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I can’t stop the startled, “Oh!”, that comes out of my mouth, or the way I feel flushed, weak, and yet strangely energized all at the same time.
He turns to face me then and I can feel heat fill my face. His gaze moves up and down my body. It lingers on my breasts and the look in his eyes excites me. I should be ashamed at the wetness gathering against my panties, but I’m not. It’s been a long time since a man has looked at me and even then, he looked nothing like this man. This man is…
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.
