Christmas Wrapping

"Yeah," he shrugged.

"Me, too," I raised my glass before downing the rest. "To us lonely souls on Christmas."

"Here, here!"

And then he poured more wine.

"What about you?" he asked. "No big plans?"

"Not this year," I frowned. "Mom and Dad are in Hawaii right now. My brother is off at school. This is all the excitement I'm good for."

"Well, I'm happy you invited me over," he said warmly and his charming smile sent a jolt from the tip of my nose to right between my legs. He raised his glass again. "Here's to you saving me from salmonella on Christmas!"

We made more small talk as I finished up with dinner. I had enough to easily feed the both of us, although depending on how much Jonathan ate, it might cut into my coveted stock of leftovers.

He graciously continued to offer to help, but it wasn't necessary and truly, I was grateful just for the company on what would have been an otherwise lonely night for me.

Jonathan opened a second bottle of wine as I carved up the turkey. It turned out that he's a breast man and I'm a dark meat girl . . . um, interpret that anyway you want.

Our magnificent feast consisted of turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, stuffing and the canned cranberry sauce from the store. Yes, I eat canned jellied cranberry sauce with my home-cooked turkey dinners.

Stop judging me.

A small pumpkin pie and tub of Cool Whip sat out on the counter for dessert. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough for the two of us.

I cleared off one end of my dining room table and set a pair of candles out.

"Merry Christmas," Jonathan said, our wine glasses klinking together again.

If I didn't know better, I'd say he hadn't had a home cooked meal in months because he ate more than I expected, all the while raving about my mad culinary skillz.

As our evening wore on, I noticed he was quick to ask about me and didn't brag too much on himself. Nor did he spend half the night staring at his cell phone. Or my chest.

When we were done, he elbowed his way into the kitchen to help clean up, a duty I was more than happy to turn over to him, once I had packed up the leftovers into airtight containers.

For you guys reading this, if you want to turn a woman on: try doing housework without complaining or fishing for sympathy or affirmation.

It will give your wife or girlfriend a chore-gasm, and I guarantee you will get lucky.

I sat on one end of the couch, my wine glass half-empty in one hand, the TV remote in the other.

"Basketball or football?" I asked. No, I don't watch hockey.

"Who's playing?" he called, loading up the last of the plates in the dishwasher.

I checked the satellite guide. "Miami and Utah, some crappy third-tier bowl game or Chargers at Raiders."

Jonathan set the mostly-empty bottle of wine on a coaster on my coffee table and then sat down next to me, our hips brushing.

"You pick," he said.

I frowned. None of the games really appealed to me. So I switched over to TNT. Ralphie had just put on the pink bunny pajamas from Aunt Clara.

His hand fell onto my leg and my hand unconsciously wrapped around his. His fingers seemed to naturally intertwine with mine.

"So why didn't we ever go out?" Jonathan asked, finally getting around to addressing what passed for our relationship.

"I work too much," my heavy sigh matched his.

"Me, too."

My mind raced, but I didn't want to be the one who broke the silence. He turned and I looked into his sparkling blue eyes.

"If we work less, can I see you more?" his voice was almost a whisper.

I just nodded. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the loneliness. Or maybe it was that Christmas magic.

A moment later, we were all over each other.

Jonathan pulled me close to him, although he didn't paw at me or try to get me out of my clothes. Not immediately. I tiled my head back and our lips met.

We made out for a good long while. His touch was exactly what I needed right then.

His arms wrapped around me in a warm embrace. I fell back into the couch and he leaned in, his lips tracing a line down my cheek to that spot right behind my ear.

I led out a low, throaty moan as he nibbled along the side of my neck, sending a chill throughout my body.

My nipples felt like they were going to shoot clear through my bra and sweater.

"Damn, that feels good," I whispered in his ear.

He pulled back for just a moment and looked me in the eyes. My heart skipped a beat. "I have to do something for such a wonderful Christmas dinner."

Yes, he was baiting me.

And, yes, I took it.

"I've got some ideas about that."

"Do these ideas involve the pumpkin pie and Cool Whip?"

My hands framed his handsome face and I pulled him to me once again.

"Only one of those," I giggled once we came up for air. "And not the pie."

His hands brushed my shoulders and then fell under my arms. My breasts pressed against him.

"May I?" he whispered.

In that moment, all of my resolve melted away. Was it his charm? Was I just horny? Lonely?

Or was he the really going to fulfill the fantasy that I had built up around him over the last year?

Who fucking cares?

I was alone on Christmas for the first time in my adult life, and here was a handsome, charming man who was clearly into me. Jonathan didn't strike me as a player, but in that moment, I certainly didn't mind being the target of his affections.

"Yes," I gasped as he cupped my breasts in his hands. He made no move to undress me.

My heart raced as we continued to kiss. I leaned back on to the couch, pulling him with me, so his weight pressed down.

"Would you think less of me if I said I want you to fuck my brains out?" I bit on his ear lobe. Yeah, that was the wine talking. I'll go with that.

"Mmmmm, I like the sound of that," he said, his voice thick with desire. Note that he didn't really answer my question.

I tugged at his shirt, pulling the tails out of his pants. In response, he slipped his hands under my sweater and gave my boobs a firm squeeze.

Soon enough, he was topless and I was laying on the couch in just my bra. My hands ran up and down his muscular arms and across his broad shoulders.

He gazed down at me, unable to look me in the eyes.

"I'm. . . I'm sorry," he stammered apologetically. "But your . . . your boobs are amazing . . ."

I giggled and thrust my chest forward, making my tits jiggle in my bra.

"And by 'amazing', I mean, 'huge'."

His lips first went to my collarbone, lingering there just long enough to make me dig my nails into his shoulders.

Then they left a sloppy trail of kisses down into my cleavage.

I've been self-conscious about my breasts since fifth grade, when they first started growing on my chest. Yes, I'm top-heavy.

They make my back hurt. I sleep in a sports bra. I gave up jogging and running and volleyball after my sophomore year of high school.

The underwire is my best friend. And worst enemy. Putting on a bra is like being at a rodeo, and being both the bull and the rider.

There are points in my life when I'd have seriously considered killing a complete stranger for A-cups. But on other days, like when Jonathan Reilly is undressing you, you wouldn't trade them for all the tea in China.

I clutched his hair every time he nibbled on my just a little too enthusiastically, but he was otherwise very attentive, and I mean that in the most complimentary way possible.

He didn't do anything strange or creepy, nor did he jiggle them too hard, or go straight to that weird motorboating thing some guys do.

Instead, he seemed to linger on every square inch of my chest. His hands reached around me and expertly unhooked my bra, and I slipped it off my shoulders.

Once free of restraint, his lips closed over my nipples, first the left, then the right. An electric tingle ran up and down my body.

"You like?" I asked gently, once he came up for air.

"I love them," he replied, leaning into kiss me again.

"I can tell!"

We both had a good laugh and went back to caressing each other.

For a long time, we lay on the couch, exploring one another. His featherlight touch made my skin crawl.

I ran my hands up and down his back, which was soft and warm.

"Let's go to bed," I said into his ear.

He pulled back and scooped me up in his arms, carrying me the short distance to the bedroom.

In reality, he lifted me up and took five steps, but the other way I described it sounds much more romantic.

Jonathan set me down on the bed.

"Be right back," he whispered in my ear, before going back out into the outer room and turning out all the lights and checking to see if the front door was locked.

I watched him through the doorway, admiring his handsome form. He was in great shape, and my eyes lingered on his backside.

My bedroom was bathed in the soft glow of the lights outside my apartment that shone through the cheap blinds.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, and I lay back on the bed seductively.

I raised my arms over my head, and splayed myself out on the bed for him to see. My breasts fell to the sides more than I'd have liked (thanks, gravity, you suck!), but I know he didn't care.

My nipples were rock-hard and stuck straight up. And not because it was cold. Jonathan crossed the room and leaned over, taking one of them in his mouth. I let out a delighted squeal as he suckled on it sloppily, then blew gently, the cold blast making me shiver with anticipation.

Jonathan's hand caressed my cheek.

"May I make love to you?" he asked sweetly.

"I thought you'd never ask." My eyes were hooded over with pleasure. Yeah, I usually have a rule about sleeping with a guy on the first date. I also think people get extra desperate around the holidays, especially when they're lonely.

Yeah, that was me.

But you know what? I didn't fucking care. I was in heat. And if Jonathan wasn't going to fuck me senseless right then, I was going to kick him out and spend the rest of the night alternating between masturbating and thinking of cruel, vindictive ways to skin him alive.

"I . . . um . . . do you . . .uh, condom?" It was actually kind of nice that one of us was capable of thinking rationally.

"I'm on the pill," I gasped, reaching out. He leaned into my embrace, but didn't meet my lips with his.

"What about . . . you know?"

Ordinarily, this may have put a damper on my libido, but actually, to know that this guy—whom I had been chasing all year—was doing a little bit of thinking with his brain instead of his dick, it was kind of hot. I guess that officially makes me "old" that I was turned on by a guy being responsible.

"I haven't had sex in about eleven months," I said. Not that I was keeping track or anything. January 24^th. Just sayin'.

"I, uh . . . was seeing someone back in July," he said. "We used a condom every time, but if you want, I'll go out and get—"

"Not a fucking chance, bucko," it was my turn to take control of the situation. I'm not doctor, and this is probably wrong, but if you've got some kind of nasty STD, surely you'll know before six months goes by, right? Right?

In any case, it didn't matter. I was going to have this man right then. And bareback. More than once. My desire overrode any other right-thinking parts of my brain.

I pulled him straight to my chest and I think that wiped out any further hesitation on his part. Now that I knew Jonathan was a boob man, resistance is futile, because I knew exactly how to get what I wanted.

As he worshipped my breasts with lips, I tossed the throw pillows off the bed, and pulled at the comforter and sheets.

My hands desperately tugged at his belt as we clumsily undressed each other.

"You are so goddam hot," he gasped.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted this," I returned.

His hands had never left my boobs, and the only reason his lips were on mine again was because I pulled him up to me.

I stroked his engorged sex and rubbed it against the slit of my pussy.

"Maybe if you're good, I'll fuck that cock of yours with my tits until you cum all over me." I thought he was going to shoot his load right there.

"I'd do anything for you to do that to me," Jonathan's voice shuddered with desire.

"Anything?"

"Anything, goddamnit!"

"Well, first you're going to fuck me," I guided the head of his cock inside my labia, which were slick with anticipation. "We'll negotiate the rest tomorrow over breakfast."

Jonathan propped himself up with one arm under my neck, his other hand gently kneading my breasts. He looked me in the eyes.

His gaze was tender, but had an undercurrent of feral lust.

I bit my lip to keep from crying out as he entered me slowly. I spread my legs wide so I could take as much of him inside me as I could.

He kissed me just as he bottomed out. I had never felt so full. Or content.

Then he pulled back until only the tip remained inside me.

"Veronica?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

Leaning over, he nibbled on my collarbone. My nipple was rock hard between his thumb and index finger. I tried to push my hips forward to take him again, but he pulled back teasingly.

"Do you want to make love?" The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and my pulse raced when he whispered in my ear. "Or do you want to fuck?"

My body shuddered with pleasure as he thrust into me with one swoop. Hard. Fast. And then he held it there.

I wasn't trying to hurt him, but my fingernails dug into his shoulders. My eyeballs nearly popped out of their sockets. I let loose a primal scream.

"Fuck me!" I moaned. "Fuck me!"

Without another word, he began to pound his cock into my pussy.

I think I started to cum almost immediately.

His weight pressed down on me with each thrust. It felt like he was re-arranging my insides. In the good way.

At first, I tried to fuck him back. I moved my hips to meet each thrust.

But soon enough, I gave up and just held on for the ride.

My tits bounced every time he rammed himself into me. I lifted my legs up and wrapped them around his waist.

"Don't stop!" I sobbed.

The space between my legs was a goddam slip-n-slide. Every time he pulled out, we made that nasty, glorious squishing sound.

He never let up. Not until I felt my pussy contracting around him.

The room started to spin. But Jonathan was going to town on me, and I absorbed every blow.

"Oh, god, Veronica!" he groaned in my ear. "I'm going to cum!"

"Cum inside me," I was delirious with ecstasy. "Cum with me!"

I started to feel lightheaded. My sex pulsed, flooding with warmth, both his and mine.

He gave me a series of short, hard thrusts, then pushed all the way inside me and held it.

Jonathan arched his back and every muscle in his body went taut.

Clenching his teeth, he exploded inside me.

Time seemed to stand still as the orgasm consumed us. I felt myself pulsing around him, and I swear to god I could feel the cum shooting out of his cock.

Then his body went limp and he collapsed on top of me, his ragged breath in my ear.

Tears streamed down my cheeks and I wrapped my arms and legs around him, fully content.

Our bodies were covered in sweat.

I was laying in the wet spot, but I didn't care.

My hands ran up and down his body, tracing his strong shoulders down to the firm small of his back.

His body jerked a couple of times and I knew he had blacked out for a few seconds.

Closing my eyes, I was fully prepared to drift off to sleep with my lover inside me.

And then my cellphone rang.

Jonathan was dead weight for a second until it registered in his brain that I was trying to move him off me. Blinking away the haze, he rolled over on to his back.

"Sorry," I mumbled, before literally falling out of the bed. My knees were weak and my body still shivered from that Jonathan-induced mind-blowing orgasm, but I managed to stumble back out to the front of my apartment. If it were any other ringtone, I'd have let it go. "It's my parents."

"Merry Christmas!" I tried to sound cheerful and nonchalant, and not like my post-coital glow was being crushed by my folks.

"Merry Christmas, Ronnie!" My mother has one of those voices that you can hear four blocks away. And, since she can't see you through the phone, she thinks she has to talk extra, extra loud.

"How's Hawaii?" I asked.

"Are you okay, sweetheart? You don't sound okay." Of course, there's no getting anything by that woman.

"Well . . . I, um," I stammered, trying to make up some excuse. "I was in bed."

Not a lie.

My eyes darted over to the clock on the microwave. "It is almost ten o'clock here."

"Oh, dear! We're so sorry!"

Damn, I'm good.

"Timothy," her voice sounded like my dad was across a football stadium, but in reality, he was probably standing right next to her. "We forgot she's six hours ahead of us!"

"Give me the phone, then," there was some jostling from the other end. "We're sorry for calling you so late, honey. Did you have a good Christmas?"

"Yes, I did. We got about two feet of snow in the past week." Despite all of the bitching I did about Christmas that year, it was nice to hear my parents's voices. It was then that I remembered I was naked. And the thermostat had gone into the "night" cycle. I poked my head into the bedroom and retrieved my robe from a hook on the back of the door.

"Wow, that's a lot!" I could hear the smile in his voice. "You don't usually get that much, do you?"

"Last year, we got two feet all winter."

"Ask her if she turned a faucet on so her pipes don't freeze!" I had to pull the phone back from my head to keep from my mother making me deaf. Maybe Dad had me on speaker phone.

"She knows what to do, Kathy!" My parents got married when she was eighteen and he was in the service. I guess they've been together for over thirty years now. Their interactions are a finely choreographed series of questions, evasions, exasperation, situational deafness and deliberate antagonism. And if you ever see them together, you'd know they're still desperately in love with each other.

"Ask Ronnie if she's opened her presents!"

"I haven't opened anything yet," I told my Dad, who was used to being Mom's relay service. "I was waiting for you to call. Hold on a second."

I set the phone down on my coffee table and got out the small stack of presents that had arrived the week before. Each was carefully packaged in some absolutely hideous floral wrapping paper my mother had probably picked up in bulk at an after-Christmas dollar-store sale five years ago.

"Are you off the cruise ship yet?" I asked conversationally. The feeling in my toes was returning.

"Yeah, they let us off at about nine this morning, and then we went over to the Arizona for the tour before lunch." The only reason I wanted to go along on their Hawaiian vacation was to see the war memorial with my dad. He's always halfway through a book about something having to do with the Navy, and it seems like if the TV isn't on ESPN, it's on whatever they're calling The Military Channel now. His buddies still call him "Master Chief", even though he just retired about four years ago, and being with him in Pearl Harbor would have been nice. "We just got checked into the hotel and wanted to call you before we went out for dinner."

The door to the bedroom was still open, but I turned on a light on the end table so I could see what my parents had bought for me.

They bug me every year about gifts. I always tell them I don't need anything. I have a good job and if there's anything I want, usually I just go out and buy it. Everything else on my "want" list is really expensive, and I don't expect my parents to buy me a $400 GoPro for when I want to go whitewater rafting. Or it's something that I actually need, and I don't feel right telling my folks that I want tires for my car on Christmas.