Page 11 of Merry Pucking Christmas
When our lips finally meet, it’s like a spark igniting that feels both thrilling and comforting. Her lips are plump and supple, and as I kiss her, I feel a rush of something powerful and real. It’s a gentle kiss at first, exploratory and tentative, but as she responds, her lips moving against mine, the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent.
The cold of the winter air contrasts sharply with the heat of the moment, but the feeling of her pressed against me, the way she fits so perfectly in my arms, makes me forget the chill. The cameras keep clicking, but right now, I’m lost in the sensation of kissing her, in the way her fingers brush lightly against my neck as if she’s grounding herself in this shared intimacy.
When we finally pull back, breathless and slightly dazed, I look into her eyes again. There’s a flicker of something—surprise, maybe, or even a hint of vulnerability. For a moment, we’re just two people caught in a moment that feels undeniably real, despite the deceit of our staged relationship. The world around us fades back into focus, but the connection between us remains, lingering in the shared silence.
What the hell is happening?
This is the coach’s daughter. She’s off-limits, forbidden. It’s a rule I need to keep firmly in mind. The reality of our situation—the boundaries and expectations—comes crashing back into focus, even as I stand here, heart still racing from the kiss.
Noelle’s smile is radiant, her eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and satisfaction. “We should get the tree,” she says, her voice bright and hopeful. It’s as if she’s just made a delightful discovery, and her enthusiasm is infectious.
I nod, trying to snap back to reality, to ground myself in the knowledge that this moment, this connection we’ve shared, is temporary and bounded by the constraints of our fake relationship. There’s no reality where Noelle and I end up together, no future beyond this charade. That’s a fact I need to come to terms with.
As we walk back toward the tree she’s chosen, the weight of that knowledge settles heavily on my shoulders. I can’t let myself get carried away by these fleeting moments of intimacy. The cameras clicking in the background, the role we’re playing—they’re a constant reminder that this is all just for show.
I watch Noelle as she beams at the tree, her joy so genuine that it makes me ache even more. I’m caught between the desire to savor these moments with her and the harsh reality that this is as far as it goes. The lines are drawn, and I need to keep reminding myself of the boundaries, no matter how tempting it is to cross them.
Chapter 7
Noelle
I can’t believe that really just happened. The entire car ride home is a blur, my mind replaying the moment over and over again, like a favorite song on repeat. York’s lips crashing against mine—it's a sensation that keeps echoing in my thoughts, vivid and unforgettable.
I remember the way his touch felt, warm and urgent, pressing against me with a force that seemed to pull me into a world where everything else faded away. The feel of our breaths coming together as one, the mingling of our exhalations in the crisp winter air, was intoxicating. Each time I close my eyes, I can almost feel the soft brush of his lips, the electricity that sparked between us.
The magic of it all still lingers, like a fairy-tale moment that’s too perfect to be real. It’s strange how a single kiss can shift everything, changing the way I see the world and my place in it.York’s touch, the intensity of his gaze, and the way he held me close—it felt so genuine, so far beyond the facade of our staged relationship.
As the car moves along the snowy streets, the gentle hum of the engine is a soothing backdrop to the whirlwind of emotions inside me. My heart is still racing, caught between exhilaration and a tinge of uncertainty. I keep wondering if this feeling will last, or if it will fade as quickly as it came. But for now, all I can think about is the kiss and how, despite everything, it felt so real and so right.
I want it to happen again. Desperately. The taste of York’s kiss lingers on my lips, and the sensation of his touch haunts me, making me yearn for another moment like it. But as soon as we pull into the driveway of my parents’ house, reality sets in. There’s no time to dwell on what just happened. Instead, we dive into the hustle and bustle of hauling the tree inside and getting it decorated, the festive chaos demanding all of our attention.
The warmth of the house greets us as we enter, and the rich, comforting aroma of hot cocoa wafts from the kitchen. My mother has already prepared a pot, and soon we’re gathered around the newly decorated tree, our fingers sticky with pine sap and glitter. The tree sparkles with an array of ornaments and twinkling lights. As we sit back to admire our handiwork, the sight of it brings a smile to my face.
My father is sprawled on the couch, engrossed in his phone. His expression is one of satisfaction as he scrolls through the latest tabloids. “You two look like you’re really in love,” he says, his voice full of pride and amusement. His eyes twinkle as he looks up at us, clearly delighted with how the media is portraying our staged relationship.
York chuckles and glances at me, a teasing glint in his eye. “Your daughter’s quite the actress,” he says, and I can feel my cheeks flush with a deep pink hue. The compliment is playful, but it sends a flutter of heat through me, and I can’t help but blush.
As we sip our hot cocoa, I steal glances at York, my mind still swirling with thoughts of that kiss. It’s hard to reconcile the intense feelings I have with the reality of our situation, but for now, I focus on the comforting familiarity of my family and the festive cheer surrounding us.
“What’s next on the agenda?” my mother asks, her eyes bright with anticipation as she looks around the room. The festive atmosphere is still buzzing from the excitement of decorating the tree and enjoying hot cocoa.
York and I exchange glances, a silent conversation passing between us. I offer a shrug, unsure and a bit lost in the whirlwind of events. “I don’t know,” I admit, my voice trailing off. Truth is, I’m not entirely sure what’s planned next. I’m just trying to go with the flow, letting the moments unfold as they come. But my mind is abuzz with thoughts of York, and the yearning for another kiss is almost overwhelming.
Before I can voice any of this, my father leans forward, setting his phone aside. He seems to be considering something. “There’s a sleigh ride downtown tonight,” he suggests, his tone casual but with an underlying excitement. “Maybe you two should do that.”
The idea seems to catch both York and me by surprise. I glance at York, seeing a flicker of interest in his eyes. The thought of a sleigh ride—snuggled together under a blanket, the crisp night air rushing past us—sounds both enchanting and fitting for the evening.
York nods, a smile tugging at his lips. “That sounds like a lot of fun,” he agrees, his voice warm and genuine.
I nod too, trying to mask the thrill that the idea stirs within me. “Yeah, that sounds perfect,” I say, even as my heart races at the thought of spending more time with York, and hopefully, sharing another kiss under the stars.
With the suggestion of the sleigh ride hanging in the air, I can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement.
“Let’s do it,” York says, sealing our fate.
I smile wide, and try to hide my excitement. “Okay,” I answer back.
York and I are nestled together under a thick, warm blanket, being gently pulled through downtown in a beautifully decorated sleigh. The crisp night air bites at my face, causing me to burrow deeper into the blanket’s cozy embrace. The jingle of the sleigh bells and the soft crunch of snow beneath the runners add a magical touch to the evening.