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Seems my grandpa is the only one that can soothe my savage beast, and I’m going to do whatever I can to make sure he doesn’t have some second thoughts about what’s going on between us.
Sure, yes, he’s my papa. People will gasp.
People I don’t care about.
My sister, on the other hand, I do care about. But the pull in my belly is stronger than my sense of logic, so when Gennero comes through the back door, sweat-covered and looking more frustrated than when he went outside, I stir the pot.
“You look tense.” I do my best high step wiggle walk across the room as he tugs his handkerchief from the back pocket of his black jeans and runs it down his face and over his chest.
“Does that surprise you?”
I shake my head, taking a quick look over my shoulder where Mama disappeared to her quarters down the hall a few minutes ago, then close the space between us, nipping my lower lip and gathering my lusty courage.
“Well…” I shrug, the earlier crackling from the fireplace now a low sizzling of the embers. “I was thinking about you while you were gone.”
He raises his eyebrows, hair damp from the drifting light snow and the heat of his exertion. “I can’t stop thinking about you every fucking second.” His brow cinches as I press my fingers to his lips, the scruff of his beard against my palm.
“I tried to take care of things, but I couldn’t get…” I press my index and middle finger between his lips, glancing them over his tongue. “…there. Can you help me, Papa? I’m all tingly and achy down here.”
I run my other hand over my hip to the juncture of my thighs and feel his teeth dig into my fingers.
“Ow,” I purr as he reaches out and takes a full-on handful of my pussy under my skirt, his thick, rough fingers slipping into the access I cut into the fabric, pushing at my opening and making me stutter on an inhale as he runs his tongue between my fingers, now forgotten in his mouth.
“I own all this now. I’ll be staking my claim soon. My flag of ownership will be rooted inside you before long. But, now—”
“There you are.” Mama’s voice slices through the moment as I jump back, spinning to see her holding onto the red and white fabric of Grandpa’s Santa suit. “There’s a tear along the inseam.”
She looks up, considering us for a moment with some confusion before shaking her head and holding it out toward me.
“What?” I say, my face as red as the suit as I turn to see Papa tracing the fingers that were just inside me over his lips.
“You’rethe seamstress. I’m the cook. Lucy is…” She shakes her head again. “Never mind, you’re the seamstress and itseemsyour grandfather has put on some weight this year. You’ll need to get him in his suit, make sure you don’t need to let out the darts at the waist, then fix this inseam. But pin it while he’s wearing it, that’s the only way to get the fit right.”
She shoves the bundle of heavy red velvet and white faux fur into my hands as Grandpa chuckles.
“Go,goyou two. There’s so much to do before tonight. We only have five hours before guests arrive and the caterers are running late. The florist brought the wrong poinsettias or Lucy usurped my authority and told them to bring those gaudy variegated ones…” She throws her hands up and spins, her plump rear end twitching back and forth as she fusses and leaves us standing there.
“Let’s get to measuring. I’d like to show you exactly how many inches you’re going to need to accommodate in that inseam, baby.” He leans in to brush his lips on my cheek before nodding toward the hall.
I stumble trip and right myself, following him, watching how his butt looks in his jeans, wondering what it would look like flexing and tensing as he drove himself in and out, in and out…
It’s okay, baby, Papa loves you. We don’t need to hide anymore.
“Come in.”
I yelp, lost in the image of him on top of me on the sofa in the living room; naked, tensing, pushing, driving hard as I spread my knees, weeping at the painful pleasure as he enters me for the first time.
I follow him into the library which has one wall full of my hardcover and paperback books. They are organized by color, which makes it hard to find what I’m looking for sometimes, but it’s aesthetically pleasing and no one else seems to care.
“Close the door,” he says as the warmth of the low fire in the fireplace heats my already flaming skin.
Lust dilates his pupils as I swing the door closed, and he reaches over and clicks the deadbolt with a thunk.
He rasps his face into my neck, his hand once again under my skirt and fingering my pussy, my heart a drumbeat in my chest.
“My little Christmas prize.” He mumbles, his other hand slipping under my sweater. “Drop the suit, I’m going to let you measure me, but it won’t require me putting on that suit. I fucking need you, Carina. You’re my girl now and not how you’ve been. In new ways you might not understand.”
I let the Santa suit fall onto the floor around our feet as arousal pumps through me. He shifts forward, rubbing his hardness on my hip, and I can’t help but rub myself right back against him.
