An unOrthodox Christmas

Magic. Every fucking time.

She rode a few more minutes, pelvis swinging in languid arcs across his nose and mouth, wringing out the dregs of her orgasm as he willingly lapped at her. She rolled her eyes back with a happy sigh, heavy eyelids dropping, which was why she didn't see Grundle's hand dart from her ass to the bag, burrowing in to lift out a couple of bricks of money and a Rolex his fingers found inside there. She laughed, her voice gurgling in her own throat. "Thanks, cutie," she managed, but only barely. "I owe you."

His face lifted up toward hers in a long, threadlike chain of her fluids. "Oh my god." His hand was busy, scooting what he'd grabbed out of the bag between his own thighs, praying she wouldn't notice. It had been a spur of the moment decision, his mind not even beginning to calculate the risks. "What... what was that?"

"That," she purred, "is how I get after I've done a score." A chirp from among her things sent her grimacing toward her clothes, rummaging there for her phone. "The doc's here. I need to get dressed."

Grundle merely knelt there with thousands of bucks under his groin and smiled weakly. "Glad I could help."

"Me too." She was slipping into her clothing with perfunctory ease, leopard-print underwear catching her arousal as she pulled them snug. "I'm still cumming, a little bit," she winked. He watched closely as she stepped into her leggings and hauled them up, then set to work on her upper half. "Now then. Here's the deal. I'm going to toss a couple thousand bucks your way, and then I'm going to leave. I'll shut the door. You're going to stay in this room until you hear us drive away, and then you'll forget all about this. Except that you'll have to mop the bathroom a little; our doc works clean, but stitching always leaves a mess."

"Okay?" He wasn't exactly being given a choice, but he was given other things. Another three solid bricks of money soon landed with a thump on the floor in front of him. "How much is that?"

"Don't worry. It's a lot." She straightened her sweatshirt and rubbed short, sweaty hair from her face. "A tip. For your outstanding assistance." She stooped low, leaning in to kiss his pussy-scented mouth, a cool smiling smooch with her lips closed. "Thanks again. Remember, this never happened."

"N-no," he stuttered, staying frozen as she collected the two bags and her piled clothes. She swept everything efficiently into the bags and slung them over her shoulder, tucking the gun into her waistband last. "Um. See you?"

"You better hope not," she replied, grim and sharp once more. "If you see me, it's because I'm looking for you. And that means your ass is grass." She strode quickly out of the booth without another glance, her feet echoing quickly down the hall toward the stairs to let the doctor in, cut off by the clang of the soundproof door as it swung slowly shut behind her.

And so, the Grundles had a very happy New Year.

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Epilogue: Badnik Pastry with Five-Spice Powder

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Johnny Choi kept his face carefully neutral on January 6. The dining room was open and packed, but the back room was what he was paying attention to, because that's where the owner and his family were celebrating Macedonian Orthodox Christmas.

He'd run out of cinnamon for their pastries, so he'd used five-spice instead. So far, none of the Kystrovs had shot him. So? Should be fine.

He'd been cooking for them for years now, since they'd bought the restaurant. And his father had cooked for Old Papa Kystrov back after the war, as the Family had gotten its start. They'd trusted him with all their family recipes, odd-sounding foods with too many consonants, and Johnny had smiled and nodded and cooked and then stood back and watched. This year, they seemed to be laughing about something that had happened to a customs agent, and commiserating with a tall glowering guy with his arm in a sling. Someone off to the side was talking about a guy named Alex and a missing Rolex. Over in the corner, a few of them guffawed about some woman called Bethany.

He turned as his son leaned out from the kitchen. "Need more eggrolls, for the main room."

"Handle it," he ordered brusquely. "I'm back here." The older guy at the big table, Junior-Junior, was standing up and tapping his glass. "You know I can't get away from them."

"I know, pop."

They nodded, impassive, as Junior-Junior began to give his toast, a glass of rakija held high. "Friends? We celebrate another year of peace and profit." There was some chuckling at that, for the vovoi didn't mean "peace" like more people would use it. He just meant the Family wasn't killing each other. "I want to thank all of you for all your work this year, and look forward to an even better one next year. Na zdravye!" he called, raising his glass, and a long slurp followed from every table before Junior-Junior slammed his glass back onto the table and finished up.

"Because Family," he nodded, "always matters."

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Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this story. Make sure you read all the Winter Holidays Story Contest 2023 entries and vote up your favorites!