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My rear end is facing the window, and I feel like someone’s suddenly there.
I just know someone’s watching me.
But instead of turning around, I feel frozen to the spot. Like I’ve been hypnotized or something.
I feel just like I did when I saw Jack Cole’s email… Like those powerful eyes are actually on me.
Not making fun of me or being horrible like my boss, but getting off on watching me.
As if someone, anyone would get off by looking at my behind. I don’t even want to see it, got rid of any full length mirrors years ago.
But there it is, this feeling again.
I feel dizzy from bending over for so long, and figure I’d better keep going with this tree.
But don’t look out the window, you don’t want to ruin it.
I feel my whole body go light and my hands start to shake. I feel so nervous but in the best way possible.
I can see a shadow outside the window, out of the corner of my eye and it gives me a thrill in my heart, which I feel start to pound against my ribs.
I feel like one of those exotic dancers that people pay money to see, like some sort of peep show.
I gasp and moan softly, almost in disbelief I could feel so horny so readily. Feeling more of that sensation, like his eyes have become hands. Hands I put mine over as I guide his to just the right spot-
Don’t you dare look!
Shifting the boxes, I bend forward this time, catching just a glimpse of a tall, dark, and very handsome stranger in a long coat.
I can’t make out his features at a glance which I can’t help, but I can’t help putting the mental picture of Jack Cole over it either.
I find what I need in the box anyway, the large Angel figurine which will go on top of the tree. I start with it first, making it easier to hang all the other crap on the thing afterward.
I’m not a fan of Christmas by the way, never have been, I’ve always spent it alone that I can remember. I thought this year would be different, but it’s always the same. Work and then usually two weeks off with New Year and nothing to do except being on my own feeling miserable.
I can’t help smiling to myself though, imagining this dark, mysterious stranger to be the man of my latest and possibly only fantasy I’ve ever had my whole life.
The only one that makes me feel like this any way that’s for sure.
Feeling my thighs press together as I climb the ladder again, I gasp louder, feeling something inside me catch, making me pant loudly.
Biting down on my lip, I want it.
I want him, Jack Cole.
The real one, not the mental image or the photo from his email.
I want him deep inside me, more than anything.
I guess I could say, apart from keeping my job, he’s all I want for Christmas.
There’s not a lot to be sexy about me standing on a ladder, and after a while, I can’t resist.
I cave in.
I look over to the window.
The light snow is getting heavier and there are a few people walking on the other side of the street.
Did I just imagine the whole thing, and is it kind of hot in here?
I try to relax enough to blow out the air I’ve been holding in.
But another part of me feels like something else has really just passed me by.
Like a big chance, I don’t even know about.
Walking past an old suitcase in the street that has a million dollars in it kind of feeling.
I try to sit down on the steps of the ladder, but the ass I thought someone was so hot for won’t fit and as I try to stand up, I take it and the stupid Christmas tree with me.
With both hands trying to get free of the ladder, I end up spinning around, knocking the tree over and falling face-first on top of it.
The ladder still stuck to my ass.
“Dammit,” I growl, fighting to get free from the stinky Fir tree and stuck ladder.
It feels like my arms are caught up in the branches until I feel fingers lock around my elbows.
“Easy. Easy.”
My body tenses up as hands loosen their grip, slide over mine and help me up.
Disengaging me from everything and lifting me up as if I was made of paper like those decorations spilled everywhere.
I have to blink a little because it looks like… It really is…
It’s him.
“Are you alright?” he asks, helping me free of everything but his own grip, those powerful hands that feel like oiled wheels on a perfectly straight track now.
Coming to me, or is it me coming to him?
I feel my legs going out from under me, feeling fainting.
