Dominic
Sleeping next to Rachel is my own personal hell. The second I found out she was a virgin I swore I wouldn’t rush all her firsts into one night. No matter how she tempts me.
Using the excuse that she’s cold she snuggles close before promptly falling asleep. It takes ages for me to talk my cock down. Every time it begins to soften, her silky-smooth leg will rub against mine sending it right back to full mast.
I roll out of bed feet dragging while my head feels heavier than the rest of my body. Three cups of coffee later I might pass as sociable but right now I’m no better than a grumpy grizzly bear.
Rachel though? She’s sunshine and cheer on full blast.
“Good morning!”
She hands me a cup of coffee and doesn’t seem bothered that my appreciation comes out more like a grunt than actual words.
“I’ve never spent Christmas in the mountains,” she tells me as she stirs something in the pan on the stove.
She’s still wearing my shirt, wool socks, and nothing else, so I get a good look at her legs as she prances around my kitchen, socks sliding on the hardwood floor like she’s Tom Cruise in Risky Business.
“I looked outside earlier, and it’s gorgeous. The sun makes the snow sparkle like glitter and it’s covering everything.”
She continues to gush about the snow as she passes me a plate with scrambled eggs and toast. To be honest I’m not sure she’s noticed that I’m not a morning person.
If I tried to talk, I doubt I’d get a word in.
Compared to the quiet woman who crashed into my cabin last night, she’s a completely different person.
I love it.
Last night she was cautious, almost wary of me, but now she’s unafraid, moving comfortably throughout the cabin like she’s always lived here. Watching her sit across from me as she devours her breakfast does more to wake me than an entire pot of coffee could.
“I can’t believe you haven’t decorated,” she tells me later when I’m washing the dishes.
She hovers by my shoulder with a dish towel. Despite assuring her that I could manage it, she insisted on drying them.
“Christmas is literally tomorrow and you’re up here without a smidge of tinsel or glitter. It’s almost a crime nowadays.”
“Is that right?”
“Certified misdemeanor,” she says eyes twinkling with laughter.
“Guess we’ll have to fix that.”
“Really?” she asks, her excitement bleeding into her tone.
“We’ll start with a tree. Got plenty of them on the property. We should be able to find one.”
My hands are drenched and covered with soap when Rachel’s arms wrap around my waist. Her tits squish against my back, soft and warm, just below my shoulder blades. I drop the plate I’m washing into the sink when her hands sneak under my shirt.
“Are you going to chop it down with an axe?” she asks as her hands run up and down my stomach.
I shake my head, hands clutching the sink while she trails a teasing hand down to the waistband of my pants.
“A chainsaw,” I mutter through clenched teeth. “I’m not a damn lumberjack.”
“No?” she asks hand retreating back to the plane of my stomach, teasing the fine line of hairs that lead from my belly button to the base of my cock. “Are you sure?”
Am I being manipulated into swinging an axe like a barbarian instead of using a perfectly good chainsaw? Is my innocent little baker seducing me? All signs and hands that are drifting back down towards my cock point to yes.
Yes, she is. The little brat.
“It’s ten degrees below zero, Rachel,” I try to reason with her. “A chainsaw will be faster. We’ll be done in minutes, and you’ll have all day to decorate the tree.”
“We’ll have all day,” she corrects. “And why should we rush? It’s so isolated up here and I don’t think there’s much for us to do. Aren’t you worried we’ll get bored?”
“Not in the slightest,” I growl.
Her laughter is like a jingle bell, merry and bright.
“Hm,” she hums against my back. “I don’t know. There’s something about a handsome man swinging an axe that just feels right.”
She unbuttons my fly with a quick flick of her fingers. Forgoing boxers when I got dressed this morning, my cock springs out heavy and hard into her waiting hand.
Fuck. It’s better than I imagined.
Soft and warm her fingers wrap my cock in a snug grip. I’m seconds away from spilling all over her hand.
“You think I’m handsome?” I manage to ask.
Her hand runs up my length, the pad of her thumb tracing the tip with light teasing pressure.
“Of course I do.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My cock jerks in her hand, seed splashing across her fingers.
“Oh, that was fast.”
“Your hand feels so much better than mine.”
I step aside so she can wash her hands in the sink. She looks so pleased with herself. I always want that expression to go away.
“I’ll grab my axe,” I tell her as I tuck myself back into my jeans.
“Don’t be silly. It’s too cold for that nonsense. Use the chainsaw,” she says as she snaps the dish towel at me.
We trek out into the woods an hour later. Rachel’s in more borrowed clothes. Insulated pants that are too big around her waist but cling to her thighs. She drowns in my spare coat. Three pairs of wool socks ensure the snow boots don’t slip off her feet.
“How about this one?” I ask pointing to a decently sized Douglas fir.
“Ugh,” she says.
So, that’s a no.
“Or that one,” I suggest pointing to a pine.
She stomps around me, taking point as we walk through the forest behind my cabin.
“I’ll pick the tree. Your taste is horrible.”
Thirty minutes and half a mile later she settles on a six-foot Colorado blue spruce. She cheers when it falls, all pink cheeked joy that makes me feel ten feet tall.
“Do you need my help to carry it back?” she asks. “It looks heavy.”
“I got it,” I assure her. “Just need you to be in charge of the chainsaw.”
I’m faster dragging the tree than she is with the tool, but I’m in no rush. We have all day, and if I have my way the rest of our lives.
“In front of the window,” she directs when we get back home. “I want it to be visible to everyone!”
“No one comes up here,” I tell her.
“Then it’ll be just for us, and we can appreciate it whether we’re inside or outside the cabin.”
I drag out a tote of decorations my mother forced on me years ago. Rachel’s eyes light up when she sees them.
Two hours later I’ve been fired from ornament hanging and sentenced to the couch for the duration of decorating. I only get called off the bench for projects she can’t reach.
Throughout the day she hangs decorations around the cabin like it’s going to be her masterpiece. Once she’s done, I can’t be convinced that it’s not. Rachel has turned the rustic little hunter’s cabin into something out of a hallmark movie.
Evergreen garland hangs from the mantle and underneath the windows.
She’s found a couple of stockings to hang on either side of the fireplace.
It’s the lights that make the room stand out.
Rather than merely drape them across the tree branches she didn’t stop there.
Multi-colored lights run along the edges of the ceiling and trace every doorframe and windowsill.
“Hot cocoa break?” I ask when she steps back to survey her handiwork.
She allows the indulgence.
“You did good, Rachel.”
“Couldn’t have done it without you.”
I hand her the mug of cocoa, and she curls up beside me, blanket pooled around her legs, cheeks still flushed from decorating. The tree glows in the corner, lights twinkling off the windows like tiny stars.
Rachel sighs, soft and content, and leans her head on my shoulder.
We sit there for a long while, not talking, just letting the warmth settle around us. At some point she dozes off against me, breathing slow and even, fingers curled loosely at my side like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she lets go.
I don’t move. Not until the fire burns low and the room is nothing but shadows and colored lights.
“Come on, sweetheart,” I whisper, brushing hair from her face. “Bed.”
She stirs, blinking up at me with a sleepy smile before letting me guide her down the hallway.
Tomorrow is Christmas, and for the first time in years, I’m actually looking forward to it.