29. Stephen
29
STEPHEN
"You know, this entire week has been like some kind of weird, mind fuck fever dream that I'm not fully convinced I won't wake up from at any moment. But Christmas Eve at your parents has got to be the strangest part of it all," Dorothea says.
She's sitting at my kitchen table, legs crisscrossed underneath her, wearing only a pair of ultra-thin black cotton tights that go up to her belly button. She also has a lacy scrap of fabric that I don't think actually counts as a bra, because it's barely doing anything to hold her gorgeous tits in.
She's got a mirror with a light propped up in front of her. I ordered it for her after the second night she slept over here–apparently, my bathroom mirror is absolutely atrocious –and she's applying mascara. Her hair is already curled and pinned with red and green shiny barrettes, her skin dusted with a light, shimmery powder that makes her look delectable (but has also seeped itself deep into spaces between my kitchen tiles.)
I'm at the stove, finishing up the Nutella pastry Christmas tree. Mom always cooks up a feast big enough to feed a small country for Christmas Eve, but I can't show up empty handed. Spreading chocolate hazelnut spread on a premade puff pastry and shaping it into a tree is about as creative as I get in the kitchen. I dust powdered sugar over the top, and Daisy May bites at some of the powder as it falls to the ground, chomping at it like I've never fed her a day in her life.
"How is this the strangest part of it all? You've spent eleven Christmas Eves with my family," I point out, though I know what she means. Everything is different now, but I don't want to lean into the oddities. Not when the clock on our time together is winding down so rapidly. Since our revelation on the dock, every minute feels borrowed. Before I know it, she'll be gone, out of Fox Hole and probably out of my life again. I want to soak up all the time I can with her before that happens.
"Oh my god, that smells amazing," she says, changing the subject. I swipe a drop of Nutella off the plate where the pastry sheet is laying and walk over, offering it to her. She takes my chocolate covered finger in her mouth and sucks, swirling her tongue around the tip and looking up at me with sex written all over her beautiful face. I groan and pull my finger back before kissing her, tasting the chocolate on her lips .
"Be good. We have to leave soon," I tell her between kisses.
"But I have so much more fun being bad," she says, arching up to me. Her tits are practically spilling out of that ridiculously thin bra of hers, and I feel my cock thickening against my black chino pants. I take a deep breath, counting backward from five and try to calm myself before swatting the side of her ass where she sits.
"Good now, bad later. Dress on. Tits covered." I say, unable to form full sentences when she's half naked in front of me, radiating sin and sexy promises.
"Stephen caveman. No make sentence. Thinks with dick," she grunts, teasing me. I toss a dish towel at her, and she grabs it before it can hit her face.
"Ass! I just did my makeup so nice, and you could have ruined it!" she squeals. I fold my arms across my chest and smirk at her as she tosses the towel to the floor and stomps her cute little feet across the kitchen to door where she hung her black and red plaid sweater dress.
"I knew you'd catch it, Yogi Berra. And for the record, I plan on ruining that pretty makeup later tonight."
"Promises, promises," she mumbles as she slides into the dress and pulls it up. I step behind her and find the zipper. I pull it up her back and she shivers.
Somehow, helping her into her clothes feels just as sexy and enticing as helping her out of them.
A few minutes later, Dorothea, Daisy May and I are out the door and on our way to my parent's place. We opted to walk, since it's not too cold out today. My California girl is still not used to the nip in the air, so I wrapped her up in my Carhartt jacket before we left. I never knew a woman could look so beautiful in an industrial brown jacket, sparkly black tights, and high-as-all-hell black heels, but she makes it work. I think I'm going to beg her to keep those shoes on later when I get her in my bed. Those spiky heels will probably feel incredible digging into my back.
I hold Daisy May's leash in one hand and Dorothea's soft, warm hand in the other as we walk. Every business on Main Street is closed, including Liquor World and the grocery store. The Fox Hole Bitties and their families are all home enjoying the holiday, so we have the street to ourselves as we walk the few blocks.
When we turn on my parent's street, I can see we're the last to arrive. Delilah’s car is in parked two feet away from the curb. That terrible park job lets me know that Ivy was the one behind the wheel tonight. She never did master the art of parking. I let Daisy May off the leash when we get to the edge of the lawn, and she pounces up the porch steps and paws at the door.
Dorothea stops beside me, looking back and forth between my parent's home and the house that used to be hers. Dorothea’s mother moved out not long after Dorothea skipped town herself. It was occupied by a young couple for a few years, but a new family lives there now. They have two young kids–middle school, I think–and the house that used to always bare this time of year is covered in bright, twinkling rainbow lights and tinsel.
"You okay, sweetheart?" I ask her, squeezing her hand a little tighter in mine. She nods, then closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.
"I thought it would be harder. I mean we were here before, obviously, the night out in our field. But I thought with Christmas and everything that it might hurt, seeing the house. Thinking about my mom. Remembering."
"Does it? Hurt, I mean?"
She shakes her head.
"No. I can honestly say it doesn't. I mean, look at that place. Some family with a lot of love in their hearts decorated the hell out of that house, and it looks fantastic. And the tree in the front window. It’s so warm. I bet they're making really happy memories in there. It feels good. It feels like… like even though that house was always dark for me, someone came around and figured out how to turn on the lights. It makes me happy." She clasps a hand over our joined palms and looks up at me. Tears brim in her eyes, but I can feel that they're not sad tears, that she's genuinely happy for the people that call her old house a home.
Here in my parent's front yard, where I fell in love with her so many times, I feel myself fall a little bit harder.
"Merry Christmas, Dorothea."
"Merry Christmas, Stephen," she replies, leaning up on her tiptoes and placing a gentle kiss on my lips. A kiss that I deepen, cupping her cheek in my hand and taking from her mouth as much as I give. I pour all of my love into this kiss, because I don't know how to do anything else. Everything I want and everything I am is this woman in front of me, and if I can't tell her with my words, the least I can do is show her with the way I kiss her.
"Hey, you two, stop making out in front of the whole neighborhood and get in here!" My dad calls out from the porch, patting Daisy May's head and chuckling as he yaps at us. Dorothea laughs, then leads me by the hand across the yard and into my childhood home.