'Twas the Night Before Christmas

"Gene," she panted, as she began to plunge and grind, "I'm about to—" With an urgent cry she gripped the mattress with her knees and hunched on him, her hands clutching his shoulders, her face buried in his neck. He felt her rapid breath near his ear, and her contractions around his cock were surprisingly strong. She looked up with a dazed expression. He rolled over with her so that she was beneath him. He needed to thrust. "Oh yes," she muttered. "Do it to me. Just as hard and deep as you need to..."

He let loose with long, hard strokes, and she braced herself to take them. At the end of some of them, she gave a little grunting cry, and he pulled back, saying, "Am I hurting you?"

"No!" She lunged upward underneath him and he abandoned all concern, riding her hard and high and joyously, thinking about nothing except the need to satisfy the feeling in the center of his cock that was about to spill out into the rest of his body. The point of no return felt like being launched into the air, and then it happened and he clenched himself over her, feeling the wild pulsations that took him, seeing more stars.

He pulled out and lay beside her, feeling weighed down and weightless at the same time. He smoothed the hair away from her slightly damp face and kissed the lids of her closed eyes. She opened them and smiled at him.

"All this and personalized stationery," she said. "I was thinking that this was mostly your Christmas present, but I do believe it's been mine, too. There's something to be said about opening your gifts the night before." He laughed and gave her a hug.

"This is the best Christmas I've had since I was a kid," he said. He looked at his alarm clock again. "We need to keep an eye on the time," he added. "They'll be home in another hour."

"Gene, sweetie," she said, laying a forefinger on his chin, "Let me remind you about something. Matt and Clara raised me, and they've always looked after me, and I'm eternally grateful, but I'm not their daughter; they don't have dominion over me, like I was some teenage virgin; I am a widow and I've kept house on my own before, and I'm of age. And I'm exactly where I want to be."

"And I want you to be here," Gene said. "I just don't want a big ruckus, in case they have other ideas. They've been very good to me, and I don't want them to think I've been abusing their kindness. Besides, someone in my family needs to have some dignity."

"If it'll make you feel any better, I did leave my bed looking like I was still in it, in case they stick their heads in the door when they get back."

"It does," Gene said, giving her a kiss. He looked around at his one-room apartment, feeling suddenly discontented in it, when he'd loved living there for the last three years. It was fine for a single man; it was plainly furnished, with a bed and bedside table, a dresser, a small table at which you could take a meal or write a letter, and two chairs. Against the wall, just outside the bathroom—it and the kitchen were barely more than alcoves—was a plain but serviceable armoire. The wallpaper above its scarred wainscoting was faded. He was glad the bed was a double, but the place was so small! You couldn't keep a woman, a lady, who'd had her own home, in a place like this. He decided that over the coming year, as much as he liked living with the Hallers, he was going to look for a place where he could live on his own—or with another person. He had money saved, although before this night he had not thought to save it for anything besides a car.

"What are you thinking about?" Cora asked him.

"The future."

"It'll get here. I'm thirsty, could I have some water or something?"

"Sure," he said, and got out of bed to get it for her. It was cold, once he got out from under the bedclothes. He found a clean glass, filled it from the tap, and brought it to her. She drank three quarters of it and he drank the rest; he was glad to be able to put it on the bedside table and get back under the covers.

"Let me get you warm again," Cora said. She pressed up against him, with her firm hard-tipped breasts rubbing against his chest, her warm legs sliding over his cold ones. He anticipated getting very warm, very soon.

They cuddled beneath the covers once more, kissing occasionally, getting familiar with the new territory each had discovered in the other, talking.

"Your first time," Gene said. "Did it hurt very much? I've heard it does."

"It depends," Cora said. "Some women say it hurts a lot, and some others hardly notice it."

"How was it for you?"

She brought her hand out from under the covers to make a balancing gesture. "Oh—somewhere in the middle. I didn't weep and faint, but I sure noticed it. It hurts less with practice. Why do you ask? Heavens, I didn't make you bleed did I?" She looked at him with mock alarm. He laughed, rolling onto his back and pulling her atop him. He pulled her head down to his and they kissed some more. When she raised her head, she passed her hand over her chin, as if something had irritated the skin there. He ruefully considered his own chin.

"I'm sorry," he said. "If I'd known you were coming, I'd have shaved."

"It's all right—it's kind of nice to have a bit of beard-burn after all this time."

"I take after my dad—we've gotta shave every day, or else look like a bum. We could shave twice. In fact"—he found himself grinning—"We kids figured out that whenever Dad shaved in the evening, it meant that he and Ma were going to, um, well...We could get away with things, provided we were careful."

"Y'all were bad!" Cora said, laughing. "You didn't really watch out for that, did you?"

"Cora," he said in a pained tone. "I was the good kid. That doesn't mean I was a chump."

"I don't remember much about my own folks," Cora said, a wistful look on her face. "My father was unwell as long as I knew him."

"Ah, I'm sorry," Gene said. "I forgot about that." "It's all right."

"Cora," he said. "This—this isn't going to be a one-time thing, is it? Will there be other times?"

"Gene, Gene..." The young woman shook her head. "Are you still thinking I've come to you out of some kind of charity? We've always been friends, you silly goose. I admit, I didn't think about you in—this way; you were a few years behind me in school, and sometimes it's hard to...well, switch gears. But switch I did, and..."

She got up and knelt at a right angle to his body, and took his cock in her hand again. Then, to his astonished delight, she leaned down and closed her lips over the head. It started rearing and swelling to fit into her hand, her mouth, at once. The feeling was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. The vague threat of her teeth, which he felt from time to time, was offset by the softness of her lips and the movement of her tongue, circling and spiraling and flicking. The sight was fascinating. He had heard of this act, but had never experienced it, and wouldn't have believed that any girl of his acquaintance could be persuaded to do it. A curtain of hair fell over her face, obscuring his view; he reached out and pushed it aside. Although he had come twice before, and each time took longer than the one before it, he could feel another climax starting to build up.

"If you keep on doing that, I'm going to go off in your mouth," he said. "You don't want me to do that, do you?"

Cora raised her head. "Another time, I might," she said. "This time..." Still holding his cock, she straddled him and slowly impaled herself on it. This time she did not lie on top of him; she sat up, and the next few minutes were like something he might have fantasized. She rocked and undulated as if performing some sensual dance; if he looked down he could see her pussy sliding on and off his shaft. This was too exciting to watch; he had to look away. And she had taken his hands and fitted them over her breasts, so he could feel her nipples hard in his palms. She shifted his hands so the nipples were between his thumbs and forefingers. "Pinch them," she said. "Like this." He squeezed them lightly. "Oh, yes. Oh, that's good." She continued to rise and fall and sway atop him. He continued to balance on the sharp edge of pleasure. The sight of her fine body dancing in place was almost more than he could stand, but if he shut his eyes, there was nothing to distract him from the sensations her hot, slippery sheath was giving him. Her rhythm became more focused, her downstroke shorter and harder. He could feel her getting hotter and slicker, and then she reached down and swept her fingers over her clitoris. She came in a crescendo of small breathy cries. He saw the waves of her pleasure rippling up the muscles of her abdomen and felt her hot tight interior grip, grip, and grip, and that did it for him. He thrust upward, to enter her more deeply, and exploded into her, the intensity of his climax once again dimming his vision. She settled down to lie on him again while the aftershocks of his climax faded. When he had quit pulsating inside her, she rose from him and lay beside him again.

"I'm going to have a hard time trying not to think about you when I'm back at work," he said.

"I'll be thinking about you, too. I'd like it fine if you could...call on me during lunch."

"I don't know if Matt and Clara would, though." "They think of you as family. You could be—have you given any thought to it?"

"I hadn't before, but I am now."

"Have you ever been in love?"

This felt almost like a change in subject. "I don't know," he said. "There were girls I wanted, but...no, I don't think so. I've watched it happen to others and it looks like it's painful. One thing I do know—I've always liked you a whole bunch, and now I've had you, I'm going to want you again."

"Oh, I think that can be arranged." She got up on one elbow and looked down at him. "You're one of my uncle's favorite employees. No, I shouldn't say favorite, that doesn't sound right—he thinks you're one of his best. He thought you had the makings of a good mechanic when you started hanging around the garage getting underfoot as a kid. And...you know I'm his only heir, after my aunt, don't you? Consider it."

"I'm considering it," he said. She leaned down to kiss him and her hair tented their faces again. So—his future was falling into place. He could see where some other fellows would feel as if a trap were closing on them, but it seemed like nothing but a good idea to him. It was something to worry about, having authority someday over men much older than himself, but that was a long way off. Matt was hale and healthy, and Gene was generally liked in the garage anyway. If the men changed, he thought he could handle it.

He now felt relaxed to the point of drifting off to sleep. Cora settled down with her head on his shoulder. He was falling into a light doze when he heard a noise from outside—the sound of two car doors slamming.

"Aw, geez, Cora—they're here. What do we do?" He felt his heart begin to bang in his chest.

"Turn off the light," she said. "I'll go back to my room when they've turned in for the night. You know they never stay up long."

They cuddled together in the darkness. Presently Cora turned and he pulled her close to him so that they lay spooned. He looked at the dim outline of the window and waited for Matt and Clara to settle down for the night, and for her to leave him.

Some time later he woke and realized that she was still with him. He didn't worry about what time it was, or what she was doing there; he just knew that her firm, rounded rump was fitted into his lap, he could smell the scent of her hair, and his hand had found its way to her breasts. When he cupped one of them, the nipple hardened in his palm. Remembering their last joining, he lightly pinched it between his fingers. She caught her breath and wriggled her hips against him. His cock rose, thick and stiff, between them. With a wordless murmur, she repositioned herself, lifting her top leg. He was able to find her opening easily, and slid into it. She gave him a squeeze.

They had to move quietly and stealthily—the last thing they wanted was for that unmistakable squeaky-bedspring sound to be heard. It was exquisite and agonizing. He was so close to the edge it hurt, and the slow, slow stroking made it worse. Or better. Cora took his hand and drew it down between her legs, where they were joined. His fingers skidded into the folds of her sex again, and she arranged them around the hard bud of her clitoris. Her movements told him that he needed to slide them up and down. Very soon he heard her shuddering breath and felt her convulse around his shaft, hot and tight, and then he had to move. He thrust into her with short, controlled strokes when what he really wanted to do pull out his entire length and whale it back in with abandon. Again he had that launched-into-the-air feeling and he gave himself to it. The darkness pulsed and sparkled behind his eyes and his skin tingled as he finished inside her, breathing hard into her hair. After he had fallen out of her he sighed in contentment as his heart slowed back to normal. A wave of sleepiness overtook him, and he slipped away with it before he could so much as change his position.

He woke in the gray light of morning; what had roused him was a smell that was normally familiar and soothing, but in this context as alarming as if the house was on fire. Something was burning, but it was not the house—it was coming from the pipe of Matthew Haller, who was sitting patiently in one of the only two chairs, smoking while he waited for them to wake up.

"Merry Christmas," he said with an ironic smile.

Gene didn't know what to say. Beside him, Cora was starting to wake up. She started when she realized that her uncle was in the room, and sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest.

"I am bound to ask what your intentions are toward my niece," Haller said.

Gene put his arm around her shoulders. "What I intend," he said, "is to support her as best I can—provided I've still got a job."

"Of course you've still got a job." He looked at Cora, shaking his head. "Niece, could you not have at least waited until he was old enough to buy a drink?"

"He's old enough to sign a contract—and he's old enough to get called up in the next war."

"That's true enough. Though God forbid—what do you mean, next war? The one we've had is enough. So, this is what you want?"

"Yes," they replied, speaking at the same time.

"We'll talk about this some more," Haller said. "You might get dressed in the meantime."

"So, is Gene going to be here for breakfast or not?" Adam paced restlessly around the front room.

"Let's give him just a few more minutes," his mother said.

"I'm hungry."

"Go cut yourself a piece of bread, then."

"All right." Over his shoulder, he said, "Zan, do you want some, too?"

His sister, sitting next to her big husband on the settee, had a tense, uneasy expression on her face. "I guess I could do with a piece of bread. And could you toast it? But please, no butter on it."

The phone rang and Anton got up to answer it. The family watched the conversation with interest—watched, because all the talking seemed to be taking place on the other end of the line. Finally he said, "Well, I can't say I'm all that surprised. I had a feeling things were heading in that direction. If that's what you want, I'm happy for you. We'll see you later, then. Merry Christmas, son." When he got off the phone, he turned to his family with a half-smile. "We might as well go ahead and eat breakfast. He won't be here; he's eating at Hallers'. But he will be here for dinner, and then you'll have to set another place at the table, Marie. He says he's bringing his fiancée."