Chapter 3
THREE
Somewhere In My Memory - John Williams
It’s almost midnight when I make it back to my little house about thirty minutes into the countryside. It was my great grandfather’s and sits on five acres of lush, tree-trimmed land. Though currently, it’s covered in a thick layer of sparkling, fluffy snow. The daily hour drive to work sucks, but not having to pay rent or a mortgage in this economy? Yes, please. Plus, it’s nice not to live on top of my neighbors. The closest is a good ten minutes down the winding road.
Not a moment after flipping on the lights and hanging my coat on the rack, I’m ripping off my bra. And I mean rip, like through the sleeves of my dress, in one brutal tug. Sighing in relief, I trudge on to my bedroom and rub at the indents now pressed into my shoulders. Damn straps have been digging into my skin all night, once again reminding me of how much I envy the small titty club and the fact they can forgo a booby trap whenever they please. The well-loved floorboards protest in certain spots as I amble my way through the house, and by the time I make it into the en suite, I’ve left a small trail of clothes behind me.
My heels included.
A few minutes later, I’m fresh faced in my Christmas pjs. There’s a scalding mug of hot chocolate with a mini mountain of marshmallows cooling on the coffee table, and the beginning theme song of Home Alone rings out as a bag of popcorn bursts in the microwave. The Christmas tree is all lit up, along with all the lights strung throughout the house, creating the perfect, cozy ambiance for a movie night. Especially with another blanket of snow falling gently, filling the window panes with small flakes.
When the pops dwindle to about two seconds between, I pull the streaming bag free and give it a few shakes before pouring the buttery kernels into a big bowl and plopping my ass onto the couch. A handful goes straight into my mouth before I even snuggle up beneath the candy cane dildo blanket Alma got me last year and settle in for the movie. Sometimes I wish I had a partner to share the holidays with, but the dating pool is a cesspool of bullshit and I don’t have the brain cells to deal with it.So year after year, it’s just me keeping my parent’s movie marathon tradition alive.
As Kevin gets himself into trouble and wishes his family would disappear, I blow at the small plume of smoke billowing from my mug and take a tiny sip. I can barely taste the chocolaty goodness beneath the sugary pillows bunching up against my lips when, suddenly, my phone buzzes beside me.
Wifey:
Bitch…
They uploaded the pics to the site!
[Image attachment]
[Image attachment]
I nearly spill the hot chocolate all over myself as Nick’s face pops up in the thread twice; once with a salacious Alma nestled on his lap…and another one with me. With a quick hand, I set the mug onto the coffee table—before I give myself second-degree burns—and click on the images. My work wife looks as radiant always, and though Nick’s giving a friendly, very Santa-like smile, there’s no indication of anything even slightly inappropriate that happened before their picture was taken. Even his hand placement is professional and where you’d expect it to be.
But then I swipe over to mine, and the difference is immediately so striking, I can’t help but suck in a little heap of air. Nick isn’t looking at the camera. Far from it, actually. He’s looking at me, his stare darkened, almost predatory, and the hand placement? Let’s just say Van Corp will think the man was sexually assaulting me with how far up my thigh one of them sits.
Jesus Christ…
Pinching the screen, I zoom into his face—and that smirk. God, that lopsided, you’ll be calling me Daddy by the time I’m done with you smirk that’s ingrained in my brain. My stomach somersaults violently, the skin of my inner thigh tingling as if he were still touching me. I reach for it out of instinct, rubbing at the spot to override his memory.
But all it does is reignite the needy heartbeat of my clit, a beastly desire unfurling in seconds flat. My hand then moves of its own accord, following the lewd signal like a puppet on strings, and before I can stop myself, I’m indulging in all the things I wish Nick was doing instead...
Pulling the hem of my shirt over my tits, I allow the cool air to caress my nipples as I slowly dip my fingers lower.
And lower.
Breaching the seam of my panties.
Swiftly curling inside my pussy.
My eyes fall shut in bliss and it’s not long before the phone slips from grip, clattering to the floor without care. The thud does nothing to dissolve the clear image of this man in my mind, spurring me on in my feat.
“Nick,” I whisper, imagining the way he’d probably tongue the now achingly rigid peaks of my breasts while finger-fucking me into another dimension.
No— fucking me into another dimension, period.
Like an animal.
A beast.
Because that’s the vibe he gives off, dripping in confidence, experience, and big dick energy—and now I’m regretting asking for three masked men when I should’ve just asked for him instead.
Bet he’d be here right now trimming my tree with his big North Pole.