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I love the taste of cum. And he had a lot of it, pent-up and ready. That much pressure, I grin. He didn’t stand a chance.
I want to come, too. I turn, spin him to push his back against the wall, then I turn. Grinding my ass against him is getting me there. He’s still hard. I pull him between the tops of my thighs, and I grip. Tight. He’s hot. And so thick.
And I’m trembling.
I reach down to pull him harder against me. Rock my cunt, lewd along his rod.
God, yes. THAT’S IT.
Oh, more of that. Oh, YES!!
I burst inside and gush.
Chapter Seven
Tinka
I straighten my clothes and turn to take one last filthy kiss from him in the dark alley.
The sight of his face, still hard and ruthless, but with a darker flame in his eyes makes me collapse inside.
I press a firm hand on his chest. “I have to take care of the children.”
He follows me back through the pale chilly mist across the hushed street. As I step toward the bright, decorated windows of Clarkson’s Hardware, he tells me, “Meet me later,” he says. “You have to stop and eat.”
“No.” No? I say, “I don’t know. I…”
He lifts his chin. “Pick a place in town.” Gives me a flash of his evil smile. “I don’t know my way around here, angel. Tell me where’s good to eat.”
“The Hollybush Diner on Saint Nick Square is great, bu…”
“Great.” His grin is like the gleam of a knife. “Seven o’clock. Bring all the appetite you can get.”
I ask him, “What’s your name?”
“The question-and-answer session will be over dinner,” he grins and shrugs, “but for now you can call me Santa.”
I laugh and shake my head. “No chance of that. There can only be one Santa.”
“We’ll see.”
I at least make him exchange phone numbers. He shrugs.
And he turns.
Before he leaves, I tell him — not loud, but clear — “Bring the money.” His head tips. Just a little. Enough so I know that he hears me.
And I watch his ass. Hard and filthy. Insolent in his black jeans, and his shoulders, wide and powerful, rolling arrogantly under the motorcycle leather. He puts on shades as he climbs on the huge bike, and he fires up the roar of the motor. He casts a sardonic look over the tops of his shades, and rides into the swirling snow.
He’s gone.
Shaking and empty inside, I watched him go. I never met a more dangerous man.
As I step through the door to Clarkson’s Hardware, a sigh slips out of my throat as the little bell tinkles over the door. If that wild and filthy struggle in the alley turns out to be all the Christmas cheer I get this year, well, damn. The memories of his heat, his hardness… His need. That’s a gift that can fuel my dirty, carnal dreams for a long time to come. And to come again.
The taste of him is still thick on my tongue. I don’t want to speak. I want to keep it. Roll it on my tongue like a fine wine. Press it against the roof of my mouth. Breathe it. Mmm. That’s a Christmas treat I can treasure.
I step in to find the children, and they’re all waiting at the front of the store. All facing outward. Watching, grinning from ear to ear.
