Christmas at Fox Ridge

15. Lucas

Chapter fifteen

Lucas

December 25

S hortly after breakfast, Eira and I take turns using the landline for our obligatory Christmas Day calls to our parents. Plunking down on the bed with an exhale, I run a hand through my hair while waiting to be added to the family conference call.

“Merry Christmas!” Mom shouts into the phone with an ear-piercing shriek.

“Merry Christmas, everybody,” I respond, settling on top of my bed and leaning back against the pillows. Admittedly, I’m not thinking about my family right now. I’m thinking about Eira’s nails dug into the wood headboard while she rode my face after our talk in the shower last night. The way we rang in the start of Christmas curled around each other, damp from the shower, with my cock deep inside her warmth.

“We miss you here,” Mom yells, never understanding that the speakerphone can pick up her voice at a normal volume.

“Miss you guys,” Holly cheerfully sings into the phone. “Maybe next year we can all celebrate together.”

“Oh, Holls. That would make me so happy.” Mom’s hands clap together, so jarring that I reflexively yank the phone away from my ear. Christ. Is this woman sitting on top of the phone?

My mom and sisters start yapping about family drama passed on from Mom’s call with our grandparents earlier this morning. And I pick at my thumbnail, unsure of what contribution I’m bringing to this conversation, exactly. I’m here because it’s easier to tough this out than it is to deal with the wrath if I avoid them altogether. But, fuck , I’m itching for it to end so I can get back downstairs to Eira.

“How’s the ranch, Lukey?” my older sister, Natalie, asks over the wild shouting of her kids in the background.

“It’s exhausting. I don’t know.” My ears perk at a loud crash, followed by Eira lovingly scolding her demon cat. With a small smile, I shake my head. “Lots of shit to get done, honestly. I should go.”

“Lucas, you’re not working on Christmas, are you?” Mom’s clearly taken aback.

“No, I just want to get back to my quiet Christmas.” As if on cue, my one-year-old niece starts wailing.

“I hate knowing you’re alone,” my mom says at the same time Natalie calls me Scrooge.

My other sister, Ivy, cackles, and suddenly all three of my siblings are ganging up on me like we’re kids again. I love them, but nobody has ever been jealous of me when they find out I’m the only boy in this situation. Two older sisters, one younger. I got shit from all sides growing up.

It’s getting so out-of-hand, I’m considering hanging up when my dad chimes in—it's insane he’s even bothering to be in the same room, instead of watching television in the basement—to tell them all to shut the fuck up. And a hush falls over everything.

“Seriously, Lucas.” Mom’s tone turns threatening. “Next year, I’m not leaving you a choice. You can’t keep doing Christmas all by yourself.”

Meanwhile, I have a beautiful woman wearing nothing but one of my T-shirts in my living room. If they knew, everyone would leave me the hell alone today. But they’d be down my throat tomorrow, and I can’t handle that.

“Anyway, I’m gonna go.” I hover the phone an inch from my face, waiting for the inevitable protesting from my mother, and silence from my sisters. At least they’re relatively honest about their desire for me to leave them to their gossip. “Love you all. Bye.”

I hang up before Mom has the chance to argue, then practically fucking skip downstairs to fully embrace Eira’s perfect, no-pants holiday.

Hours pass where neither one of us moves from the couch except for necessary bathroom and refreshment breaks. Mostly we talk about everything and nothing, and sometimes we simply exist in the same space without words. We fill our stomachs with cookies and squares and bars. Both of us are in my shirts, though the one she's wearing looks like a short dress.

When the sunset starts to weigh on the day, I push aside thoughts of Eira leaving in the morning—refusing to let that ruin our perfect evening. We’re illuminated by a small lamp next to the couch, and the twinkle of lights winding delicately through tree branches. They shimmer and change colours with a slow pulse, speckling her body in reds and greens.

“Oh, gosh.” Eira holds a flattened palm over her mouth, frantically trying to finish the bite of pastry in her mouth. “I almost forgot I have a present for you.”

Side-eyeing her with a healthy mix of curiosity and worry, I say, “A present? Anything you could’ve bought for me at the grocery store is something I don’t need, I can assure you.”

“Way to ruin the surprise. I thought you’d appreciate the novelty reindeer poop chocolates,” she shouts as she bounds up the stairs.

I toss a couple logs in the fire while she’s gone, shutting the cast iron door with a grating squeal that, unsurprisingly, makes Half-Pint hiss in my general direction. I hiss back at her, sticking my tongue out for extra emphasis.

“Did I just interrupt something?” Eira laughs from the doorway.

I hook a thumb toward the spawn of Satan curled up on a couch pillow Eira insisted I could afford to give up. “She started it.”

“Close your eyes.” Leaning against the door frame, she pops a hip with her hands tucked behind her back. Somehow even prettier than ever before with messy hair, no makeup, and my oversized Coors Banquet T-shirt.

“Yes, ma’am.” I do as I’m told.

From so close to me I can smell the lingering aroma of her body wash, she says, “Okay, open.”

And there I am. In the barn a couple days ago, shoeing an old bay mare—a retired barrel horse who loves working with little girls, in particular, because they constantly play with her mane.

I know it’s me and that Eira drew it, but it looks like it belongs on the wall of a massive art gallery.

“Eira, holy shit. I-I… I don’t even know what to… Wow .”

“I think it might be my favourite piece I’ve ever done.” She smiles down at it, pride radiating from her like sunlight.

“You should keep it then. Something for you to remember this week by.”

“No way. I made it specifically for you.” She delicately places it on my lap, both of us appreciating the fine details, right down to the hoof trimmings littering the cement floor and the sweat beading along my hairline. “Besides, I have…others.”

“This is by far the best gift ever, so thank you.” I reach out for her hand, wedging it in my calloused grip.

She smiles, slipping between my knees. “You’ve gotten a lot of shitty gifts then.”

“Fuck any other gift. This is all I want.” I dance my fingers up her arm, gliding them to caress her face. “You’re all I want.”

With candy cane coffee kisses, Eira presses my body against the back of the couch so she can straddle me, plucking the art from my grasp and setting it safely aside.

“I’m all you want?” Her forehead meets mine, dark-brown locks of hair curtaining our faces.

“The best Christmas gift, hands down. The drawing is a very close second.”

A slow inhalation to enjoy her scent, a slow exhalation so I can do it all over again.

“I’m going to tell my family to pack it in, because nobody gives as good of gifts as Eira Davies.”

“You should probably unwrap your other present before you decide how good of a gift giver I am.”

“Reindeer poop chocolates?” A forceful huff of laughter blows from my nose.

“No, but I’m regretting not buying them. Honestly, they looked delicious.”

Rocking her hips against my thighs, Eira grabs the hem of her shirt and shimmies it up a few inches.

A shiny red bow sits atop her thin, cotton panties. I toy with it between my fingers, kissing her, swallowing the small whimpers rolling off her tongue.

“You’re definitely my favourite gift. Fuck, baby . I can’t wait to unwrap this.”

“It’s yours whenever you want it.”

This time tomorrow, she’ll forever be the one that got away. Knowing my fate before it happens kills me.

Would she view my pleading for her to stay as romantic or insane?

I tuck her hair behind her ears, moving to cradle her skull so I can lose myself even deeper in her kiss.

“You could stay… until the new year… if you want,” I softly mutter between the repeated crush of her lips on mine. Tension ripples through my jaw and neck as I wait for the answer I already know is coming.

“I have to go back to work.” The way her voice cracks at the end stills the breath in my lungs. Her warm palm presses to my chest, forehead falling against mine again.

“Yeah, I know,” I respond hoarsely.

“Let’s talk about this at 11:59, okay?” She grabs the bottom of my shirt and slowly slides it, waiting for me to cooperate by pulling my arms through. Then she bends to kiss her way across my clavicles, hands gripping and teasing the length of my torso, and she whispers into the crook of my neck, “God, you’re so fucking gorgeous.”

She was right to shut down the conversation. We agreed to enjoy this for as long as it lasts. So I reach under the well-worn cotton shirt and cup her breasts, smoothing my thumbs over peaked nipples. Bracing her body for the quiver as I trail my fingertips along the soft curve of her waist then under the waistband.

“Can I have my present now, baby?”

Breathless, she nods, entire body tightening in anticipation. Her ass lifts up just enough for our frenzied hands to work together to slide my jeans and her panties to the floor.

She’s already wet, clit slightly swollen and not finding enough friction from the slow rock of her hips on mine. I can help with that, though. I’d make teasing her to orgasm my full-time job, if I could.

My cock presses painfully inside the restrictive fabric of my boxer briefs, only made worse when she grinds her soaking pussy over the bulge. Within seconds, she’s making my dick wet through the fabric, and I’m no more than three more sensual gyrations away from blowing it in my pants.

“Give me a second,” I say, easing her from my lap. “Can’t have you falling off the couch again.”

The plaid blanket she cloaked herself in to draw the other night’s still hanging off the back of the armchair, and I neatly lay it out in front of the Christmas tree. A gentle tap of my hand has her crawling across the floor with the sleek grace of a prowling predator, coming to sit in the centre of the blanket.

Lit with a kaleidoscope of reds and greens from the twinkling lights, Eira’s beauty continues to amaze me. She leans back on her elbows, getting comfortable, and her hair falls messily to one side then the other as she angles her gaze to get a read on me.

“Merry Christmas, baby.” I stroke the delicate skin of her inner thighs.

“Merry Chris— oh my God. ” A moan interrupts her mid-sentence when I lean in to feast on her sugar-sweet pussy. Turns out, not wearing pants and doing nothing but eating is exactly how I want to spend every holiday from here on out.

Spine lifting from the blanket, she frantically knots a hand in my short hair, demanding I continue. Quick circles, languid licks, even the occasional nibble. I take the time to thoroughly enjoy my gift, bringing her to the brink of orgasm then letting her go. Over and over, until even a miniscule breeze sends goosebumps down her arms.

“Oh, fuck.” She writhes under my touch. “ Yes . Don’t stop. I’m so close.” Some variation of swearing and saying my name and insisting I keep going continues until her skin’s humming, pussy clenching hard around the gentle thrust of my fingers.

“Remember what I asked for this year? Let it go, baby.”

Burying my fingers in her tight cunt, I moan against her clit, doing whatever I can to avoid the embarrassment of coming before either of us have even touched it. That’s the kind of shit that makes women feel powerful and proud the first time, but I’m sure the more it happens, the less impressive it gets.

Eira’s squeezing my knuckles together, taking what belongs to her, while moans carry through the humid room. “Lucas, please. ”

My forearms hold the thighs threatening to crush my skull at bay, and the girl of my fucking dreams comes all over my face. Waves of pleasure racking her body, leaving her trembling and encouraging my addiction.

Nobody will ever measure up to this woman for me. I’d hock a loogie in the face of a supermodel for the chance to kiss Eira. I’d give up my entire life for the feel of her pussy. I’d do anything— any fucking thing —she asked for the chance to have her in my arms every day.

Maybe that’s insane. My family would say I’m being irrational and impulsive and obsessive and… I don’t care.

Eira fists my hair, pulling me to her for a slow kiss, and she moans when our lips meet; she’s enjoying the taste of herself on my tongue as much as I am. Her heels press to my ass, spurring me on.

“That illustration you made…” My nose traces her jaw from the tip of her perfect, rounded chin to the shell of her ear. “The one of us—”

“I thought we weren’t talking about it anymore.” She angles her neck so I can kiss her pulse point; her racing heartbeat feeding my ravenous desire.

“Hear me out,” I whisper against her skin, feeling her hum of disagreement travel the length of her throat. “You lying naked in front of the tree looks even better in real life than it does on paper. There’s tinsel on the tree… And I want nothing more than to make your Christmas fantasies come true.”