Santa's Broody Helper: A Sleeping with the Scrooge Short Story by Amelia Wilde

Author:Amelia Wilde [Wilde, Amelia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-12-04T16:00:00+00:00

Matthew

This isn’t the time for missionary. This isn’t the time for slow, gentle sex while we gaze into each other’s eyes. Holly’s gritted teeth tell me exactly what I need to know—that she wants it hard, that she wants it fast, and she wants it now. I’ve heard a few things about getting women pregnant. I know it can happen on the first time, but I have tricks up my sleeve that are sure to help her along.

My skin feels tight with purpose, too tight to hold all my muscles in. Holly mewls as I press her hands to the back of the sofa and kick her legs apart. Her juices have started to run down the inside of her thighs. She holds on tight to the back of the sofa, knuckles white. “Please,” she begs again. “Do it now. I need it now. I need you now, Matthew. Now—”

Her last word is cut off by one hard thrust between her legs.

I take her in one stroke, almost blacking out at how fucking good it feels. She’s tight and soaked and we’re a perfect fit. It’s like we were made for each other. She stretches around me, throwing her head back. The Christmas music switches to a Josh Groban song. Under any other circumstances, I wouldn’t want to be serenaded by that dude, but in this moment? Fuck it. Let Josh in on it too.

Her muscles clench around me, pulling me in tight. The rhythm we’re making together consumes everything else. I feel every last moment of this hellish day disappearing into the rock and thrust of her hips. The dog that jumped up and tried to chew through my hoodie while I held six boxes stacked one after the other. The old man who threatened me with his cane because he’d forgotten he paid for Christmas Eve delivery. The secretary who let me deliver twenty-five boxes, five on each dolly load, before she told me they were for the wrong address.

All of it is gone. All of it is replaced by clean white snow, falling from a navy sky. A twist of garland around a pristine front porch, with silver tinsel highlights. The smell of ham and scalloped potatoes. And more. The breathless anticipation of standing at the top of the stairs, waiting to see if Santa had finally come. The sweet, sweet moment of anticipation when I’d hold my single wrapped present in my hands, my mother’s tired eyes on mine. The year she got me a boxed set of Chronicles of Narnia. I wanted that boxed set so fucking much. Opening it was like opening a stack of gold.

Holly in the doorway of her house, surrounded by light. Holly’s neat property under a blanket of snow, fresh and ready to start clean. The look in her eyes when she told me she wouldn’t sign my scanner. Driving my hips into her again and again. Claiming her as mine.

Fuck, she’s going to be mine. Even if I walk back out of here tonight and never see her again, I’m leaving a part of myself with her.

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