Page 28 of Merry Pucking Christmas
She holds onto me, taking two steps back to rest her ass on a shelf. “Fuck me, York.”
I hiss. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
“Show me,” she whispers before kissing me.
For the next few seconds we’re nothing but a mess of tangled limbs and tongues trying desperately to get as close to each other as possible. I slam my cock inside her, stilling the moment I’m all the way in. “Fuck, this is what you do to me,” I tell her.
She grips me tighter. “York, I need to come,” she whines.
“Allow me,” I say, moving my hand between our bodies so I can toy with her clit. I’m so turned on, but I know I need to get her off a few times tonight. “And tomorrow, when we sneak away for some alone time I will finally put my lips where my cock is.”
“I’ve never had that done before,” she whispers against my mouth.
“Really? Well, I can’t wait to be your first.” And my chest swells with pride at knowing I’ll be the first man to put my lips down there.
I squeeze the flesh of her ass as I continue to pump my cock inside her. I keep rocking, making sure to keep the sound of our sex quiet. I’d hate to be caught by her father for the second time today.
My balls tighten as I keep pushing my dick deeper and deeper inside her. She’s biting down onto my shoulder to keep from crying out, and the thought of her wanting to be loud only spurs me on.
“I love the way you take my hard cock. It’s like you were made for this dick.” I keep fucking, slamming my shaft into her.
“York,” she begs. “Please don’t stop.”
I shake my head. “Not when it’s thisfuckinggood, babe.”
Before I even know it, Noelle is biting down on my shoulder so hard that it nearly has my knees buckling. Her pussy grips me tighter too, and I know she’s getting off.
I slam into her a few more times before I’m spilling into her, letting my cock pulse and throb deep inside her.
Fuck.
I’m never letting this woman go.
The festival is in full swing, Christmas magic hanging in the air. It’s the kind of scene you only see in movies—colorful lights strung between trees, wreaths on every lamppost, and a layer of fresh snow blanketing the ground. Everywhere I look, there are Christmas-themed activities: kids making ornaments, families sipping hot cocoa, and couples skating hand-in-hand at the outdoor rink. The festive hum of carolers drifts through the air, blending with the sound of laughter and sleigh bells.
Noelle and I walk side by side, our hands joined together, the silent tension of keeping our secret still hanging between us. The paparazzi are scattered around the festival, their cameras flashing every so often as they snap shots of us. I can feel their lenses on us, capturing every smile, every glance—just waiting for something they can sell.
Noelle looks incredible, her cheeks pink from the cold, wrapped up in a red coat with a knitted blue scarf that matches her eyes perfectly. I can’t help but smile when I catch her glancing at me, her lips curling up as if she’s in on some private joke we both share. The snowflakes caught in her hair, the way she’s always moving, always full of life—it makes it harder to act like this is just pretend.
But no one knows. Not yet. Not her parents, not the press. To everyone else, this is just part of the charade.
We stroll past the booths, the smell of nutmeg and roasting chestnuts filling the air. Kids are lining up for a chance to meet Santa, their excitement buzzing through the crowd. Noelle nudges me with her elbow, grinning.
“Hey, think we should get in line for Santa? I can tell him my Christmas wish,” she teases, her eyes twinkling with happiness.
I chuckle, leaning in close so only she can hear me. “And what’s your wish this year, Noelle?”
Her smile turns softer, and she bites her lip. “I can’t tell you. Might ruin the surprise.”
The playful banter between us is light, but beneath it, there’s a weight. The press is watching, her parents are somewhere in the crowd, and all I want to do is pull her aside and kiss her like Idid last night in the garage. Just knowing I can’t do it in front of everyone gnaws at me.
We’re nearing the kissing booth now, decked out with holly and twinkling lights, the bright red sign swinging above it. It’s all part of the charity event, a way to raise money for the festival. People have been lining up all day, exchanging kisses for donations, and now it’s our turn. Noelle’s first.
My stomach tightens as I realize what’s about to happen. I thought I was fine with it earlier—hell, it’s just for charity, right? But now, standing here, watching her step up to the booth, my chest tightens in a way I wasn’t expecting. Noelle smiles, laughing as she takes her place, and the line starts to form. People are actually lining up to kiss her.
And I’m supposed to be okay with this?
A guy walks up, grinning like he’s about to win the lottery, and hands over his donation before leaning in for a kiss. I feel my jaw clench, the muscles in my neck tightening as I watch. Noelle leans forward, and it’s just a quick, harmless peck, but that doesn’t stop the flash of heat that surges through me. My fists ball at my sides, and I have to force myself to stay rooted in place, to not walk over there and tear the guy away.