“Me to be a virgin, I get it. You know, although you obviously don’t feel the same, me being a virgin isn’t like some kind of dreaded disease. It just means I’m selective in who I want to be with.”
“And you chose me,” I answer, a feeling of pride in the words and I don’t bother hiding it. It does make me proud.
“Obviously I had a lapse in judgment,” she mutters, her cheeks blooming with color. “Carol, I know you won’t believe me, but I’m sorry I made such an utter mess of something so beautiful. I just… Hell, Bebé, I’ve never met anyone like you—”
“Damn it, Cyrus. I’m not—”
“I’m not talking about the virginity, Carol. I’m talking about everything as a whole. You’re beautiful, smart, sexy as fuck, caring…”
“Cyrus,” she responds, but she doesn’t sound as mad, so I’m hoping that at least means she’s listening to me.
“I grew up in a group home and the assorted lot of foster homes, Carol. My whole life has revolved around proving that I’m not trash to be thrown away like my parents did.”
“You’re not trash, Cyrus.”
“It’s good you think so, Bebé, but I can’t rewrite the past—even for you.”
“Stop it. You’re a good man. I haven’t had a lot of time with you, but even I can tell that. Besides Ida Sue likes you so there must be something to you,” she jokes.
“Ida Sue likes me? From the conversation I had with her, it sounded like she wanted to shoot me.”
“Is that why you’re here, Cyrus? Because Ida Sue made you?”
“Fuck no. I get how you might not have faith in my, Carol, but I promise you I’m here because I care about you. I want you in my life. I want a relationship with you.”
“You do?” Carol asks, and it might be my imagination, but she sounds hopeful.
“More than you would believe, and I think you want the same thing, Carol—despite how bad I fucked up.”
“I think maybe I do, and I guess I’m not a virgin anymore so you can’t get scared and run for the hills,” she breathes.
“You’re still a virgin in every way that matters, Carol and that gift, when you give it to me, will be something I will cherish for the rest of my life.”
“Does that mean you’re going to give me more time this go around?” she jokes, coming a little closer. When she stops, I close the remaining space between us. She takes the flowers from me, staring down at the roses.
“I can give you a couple of days to get used to the idea,” I concede, making her laugh. “And to prove I’m not going to turn into an idiot again,” I add.
“That’d be good,” she laughs. “The flowers are beautiful.”
“Da’Nika assured me they were your favorites.”
“Can I tell you a secret?” Carol asks, her eyes twinkling again for the first time since I hurt her.
“I want to know all of your secrets, Carol, and I want you to know mine.”
“She makes me these flowers when people buy them to thank me or for presents, because they remind her of Christmas.”
“But?” I prompt when she stops explaining.
“Daisies are my favorite flowers, it’s just that no one has ever tried to find that information out before.”
“I won’t forget it,” I promise, and I won’t. I make a vow that my Carol will have daisies often.
“What do we do now?” she asks.
“How about you let me take you home and fix you my world-famous spaghetti?” I suggest.
“You cook?”
“Well, I can boil pasta and open a jar of sauce. What do you say?”
She laughs. “Best offer I’ve ever had,” she says and that’s when I wrap my arms around her, pulling her to my body and kiss her. And that’s the exact moment I know.
I’m falling in love with Christmas Carol….
Cyrus
I’ve tried my best to go slow. I made such a mess of things the last time we were together, that I truly wanted to give her a chance to get accustomed to everything. There’s just one slight problem.
Carol is dressed in a tight red top with white fur that imitates a sexy Santa suit. She has red and white striped leggings that she normally wears with them, but since we’re at home, she’s not wearing them at all. Which means most of her body is on display, slowly torturing me. Hell, she’s dressed as Santa’s naughty helper and has been wrapping gifts and stacking them in the corner all day—torturing me. She keeps muttering about having to get a Christmas tree soon. I don’t really do trees, but if it makes her happy I’ll put up a whole damn forest. She comes into the kitchen, her arms overflowing with wrapped presents. Her outfit seems to have grown shorter.
When she bends over to put the presents in place, that tight red dress she’s wearing stretches over her ass. My cock is throbbing like a drum—ready to bang her into the New Year.
“Fuck, Carol you’re killing me,” I growl, unable to take anymore. My hand goes down to the crotch of my pants to squeeze my dick as if the pain can contain the mountains of cum that’s been building in there from watching her the last couple of days.
She turns around with a saucy look on her face.
“What do you mean?” she asks, and she sounds innocent, but I’m starting to think I’m being played.
“Why do I get the feeling you know exactly what you’ve been doing to me, Carol?” I growl.
“Because you’re smart, but just a little slow,” she sasses turning to face me.
Son of a bitch.
“You want me to fuck you?” I ask, wanting to make things clear, because I still feel more than a little out of my depth. Taking a woman’s virginity is no small thing—even if I’ve technically done way with the mechanics of it all.
“Like you wouldn’t believe, Cyrus,” she admits, her voice soft, but full of hunger.
“I’ll try to be gentle then,” I tell her, hoping like hell I can live up to that promise.
“Don’t be. I’ve been waiting for you for twenty-seven years, Cyrus. I think after all of that time, I deserve for you to…”
“For me to what?” I prompt her.
“To fuck me like you mean it,” she exhales.
I don’t wait any longer. I carry her to the bedroom we’ve been sharing, thankful that damn dog of hers is outside enjoying some rare sunshine and warmer temperatures. When I put her back down on her own feet, I back her up against the wall.
“You’re playing with fire, Bebé,” I warn her.
“Oh, I-” I cut her off with a forceful kiss, immediately shoving my tongue into her mouth and ravaging the inside. She’s worked me up to the point that I barely know if I’m coming or going.
Carol moans into my mouth, hands grasping at my clothes and my body. Her nipples are hard tight peaks that I can feel through the sheer material. I grind one against the palm of my hand.
I pull away, noticing that both of us are breathing hard.
“I’m going to make you feel so fucking good, Carol,” I promise. “I’m going to make us both feel good.”