Santa Claus is coming.
[before this: Buon Natale]
She straddled his waist and leaned in to kiss him, letting her hair fall over him, enveloping them both. He squirmed a little, accustomed to being able to move freely. “Stop being so restless,” she said. “We’re going to do this slowly, and you’re going to love it. I promise.”
He sighed. She tossed her hair back and sat up on her knees, flicking his nipples with her fingernails. “Cesca,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Oh,” she replied, looking over her shoulder. “I forgot you were still wearing pants.”
Through his dress pants his erection was huge, and she rested a hand on it casually. He grimaced.
“I said we were going to go slowly.” She smiled. She stood up and got down from the bed, walking towards the door. “I really do want that champagne after all,” she said, glancing back at him. “Do you want yours? I’ll bring it anyway.”
“Cesca!” She could hear him calling after her as her heels tapped down the hallway. “It’s Christmas, dammit!”
Champagne flutes in one hand and Moet in the other, she reentered the bedroom. She set the bottle and glasses on the nightstand. “I’ll pour,” she said.
“I don’t know what kind of present you think this is,” he said edgily, shifting his shoulders and tugging against the bedposts. She stood next to the bed, her left hand on her hip, legs slightly spread, and downed a glass of champagne.
“You don’t like it? You should have some champagne, it’ll make you feel amazing.”
She sat on the edge of the bed and brought a glass over to his lips. He tried to drink from it and she poured the champagne heavy-handedly; it streamed down his cheeks.
“You’re humiliating me,” he said.
“I am not.” She leaned in to whisper in his ear as he twisted uncomfortably. “You are going to come so hard the neighbors are going to think Santa Claus is coming down the fucking chimney.”