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Hips slowly rocking up into her, she groans out her response. “Green, Daddy.”
And that’s all it takes.
Pulling her body to my chest, I roll us until Noel ends up on the bottom, my cock still deep inside of her. With a hand on each calf, I spread her wide, pull out almost all the way, and slam back into her cunt.
The clenching is near instant, her walls wanting to keep me buried deep within her pussy just as badly as my dick wants to live out the rest of its life in the same place.
I pound into her with a strength and force that could start an avalanche outside our door. Fuck it, let the snow bury us—give us a reason to stay here forever.
I pour my anger into her—the frustration for the years we lost, the hurt that flickers across her face when she thinks that no one is looking. I pour my desire into her—the deep-seated need that takes root within my soul with each and every thrust to keep her forever. To say fuck it to everyone with any expectations. To find some way to make whatever is happening between the two of us—no, thethreeof us—work.
My sister sobs beneath me, a chorus ofthank youandI always knew you’d come for memixed in with a smattering ofpleaseand a dash ofmore. It’s as if she’s calling out the ingredients to the perfect sugar cookie, only this recipe is the key to her desire, and it’s a recipe I’m determined to memorize, never wanting to forget the feeling of the first time Noel Belle came apart under my body.
She’s boneless in my arms, her calves weighing heavy in my hands, yet I continue to pound into her, my own words of affirmation coming in a litany ofgood girlandyou take my cock so wellwith blessings ofI’m so fucking sorryandthis is only the beginningtrailing closely behind as I spill into her on a roar, only one thought playing on repeat in my mind.
After tonight, my life will never be the same.
Dinner was beyond wonderful.A delicious meal of seared salmon and asparagus so fresh, I would have sworn it was straight from the farm as opposed to the late-season delicacy it actually is. Thankfully, unlike me, my sister had the foresight to stock up the cabin before she arrived, and lucky for the both of us, I discovered after taking my first bite of food that Holly had a few semesters of failed culinary school under her belt—having had given it a shot prior to finding her true calling in the field of psychology.
Perhaps what surprises me even more is that my sister—resident party girl always at the ready to pose for tabloid fodder and gossip magazines—is going to school with dreams of being a pediatrician.
Who would have thought?
Certainly not me. But then again, maybe that’s because I’ve truly never taken the time to get to know her before now.
Throughout dinner, I can’t take my eyes off both of the women who sit across from one another, having allowed me to take my place at the head of the table where I can cast my gaze over their bodies in a greedy yet appreciative way. From the first bite of the salad course—dark, slightly bitter greens with a honey-mustard vinaigrette—to our last bite of decadent dessert—a chocolate cake in individual mugs that ooze melted caramel when you break through the top—we get to know each other.
I laugh along with the pair as they recount the story of how they met—my sister walking into the wrong class on her first day as a freshman in college, being too afraid to disrupt the class by getting up and walking away, and settling into a chair next to Holly, who was a junior at the time. It serendipitously was the only open seat in a lecture hall of almost five hundred students, and by the end of the class, my sister was smitten and had sent an email to her advisor to permanently change her schedule to include the class she had wandered into on accident without a clue of what it meant for the rest of her life.
It’s…cute?
We talk about heavier topics, commiserating over the shared loneliness we felt as the children of the rich and famous. Not ever truly neglected yet still lacking in more ways than one. We talk of the private schools we attended and the galas where we rubbed elbows with powerful men and women from around the world before any of us were old enough to truly understand the magnitude of the lives we were born into without our consent.
First-world problems, sure. But problems nonetheless.
And when I find out that my sister, the object of so much misplaced aggression that has rapidly shifted to need and desire and want, spent last Christmas and her eighteenth birthday without our parents at her side, I physically have to remove myself from the house.
Stumbling upon a shed off the brick patio that’s been buried under substantial snowfall, I cast a glance toward the jacuzzi where I first saw Noel before I continue to the shed, pulling an axe from the depths of its bones and chopping wood for nearly an hour non-stop. I swing that axe as piece after piece of wood shatters around me, not stopping to stack it into a neat and tidy pile to be used as heating for the large home. I swing that axe as I curse my father—curse him for neglecting the most beautiful gift he was ever given. I swing that axe as I hurl matching curses toward Noel’s mother, abandoning her daughter alone while continually chasing her own vapid happiness and success. I swing that axe, and I swing that axe, and I swing that axe until I think I’m about to collapse, my vision going dark around the edges.
“Saint!”
Her voice cuts through the air, the only other sound aside from thethwack, thwack, thwackof my axe as it meets wood again and again and again.
It’s Holly, coming to find me in next to nothing but the look of concern on her face. “Come inside with me. Now.”
For someone like myself who is used to giving the commands, it feels strange to obey her without question. Yet, for some reason, my body tells me not to argue, that in this moment, I don’t have to be in charge. And I take the respite while I can.
I toss the axe onto the snowy ground, not bothering to return it to the shed, before I link my fingers through Holly’s outstretched hand, allowing her to lead me back into the house.
We bypass the main living space, the sound of my sister washing dishes as she softly sings Christmas Carols filling the house. We use a secondary staircase that I hadn’t seen until now, leaving me to wonder what other secret passageways exist within the walls of this place. Trailing behind Holly, she guides me into the room I was in just a few hours ago, on top of and under Noel. I expect her to stop at the bed, but she continues until we enter the oversized bathroom, more apt for a resort spa than a house.
Holly turns the tap on the enormous tub, dropping a few round-looking balls into the water that begin to fizz the moment they make contact. The smell of cinnamon, clove, and honey fill the air as steam rises from the water, and I find my muscles begin to relax with each deep inhalation I take. Turning back to me, Holly silently helps me undress—pulling the Henley and sleep pants from my body—before instructing me to get into the tub by gesturing to it with her hand.
When she believes the water has hit an acceptable level, she turns the tap off before gesturing for me to scoot forward–still silent, still only using her body language to guide me.
If anything, I would have expected her to slide between my legs, not to take the position behind me. Yet when I lay back against her breasts, her arms coming up to wrap around me, lazily leaving rivulets of water in their wake, I melt into her embrace.
“It sucks,” she says quietly against the shell of my ear, finally breaking the heavy silence that had grown between us. “To grow up the way we did—to feel like we had absolutely everything but nothing all at once. It takes a lot to let go of the resentment, to move forward. You’ll get there, too. If you choose to do so.”
