Tis the Season for Revenge: A Holiday Romantic Comedy

“This is me,” I say, opening the door and letting Abigail walk past me. Her scent follows her, that sweet, unique scent, and I’ve never been intrigued by the perfume a woman wears, but this one?

It seems everything intrigues me about her.

Her heels click on the hardwood as she walks into my apartment, looking around.

“Fancy,” she says, taking in the dark woods and comfy leather couch, the paintings of the woods that I spent way too much on at a benefit a few months ago. Her eyes twinkle as they land back on me. “Exactly what I’d expect from an expensive ass lawyer.” Her smile widens, and I think this must be her style—refusing to be impressed, making pointed barbs, but doing it all in fun.

I like it, too.

“Do you have many lawyers to compare me to?” I ask, walking closer, and she doesn’t mean it, but a quick solar flare happens in her eyes before it is once again behind her siren’s shield. It happened too quick for me to do much more than register it—I can’t tell if it was surprise or panic or anger, but it happened.

“Nope. Just you,” she says, her hand moving up my chest as I walk closer. Her fingers tipped in bright, girly pink, and I find it sweet, alluring even. This woman is all woman, leaning into the stereotype without shame. I wrap a hand around her waist, pulling her into me.

“Good,” I whisper against her lips. “I don’t share.” Our lips are so close as I bend to reach her in her high heels, and I can feel the quick intake of breath against my own. “Do you understand?” She doesn’t answer, eyes locked to mine like she’s mesmerized. I move my hand to the side of her bare neck, reveling in the feel of her pulse racing there against my skin.

“I don’t share, Abigail. We agreed that this might not be serious, that we’re both not looking for that right now, but I don’t share. I’m a very possessive man. What’s mine is mine.” Her tongue reaches out, tapping against her pink lips, and just barely, the faintest brush touches my lip.

Fuck, I want this woman.

I couldn’t tell you the last time I wanted a woman this badly.

“Answer me, Abigail. Say yes, and you’re mine. Say no, and I’ll walk you downstairs, drive you home, and thank you for a fantastic night.”

The silence almost kills me.

But I don’t press.

Sometimes the battle is won in the silence of a conversation.

And then her lips part again, and the words come out in a hot breath.

“Yes, Damien. I understand.”

“You’re mine for now?” I ask, looking to confirm.

“I’m yours, honey.” I groan at her words, using the hand on her waist to pull her fully into me and grinding myself into her belly. A small whimper leaves her lips, and then it’s cut off when I lock mine onto hers.

And then we’re kissing, frantic and needy and everything you could want in a kiss, and she’s mine. I move slowly, so lost in her already that I don’t have a full understanding of my surroundings, until she bumps into the back of the leather couch.

Hands to her hips, I lift until she’s perched there, and I think there’s a part of me that could easily undo my pants, slide that dress up, and fuck her right here. Especially when her arms wrap around my neck and her legs around my hips.

Yeah, I could fuck her here.

I continue to kiss her, her lips never having left mine yet, and her hands move to bury themselves into the long hair at the back of my head that needs a cut. I leave one hand on her hip, the other traveling up, moving to wrap her neck, keep her in place as I kiss her, right where I want her.

Her pulse is going wild.

I step even closer until my hard cock hits her center, where that tight dress has been creeping up.

And then she moans.

The sound is deep, ripped from her chest and full of need and desire, and it’s then I know I can’t fuck her here.

I need her stripped bare; I need to taste her. I need to absolutely obliterate this woman.

In my bed.

Breaking away from her, I take a step back and offer her my hand, helping her down. She looks nearly confused, lost when I speak. “Come,” I say, and I should have known that even now, here, she’d challenge me. Her pink lips tip up with a cat’s smile.

“I plan to,” she says, and I can’t help but laugh. I take her hand, my other moving behind her neck to press her to my lips once more before I lead her to my bedroom.

Just like she did when she entered my apartment, she steps in, dropping my hand and looking around, still in my damn jacket that’s way too big on her.

She goes to speak, to comment on my room, I’m sure, but I’m past niceties. I’m past getting to know you and small talk.

I’m ready to taste this woman.

“Stop,” I say, and surprisingly, she does as I ask, stopping on the hardwood and facing me. Her back is to the foot of the bed, and she just stands there, beautiful and perfect and everything I could ever dream up.

Let’s see if she fits the rest of my dreams.

“Jacket off,” I say, slowly moving to unbutton my suit jacket.

My eyes lock to hers, pupils wide and excited, but I see her chest rising and falling in deep, controlled breaths.

And then her hands move to her shoulders, the tips of her fingers ever so gently pushing the oversized coat back until it drops to the floor.

I lick my lips, tasting coconut and cocoa and Abigail.

“The dress,” I say, not sure what she’ll do.

But fuck if she doesn’t move her hands behind her, finding a zipper and moving it down, out of sight, until it stops. For a split second, I think about how next time, I’ll do that. Unzip her, undress her. Already so eager for a “next time,” huh, Martinez?

I stop listening to the voice when those pink nails move to her shoulders, moving the straps to the side. The dress falls to the ground, and my eyes track it, watching her feet delicately move to kick it away behind her.

Then my eyes move back up, catching my first true glimpse of her.

Dreams. They are made of this woman.

Lush, full curves that were covered in pink are now barely contained with thin lace in the lightest pink color that nearly matched her peachy pink skin. The bra, a strapless style, cups her breasts and lifts them, moving to a small waist and a soft belly. A tiny scrap of that same pink lace hikes up high on pristine hips, moving down to those black heels.

She could be a centerfold.

I’d jack off every night to the images.

And then she does something I don’t expect.

One delicate arm moves across herself, grabbing her hip and staying there.

At first, I think she’s about to move her underwear down, or she has an itch or . . . something.

But when it stays there, my eyebrows furrow, moving my eyes from her gorgeous body to her face.

Those little white teeth are sunk into her lip.

Nervous.

No, not nervous.

Self-conscious.

No fucking way.

Absolutely not.

“Move that hand, baby,” I say, taking a single step forward, still a few feet between us. The hand drops, and I move to shrug off my suit jacket, tossing it in the corner before starting on my cufflinks. Those fall to the ground with a clink as my eyes stay on Abigail’s.

“You don’t do that here. Not with me. If I have my way, not ever. But not here,” I say, starting on the buttons of my shirt.

“What?”

“Covering yourself. You agreed you’re mine. That body is mine. I like that body a fuckuva lot. I won’t deal with you hiding it from me.” Her eyes go wide, and I like that look, too. The surprise, genuine and all-consuming.

“Damien, I just . . . I have a belly.”

“I do not care.” I enunciate each word, making it clear what I mean by them. “I do not care what you think, though I plan to change that mindset. I don’t care what you’ve been told or who said it. If I hear it come from you, I’ll be mad.” Her head tips to the side, those curls falling over her shoulder, and she gives me a “be serious” look.

“Damien, I’m not the girl you need to compliment to get me to fuck you.” Her hands have gone to her hips, that feisty attitude peeking out again, and shit, I like that part, too.

“I know that.” Confusion falls on her face. God, she’s so easy to read. Every thought and emotion plays across her face when her walls are down. “I’m not the man who hands out compliments to help your ego, Abigail. I thought you understood that.” My hands move, undoing my belt, then the button of my pants, then the fly. Her eyes watch me the entire time. “You are gorgeous. A dream. If you let me, I’d grab my phone, take pictures, jack off to them any night I couldn’t get inside you.” Her tongue peeks out, licking her lips.

Nerves, yes, but also intrigue.

I smile.

“Not today, rubia. But another night . . .” I let my voice trail off, let the possibility hang between us. “Regardless, you do not hide from me.” The pants fall to the ground, and I kick off the shoes while I’m at it before closing the gap between us.

When I was only a foot away, when I can feel her nervous, anticipatory breaths on my skin, I put my hand on her belly. Her eyes widen, panic, and I touch the soft skin, but I just shake my head in a “no” gesture then move up slowly.

“Mine,” I say, moving up to her narrow waist, where I can feel every breath she’s taking, up between her breasts. That hand moves, the middle finger moving under the tops of the lace cups, pulling down until her breast is released. My hand cups it, a thumb caressing the hard nipple as she takes a quick intake of breath. “Mine,” I say then repeat the process with my other hand. “Mine,” I repeat. I stare into her wide, green eyes and smile before snaking a hand around her waist, pulling her into me.

“If we do this, this is mine. This body is mine. If you try to hide it from me, I will not be happy,” I say against her lips, skin brushing.

She doesn’t respond, just keeps staring at me with wide eyes.

“Do you understand, Abigail?”

“Yes, Damien,” she says, words breathy, and I smile.

“Good girl,” I whisper, watching her pupils dilate with the words, and when I kiss her, there’s a smile on my lips. The kiss isn’t sweet. It isn’t smile-filled. It’s teeth and tongues and heavy breathing and those pink nails digging into my shoulders before I’m moving her back, pressing her to the foot of the bed, and pushing her down. She sits there, leaning back on her elbows, and fuck the way this woman looks so at home in my space. She smiles a seductive smile, like any ounce of self-consciousness has flown out the window, and I like that too.

Slowly, as I watch her, I take one, two steps back to take her in, and I don’t miss how she uses the distance to let her eyes roam me, especially as I move my boxers down, pushing them until they fall to the floor. Then her little tongue comes out, licking her full lips as she watches intently.

She’s sugar and spice, and I can’t wait to find out if she tastes that way, too.

Kneeling before the foot of her bed, I move one finger down the center of the lace, feeling how the fabric is already damp, listening to the low whoosh of air that leaves her lungs at the movement.

“God, you look so pretty, all laid out for me like my own feast,” I say, running that finger up and down the line where I know she’s already soaking. My finger moves to the line between the fabric and her skin, running its way down where her thigh meets her pussy, confirming she is soaked. “I can’t wait a second longer to see what you taste like.”

“That’s not . . . Damien—”

“I’m going to eat this pussy, Abigail,” I say, my thumb hooking in the gusset of the panties and pulling it to the side until she is revealed to me.

Jesus Christ. Perfection. My cock bobs in agreement.

“I don’t think . . .” I stop staring at her paradise and move my eyes up her body, tits still free from the cups of her bra, elbows to the bed, blonde hair cascading to the mattress.

“Has anyone ever licked you here?” I ask, a finger running down the center of her, grabbing wet as it does. When I reach the top, I circle her swollen clit softly, and her entire body quakes, a small whimper leaving her lips. “Answer me.”

She shakes her head.

“No one?” I ask, quirking an eyebrow.

“It’s . . . Men don’t like that.” I stop everything, staring at her to decide if she’s being serious. Her lip is between her teeth again, that self-assured veil falling down and revealing that insecure side I saw before.

Gotta work on that.

“Boys might not, baby. But men? Men love to make a woman scream their name while their head is between her legs.” Again, a whole body shiver, and those teeth leave her lip as she breathes in a shaky breath. “Okay?”

As much as I want to, I won’t do this if she’s not comfortable with it.

Even if skipping it would kill me.

But then I see it—the tiniest, sweetest nod of her head, her chin dipping down just a bit, and that’s all the reassurance I need to dip my head down, flatten my tongue against her, and run it from her opening to her clit, sucking around the sensitive spot at the top.

Her arms give out as she moans loud and deep, her back falling to the bed. My tongue flicks over her clit in rapid succession, and her voice gets louder as her back lifts off the bed, arching in a way I wish I could watch.

“Jesus, fuck, Damien!” she shouts. My name on her lips has me reaching down, stroking my cock with my free hand. I continue to eat her, fucking her pussy with my tongue as my nose grinds on her clit then moving up to suck her clit again. She’s mumbling, moaning, trying to get me closer, to get herself closer. From the corner of my eye, her hand moves up then back to the bed, indecisive.

I know what she wants.

I move the hand from my cock, grabbing her wrist and moving it until it’s rested on my head. Instantly, her fingers wrap in the strands of my hair and press harder, demanding what she needs.

I moan against her clit, loving this, wanting to give her everything and more, and the vibrations have her moaning even louder. Releasing the grip on her wrist, I move two fingers to her entrance as I suck and nip at her clit, sliding in easily and coaxing out another deep moan of my name. As I fuck her, her hand presses harder on my head, and fuck, if I don’t smile against her cunt.

“Fuck, yes, Damien, shit. Right there, right there, I’m gonna—”

And then I stop.

I move my head up, continuing to fuck her with my fingers but staring at her. She mewls a disapproving noise, and I chuckle at her.

“Damien!” she says, her voice desperate. “I was close!”

“I know, baby. I’m going to take care of you, don’t worry.” Her hips are rocking, tiny moans and whimpers coming from her lips as I continue to work my fingers in her, pressing against her G-spot, each swipe there making her twitch.

“Damien, please!” She’s panting, gyrating, looking for anything to take her over the edge. “I need more!”

“You want my cock, baby?” I ask, moving to stand as I slip a third finger inside her, stretching her. Her mouth drops open with the feeling, her eyes fluttering closed. I stand between her legs, one hand moving to tweak her nipple. “Do you, Abigail?”

“God, yes, please.” She’s begging now, and I really fucking like it.

“Are you on something?” I ask, moving my hand to the edge of her panties. When I take my fingers from her wet cunt, she mews with disapproval. I smile. “Pill, IUD?”

“I have an IUD. I was tested this week, all clear,” she says, and I don’t even have time to think about her being tested recently.

“I’m clean,” I say, scooting her panties down and throwing the wet fabric aside.

“Fuck me, Damien,” she says, her voice moving to a low, throaty demand, and her eyes lock to mine. I hold my cock with the hand still wet with her, the other hand on her hip as I look at her.

“Are you sure? I can get a condom—”

“I want you in me now,” she says, and there’s a plea in her eyes, the look matched in her voice. “Please, Damien. Fuck me.”

And who am I not to give the pretty woman what she wants?

I rub the head of my cock down her wet center, groaning at the feel before lining myself up with her entrance. The bed is the perfect height to fuck her like this.

I stay there, one inch in, throbbing inside her warmth, and I lick my lips, staring at her.

“Eyes, baby,” I say. “I want your eyes when I fill you for the first time.” Her eyes move right to mine, so fucking obedient, and we lock our gaze as I slowly move, filling her, my grip on her hip tightening with restraint as I slip into her tight cunt.

Fuck, this woman is heaven. Absolutely perfect, made for me.

The words come in an incoherent stream of consciousness, pinging around in my mind. I find my brain completely unable to concentrate on a single, specific thought as I fill her.

And then I’m in, our hips pressing together as I stand, and she lies with her back to my bed. I move out an inch before pushing back in slowly. Looking down, I watch my cock repeat this process, sliding out an inch, sliding back in, and I don’t think I’ve seen something sexier than my cock disappearing into this woman, feeling her clamp down on me each time.

“Oh, God, fuck, I’m so full.” She moans, face to the ceiling, mouth open as she pants.

“You like me filling you, baby?” I ask, moving out farther now then slamming in.

“Fuck, yes!”

“Do you want me to fuck your pretty pussy, Abigail? Would you like that? Or should I keep going slow, torture you until you shatter?”

“Please, Damien, fuck. Fuck me!” I smile but concede, moving out, slamming in. Moving out, slamming in.

Each movement, I watch her tits bounce, moving with my thrusts, until her delicate hand moves up, grazing her belly then cupping her full breasts, pinching a nipple, and she moans louder.

“Harder, please!” she begs, head thrashing.

Fucking made for me.

“Fuck yeah, baby. You like that?” I ask, moving a hand back and slapping the side of her thigh.

“Please, god, please!” I continue to slam into her, fucking her harder, the headboard banging the wall with each thrust, but I don’t care. There is only Abigail, moaning and writhing, my cock throbbing each time it sinks into her.

And then her hand is gliding down her body, down her belly, until it’s between her legs. She moves to her free elbow, eyes shifting to watch me fuck her. The hand between her legs splits until she’s feeling where I disappear inside of her in the gap between her pointer and middle fingers.

“Oh, god, fuck. That’s so hot,” she murmurs as she watches where we’re joined.

“Fucking beautiful,” I say, eyes locked to the same place, loving the feel of her fingers brushing against me with each thrust. “Made for me. This cunt was made to take my cock,” I say under my breath. I’m unsure where these words are coming from, so lost in the moment, I can’t think straight as I try to hold off my orgasm until she comes around me.

She can’t be far from the feel of her pussy clenching.

Her hand moves from where it’s feeling our joining, moving up and over until her thumb caresses her clit, and she moans deep, spasming around me.

That’s not what I want, though.

My hand moves, grabbing hers and placing it back on her tit. “Not today, rubia. Today you come with my cock,” I say, leaning forward to press my lips to hers.

“Damien, I-I can’t—” she starts, arguing with me.

“You will, Abigail,” I say, locking my eyes to hers and watching her eyes go wide as I move, grazing her G-spot and releasing a low moan from her. The noise brings me closer to the edge, and I need to come in her. The primal urge to fill the woman is nearly unbearable. “You’re going to come with just my cock fucking you. Next time, I’ll rub your clit until you explode around me, but this time?” I thrust in again, and she moans. “This time I’m going to show you how a real man fucks his woman.”

I continue to move my hand up, up until my hand is on her neck, my tan skin contrasting hers, and I’m lost in the look of it.

But what I love more, what takes me from close to nearly there, is when I press on either side of her neck gently, a test if you will. I think she might actually have been made for me when I feel the sound trying to escape her throat, watch her eyelids lower just a hair, and feel her tighten around me.

“Fuck yeah, my girl likes that,” I say low under my breath, and as I press harder, a gurgled moan slips through, her mouth pouting in pleasure and her face turning the most beautiful shade of pink.

“You’re going to come for me, Abigail. As soon as I move my hand, you’re going to come on my cock so damn hard,” I say, the words coming through gritted teeth. “Understand?” Her head tries to nod, another moan rolling through her chest, another clamp of her cunt on my cock.

That’s all the confirmation I need, and that squeeze breaks my last tether on sanity. I thrust into her, planting deeper than before, grinding into her and moving my hand from her throat as I do.

Normally, I’d collapse on top of her, let the orgasm take over my body, creep up my spine, and fall into the feeling.

But I need to see this.

So I keep my eyes on her face as I fill her, feeling her come around me, watching her take a deep breath as it crashes over her. She screams my name, her voice hoarse and her body bucking, forcing me deeper. I move my hand, grinding it onto her clit, and there is a renewed, tighter squeeze of her pussy on me as she comes a second time.

“That’s it, baby, let go for me.”

“God, fuck, shit!” she shouts, her head rolling from side to side, that hand still on her tit, brutalizing the flesh as she comes and comes, and I watch the beauty of this woman—this dream woman who fell into my world by chance—and think that I could watch this every day of my life happily.