When Jonathan transfers from the U.S to the
Manchester branch of Computers Inc., Jenny is the first person to make him feel
at home. Finding out about his bleak Christmases as a boy, she makes up her
mind to involve him in all her English Christmas traditions.
Passion sparks between the two as they decorate the Christmas tree. Who would have thought such an innocent activity could become so sexually charged? Can Jenny succeed in seducing the hot American and also prove to him that Santa really does exist?
* Includes the Full Seasonal Recipes for meals & snacks mentioned in the story.
Passion sparks between the two as they decorate the Christmas tree. Who would have thought such an innocent activity could become so sexually charged? Can Jenny succeed in seducing the hot American and also prove to him that Santa really does exist?
* Includes the Full Seasonal Recipes for meals & snacks mentioned in the story.
Proving
Santa Exists Hot Excerpt.
"How are you enjoying your Christmas
so far?" I ask, the film credits fading into the background.
"It's been amazing," Jonathan
enthuses as his eyes meet mine, then a serious shadow darkens their flame.
"Christmas was never anything special when I was a kid. We never had a
tree. The home said it cost too much and it was a fire hazard."
I tut and shake my head.
"The highlight was the Santa. We knew
he wasn't real, just a man dressed as Santa. He'd bring each of us a toy. I got
a little car one year. I still have it."
"How come you knew it wasn't the real
Father Christmas?"
"Because we knew there was no real
Santa. They told us so all the time. They told us not to get our hopes up
because Santa didn't exist and wouldn't bring us what we wanted on Christmas
Eve."
“What?" I'm outraged. I feel my blood
boiling with the harsh cruelty of it. "Santa does exist."
"You don't believe that, do you?"
He shakes his head, his eyes wide.
"Yes, yes I do." I nod my head
emphatically. "Maybe not in the way a child does, but I heartily believe
in the spirit of Father Christmas. I believe in the meaning behind the
make-believe. My faith is in the giving, which is the true centre of the
festive season—the heart of it all. It's all about making life better for other
people and, through that, enhancing your own life. Santa definitely
exists."
Suddenly, those lips are on mine again, and
his arms wrap around me. I feel his cheek against my skin. I feel moisture
there: the trail of a tear. I close my eyes and kiss back, giving. I give him
the softest, gentlest kiss I can. I want him to feel cherished. My heart throbs
in pain at the harshness he’s suffered in his life. I want to smooth over all
those rough edges; I want him to see what I mean about Father Christmas
existing.
I
pull him closer to me. My arms wrap tighter around him, and I stroke his back
to offer comfort. Our lips, in contrast, are joined lustfully. With every small
move, I feel my heart beat harder and faster. I become dizzy with the speed at
which the blood is whizzing around my body, making every inch of me zing with
the created friction and heat. His body presses me back against the sofa arm,
twisting my own beneath him.
His lips leave mine and kiss a fizzing
trail of pleasure down my neck to my collar bone. His hands rise from their
position on my hips to slide under my loose-fitting red jumper and up higher to
cup my breasts. The shock of his cool hands through the thin, lacy gauze is
deliciously arousing. I groan my appreciation as his fingers dig into the cups
and ease out the masses of abundant tit-flesh beneath. Pushing the wool of my
jumper up with the tops of his wrists, his lips leave the soft flesh at the
hollow of my neck.
Moments later, after my jumper is
completely removed, their warm wetness encompasses my nipple, sending even more
intense ripples of pleasure throughout my body. I feel him shift until he's on
his knees in front of me. One of my legs is still on the floor, the other is
crossed in front of my pubis. I slip a hand between our bodies, running it
under his shirt, feeling that soft, supple skin that I've only just glimpsed
before. I follow the soft trail of hair down from his belly button to the top
of his jeans. I feel more than hear the moan he emits from around my nipple as
I pop open the brass button, then slide down the zipper.
I
can't believe I am being so forward, but as he doesn't move to stop me, I yank
his jeans and his boxers down to the middle of his thighs. My action emboldens
him and he moves back, allowing me to spread my thighs around him. Jonathan
strokes down to my legs and pulls up the full length of long, billowing skirt,
his mouth still feasting on the white meat of my breasts. A hand of mine rubs
through the wiry hair trailing down to his cock. When my flesh touches his, I
melt. He's hard and hot and very willing.
Proving
Santa Exists Links.
Amazon.co.uk
Amazon.com
And this link on my website covers both
links and has a blurb/excerpt for people too:
Victoria Blisse is a mother, wife,
Christian, Manchester United fan and award winning erotica author. She is also
the editor of several Bigger Briefs collections, Smut by the Sea and Smut in
the City.
She is equally at home behind a laptop or a cooker and she loves to
create stories, poems, cakes and biscuits that make people happy. She was born
near Manchester, England and her northern English quirkiness shows through in
all of her stories.Passion, love and laughter fill her works, just as they fill
her busy life.
Find out
more at http://victoriablisse.co.uk or follow
and friend Victoria: http://twitter.com/victoriablisse http://facebook.com/victoriablisse
Until next time, take care!
♥ Julie
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