Authors: Lani Lynn Vale
I lit the Christmas Yankee Candle, sprayed the windows with the fake snow that I bought, and even set up the train around the tree.
The only thing left was to decorate the tree, and that we would do together, because that was what she’d always talked about being our tradition.
Once everything was set up and ready, I walked into the bedroom, then to the bathroom when I couldn’t find her there.
She was standing in front of the mirror, naked.
A slight pudge at her belly spoke of the life I’d had a part in planting there.
It wasn’t much. Actually, it was only the minutest amount, but I knew my wife. Knew every inch of her skin. Every scar. Every ridge. Every mole.
God, how had I not noticed this?
She looked beautiful. Like fucking perfection.
“You’re everything I ever dreamed of,” I said to her softly.
Her head turned, taking in the stupid Christmas sweater I’d found at the store, along with my Christmas boxers that I’d found right alongside the sweater.
“Nice,” she said, gesturing to my underwear.
I looked down and grinned.
The underwear said, ‘Tis the season for some squeezin’.’
“Only for you, baby,” I said softly, walking up behind her and cupping the soft swell of her belly with my palm. “I’m so sorry. I’m a dumbass.”
She reached up and cupped my cheek with her hand. “It’s okay, E. I love you anyway. Just don’t do it anymore. I don’t think my hormones can take it.”
I chuckled softly at her admission.
“How far along are you?” I asked against her neck, skimming my hands along her sides, making goosebumps break out over her skin.
“Six weeks or so,” she whispered.
Her nipples beaded, and my eyes flashed when I realized that her breasts were bigger.
God, but I was extremely unobservant.
Her hips looked a little rounder as well.
“I’m such a dumbass, B. Don’t let me do that to you anymore. I don’t want to be
the type of person who makes you sad,” I whispered against her hair, closing my eyes.
Slowly, I started swaying us, humming the one song that I knew could make her smile.
She clung to my arms in desperation, clutching so tight her little nails dug into my arm.
“Dance with me,” I breathed.
She turned in my arms, shoving her hands underneath the sweater to my bare skin underneath.
Feeling her palms over my skin, we seemed to come to an understanding.
Lifting my arms up, she pulled the sweater off over my head, tossing it down onto the floor of the bathroom unceremoniously.
Her palms ran over my chest, thumbs flicking my nipples. Once…twice…three times before she leaned down and took one nipple into her mouth, flicking it lightly with her tongue.
My hand moved from her sides where they had a death grip on her ass, to her hair, which I pulled back, exposing her mouth to mine.
Slamming my mouth down on hers, I quickly worked my boxers down, one handed, before letting go of her hair, lifting her up by the ass, and setting her down on the edge of the counter.
Before I could think better of it, I lined my cock up with her slick heat, and slammed inside, coming home.
Exactly where I wanted to be…
quite possibly forever.
“Fuck,” I said through gritted teeth, dropping my head down onto her shoulder to allow both her and me time to adjust.
For her, it was because she was always tight when I first entered her. For me, it was because when I first entered her, I had to do some deep breathing to keep myself from coming too fast. If I wanted to last longer than two seconds, I had to concentrate. Very,
“Every single goddamned time,” I moaned.
She giggled, causing her pussy to clench around me with each laugh.
“Shit,” I hissed, nearly losing it there for a few seconds.
Which only made her laugh harder.
I felt my balls tighten up, and I knew I wasn’t going to last.
Not this time. Maybe next time. Or possibly the next.
This time, though, was a no go.
Sitting back, I pulled all the way out before thrusting back in hard. She gasped in surprise, but I didn’t let that stop me.
Repeating the process, I withdrew my dick until it was just kissing the inside of her heat before thrusting forward once more.
I felt come boil in my balls, and knew it wouldn’t be much longer.
With every single bit of strength I had left, I pulled out, and immediately replaced my cock with three fingers, thrusting them inside of her hard and curling up, eliciting a surprised groan from her lips.
When she threw her head back, I bent down and latched onto her nipple, pulling and sucking hard while I worked her with my fingers.
My raging cock rested against the crease of her panty line, raging like an angry monster, wanting nothing more than to get back inside of her.
“Hurry,” I pleaded, letting go of her nipple only long enough to get those words out before I latched back on, curling my tongue around the peak.
With two more thrusts and a curl of my fingers, she came hard, clamping down on my fingers. Hard.
With a low groan, I lost the battle with my own release and spurted hot come onto her leg and pussy.
My abs tightened with each spurt, demanding the closure of my eyes as I threw my head back and relished in the feeling of my wife’s pussy still fastened down hard on my fingers.
As the aftershocks coursed through her body, I reluctantly withdrew my fingers, then lifted them up to my mouth where I proceeded to lick each and every one clean, all the while her eyes stayed locked on the sight.
“That was a different dance than what I’d had in mind,” I said lightly.
“You’re naughty,” she finally said, shaking her head.
“You wouldn’t take me any other way,” I teased as I backed away, helping her down off the counter.
“Now,” I said giving her ass a smack. “Get dressed so we can go decorate our tree.”
She looked at me wide eyed before walking out into the living room naked, taking in all that I’d done while she slept.
She turned to me once she was done, and then ran into my arms.
She hit me like a tiny battering ram, making me take a single step back before I caught my balance.
“Thank you, Ellie-bellie,” she cooed.
I smacked her ass again, a little bit harder this time. “That’s not my name.”
She kissed my cheek, then retreated so she could look into my eyes. “Elles Belles?”
I shook my head.
“Snookums?” She tried.
I looked at her warningly.
“Peaches. Sugar bunch?” She offered.
I smiled and leaned down. “You can call me E, or Elliott. Possibly Master. Nothing else, though.”
She giggled. “You’re such a goober.”
How come when your wife is pregnant, everyone rubs her belly and says, “Congratulations;” yet no one rubs your balls and says, “Good job?”
Christmas number 5
I stared at the little stick, my heart in my throat.
I didn’t know if I could handle it.
It’d been eight months, and five days since I had my miscarriage.
Eight months and five long days.
Something inside me died when I lost our child. Something that Elliott had tried his hardest to replace day after day.
He hadn’t fully succeeded. The months since it happened had been torture.
Especially watching one of my best friends have two of the most adorable babies in the universe.
heyenne was a wonderful person. She and Sam
deserved to have healthy children. That didn’t make it any easier on me, though. Every time I saw her two babies, I thought about my own that I’d lost. The way Elliott had watched those two girls with such longing made my heart nearly tear in two.
That night had been horrible. So horrible.
I’d woken up during the middle of the night with cramping and pain in my lower abdomen.
I hadn’t realized until I’d gotten to the bathroom just what was going on.
Blood had been everywhere, and I looked like a massacre victim.
Elliott had been on a job with a few of the other men, so I’d written a note and drove myself to the hospital, praying that everything would be all right. In my heart, I’d known that it wouldn’t be. Not with that much blood.
I’d gotten to the hospital where the doctor performed an ultrasound, confirming my fears.
Our baby had died.
From there, I’d been taken into surgery to have a D&C.
I’d woken up to a distraught Elliott at my bedside, his head bent over my hand while he spoke to me about why he loved me.
We never told any of the others.
I hadn’t wanted them to look at me any differently.
They never even knew I was pregnant, either. I’d been waiting until we knew the sex of our child so I could reveal it all at once, and
I never got the chance.
Staring down at the stick that confirmed I was pregnant again, I prayed that this one would be okay.
Don’t do this to me again. I can’t handle it. Elliott doesn’t deserve to have to go through this twice.
We hadn’t been trying to have a baby. In fact, we were actively trying
to have a baby. I’d been on birth control, and he’d been using condoms since my miscarriage. How could this have happened? I wasn’t ready.
“Blaine, baby, where are you?” Elliott called from the living room.
Picking up the stick with shaking hands, I left the bathroom in search of my husband. I found him in the kitchen with his head stuck into the fridge.
“Hey,” I said softly.
“I know we’re having dinner with our parents in an hour, but I’m fuckin’ starving. I need something. Do you think some Ramen Noodles will be too…what’s wrong?” He asked in alarm when he finally looked at me.
I smiled tightly at him and held up the stick.
He looked at it as if I was holding a stick of dynamite, too scared to hope.
“Tell me,” he demanded.
The fridge was still standing open as he left it, and his eyes were on me, eager to hear the news.
“It’s positive.” I whispered.
His eyes closed, and when they opened again, I could see tension there. The panic. The hope. The love.
He walked towards me slowly, picking up my arm that held the stick, scanning it.
“Holy shit.” He breathed.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Blaine?” He rumbled, bring his hand up so he could tilt my head up.
My terrified ones met his loving ones. “It’s gonna be okay, baby. This baby is meant to be. How else would this baby have made it through all the precautions we used not to conceive?”
I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders, and with it my determination not to cry.
I broke down in Elliott’s arms, and like the man he was, he held me throughout.
Later that night, I stood next to the couch and watched my husband.
“You doing okay, sugar?” My mother asked, coming up behind me and hugging me to her front.
I nodded as I watched Elliott put together a train set that my mom had gotten him for Christmas.
“Yep. My husband’s like a small child at heart, you know,” I said laughingly.
She nodded. “Your father said he wouldn’t play with it, but I knew he’d like it.”
I nodded. Elliott was like that.
So easy going and fun.
He’d be a wonderful father.
“Oh, Christmas Tree…” the carol started on the new Bose sound system Elliott’s father had gotten for Christmas.
“Oh, dear,” my mother sighed as she let me go.
Elliott’s head snapped up, and he smiled at me warmly before abandoning the train and moving towards me purposefully.
I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped my lips when he started ballroom dancing with an invisible partner, making his way towards me.
“Can I cut in?” I asked as he finally arrived in front of me.
He nodded sagely. “Yes, of course. My partner won’t mind.”
I shook my head as he took me into his arms, twirling me around like a young girl.
I went with the spin barely able to avoid his shoulder as I went.
Over time, I’d learned to adapt to his less than stellar dance moves, compensating to where there was only minimal damage to my feet or extremities.
“You know,” he started, swaying his hips in an exaggerated fashion.
At my raised brow, he said, “I’m not that good at dancing.”
I laughed quietly, leaning my head against his chest.
“You don’t say.” I said sarcastically.
“I sense some sarcastic undertones,” he teased.
“No, not from me, Elliott Dear,” I sniffed, barely containing my emotions.
I don’t know how he did it, but the man had a way about him. A certain something that made everything okay, even if it wasn’t. Even if I was scared shitless.
“I love you, E.” I said, interrupting his next comment.
He looked down at me, his pretty eyes looking into my own for long moments before he replied. “I know. It’ll all be all right. You’ll see.”
Somehow, I knew it would.
I love that when I’m with you, I don’t have to pretend I’m nice.
Christmas Number 6
“This Christmas is bittersweet, little man,” I said softly to my son, Justin Douglas.
Justin smiled a gummy smile at me, making me realize all that I had in my life. How lucky I was to be here.
I could be six feet under like
Dougie is. Like my first son wa
I thought morosely.
I can’t believe it’s been nearly two years since we lost our child.
It seemed like just yesterday I came home to a massive amount of blood coating the bed and the bathroom, as well as a note from Blaine explaining what had happened.
That’d been gut wrenching.
Then my son cooed, and all thoughts of my dead friend and lost child were pushed back. Not gone. Not forgotten. But in a place that they should be. A place that Dougie and our son would always live. My heart.