And I would nod, agreeing with her but also not saying anymore because maybe I felt like I was just a little girl who needed tender loving care too.
Yes, I had a granny who provided for me and helped me go to college, but I've always been missing something. And now as I look at Filson doing this for me, totally out of his comfort zone, I know what I've been missing is him. Now I just need the guts to say it to him out loud.
As the last child has whispered their wishes and the carolers are packing up for the night, Annabelle comes rushing over to us.
“Hey, sweetie,” she says, wrapping me in a hug. “I wanted to come over earlier, but I was helping Carla with the hot cocoa.”
“No worries, we were busy all night too.”
Annabelle presses her lips together, eyeing Filson. “You were the talk of the town tonight,” she says.
“Yeah?” Filson runs a hand over his beard. “Hope it was all good things.”
“It was for a lot of things,” Annabelle says.
Cheeks reddening, I’m guessing she heard about my kiss with Filson. “We’re dating,” I blurt out. “Sorry I didn’t say anything. We aren’t really official and I—”
Annabelle laughs. “No need to explain. I just want you to be happy. I mean,” Annabelle continues. “Clearly he’s into you. You got the Grinch to be Santa tonight!”
“Maple certainly has changed my perspective,” he says squeezing my hand.
“Okay, you two are too cute. You better call me this weekend. I want the whole story,” she tells me, kissing my cheek. Then whispering in my ear, she adds, “Is the house on the market? You can’t keep stalling.”
“Tomorrow,” I tell her. Relieved with my answer, she waves goodbye. Minutes later, Filson returns. I exhale. “So, that was Annabelle.”
“I know her. I mean, I went to the same school as you guys.”
“Right. I knew that, but you were gone for most of high school.”
“That’s true,” he says, looking up at the sky. I wonder if he’s thinking about the fact it took him a few years before he was able to get his GED after dropping out. “I know I’m not a fancy-ass like Asher Martin,” he says. “But I am what I am, and I hope—”
I cut him off. “I want a man who wants me for me, and I want to do the same. You don’t have to explain yourself.” I stand on my tippy toes and kiss him again as snowflakes begin to swirl around us, along with the cinnamon scent of Christmas.
Back at the house, I invite Filson inside. “I was thinking maybe you could stay for a nightcap?”
He grins. “Sounds perfect.”
“Does Santa like whiskey in his eggnog?” I ask walking toward the kitchen.
“If you're pouring it, I do,” he says.
I make us some spiked eggnog and join him in the living room where he is stoking a fire.
“I didn’t even know we had any firewood.”
“Found a few logs in the basement.” Once he has a nice blaze going, we sit down on the couch together with our eggnog in hand.
I curl my feet underneath me. “This is cozy,” I say, relishing the calm after such a bustling night.
“You know, this is the kind of night I've always dreamed of,” Filson says.
My heart pounds. “Me too, Filson.” Swallowing and steeling my courage, I clear my throat. “I wanted to tell you something, actually.”
It's time to be brave, to put everything out there. But before I can continue, Filson's pats his lap.
“Come here, Maple. You said you were going to sit in my lap.”
I curl up against him, feeling his hardness, and I realize now is not the time for heavy conversations. We've waited three long weeks since the night we slept together, and I can already feel his thickness under the Santa suit.
“God, I want you,” he tells me, nuzzling his mouth against my ear.
“Good, ‘cause I want you too, Santa.” I unclasp his belt and then unbutton his suit coat. Underneath, he wears a tee-shirt stretched tight against his firm chest. He tugs it off and I run my fingers over his bare chest and his ladder of abs.
“I don't know if calling me Santa is very sexy.”
“I’ll call you anything you want me to, Filson.” I stroke him over his pants, relishing the sensation of his cock under my hand.
“How about you just call me yours?”
“I like that,” I tell him, my body warming up. “Now let me see what we're working with here.” I ease down his pants, pulling out his thickness. His cock is long and hard, and I wish I were naked. I wish I were filled with him.
“God, you make me crazy,” he says as I stand up from the couch and tease down my tights and panties.
“That's better.” I get on my knees and I kneel before his lap. “I want to taste you, Filson.”
“Oh, Maple,” he groans. “You mean it?”
“It's all I want,” I say as I open my mouth, taking him. I press my lips tightly around his shaft and began to suck him the way I know he needs to be sucked. It's the perfect way to thank him for being Santa Claus tonight.
He runs his fingers through my hair, and I lift my eyes to his as I bob my head up and down. I know he likes it because he groans as I move my mouth faster, wanting to please him, wanting to make him happy. As he comes in my mouth, hot bursts of come slip down my throat and my belly feels warm and pleased. Being with Filson makes me feel like I can do anything.
He finishes and I lick my lips, savoring the salty seed he's spilled. My fingers run over his balls. They’re so nice and tight and his cock is still standing at attention.
“God, that's better than I imagined,” he tells me.
“So, you've been picturing this moment?”
“Maple, I've been at dreaming of you giving me a blow job for ten years. So yeah, you could say that I’ve pictured it.”
I smile, sliding into his lap, straddling him. “You really are a cute Santa Claus.” I kiss him on the nose. “And a really good sport.”
“I’d do anything for you, Maple.”
“Good. Then you'll let me ride you.”
“Are we pretending this is Santa's sleigh?”
I laugh. “No pretending. This is happening.” I pull off the dress and turtleneck and unclasp my bra, needing him to touch all of me.
My pussy is wet and wanting; wanting him. He runs his hands over my ass as I ease him inside of me. I close my eyes, gasping at the thickness of his cock filling me.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod, biting down on my lip. “You’re just so big.”
He grins. “You have no idea how good that is to hear.”
I laugh. “How good is it?”
“It’s fucking perfect. You’re fucking perfect.”
I swivel my hips and he pulls me close, his arms wrapped around me, his beard tickling me.
As the pressure mounts, I moan, desperate for this to never end. “I like your lap,” I tell him.
“I like you there, too.”
Our foreheads press together. “You have my heart and it's like I'm finally where I belong.”
“Home is where the heart is,” he says.