smile in my heart, your laugh in my soul. Please, please say you forgive me for being such an idiot."

Tears were streaming down her face and she made no move to hide them or dash them away. She scoots next to him, laying her head on his chest. "Of course I forgive you. How could I not?"

"I don't know but I'm sure glad you do," he tilts her face to his, bent his head and kisses her.

When the kiss broke, he smiles his crooked smile at her.

"Merry Christmas, Gen."

"Merry Christmas, Mark," She smiles back at him.

Grinning, he says, "I have one more thing to ask you." Fumbling in his pocket, he pulls out a small black box. Opening it, he holds it out to her, "Will you marry me?"

Tears flow again as she whispers, "Yes."

"What was that? I couldn't hear you," he teases her.

"Yes!!" she screams, "Yes I will marry you!"


She led him to her bedroom, and quickly undresses him. She stood before him, her hands hesitating on the buttons of her blouse. He reaches for her, brushing her hands aside. His fingers made quick work of the buttons and soon her blouse was naught but a mound of fabric on the floor. He leans forward, kissing every inch of skin now exposed. Her head falls back, eye closed. Her fingers find his head, palms curving possessively around it, urging him closer. He unhooks her bra, freeing her breasts to his eyes. He ravages them and she moans, her body arching toward him.

He unfastens her jeans, pushing them to the floor in his haste to feel her naked against him. He pulls her closer, his hands cupping her bottom. His mouth descends on hers, tongue invading, wrestling with hers. He feels the familiar hard ball of her tongue ring and groans against her lips. Scooping her up, he turns and places her on the bed.

He kneels at her feet, taking in the sight of her, nude and at his fingertips. He plants soft kisses to her ankle, then up her calves, along her inner thigh until she is writhing beneath his lips. Her breath is coming is gasps now, her fingers digging into his scalp, trying to pull him up to her heated core. His lips kiss everywhere but where she wants to most. Instead, he kneels between her spread thighs, the head of his throbbing cock poised outside her opening. She thrusts her hips toward him, trying to get him inside her.

"You are so beautiful, Gen. Tell me what you want."

"I want you."

"You have me."

"No, I want you in me. Now!"

"You want me to fuck you baby?"

"Yes," she moans, breathlessly.

"Then tell me," he commands softly.

"I want you to fuck me, Mark. Please fuck me!"

He growls and with one quick thrust, is buried within her. She screams, back arching, trying to take him deeper.He begins to move slowly, hips rocking against hers. Her nails dig into his back, urging him on. He refrains, enjoying the look on her face.

"You like that baby?" he whispers.

"Uh huh," she replies.

"Tell me what you want me to do."

"Oh God, Mark, please fuck me hard. Fuck me now!"

Needing no more invitation, his hips move faster, causing her to moan louder. He keeps his eyes fixed on her face, watching as her peak builds. Her screams come in little squeaks now and he knows she will cum soon. He leans down and clamps his mouth on her nipple, nibbling gently.

"Oh fuck!" she groans.

"That's it, baby, cum for me."

With that, her orgasm crashes over her, her pussy spasming around his pumping cock. Her nails dig into his back, and he groans, his own crest racing towards him. He looks at her, and says, "You want me to cum?"

"Oh yes!! Cum for me!"

Three quick thrusts later, his cock swells, pumping his seed into her. She sighs as it trickles hotly from her tight channel. He rains kisses over her face, his cock growing flaccid.

"I love you, Gen."

"I love you, Mark. Merry Christmas."

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