Sex on a stick.
“Hello,” he says. That’s it. Just one word, but his voice is deep, throaty, with a touch of playfulness in it and if my panties weren’t already wet…
“Hi. Um… I didn’t mean to bother you,” I answer. I start off in a whisper, my vocal cords not exactly wanting to work. But, to be fair, it’s hard to tell what I sound like over the pounding of my heart.
“Honey you’re no bother. You’re a dream come true,” he says with a quick, dirty, little grin. I really should dismiss his words—maybe even run back home. I can’t seem to make myself do either of those.
“Um…” I stutter, because I have no idea what to say to that. He’s probably making fun of me. I’m used to that. Folks in town are good to me, and most like me. Still, how many times have I heard them laugh about Christmas Joy?
Maybe I shouldn’t have worn the Santa hat?
“I brought you a gift. A welcome to the neighborhood kind of thing,” I tell him lamely, stepping in closer to him. I’m proud of myself that I manage not to stare as he pulls his hand out of his pants.
“Is it you? Because if so, I need to give my realtor a bonus for finding this house.”
“I uh… What? No,” I answer, completely flustered now. “I made you some cookies… you know… for Christmas,” I answer—rather lamely.
“Isn’t that a coincidence,” he says, bending his head to lean down closer to me. He’s so tall. So. Impossibly. Tall. And big. So. Epically. Big.
“It is?” I ask, biting my lip trying to remember if I’ve ever seen eyes like his before. They look like warm caramel.
“I was just wondering what your cookie would taste like,” he says and I’ve not dealt with many men before. I’ve had a boyfriend here or there, but my business always came first. This is the first man I’ve met that makes me feel like that might have been a mistake. Still, I get the feeling when he says cookie, he’s not talking about the ones I’ve baked and a shiver runs through me.
“I… they’re traditional sugar cookies,” I tell him, trying to get control of the conversation again.
“I knew they’d taste sweet,” he answers, grinning. He finally takes the box into his hand. The very hand he had wrapped around his cock. Jesus.
“My name is Joy. I run the local bakery in town. Comfort and Joy?” I tell him, at this point feeling like I’m blathering on like an idiot.
“Nice play on Christmas,” he says, studying me closely and this time I can’t really guess what he’s thinking.
“That was the thought. I’m kind of a Christmas freak.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Yeah. It’s kind of a running joke in town. They call me Christmas Joy, because I like to go around and spread the Christmas cheer…”
“Spread…”
“Anyway, I know moving can be hectic and things. I’m right next door if you’d like help getting moved in or maybe putting up your Christmas decorations or whatever. I’m your girl.”
“You certainly are,” he says and his voice is so intense, I step back on reflex.
“Well, I… I guess I should go. Remember my offer,” I tell him, feeling like a fool. I back away and he turns to watch me with a big grin on his face. I literally back all the way to my yard.
“Trust me, Joy. I’m not about to forget your offer,” he says and those shivers I’ve been feeling intensify all at once.
For some reason, that felt like a warning…
Chapter 4
Eb
I hate Christmas. I always have. My grandmother used to say my parents jinxed me by making my middle name Eben. She hated it and always said it was too close to Ebenezer. I didn’t really give a fuck, though I found myself glad I didn’t pack around the name Ebenezer my whole life. That would suck fucking ass. I’m not too fond of Eben, but I also don’t spend much time thinking about it.
I write under the name E.B. Mason and that name I like, because that name makes money and really that’s the only thing that matters. I need to go finish my book, but little Joy has me wishing I could do something else. Her, actually. She’s a hot little package and I bet she’d be sweet as hell to sink into. She wouldn’t put up much of a fight either. She was practically begging to be fucked right here on my doorstep. I have the urge to tie her up and make her beg me to fuck her. That idea is infinitely more appealing than going back to writing.
Maybe I could take a few days off? I mean I have a deadline, but my brain is fried. It’s Christmas. Everyone deserves a little time off. It doesn’t matter that I hate the holiday. I mean I do hate everything about it, but that’s not important right now. I don’t hate my new neighbor. Hell, I’m liking so much about her, I’m willing to ignore her love of this god awful holiday. Who knows? Maybe she could make me change my mind. If she fucks as good as she looks…
I find myself grinning. I need a hook. I don’t have a lot of time, and I can’t afford to waste much on my hot neighbor. She definitely seems like she needs a good fuck, and that’s half the battle. She wants to help me decorate for Christmas? I can let her decorate her little heart out and then after I make sure she leaves my bed crying out, O’ holy night, I’ll get back to work.
That seems simple. And my cock is rock hard imagining it.
I go back inside, closing my door, still thinking about it. I go back to my computer, but for once, I ignore my manuscript. Instead, I find myself searching lingerie. Lingerie for a certain little blond neighbor that I’m going to enjoy putting on the naughty list. I know exactly what I’m looking for and almost laugh out loud when I find it. Sexy little red and white silk, barely-there, corset, panties and matching garters. If Santa was real, this is exactly what he’d make Mrs. Claus wear to their bed.
She likes Christmas? I can definitely make that work for me. And I definitely know that this Christmas, for once, I’m going to enjoy spreading Christmas Joy.
Fuck yeah I will.
Chapter 5
Joy
I come awake with a start. I look over at the clock, my eyes blurry with sleep. It’s seven in the morning… on a Sunday. Two days after I’ve made a fool of myself in front of my new neighbor, and two days in which he still hasn’t put up one trace of a decoration. It’s a silly thing really, but ever since I moved into my house our street has won the annual Christmas trophy. At this point, it’s a source of pride. There’s no way we will win this year—not with my neighbor’s house being completely undecorated. There might be bigger problems in this world, but it makes me sad.
My doorbell rings again and I remember why I woke in the first place. I look again at the clock.
Who even gets up at seven in the morning on a Sunday?!?!
It’s my one day of the week to be sloth-Joy. I stand up, shivering without the covers as the cool air of the house hits me. I look mournfully at my sheets and favorite blanket as my doorbell goes off again.
“Alright! Hang on! Keep your pants on!” I grumble. There’s a terrible secret about me that no one knows. I may love Christmas and everything about it, but there’s nothing cheerful and joyful about me in the mornings. I have to have at least two cups of coffee before any of the real me starts shining through. I grab my ratty old robe off the side of my bed, wrapping it around me like a security blanket. It’s warm cotton, and at one time I think it was a vibrant red. It’s so old and has been washed so many times it’s a pale pink now.