Page 24 of A Different Kind Of December
I slide my hands under her arse cheeks and lift her slightly, which earns me a groan as I hit her at a different angle.
“Fuck, that’s good,” I tell her.
She leans back on her elbows, allowing me to watch myself slip in and out of her. Sliding one hand out from under her arse cheek, I brush over her clit with my thumb. Her legs tighten around me, her back arches, and I know she’s almost there.
I feel her internal muscles squeeze my cock as she pants, “Coming, Cam, coming.”
“I know, baby, I know. Let it go, Kitten. Give it to me.”
She moans loudly, and that’s all it takes. Two more thrusts of my hips, and I’m letting go inside her while she continues to squeeze and milk my cock.
She lifts herself up and wraps her arms around my neck. The sensation of her tits brushing against my chest makes my dick give a final twitch inside her, and she gives a little giggle.
“Love to hear that laugh, baby.”
“And I love you. Merry Christmas. Thanks for another perfect one.”
LENNON
I watch my wife flopdown onto the sofa and tuck herself in between my brother and Reed. She’s smashed, but just at that perfect level of smashed that she won’t suffer too badly in the morning if she has a glass of water, lemonade, or anything non-alcoholic right about now.
I don’t wanna kill her buzz, but I don’t want her suffering tomorrow, either. With all the singing she’s been doing, her throat must be dry anyway. My cock stirs as I think about the perfect cure I have for her parched throat.
I’ve had a semi for her all night anyway. Watching her sing, dance, and move those hips of hers has me adjusting myself constantly.
She woke me up with a blow job early this morning—it’s a Christmas tradition in our house and has been ever since we moved in together, which was a lot of years ago.
I top up my glass with more of Cam’s best bourbon and watch her throw her head back and laugh at something my brother says to her.
I still get a little twinge of jealousy in my gut when I watch them together. Even after all these years, they still flirt exactly the same way that they did when we were all kids. I trust them both implicitly, but … I’m a bloke, and protective of what’s mine. I just can’t help it.
When we were younger, a lot of people thought that Marls and Jimmie were together, and that wasn’t a bad thing. My wife was fourteen when I fell in love with her, which might sound like the stuff of fairy tales, but I was eighteen—so, not so much. Kissing and holding hands was as far as it went, and all of that had to be done in secret. We got away with it until Christmas of 1983, and then Georgia caught us.
I thought it was gonna be the end of my involvement with the band when it all blew up, but we made the best of a bad situation and got on with things. Jimmie and I still kept our relationship secret from her parents until she turned sixteen.
If one of my girls had brought a twenty-one-year-old bloke home when they were just sixteen, I would’ve hit the fucking roof, but Jimmie’s mum and dad were surprisingly cool about it.
Jim’s always had a wise head on her shoulders, and I think her parents trusted her choices.
Right now, I wish my eldest daughter was more like her mum and less like her aunt. I love my sister, but when she was younger, I sometimes worried myself sick with her behaviour, much like I am Paige.
I’m tugged from my thoughts as Cam walks back into the room, my sister trailing behind him. Her hair is freshly brushed, Cam’s isn’t. Both of them have flushed cheeks.
Ash interrupts her rendition of The Waitresses’ “Christmas Wrapping” and asks over the mic, “Is that fresh fuck I smell, Georgia Rae?”
Georgia launches the bottle of water she was carrying at Ash, who catches it like a pro.
Cam heads towards me, obviously in need of a drink, while my sister squeezes herself between Marley and Jimmie on the sofa.
She leans in and kisses Marls on the cheek. “I love you dearly, big brother Marley, but your taste in women is shit. Your wife has a fat mouth.”
“I know, she has no gag reflex, either. They’re two of the reasons I married her.”
“You know it, Rock Star,” Ash states before pretending to deep throat the microphone.
“That woman seriously has no filter,” Cam says from beside me.
“Nope,” I agree. “Never has, never will.”
