Page 25 of Fake Christmas Date
"You’re begging for it, baby? You wanna come with my big cock inside you and your hot, tight pussy dripping all over me?"
"Yeah." Her eyes blaze in the dim glow of the parking lot light. "Please fuck me."
A growl rumbles through me as my thighs flex harder. "Say that again, baby."
"Please fuck me," she moans, knowing she's lighting a fire under me. "Please make me come while you're taking me nice and hard."
Dammit…
I shouldn't be this rough with her, and I do try to hold back a bit, but the very concept of time disappears as I play with her tongue, fondling her hot, round ass, driving myself into her over and over.
My hand slips between us, rubbing her clit with my thumb, feeling how swollen and ready her body is for me. My balls tighten, my guts twisting until I'm right on the edge.
I stare in disbelief as Emma screams in pure bliss, her lovely eyes locked on mine as her pussy spasms, gripping me impossibly tight. The way her sexy body moves with mine, writhes for me… I lose my mind while coming hard and fast in long, hot bursts, groaning out a choked growl.
I'm gripping her too hard, yet I don't stop, making the most of every stroke until at last we come to rest. Our breath is ragged, my shirt is rumpled, and her dress is probably ruined. Emma sags against the seat, then laughs as I fumble around in the glove compartment for some paper towels to clean up.
“I love you," I murmur, wiping her pussy well enough to get us in the house at least.
"And I love you." Emma smiles sweetly. "I hope we can go for another Christmas light drive tomorrow."
I kiss her gently, then hold her still-fluttering body close to mine. "Anything you want, my sweet Christmas angel. Now and forever.”
EPILOGUE
EMMA
* Christmas Night, Eight Years Later *
There are so many old holiday traditions in Holly Valley that I love. Carol singing. The Christmas tree wishes. The Christmas Eve Eve Ball, of course, and the huge but casual Christmas lunch at Dylan's family's house.
But I also love the new traditions we’re starting with our daughter. Like baking one more round of cookies after the holiday festivities are almost over.
"How much stirring is enough?” Olivia peers into the bowl, curiously studying the mix of flour, eggs, and chocolate chips. She's only reaching the kitchen counter because she’s standing on a chair that I’ve wedged in the corner so she’s less likely to fall.
"You see how some bits of it are kind of dry, and others are a little wet?"
She nods, bouncing her ponytail adorned with a sparkly red bow. She’s already in her snowman pajamas, since her shiny dress ended up with several splashes of gravy during Christmaslunch. One of her favorite things about the holidays is dressing up every single day. Plus the lights. Plus the constant baking.
"We have to keep stirring until it's all the same consistency."
"What's consismamcy mean?”
"Con-sist-en-cy. That's when all the parts are the same. We want every bit of the dough to have the same level of wetness."
"Oh! You mean…damp?" Her lovely moss-green eyes, so like her father’s, glow as she grins. She just learned that word the other night, when Dylan was drying her hair.
"Exactly! We want everything the same amount of damp."
I hear Miriam snort a laugh from the dining room. "Keep an eye on that one," she calls out. "Her father overstirs everything, like he's trying to beat it to a pulp. Always has. Always will."
Miriam is still the queen of holiday baking, but she gives us a bit of space for this mother-daughter project. Chocolate chips weren't in the original plan for these cinnamon sugar cookies, but…well, we’ll see what happens.
"Mommy, do you have a date for the New Year’s party?" Olivia asks. “The lady at the store was talking about her date.”
"Of course, sweetie. Your daddy is going to be my date."
She nods to herself, stirring thoughtfully. "Am I too little to have a date?"
