The Twelve Hot Days of Christmas Read online

  As if he could read her mind, he slowly unzipped his vest, letting it fall to the floor, never letting his eyes leave hers. She smiled at him and lifted her sweater over her head, dropping it on top of his vest. His grin broadening, he followed suit, his sweater quickly joining hers on the floor. It took about thirty seconds until they were both topless, and another thirty until they were fully naked.

  It gave her a second’s pause to think she’d literally met this man barely an hour before, but only a second—and then her hunger for the touch of another body, for the feel of his skin beneath her fingers took over, and he was matching her every second of the way.

  The two of them devoured each other. His teeth ran along her shoulders, gnawing on the bone as it rubbed against the flesh, his tongue tracing the lines of her neck while her lips surrounded his nipples, feeling them grow harder, stiffer in her mouth as her hand made its way across the expanse of his rib cage, his taut stomach, until it reached its destination. He was so engorged that she marveled at the definition of veins across skin, at the way she could barely wrap her hand around him, could barely tame his manhood. The subsequent moan that came from the center of his being sent shivers down her spine.

  It wasn’t enough to touch him; she wanted to taste him. She sank to her knees and ran her hands up his toned and athletic thighs. She licked his hips, and his pelvis, and slid her tongue across each thigh, relishing the salty sweetness of his skin before making her way between his legs.

  She slid his cock against the roof of her mouth. He was so hard, so large, so stretched tightly against his own skin, that he barely fit inside of her. She let him slide as far down her throat as she could stand, knowing by the pressure of his hand against her head that he wanted more than she could give him, so she wrapped the fingers of her right hand against the base of his cock, giving herself an extra two inches of space. She started moving back and forth, hand and mouth in perfect precision, her tongue licking the length of his cock, her throat tickling its head.

  She slowly picked up speed, drawing him out as long as she could, echoing the beating of the blood in his veins, her other hand cupping his balls, the warm wetness of her slick saliva spreading all over his tight, hot skin. So hypnotized was she by the act of maintaining rhythm, she didn’t even notice the wetness leaking out of her until he wrenched her up, hands grasping her triceps, practically hoisting her to his level. He grinned at her again and she realized how much she was aching for him.

  She thought she couldn’t possibly want him any more than she already did, but then she felt him slip his cock along the edge of her pussy and against her clit and the desire rose up inside her like an inferno. Suddenly she felt that if he didn’t split her in two right then, right there, she might combust on her own, exploding in a bonfire of her own making.

  “Want me to go inside?” he asked, that damn grin still painting his face.

  “Oh God, yes, yes, please,” she begged, her arms wrapped around his body, pulling him in close, her head against the broad expanse of chest and sternum.

  “Look at me.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes locking on his as he ran his cock again along the outside edge of her pussy, against her clit, and then, drawing a sharp breath, sank inside her. Together their moans were so loud, Sarah couldn’t differentiate between Will’s and her own, they matched so perfectly in volume and intensity. She pressed herself to him further, crazed by lust and desire. All she cared about was getting him inside her as deeply as possible.

  Curving against her, he moved in and out—slowly at first, but it was clear neither of them had much patience for pacing. Deeper and faster, he shoved her against the edge of the kitchen sink so hard, she had to grip it with her hands to keep from sliding over the edge and landing ass first in the deep basin, legs in the air. He pressed against her, pushing against the kitchen sink, and she bucked back against him until simultaneously they both came in a damp, hot, sweaty mess.

  The room was nearly silent with the exception of their gulping and panting as they struggled to catch their breath. Sarah collapsed against the hunter’s chest, his cock still throbbing and spasming inside of her.

  From outside, a faint singing. She heard it first and smiled.

  “Friend of yours?” Will asked. Sarah turned to see the partridge perched on the tree branch just outside her window.

  It was December fourteenth and Christmas was coming.

  Two Turtledoves

  by Lisa Lane

  Melinda lay across the sofa completely naked, trying different poses. She tried lying on her back, propped up against her elbows, stretching one long, shapely leg across its length, and artfully bending the other. She tried lying on her side, one leg bent over the other, her head resting on her hands. Finally, she decided to wait for him on her stomach, her knees bent and her legs crossed over her, her chin balancing on her fists. She had finished two cups of eggnog during the last hour while playing around with the last of the Christmas decorations and getting dinner started, and the alcohol had finally begun to hit her.

  A CD of traditional Christmas songs played softly from the bedroom and the smell of cinnamon from the scented pine cones she’d placed around the house now mingled with the pine smell emanating from the elaborately decorated tree. Bows and garland adorned every door, and a sprig of mistletoe hung in the living room right above her spot on the sofa. She had timed dinner so it would be ready just about an hour after Brent was due home from work.

  He was late.

  Melinda stood up, stretched, poured herself another cup of eggnog, then returned to the sofa, ready to resume her pose should she hear the front door open. She sipped the spiced drink slowly, not wanting to trade in her comfortable buzz for a full-on state of drunkenness.

  He would be home any minute.

  Any second, now. . .

  She waited patiently, not moving from the sofa as the minutes passed. Five. Fifteen. Thirty.

  She finished her drink and closed her eyes for a moment of rest, the long day finally catching up with her. She had gotten up early with Brent, fixed him a nice pancake breakfast, then had spent the rest of the day running errands and decorating the house. She had planned the evening perfectly in her mind: Brent would come home to find her naked on the sofa, ready to greet him. He would find the mistletoe and they would kiss, and they would make love in the living room before sitting down to a delicious and lovingly prepared meal.

  The third eggnog had been a mistake, she realized too late, and her body craved a nap more than anything else.

  She lingered in that half-sleep state, her thoughts drifting back to her plans for the perfect evening. She played out every detail in her mind. The front door would open, then quickly close, the soft sound of snow sneaking in with the momentary draft. Brent would walk into the living room, pleasantly surprised to find Melinda in her pose.

  She would sit slowly and seductively upright. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “It smells like Christmas in here,” he would say, meeting her on the sofa as he spotted the mistletoe.

  Sitting beside her, he would take her into his arms, then offer her a passionate and loving kiss. His arms would run along her body, feeling her and enjoying her, as she loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. She would expose his firm, strong chest, then remove the shirt and tug at his pants.

  She would shift to her back as he climbed over her, his hands moving down below, feeling that she was hot and wet, overwhelmed with her desire to feel him enter her. His cock would be swollen and hard, its base thick and its head perfectly defined, and he would hold it just out of her reach, teasing and testing her.

  As he dipped down, brushing up against her, he would steal another kiss. His chest would be warm and firm, and he would taste sweet as their tongues met and played against one another. The room would heat up as they pressed their bodies together and she would spread her legs around him. Then he would slide into her, their eyes meeting as their breath escaped them both for
a brief moment. She’d bring her hips up to meet his, and together they would rock and sway in unison, grinding into one another, savoring one another.

  The pleasure between them would swell, filling her and enveloping him. Their lips would meet again frantically, and they’d thrust into each other with growing intensity, hungry for more. They’d begin to build together, their pace quickening with their shared gratification.

  “I love you,” he would say, his words penetrating her mind, and his breath tantalizing the last of her senses.

  “I love you, too,” she would respond breathlessly.

  As her fingernails ran down his back, scratching him slightly, she’d find his hard, round ass and take him into her hands, driving him in harder and deeper inside of her.

  Finally he would groan, “I want to come inside you.”

  “I want to feel you come.” And with the orgasm a split second away—

  Melinda jumped with a start, immediately waking as the oven timer sounded.

  Dazed, she glanced around and got her bearings. He still wasn’t home. What was keeping him?

  Melinda hurried to the kitchen to remove the bird from the oven and mash the potatoes. The tile was cool against her bare feet, somewhat sobering to her as she padded toward the oven.

  Where was he?

  It was just the two of them. Their families were scattered across the country and their finances too tight to allow for travel, so she’d roasted a small stuffed chicken and made just enough mashed potatoes to see them both through one round of leftovers. It was a tradition they’d started only a few years back, but already they had made it their own. He opted to work longer hours at Christmas, the extra pay justification to spoil her for just one day. Melinda was happy to take the time preparing for his return, planning every detail, doing what she could to make the evening special. Brent delighted in finding some way, without going beyond his means, to outdo the years before. They would be married ten years in January, but the spark between them remained bright, their efforts to keep it that way reciprocal.

  She drained the potatoes in the sink, the hot steam rushing over her body as she poured the boiling water down the drain. Another wave of heat washed over her as she moved the chicken from the oven to the cool stovetop. She mashed the potatoes and emptied the stuffing, rushing to complete her presentation in time to return to her pose.

  A combination of worry and anger slowly began to fill her. Brent should have been home by now. She knew rationally that he was caught in traffic, or perhaps even out buying a last-minute present for her, but she couldn’t help but resent whatever circumstance was behind his tardiness. Instead of posing seductively, with dinner hot from the oven—instead of the night playing out just as it had in her mind, she was fitting aluminum foil over dinner and scrubbing chicken grease off her hands.

  She heard the front door open and shut precisely as she wrapped the last fold of aluminum foil over the chicken. She froze for a moment, trying to decide whether she was going to express her worry or her anger, then struck a pose as she heard him near. She would hear his excuse before she decided which emotion to unleash.

  She took a step back with a giggle as Brent stepped in, dressed in a Santa costume complete with a stuffed stomach, white wig, and fake beard. He carried a vented cardboard box from a pet store, carefully using both hands.

  “Merry Christmas,” he said with a deep and jovial Santa voice. He smiled at the sight of her naked body, but held character. “Have you been naughty this year or nice?”

  “Incredibly naughty,” she said, still laughing. “Do I still get my present?”

  “Only if you show Santa how nice you can be,” he said, cracking a smile and handing her the box.

  She peeked through the top, seeing two scared birds huddling and ready to spring. She shut the box before she could get a good look, thwarting their unwanted escape, but from what she could tell, they looked like doves. “You bought me a pair of doves?”

  “Turtledoves,” he said. “Ho, ho, ho!”

  “That would explain the partridge in a pear tree you brought home last night,” she joked.

  “You don’t like them? Well, Santa could take them back.”

  She smiled. “Two turtledoves. That’s very sweet.” She gave him a hug, his suit soft against her bare skin.

  “Their cage is in the living room,” he said, peeking under the foil. “Dinner’s ready?”

  She nodded.

  “Were you planning on eating it naked?”

  She nodded again. “Only if you keep on the Santa suit.”

  “Deal.” He gently plucked the box from her, giving her a quick peck on the lips. “I’ll get the birds set up in their cage while you serve us dinner.”

  “Sounds good.”

  He walked out with the box, looking clumsy but adorable in his big black boots. Touched and amused by his effort, she moved to the stove with two plates, hoping their dinner still would be hot.

  The chicken steamed as she removed the foil, but the potatoes were already beginning to turn cold. She decided to make a quick gravy, already resigned to the idea of reheating the potatoes when she was done, and she quickly threw a piece of foil over the pan as she heard Brent yell from the other room.

  “Heads up! The birds got loose!”

  She heard the frantic flapping of wings and a nervous purr coming her way as one of the doves, then the other, flew into the kitchen. She grabbed helplessly at thin air trying to catch one, but missed miserably and sendt it out of the room. She gasped as the other dove suddenly landed in the mashed potatoes. The bird looked around for a moment, stupefied, as it sank into the lukewarm mass, its little feet kicking in a futile attempt to keep from sinking even deeper.

  Melinda dove toward the bowl, horrified when the bird leaped out, sending potatoes in all directions with another flap of its wings. She turned as the bird flew out the way it had come in, just missing Brent’s head as he entered the room. He noticed the bits of mashed potato splattered across her chest.

  “I don’t think you’ll want to eat the potatoes,” she said. She set the bowl aside and removed the foil from the chicken and stuffing, then turned off the burner with a disgusted flick of her wrist. She dug a fork into the stuffing, and lifted it to her lips for a taste. “Stuffing’s cold,” she said, pouting.

  Brent gently pulled the fork from her hand, stealing a taste, for himself. “Still tastes good.”

  “We should track down the birds.”

  “They’re not going anywhere.” He gave her another kiss. “I’m starved. Let’s eat. We can worry about the birds when we’re done.”

  Melinda nodded, feeling hungry herself, and began serving them separate plates, but Brent stopped her. He plucked a piece of chicken from the pan, using his fingers, and moving it to her mouth.

  She ate the piece with a smile, and then picked a bit of chicken out herself and held it out to him. He offered her another.

  She moved to the stuffing, taking a small mass of it in her hand, and moving it to his mouth. He did the same, playfully smearing a bit of it on her face.

  She giggled. “This isn’t wedding cake!”

  “No?” he asked, smearing another small handful across her lips.

  She sank her hand into the bowl, then pressed a handful of stuffing into his face, covering his fake moustache and catching bits of it in the beard. With a laugh, she backed off as she saw him reach for another handful.

  She retreated to the bowl of mashed potatoes, then quickly flung a hefty handful in his direction. She missed, only to find him suddenly tossing stuffing her way. A small amount of it landed in her hair, and another quick handful left bits of seasoned bread crumbs across her chest.

  “I hope you’re planning on cleaning up this mess!” she said, laughing.

  He responded by flinging another handful of stuffing her way.

  She tossed the last of the potatoes at him and they splattered across his coat. He saw that she was out of ammunition, and charged towa
rd her with another handful of stuffing. “What are you going to do now?”

  She dodged as the stuffing became airborne and he retaliated by smearing his greasy hand across her face.

  “Yuck!” She gagged.

  He moved to her face, and playfully licked her nose.

  “So, are you going to help me clean up?” she asked.

  “Some of it,” he said, moving to her lips and playfully flicking his tongue over them. “Santa’s still hungry.”

  He pulled down the fake beard, and began to lick the bits of potato and stuffing from her chest.

  “How do they taste?” she asked.

  “They taste good.” He continued to lick her, moving to one of her nipples, teasing it with his tongue. He sucked on it, letting it go hard in his mouth, and then he moved to the other, caressing it with his lips and teasing it to hardness.

  He ran his lips up her chest, moving them up her neck, down the curve of her jaw, and then to her lips. They kissed passionately, and she pressed tightly against his padded jacket, wrapping her arms around him. He caressed her back, his hands slowly making their way down to the thin curve of her ass.

  They both jumped at the sound of a loud crash in the living room.

  Instinctively Brent sprinted into the living room, Melinda hot on his heels, knowing already that one of the birds had knocked over the vase. A bird flew past them and disappeared down the hall leading to the bedroom. The other was nowhere to be seen. The vase had stood on a small table by the door but now lay in several pieces on the ground, a bouquet of dried wildflowers in disarray beside it. Across the room stood the Christmas tree, and beneath it sat a dozen wrapped presents. A flannel red sack sat on the floor beside the gifts, and just to the side of the tree stood a large birdcage.

  Melinda and Brent ignored the broken vase for the moment, opting instead to find and catch both birds before doing anything else. They hurried together toward the bedroom.

  One of the birds stood on the bed. She was a pretty little bird with a mottled brown body. She walked in tiny steps, her head bobbing up and don calling to her partner:“Trrrrr! Trrrrr!”