Content Advisory: Contain explicit scene of m/f intercourse.
Erica placed the last of the presents under the tree and stepped back to admire her work. Trying to avoid tackiness, she’d dressed the tree with only gold and red, and had favoured draping beads instead of tinsel. White fairy lights glittered and sparkled in the late afternoon light. The heady scent of pine filled her home. She always bought a real tree—the fake ones simply didn’t feel like Christmas, even if they did create less mess. In her fireplace, an open fire sparked and crackled. She had central heating—and used it in most of the house—but loved the ambiance of a real fire.
But one present was still missing—her daughter’s bike. She’d been an idiot for ordering it so late, but they’d promised delivery before the big day. Now it was Christmas Eve and they literally couldn’t get any closer to the line. Unless the store planned on sending their delivery guy down the chimney later that night, of course.
Not that her daughter, Milly, would be here to see the bike’s arrival. It was her father’s turn to have her for Christmas Eve. They alternated years so they each got the chance to spend time with her on that all important Christmas morning. This year Paul would drop Milly off just after lunch so the rest of the day would be theirs. Still, Erica couldn’t help feeling like she should be able to have all of the Christmas mornings. Paul had his own family now, with a boy and a girl a couple of years younger than Milly. He’d get to do that fun Christmas morning thing even if Milly wasn’t there. Erica would wake up Christmas morning on her own. Could anything be more depressing?
Erica went to her kitchen and opened a bottle of Baileys. She wasn’t one for afternoon drinking, but screw it. It was Christmas after all. Some of her friends had invited her out that evening but she’d declined the offer. The last thing she wanted was to spend the evening surrounded by happy, gorgeous young-things. Though she was only thirty-two, being a single, divorced mother made her feel so much older.
She took a sip of her drink, the ice clinking in the glass. Creamy, coffee flavoured alcohol slipped across her tongue and warmed her throat.
Mmm... Tasted good.
Erica took another couple of large sips, the alcohol loosening her body. If she kept up at this rate, she’d be happily sozzled and asleep in bed by nine p.m. That sounded like the perfect evening right now.
Except Milly’s damn bike still hadn’t shown up. She glanced at her watch again. Almost quarter past four. She doubted many people would be working much later. She needed to get onto the company and start swearing at someone. Not that it would do much good. If the bike wasn’t going to get here on time, what exactly could she do about it?
Erica chewed at her lower lip. How was she going to explain to Milly that Santa hadn’t delivered the one present she’d asked for that year? Even worse, she bet Paul would have organized Christmas in November—or at least his new, perfect wife would have. If Erica and Paul were still married, he’d been shaking his head at her right now and telling her how she should stop leaving everything to the last minute.
She sighed. Perhaps he was right.
Still, she needed someone to shout at. Even though most of her frustrations had nothing to do with a missing bike, she’d give whatever telesales person she got on the end of the line a piece of her mind.
Picking up the bottle and glass, Erica stalked back into her living room to her phone. As she lifted the handset, the shrill ring of her doorbell cut through the air.
Her shoulders sagged with relief. Thank God. That had to be the bike. Who else would be ringing her door bell this late on Christmas Eve?
Erica gritted her teeth and headed to the door. She planned on making sure the delivery guy at least understood the stress she’d been under all day.
She swung open her front door and a gust of cold, sleet-driven air blasted in. Broad shoulders, hunched against the frigid air, met her gaze. A beanie hat was pulled down over his ears, but blond curls licked from beneath. At his feet sat a large cardboard box—about two feet by three feet. The box was large, but not large enough to hold a bike.
He turned to face her, his cheeks and nose red against the cold.
Erica raised her eyebrows. “Please don’t tell me that’s my bike?”
He grinned, revealing straight white teeth. “Well, you don’t look like the type to be into Hello Kitty and I think it might be a bit small for you.”
“If it fits in that box, it’ll be too small for my six year old as well.”
He glanced down at the offending item and then lifted his gaze to meet hers. His blue eyes focusing on hers sent a spark through her, like an actual shock that sent her mind spinning.
Holy crap, this guy was cute.
“I’m afraid you need to put it together yourself.”
Erica ran a hand through her straight dark hair and gave a growl of annoyance. “So you’re telling me, not only is my bike arriving three days after the promised delivery date, I’m also supposed to build the thing myself?”
He winced at her outburst. “I’m sorry about the delay—we’ve been crazy busy. And the bike really is simple to put together. It’s just a case of screwing a few pieces of the frame together.”
She spread her hands out either side of her petite, five foot two frame. “Do I look like I’m any good at DIY?”
He smiled, another nervous, crooked grin, and she almost felt sorry for making him feel bad. “Couldn’t you get your husband to fix the bike together?”
Erica’s stomach flipped at the word ‘husband’. “Divorced,” she said, her cheeks colouring at both her admitting of her failure and her relationship status. “I don’t think I even have a screwdriver in the house.”
He glanced back at his van and Erica stomach sank. This hot, young guy was clearly trying to make his getaway.
“Look, I’ve got some tools in the van—nothing high-tech—but I’m sure I can rummage up a screwdriver. You’re my last delivery for the day so why don’t I give you a hand?”
Inside, she melted. “Are you sure?”
He gave a shrug and another cute half-smile, one corner of his full lips turning up. “Sure.”
The delivery guy turned his back on her and, stooped against the cold, he jogged back to his van. Within a minute, he was back again.
He walked in and placed the big box on the rug in front of the fire, his presence filling the room. From the back pocket of his jeans, he pulled a screwdriver with a removable head, the different options for other head shapes and sizes plugged around the top of the handle. Erica’s attention wasn’t on the tool, but the way his soft, denim jeans moulded to his ass.
Two peaches in a handkerchief.
Heat flared to her cheeks once again and she forced herself to look away.
Jeez, what the hell was wrong with her—he must be twenty-four at the most. She was an old married woman—okay maybe not married any more, but she was a damn site older than him.
As though he knew her thoughts and was trying to wind her up, he tugged off his waterproof jacket and then pulled his sweater over his head. She stared as his t-shirt beneath accidently rucked up with his sweater, exposing a narrow waist and ridges of washboard abs.
Erica gulped and her pussy tightened in a strong, pleasurable throb.
He caught her watching and gave an almost apologetic smile before nodding at the fireplace. “It’s hot in here.”
“Oh, sure,” she gave herself a mental shake. The guy had just offered to fix up a bike for her; not give her a strip show and then bend her over the couch to take her from behind.
She almost gasped at her thoughts and the images sprung in her head. Holy-hell, where the heck had that come from?
He bent to the box and started to tear strips of tape from the flaps. The muscles of his back and arms flexed as he tore and pulled, opening the box and lifting out the frame, handle bars, seat and wheels of the bike.
With swift, expert movements, he slotted pieces of metal into corresponding holes, tightening and fixing things in place until the item resembled a complete bike.
He stood straight, his blond curls tousled. “There you go. Told you it wouldn’t take me long.”
She was disappointed he was done so quickly, she’d been enjoying the view. Her nipples tightened beneath her cream, cashmere sweater. His gaze flicked down her front and then lifted back to her face. Her breath quickened, her heart hammering in her chest.
“Thanks so much,” she said, her voice coming out an octave higher than she’d anticipated. “How can I ever thank you?”
His eyes flicked to the bottle of Baileys sitting on her coffee table. “I’ll take one of those if there’s one going?”
“Really? You like Baileys? I’d have taken you as more of a beer guy.”
He grinned and gave a shrug. “Hey, it’s Christmas.”
Nerves fluttered in her stomach as she headed out to the kitchen and grabbed two fresh glasses and filled them with ice from the freezer. She took them back to the living room to find him sat on her couch, one ankle rested on a thick, denim clad thigh. He leaned back against the cushions, arm slung over the back. Considering he was her delivery guy, he looked awful comfortable and she wondered briefly if she should be annoyed. But then he lifted his blue eyes to her, his full lips turning up in a smile, and any thoughts of irritation vanished.
He half-rose and took the glasses from her. “Here, allow me.”
Erica slid onto the couch beside him, all too aware of the proximity of his leg next to hers. “Thanks.”
He twisted the bottle open and tipped a decent glug into each glass. She watched the muscles flexing in his strong forearms, a fine layer of soft, blond hair covering the skin. Firelight reflected off the hairs, glinting in a soft, golden hue.
He handed her the drink and then held his own glass up in a salute.
She paused, “I don’t even know your name.
He grinned. “Scott.”
“I’m Erica,” she said.
“I know.” She frowned and he hurried on. “It’s on your delivery order.”
“Oh, right. So don’t you have anywhere better you need to be, Scott? You’re a young guy, after all. Shouldn’t you be getting ready for some big party or to go out on the town?”
He focused on her with those piercing, blue eyes and something inside her quivered, tightening her nipples once more, causing her pussy to pulse. Heat rose from her chest, flushing up her throat.
Erica cringed. He must have noticed the effect he was having on her. How embarrassing. He’d probably go out later that night and tell his friends about the middle-aged, horny housewife he had practically coming in her panties.
You’re only thirty-two; hardly middle-aged...
She realized he’d said something and her humiliation deepened. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I said, sometimes it’s easy to get tired of those parties. Sometimes it’s nice to actually sit down and have a conversation with someone... one-on-one.”
The way he said, ‘one on one’, with a deliberate hesitation made her wonder. Was he coming onto her?
“So your daughter isn’t here at the moment?” he enquired.
“She’s at her father’s until tomorrow lunchtime.”
“With your ex-husband?”
“Yes, we alternate Christmases.”
“I can’t image any guy wanting to give up Christmas with you.”
She wasn’t imaging things. He was definitely flirting with her. But despite the excitement fluttering in her belly, her sensible, parent-head remained on her shoulders. She was a grown-up. She didn’t play games.
Erica sat back. “Listen, I’m not in the habit of getting it on with the delivery guy, I want you to know that. I’m not the type for some young guy to come in for a quick screw and then go out and brag to all his friends.
He leaned in closer. Suddenly his lower lip seemed fuller than before, a slight crease down the middle, bite-ably so. What would it feel like to run the tip of her tongue down that crease?
“It’s not like that, Erica,” he said, his eyes searching hers.
“No?” Her voice came out husky. “What is it like?”
“Let me show you.”
He leaned in and hesitated once again, waiting to judge her response. The couple of drinks she’d had gave her some courage and though her heart pounded in her chest and every nerve screamed this was nuts, she didn’t pull away, but instead closed the gap.
His mouth pressed against hers, hot and soft. She parted her lips, tasting coffee and alcohol as her tongue eagerly delved in his mouth. Fire raced inside her and she found herself crawling across the couch, deepening the kiss. Her body seemed to act of its own accord and her thigh stretched across the thickness of his, straddling him.
Her fingers laced in the soft curls at the name of his neck. Their tongues touched and danced, exploring each other’s mouths with sudden hunger.
Where had this come from?
Erica ground down on him, the ridge beneath his jeans pressing against the thin material of her black pants. The contact fitted perfectly between her pussy-lips, and she felt her juices wet the lace of her panties, soaking right down to her pants, leaving a damp patch. She rocked her hips, the pressure against her swollen clit sending sparks racing up through her core, tightening deep in her uterus. Her fingers slid from the back of his neck, traced down over his broad, hard chest, until they hooked beneath the soft cotton of his t-shirt.
With a slightly awkward movement, she pulled the shirt up over his head, exposing his young, lean body. She paused, drinking him in. Her ex-husband was in his early forties now and had developed a certain thickness to his torso. This guy was pure muscle, as though his skin had been glued straight on.
But he was too good just to look at; the ripped muscle and smooth skin begging to be touched.
The pads of her fingers trailed over his chest, her thumb brushing the hardened nub of his nipple. The sensation created a fire in his eyes and it was his turn to lace his fingers in her hair, bringing her in for another kiss. His hands left her hair, skimming down her back to grab the bottom of her sweater and pull the clothing over her head.
The soft material being tugged over her head forced the kiss to break, but when he discarded her sweater on the floor she didn’t seek out his mouth. Instead, she lowered her lips to his chest, her tongue sneaking out and trailing a wet line down to his nipple. He inhaled and squirmed as her tongue circled the peak, grating her teeth over the sensitive flesh.
Erica moved lower, sliding from the couch, to the floor between his thighs. She looked up at him, focusing his gaze, and popped the button of his soft, blue jeans. The bulge of his erection created an impressive lump and she wasted no time pulling down the zipper, freeing him.
His cock sprung out to meet her eager mouth; his erection hard, the head smooth and purple. She snuck out her tongue and tasted him—the salty fluid leaking from the tip. His scent filled her nostril—no aftershave or deodorant, but a musky and definite scent of man.
Her mouth engulfed him and she stretched her jaw wide around its girth. She swirled her tongue over the head and then sank lower, drawing more of him in, wanting to take him deep. She maintained eye-contact, loving the expression in his eyes as he struggled to control his urge to give in and fuck her face. Instead he held back with impressive restraint, allowing her to slide her lips up and down the length of his dick, keeping her lips tight to create friction while sucking with just the right amount of pressure. Her tongue ran down the underside of his dick as she moved back and forth.
Scott’s hips began to jerk, his cock swelling in her mouth. Not wanting him to come, she gave the base of his cock a firm squeeze and released the suction on his cock with a wet pop.
“Fuck,” Scott muttered above her, though she didn’t know if the swear word was due to pleasure or frustration.
Erica stood, still wearing her black lace bra, slacks and panties beneath. With his eyes locked on her, she reached behind her back and unclipped her bra, dropping it to the floor. She was pleased she kept up her three times a week gym visits and her small but round tits had managed to avoid gravity. If she’d not been confident about her body, there would be no way in hell she’d be doing this right now.
His eyes went wide and she undid the button of her pants, letting the material slide from her slim hips, giving a wiggle to pool the pants around her feet. She repeated the motion with her panties and stepped out of the circle.
Standing naked before him, she felt his gaze rove her body. Unconsciously, she sucked in her stomach and pushed out her tits, wanting him to lust over her in the same way she did him.
Scott got to his feet, kicked off his shoes and jeans. His cock jutted out toward her, bobbing with his movement. He held out his hand to her.
“Come here,” he said, his voice rough with desire.
She took his hand and then, as she’d imagined earlier, he turned her around and applied pressure on her lower back, bending her over the couch. She steadied herself with her palms flat on the cushions. He dropped to his knees behind her. His hands nudged her thighs apart, exposing her wet, swollen pussy. Her thighs were already damp with her desire, and she almost felt embarrassed at how wet she was—he had barely touched her! But she didn’t have time to consider her embarrassment. His hot mouth made contact with her labia, his tongue tracing the delicate flesh, causing her internal muscles to pulse. She sucked air in through her teeth and moaned as he hardened his tongue and pushed it inside her tight channel.
She moaned again, her hands bunched in the cushions as pleasure made her head spin. His strong, expert fingers reached around for her clit, and he pressed on the swollen nubbin, raising her pleasure to another level. Erica ground down on his tongue and his finger worked her clit in slow, excruciating circles.
His tongue pulled from her channel and flattened, licking her in long strokes from just below her clit, right to her perineum. Then he kept going and his hot, wet tongue trailed over the tight star of her ass and she let out a squeak of surprise.
His withdrew his mouth from her. “Is this okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” she gasped. “Oh yes.”
Needing no more encouragement, he went back to her ass, his tongue hardening to a point, pushing inside her taut ring. She gasped again, her fingers gripping the cushions beneath her as his tongue slipped in and out and tickled her anus.
Just as she was on the brink, he left her ass and kissed his way up her back, hovering over her. His cock replaced his tongue, pressing its length into the crack of her ass. He didn’t penetrate her, but kept up the dual stimulation on her clit and anus. He nuzzled her neck, his mouth sending a rash of goose bumps over her flesh.
Shifting his position, the head of his cock nudged her sopping slit. Erica pushed back on him and he entered her only an inch, her muscles stretching around him. He held his position and her cunt clenched, trying to pull him deeper.
Slowly, he edged inside, and she felt every inch of his dick slide deep. He rocked his hips, fucking her deep and slow as he kept up the circles on her clit. Her tits bounced with every thrust, his rock-hard length sliding between her lips with unbearable pleasure.
But there was too much space between them.
Even though he was deep inside her, she wanted to feel him against her, have the heat of his kin burning against her back, press her face into the musky scent of his throat, push her tongue inside his mouth.
Erica straightened and he wrapped one arm—the one not still playing with her clit—across her chest. He cupped her breast, his fingers teasing and moulding her nipple into a lengthened peak.
With their bodies moulded together, his chest pressed up against her back, his arms wrapped around her, he fucked her with deep, hard thrusts. Pleasure built up inside her and, as he lowered his mouth and nipped at the delicate skin of her throat, she came unravelled, her orgasm powering through her. Her cunt clenched and rippled around him and he cried out, his own peak reached.
Erica’s body jerked and stuttered as the last sparks of pleasure shuddered through her. Scott thrust a couple more times, the last streams of hot cum spurting deep inside her.
They collapsed in a tangle of limbs on the rug. The open fire beside them crackled, sending sparks up the chimney, heating their already flushed bodies. Night had fallen outside and the fairy lights on her tree twinkled and blinked.
Erica caught her breath and twisted to lie on her stomach. She propped herself up on her elbows. He turned to face her, one hand beneath his head, and flashed her a grin.
“Well I wasn’t expecting that,” she said.
“Believe it or not, neither was I.”
“So what are you up to now? Big party on the town?”
He shrugged. “Nah. I’ve got a few invites, but I think I’ve found something better to do.”
Erica smiled. “You can’t be serious?”
He lifted his head and kissed her. She melted into the kiss, edging her body closer to his. But before she got the chance to lose herself again with him, he broke the contact and asked, “Are you throwing me out?”
“No, of course not!”
“In which case, I really hate waking up on my own on Christmas morning.”
Erica leaned in, capturing his mouth once again. It seemed she wouldn’t be alone that Christmas morning after all.
M.K. Elliott
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