Flashback

ch 1 jan 2 2019

Flashback

Chapter 1

Being Thalia

Collaboration by @avenger-nerd-mom &  @devikafernando

AU FICTION

It’s TRUE! @devikafernando and @avenger-nerd-mom are posting a SEQUEL for Educating Thalia, involving Professor Hiddleston and Professor Evans! In Being Thalia, the two rivals are still vying for their right to claim the lovely Thalia Bareo. The sassy full-figured Puerto Rican girl from Chicago is all grown up now, holding down a job, continuing her studies and freelancing as a consultant for museums around the world. Story updates are posted on Wednesdays and Sundays.

Warning: As a whole, this work contains adult content. If you proceed you have agreed that you are willing to see such content. Each chapter will not be coded with individual warnings. The overall story contains no hidden triggers.

Summary: Thalia has an off-day, feeling out of sorts, and retreats to her office to let her mind wander.

Word count: 970

This opening chapter follows the events in the one-shot story, The Bet, originally posted in August 2018.

If you are new to the series and characters, click here to the beginning of Educating Thalia.

“Why are old lovers able to become friends? Two reasons:

They never truly loved each other, or they love each other still.”

Whitney Otto- How to Make an American Quilt

2020, Early Spring

Trouncing down the stairs, Thalia momentarily stops. Two students leaning against the window ledge are arguing points for class, one clutching a copy of Coriolanus to her chest.

A cold ache fills her heart, as it always does when her former professor and former lover, Tom Hiddleston, crosses her mind. “Fuck him,” she mumbles under her breath, hitting her fist on the bannister. She waves it off when the young woman asks if she’s okay. She sighs and continues her path down the hallway. Unlocking the door to her small office, she slams it behind her. Her love of languages and Shakespeare lost their shine when her light left. Tom took it away when he walked out of her life, nearly two years ago.

Plopping in the chair, she props her dusty boots up on the desk, swiveling the chair to face the windows, looking out across campus. The trees are beginning to bud, and soon things will be green again. Moving a file, the tennis ball she keeps on her desk rolls towards her and she picks it up and begins bouncing it against the wall. Methodically her thoughts drift as she gets lost in the repetition.

***

Slamming around their small apartment in Paris, Tom throws his clothes into the two large suitcases on the bed, the sheets still rumpled from their lovemaking the day before.

“Tom! It’s not like that! Dammit, why you gotta be such a hard ass?” She shouts back at him.

“America, Thalia? I thought we were done with that? I thought you let it go?” Tom’s voice is tight and controlled, his accent clipped. He opens the top drawer, reaching in and scooping out all the clean socks and underwear. Slamming it shut, the clock he hung just days before rattles against the stucco wall. “That we had a life here, together.”

“It’s just for a few months, a semester.” She replies, stepping in front of him.

He pushes around her. “And right back in Evans’ bed, no doubt. Of all the Ivy League schools that want you, offer you teaching positions, why do you think they keep calling you? It’s him, isn’t it?”

“Tom, I haven’t seen him in months. I’ve been here with you, you fool.” She rests on the end of the bed, trying to make light of his anger. She shuts out her thoughts and feelings about Chris cancelling their Spring Break plans at the last possible minute because he’d met someone new…

“Don’t bloody lie to me, woman. I know you still talk. I hear you on the phone with him, and his little girl. I know you still send her cards and gifts.”

Thalia nods. She can’t deny it. She made one promise ages ago, and that was to never abandon Avery. And she held true to her word. The relationship with her other former lover and professor, Chris Evans, had cooled, but they had still remained friends. She says so out loud, but it falls on deaf ears while Tom roots around in the closet, pulling out shirts and dress clothes, tossing them haphazardly on the bed.

“So you’ve taken a job at our old school, where he still works? Where he still pines for you? And you want to keep me?”

“He’s moved on, Tom. If you’ll stop for one damn minute-”

“I don’t give a rat’s arse about him. I care about you and how you let him get to you after all this time, Thalia. It’s too much.” He stands in the doorway, seething with a frightful energy she’s never seen before. Another moment of his rage passes through her thoughts, when he found out she had been seeing Evans. But this fury is unmatched; there’s a finality in it. He throws his hands up in the air. “You know what? I’m done. I’m fucking done. I’ll be back to get the rest of my things tonight, when I know you’re teaching your class. I’ll change my flight, and head back to London early.”

“Tom, you’re being ridiculous. My dad is sick, you gotta understand that,” she pleads. “I have to be back in the States, closer to home. Field Museum wouldn’t hire me, and I can’t just quit working and go home. I have college debt and bills to pay. It’s just a damn job,” Thalia says, throwing a pillow to the ground. “It puts me closer to home, closer to my dad. You don’t have to leave,” she says, anguish choking her throat.

“I do. I can’t fucking stay here a moment longer, be in your presence, knowing you still love him. I won’t do it anymore, Thalia. I can’t. Since you’re not ready to grow up and give up your other toys, I’ll take one away. I’m gone.”

***

She catches the ball in her hand, gripping it tightly. He’d meant what he said. Other than the occasional professional email, Tom Hiddleston was no longer in her life. He wasn’t even someone she could call a friend anymore. He had totally cut her out. The wounds had been deep.

When she’d first accepted the teaching position at their former place of employment, to cover another professor’s maternity leave, returning to the arms of Professor Chris Evans had not been her plan. She had made a point to stand on her own and it had worked well, for the first few months. Chris had moved on, a new girlfriend taking up space in his bed. But he and Thalia had been able to resume their friendship, and Thalia enjoyed spending time with his young daughter. The girl was so inquisitive, beautiful eyes and a sharp wit, like her father. When she was offered a more permanent teaching job at the university, she had nothing in Paris to return to, so she’d gladly accepted.

Next Chapter, Collection

Copyright © 2019  avenger-nerd-mom and devikafernando. All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

Goals

prologue goals july 8

Goals

Collaboration by devikafernando and avenger-nerd-mom

AU Fiction

Professor Tom Hiddleston and Thalia Bareo place a wager on the FIFA World Cup 2018 outcome

Warnings: language, fluff, teasing

Word Count: 1725

This little drabble doesn’t offer any answers to “What’s Thalia been up to?” or “Who is Thalia dating?” This is just a summer Saturday, a little peek into her life…

If you don’t know the story of Thalia and Professor Tom, or how Professor Evans fits into all this, start at the beginning. Read Educating Thalia on WordPress.

Prologue 2018

“Bloody hell, that was clearly offside!”

With an indignant half-yell, Tom sets his chips bag down on the table with somewhat too much force. To his right, Thalia shouts her support.

“At least by a foot! Is the side referee blind or what?”

God, she truly is the perfect football companion, Tom thinks to himself with a grin. He’s infinitely glad that he can share the experience with her. Still giddy that England has made it to the quarter finals of the FIFA World Cup 2018, he’s practically bouncing in his seat with energy. He’s already dashed off to the loo twice, feeling like a little boy again, and eating as well as drinking too much—but so is the excited, gorgeous woman on the couch next to him.

They are watching the match at her place, and though she still didn’t have a TV when she moved into this apartment, Tom quickly rectified the situation. Just so they could follow England’s journey to victory, he’s bought a huge flat-screen. Thalia, on the other hand, has invested in face paint, little flags, and football—correction, soccer—jerseys of the teams that have her support.

cookies goals

Tom smirks to himself and shakes his head a little, hiding his expression behind another cookie. Thalia’s Latina side has been showing itself repeatedly the past few weeks. She’s been vocally supportive of every single Central- and South-American team, especially Mexico and Brazil, often growing animated while watching the matches. He’s been ribbed endlessly—and enjoyed the hell out of it; not least because their excitement during the match inevitably leads to after-match romps in the sheets.

Now that there are only European teams left, Thalia has switched sides and gifted her loyalty to the English team alongside him, and it never fails to make him smile how enthusiastically she cheers—and curses—for them as well.

“What are you smiling about so smugly?” Her raspy voice interrupts his thoughts.

Tom leans over to press a rather chaste, smacking kiss onto her luscious lips, startling her into a squeak. “Nothing in particular. And everything at once.” He steals one of her marshmallows, gobbles it up and holds his finger out to let her lick the sweet powder from the digit—which she does with blazing temptation in her eyes. He winks at her and says, “Hold that thought,” and he hurriedly refocuses on the second half of the match. “I’m just so happy to be sharing all this with you.” Tom gestures broadly, loving it that she returns his smile now.

She opens her mouth to reply but then both of them freeze for a second, eyes glued to the screen.

“Goal!”

They shout it simultaneously, exchanging a disbelieving-overjoyed glance before taking in the replays of the header that puts England firmly in the lead. With a score of 2:0, they’re as good as through to the semifinals now.

“Oh my god, oh my god, fucking yes!” Tom jumps up from the couch, nearly upending his popcorn bowl while he pumps his fist into the air.

jersey goals

Thalia is clapping and whooping, and his eyes are drawn to her outfit. While he has opted for comfy, holey sweatpants and a faded England jersey he’s saved all the way from his twenties, Thalia is wearing black yoga pants and a very new team jersey that’s so tight it stretches over her ample curves like a second skin. Dammit, she’s delicious like this, eyes glowing, hair wild, cheeks flushed, and bosom heaving.

Ball not boobs, Hiddleston, he reminds himself and tears his gaze away from her generous breasts with great effort.

They settle down after some more cheering, their hands reaching for the popcorn at the same time.

“What’s the goal scorer’s name again?” Thalia asks. “He’s kinda cute.”

Scandalized, Tom snaps his head around. “Woman! He’s 22! He’s just a boy!”

She shrugs and lifts a saucy brow at him. “So? You’re hardly in a position to get your underwear in a twist about age differences, Professor.”

For a moment, he can only splutter and gape at her, then he narrows his eyes at her smirk. Oh, he’ll punish her for all that sass, after the game is over…

Refocusing on the quarter final just as Sweden is unable to turn a really good shot at the goal into an actual point for them, Tom rests his hand on Thalia’s thick thigh, fingers digging in possessively.

He feels her shudder once and snuggle closer, though she keeps her attention on the TV. All right, all right, he knows he shouldn’t feel a slight stab of jealousy over a football player she might find ‘cute’, but it does bring out his possessive side. Tom lets his fingers glide a little higher on her thigh. He’s been trying all this time not to glance at a certain corner of the room and to keep his jealousy at bay. A corner with a shelf that holds three framed photographs he can’t stand to look at for long.

Thalia with a now older child, Avery, both of them making silly faces at the camera. Avery in a colorful butterfly costume from probably some school play or other. And the third photo, which he avoids looking at the most…of Thalia, Avery and her father, Professor Evans. Tom knows that Thalia has been keeping in touch with both of them and spends quite some time with them when her work schedule allows. And he shouldn’t begrudge her that. He’s knows better now, doesn’t he? He rubs over the small scar on the back of his knuckle. He fucking knows that he can’t go all Neanderthal and throw her over his shoulder to haul her away to a cave and keep her away from the rest of the world. But still, it stings.

This isn’t the time for pondering and moping, dammit. It is her apartment, although his touches also fill the space. Rare tomes and artifacts from their travels together. And the bed they share. He cocks his head. Let the other man have a photo. He has the real thing..

Downing the last of his beer with his free hand and setting the can down a bit forcefully, Tom straightens his shoulders and puffs up his chest. Just when he pays attention to the match again, a Swedish player crumbles to the ground, clutching his ankle and grimacing in pain.

“Oh, sod off, you bleeding actor you!” He grouses and thumps his fist against his thigh before throwing his hand up in disgust, displaying his long fingers. “That was barely a touch, there’s no need to pretend you’re dying.”

Thalia snort-snickers and nudges him with her elbow. “Takes a performer to know one, huh?”

He relaxes a bit to snicker too, watching as the referee gives a free kick to Sweden. “I’m just glad we’ve seen fewer fouls this time than in 2014,” he says, calming down somewhat and hoping fervently that the free kick won’t provide the opposing team with a goal chance. “The VAR introduction seems to help.”

Once the situation is diffused, he and Thalia discuss the Video Assistant Referee system, Tom weighing in with some previous experiences from club team matches which Thalia doesn’t usually watch.

“But I bet a lot of fans and even players are blaming the VAR for their team going out of the tournament,” she adds and devours another of the mini-sandwiches that Tom has prepared as a snack.

“Mhm, probably.” Tom leans over to lick a smudge of mayonnaise off the corner of her mouth, then lets his tongue glide leisurely over her lips. When they part, he delves in quickly, laps at her tongue and draws back to savor the taste with a quiet hum.

Focus, he orders himself, seeing Thalia pull herself together and redirect her gaze to the television too.

“Speaking of bets,” he says, “it looks like I’ll soon be enjoying a day to do with you whatever I please.”

Thalia baited him into betting at the beginning of the World Cup. She swore France with all its young, dynamic players would win this time, but of course Tom insisted it would be England. So they’ve bet that whoever wins gets the opportunity to do with the other one whatever they want for a whole day. The wicked possibilities have him rubbing his hands together, but Thalia just scoffs and rolls her eyes at him.

“Not so fast. England hasn’t even reached the semis yet.”

The next moment, Tom whoops in glee as the referee’s whistle indicates that the match is over.

“Yes, we have. Yes, we fucking have, darling!”

He turns to her for a high five, which Thalia gives him with a shake of her head but also a wide, happy grin.

Tom hauls her closer with one arm and pulls her onto his lap, not even caring that the players’ celebrations on screen are blocked from view.

“Now, why don’t I show you how a real man celebrates a victory, and give you a taste of what’s to come when I’ll have you at my beck and call for a whole day?” he purrs, letting his voice go lower and deeper, and feeling her shiver in his arms.

“Yes, please…Sir.”

She adds the last word softly, after a brief hesitation. Now that they’ve mostly moved away from the ‘Professor and student’ thing and that Thalia has grown more mature, they don’t often return to their slight dom-sub tendencies from the beginnings. But whenever they do, both of them delight in the additional thrill.

Grasping the globes of her lush ass, Tom shifts her even closer and nuzzles her neck. He inhales her orchid scent, one that’s been haunting him for ages. When she makes a soft, contented sound, he turns the nuzzling into kisses, then gives in to the urge and opens his mouth over her pulse point to suck a mark. Biting down slightly until she squirms, he lets one hand wander into her unruly curls to pull her head back for even better access, continuing to lavish her neck with licks and sucks.

The raucous cheering on TV fades into the background as the fingers of his other hand slide beneath the waist of her yoga pants. She leans forward, burrowing his face in her cleavage, and removes his glasses, tossing them to the side table.

To find out the outcome, click to read “The Bet.”

If you don’t know the story of Thalia and Professor Tom, or how Professor Evans fits into all this, start at the beginning. Read Educating Thalia on WordPress.

Copyright © 2018  avenger-nerd-mom and devikafernando.  All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

 

Birthday Sweets

birthday sweets june 13 2018.jpg

Birthday Sweets

an Emery&Chris story

by avenger-nerd-mom

On a secluded boat dock, Chris and Emery celebrate his 37th birthday together

Warnings: NSFW, language, cunnilingus, anal fingering, intercourse

Word Count 2781

June 2018

Humming a little tune, Chris clears up their trash, throwing the items back in the picnic basket. Looking at his watch, he gets a little concerned, wondering what’s keeping Emery so long. Tossing the bread crumbs in the lake he watches as small fish swarm around, trying to get their fill. He smiles when he hears her steps pounding down the dock. Turning to watch her, his heart fills with pride at her beauty and grace, hidden under a flirty summer sundress, and criss-crossed tan lines on her shoulders. His face lights up. “Why didn’t you just go behind the tree?” he teases.

She stops dead in her tracks, hand on her hip, the other hiding behind her back. “Because, I’m a lady,” she quotes, “that’s why!”

Falling forward gently from his squatting position, he lands on his knees, resting his fists on his thighs. He effects the same accent from one of their favorite Disney movies, and asks, “What’s hiding behind your back?”

She giggles. Returning her voice to her casual Southern drawl, she replies, “Well, I know you said you didn’t want cake until all the family comes down this weekend, so-” Emery swings her arm around, presenting a small gift bag, “here’s a little something till then.”

She steps forward, kicking off her sandals and handing it to him, before carefully sitting on the edge of the plaid blanket. He peers down into the bag and lets out a whoop of excitement. “From Leopold’s?” He asks, pulling out a travel container of ice cream.

She grins, happily nodding and pulling out two spoons from her pocket. She’d arranged for his favorite flavors to be packaged up from their favorite shop in Savannah to make the journey without him even knowing. “There’s more up in the cabin. This is the rum cake one.”

Pulling the lid off carefully, he licks the smear of melted cream stuck to the top. “You really are the best birthday party planner ever, Em. How’d I get so lucky to find you?”

She shrugs her shoulders as he rocks back again, landing on his butt and crossing his legs ‘indian-style’ to sit on the dock. “We have had a good day, haven’t we? Sleeping in, hiking, swimming-”

“Getting sunburned-”

“We’ll put more aloe on later,” she says, dipping her spoon in the small cup when he passes it to her. “I kept telling you to put on more sunscreen.”

He points his spoon to the water, pointing out where a fish  jumped out above the surface. She nods, acknowledging she saw it. “Just more proof you’ll make a great mom someday. You’ve had plenty of practice with me.” She bristles at his comment. “I know, I know. You’re not my mother,” he chuckles, bumping her shoulder. “But you are good at taking care of people, making them feel special.” He waves his hand wildly. “All this… I feel so loved.”

She scoots forward, dropping her legs over the edge of the dock. “Because you are.”

“I am, and I feel it every day. I am really lucky to have you.” He holds the cup to her again, and she takes another spoonful. He watches as she slowly licks the spoon, savoring the flavor before pulling it off with her tongue. “Still can’t believe you rented out the whole damn place; it’s awesome.”

“Well, you were fussing on me to be more extravagant and relax about money. I didn’t want anything for myself, so spending it on you seemed logical. Besides, it’s not like I really rented out the whole place. Another couple was supposed to be here, but the owner said Saturday when I talked to her they canceled, and no one else was booked. She said it’s ‘cause of the draught, and the water is too low for boats to get back up in here.” Emery reaches for another spoonful of ice cream. She yelps when a fish nibbles her toe, and she kicks her feet like crazy to scare them away. “That’s when I told the lady not to rent out the other cabins, and we settled on a price.” She swipes away a dragonfly buzzing around her head.

“When I told you to spend money, I didn’t mean on me. But I like we enjoy this together. It’s good we like the same outdoorsy things.”

She bites her lip to hide her smile. Turning towards him, she lays her spoon down, finished with the ice cream. She raises her eyebrow. “I like doing other kinds of outdoor things with you as well.”

Chris laughs, the sound bouncing off the water, and echoing back. “Oh, really?” He sets down the finished ice cream cup. “What did you have in mind?”

Emery grabs his ankle and untucks his feet, pulling his leg out straight as she begins to climb up his body. He leans back on his elbows, watching her prowl. She pauses, tugging on the hem of his shorts. “These pants are ridiculous,” she says.

“Scott picked them out,” he smiles.

She shakes her head. “Ya know, I knew from the first night we met, I liked you. Wanna know why?” He nods and she continues. “One of the first things you said to me, that got you in trouble, was when you quoted dating advice from your brother. I thought, ‘that’s a guy that loves his family no matter what’ and I knew we’d get along. But, uh,” she runs her hands over the buttons on his shirt, “don’t take fashion advice from your gay brother either.”

“I thought I looked good? You complained I looked too much like a ‘dude bro’ the other day at lunch?” He smiles, watching her hands as she pushes against his chest, flattening him to the dock.

She rolls her eyes, resting her body on his belly and sitting up. He places his hands on her thigh, her skin warm from the summer sun. “That restaurant was too fancy for you to be wearing workout gear and a frat-boy ball cap… And yes, you do look good right now.” She reaches down and scratches his scruffy chin. “Like ‘Harvard Hottie’ grew up and became a professor. I like it.” She moans softly as his hands grace up her legs, higher and higher.

“Em!” In total disbelief, he asks, “Did you leave something back at the cabin?”

“Yup!” She pops the letter ‘p,’ lifting her skirt and flashing him, showing off she’s already wet.

His hands slide under her, lifting her from his chest. “I really like this new, playful, horny as hell, wife I have. I should turn thirty-seven all the time,” he growls, bringing her forward.

She scoots her knees along, following his lead, and he watches her excited smile grow. The fading sunlight casts a warm glow as it drifts through the trees. He wants to freeze time, to make every moment count. He kneads her ass, pulling at the soft flesh. Pushing her higher, she lifts her knees over his shoulders one at a time, her feet resting on his biceps and toes curling under his arms. Wrapping his hands over her thighs, he spreads her succulent pink lips. “Is this present just for me?”

He kisses her thigh on the left, as she murmurs her approval. Blowing out cool air across her exposed sex, he moves across to kiss her on the right. He lifts his head, running the tip of his nose against the delicate skin of her inner thighs. Her skin rises into goosebumps despite the humid air.

“You still hungry?” she asks, voice husky and skittish with anticipation.

“I believe I am.” He paws at her with his strong hands, bringing them together to meet, pushing his thumbs against her clit as she gasps. Forcing her down, her ass rests on his clavicles while his tongue dips in the sweet well. With a languorous lick from front to back, he grips her thighs firmly. Holding her tight so she can’t squirm away, he repeats the action again and again. Her sweet juice floods his tongue, replacing the faint flavoring of the ice cream treat. “So lickable,” he moans quietly, probing gently with his tongue.

Leaning back with her hands grabbing his pecs, she grinds herself against his mouth and chin. He knows the beard is an added sensual bonus. Peeling his eyes open, he sees nothing but the setting sun, low in the sky, shades of pink and purple. His attentions bring forth quiet pants and cries from his lovely wife, and the sound causes a tightening in his pants. “Louder, Kitten, there’s no one around to hear you.”

“Mmmhm,” Emery moans, breathing hard and gripping the sides of his ribcage. Her manicured nails scrape his shirt and he wished there was less clothing between them.

Slowly blinking his eyes closed, his tongue laps through her again. Tasting her inner core, his nose grazes her clit. She jumps in his arms, leaning forward and pushing his head away from the sensitive spot. “Baby,” he chuckles, opening his mouth wider for a soothing lick, easing the sensitive spot.

Wanting to thoroughly please her, he closes his mouth sloppily over her lips, teasing with his tongue. Imitating a French kiss, he explores her delicious pussy. His beard is wet with her dew and he swallows the flood, wondering how long she’ll last.

Gently she reaches down, caressing the top of his head, running her hands through his hair. “You’re gonna make me come.” Massaging his scalp, she lifts his head, pushing him deeper into the wet pool, barely able to breathe.

Chris’s hands grip her ass, squeezing and pulling her close. Her hands at the back of his head, tug and pull his hair, moving his head back and forth. His tongue flicks in and out, caressing against her clit and against the side of her swollen lips. She falls forward, supporting herself with one hand while the other still plays in his hair. Her shift brings her closer to his mouth and lifts her ass into the air. His hands clench the rounded bubble, pulling her cheeks apart as his tongue continues to work. Trapped under her, his movement is limited. But it’s the best place to be! Her sounds grow louder as she rides his face, grinding in a circular sway. Gathering her slick, he wets his thumb and brushes across her taint at the same time his lips gently suction over her clit. Tenderly, he tortures her with his mouth, sucking and pulling an orgasm from her as he teases her pulsing asshole with his thumb.

Seduced by the added pressure, her tiny cries grow louder. Leaning forward on both elbows, her pussy pulls away. Lifting his head, he keeps their contact as she calls out, “I’m coming, I’m coming.” Her legs spread wider and his thumb eases in, up to his knuckle. The release of fluids is too much to swallow, but he laps up what he can as she continues to ride his face. She pushes her ass against his palm, his thumb gliding in deeper and his lips slide free from her dripping cunt. “Fuck me, now,” she purrs, laughing at her command.

His beard is liberally coated with her runoff and his thumb remains trapped inside her hole. Crawling out from under her, he quickly swipes his face against the plaid picnic blanket. “We really should camp more often,” he chuckles. He slowly rolls his hand around, twisting out his thumb, watching the tiny hole close back up. He playfully nips his teeth across her tight ass, giving it a smack for good measure. Rolling to his side, seeing her stance, his stomach tightens.

Her beautiful backside is in the air, and she’s positioned her legs back together. Her spine arches and she’s resting forward, collapsed on her arms. The flowered sundress is bunched around her waist and one of the straps hangs down her arm. Glistening in the setting sun, her ripe juice runs down her inner thighs. “Don’t move,” he growls, unbuckling his belt quickly and pulling his pants down to his knees. With a few quick pumps of his hand, he’s hard and ready. Crawling towards her, he leans forward, running his tongue up her thigh and catching a drop of her sweet release. He positions himself behind her, guiding his hard cock through the wet mess.

“Chris, don’t play, come on and fuck me,” she says, reaching over her shoulder and twisting her hair up, off her neck.

He can see beads of sweat laced along her neckline, and he bends over her, blowing a cooling breath across the back of her neck and shoulders as he slips his thick head between her lips. The walls of her pussy hug his cock, sucking him in, molding around him. Made for each other. A perfect fit. “What a gift,” he sighs as he pushes deeper, bottoming out. He stills while she shifts her weight, bunching the blanket up under her knees. He looks around, having forgotten they’re outside, on a boat dock in a deserted campground. Fireflies have begun to zoom around as the sky turns to dusk and tree frogs begin their nightly sounds. “Do you see this, Em? It’s beautiful.”

She giggles, lifting her head up to look around, and back at him. “It is; we should fuck outside more often.” Her mirth rings out and she begins to slide off and on his cock.

Chris guides her, one hand on her hip, the other on her shoulder, pulling her into him. The sound of their skin slapping together and her whines each time he thrusts into her, expelling her breath, fills the night. As their lovemaking continues, he senses her frustration, knowing her so well. His knees are killing him on the hard, wooden surface, but neither of them are quitters. He slides his hand from her shoulder, grasping at her breast. Working his fingers under the dress neckline, he pulls down, exposing her, pinching and fondling the tight peak. He begins to whisper words of encouragement, his other hand sliding between her legs. Emery rocks back into him, spreading her legs, presenting her clit as he wraps his fingertips around the small bundle of nerves. Her whines grow, each being pushed from her body. “Fuck me, Evans,” she demands into the night.

He chuckles again. “So tense, Kitten. We got this. Relax, baby. Relax.”

Her slick pussy works his cock to perfection, holding him snug and he can feel his own climax building. She changes positions again and he smiles when her hand joins his, pressing over her hood as his hand swirls quickly around her clit.

He drops his other hand to the dock to support them as she begs him to go faster. He thrusts harder and deeper, tilting into her, hitting her soft walls, buried with each stroke. Giving as much as she’s taking, her body slows as her orgasm begins and she begs, “Don’t stop. Too perfect.”  

Pounding in and out, each stroke now takes him out of her body,  bouncing across her rim before sliding back in. Hard and fast. Strong and deep. The pulsing of her cunt around him is tight and her noises echo in his ears, bouncing from the trees and water. His unstoppable force rises, and he is helpless against its’ tide. Lost in her own orgasm, he joins her, the feeling so intense, his cries match hers. Filled with his seed, their lovemaking, she falls forward on the dock, holding his wrist and pulling him down with her. He collapses over her, careful not to drop his full weight. Her body still trembles under his as she falls back to reality. “Happy Birthday,” she sings out, light and airy.

He kisses the back of her neck, wondering if this is it. Did they just start a life? Thirty-seven and he still feels he’s failed, not being a father yet. Not giving her what she wants most; their child.

“You’re thinking too loudly. It would be a great birthday gift, no doubt, but don’t stress on it.” She lifts her shoulder and he rolls off. She turns to face him. “Shhh… Stop thinking,” she says as she caresses across his forehead. “It’s fuckin’ hot out here,” she states.

He rolls his eyes. “It’s a long walk to the shower house.”

“Are you suggesting we skinny-dip, dear husband?” She lifts her head, resting her chin on her palm. With her other hand, she begins to unbutton his shirt.

“Sounds like a good plan,” he agrees, reaching across to unzip her dress. “Another present to unwrap… More birthday sweets!”

Click here to read the next Emery&Chris story, Private Dancer

Read more about Emery and Chris in their novella, Georgia on My Mind, and their story collections

Copyright © 2018 avenger-nerd-mom.  All rights reserved.

Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

 

Private Dancer

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Private Dancer

By avenger-nerd-mom

Chris has a late night encounter

Warnings: NSFW, public nudity, dom/sub tendencies, anal fingering, denied orgasm, talk of bondage

Word Count: 3884

July 2018

Head back against the wall,Chris slouches in the old metal chair, too tired and achy to move. He waves goodbye to the others, leaving for the night, and swipes his hand out to the side, hoping his grasp will reach the water bottle in the chair next to him.

“Go home, man, it’s enough for one day,” a voice calls out.

“Yea, yea, I know,” he guffaws, the tiredness seeped in his vocal chords. “I might run through it again.”

The bottle pressed to his lips, the water is cool as it runs down the back of his throat, refreshing. Just when he thinks he can’t take the heat, the air conditioning in the worn down building kicks on, causing the windows to rattle. He takes another swallow, running the back of his arm across his forehead, chilling his skin as the sweat collects in the hairs on his arms.

“Too fuckin’ old for this, Evans,” he mutters to himself.

He downs the rest of the water quickly, grunting in pain as he leans forward to untie his shoes. He lazily pulls one off and it clunks to the scuffed floors. The lights click off overhead and he calls out, “Hey! I’m still in here!”

Static screeches through the stereo system and a familiar guitar riff fills the room. A spot light shines down from above on a form in the center of the room, a curvy figure outlined in the shadows as her hips sway to the first beat. He bites back a smile as her heels click on the floor, executing a perfect spin before falling to her knees, crawling towards him. On the prowl, she keeps to the cadence of the song, a seductress he’s never seen before.

Her stance wide, hips sashaying from side to side, she taps the rhythm and stomps in perfect syncopation. A halo of curls swirl around her, a wave of red, blazing fire, hiding her face. Unable to see her expressions, he wants to watch her feet, the sound clear and crisp, in strict, guarded movements. But his eyes are drawn to the sweet jiggle of her ass in the high cut booty shorts and her strained nipples against the tight t-shirt, cut and knotted between her firm breasts. Her hands run over her body, wanting and needing, the music pulsing through her, creating a heated sexual energy in the room.

Every move is practiced and fluid, almost effortless. Yet even in the cold room, he can see sweat collecting on her lower back, at the waist of the form fitting shorts. She’s working hard, and has his attention. Resting back in the chair, he palms over his hardening cock, turned on by this show, just for him. His private dancer.

He aches to touch her. Realizing he can glimpse her backside in the mirror behind her, he enjoys fruitfully all the bouncing muscles rolling under the athletic strain of her performance. As she stomps, reaching forward gracefully, he wonders how he hadn’t noticed the cane on the floor before. The way she grips the core causes him to groan quietly, shifting uncomfortably now in his seat. His tired aches are forgotten as she crawls across the floor some more, sliding along on knee pads. With a final click of the long staff against the hardwood floor, the music ends as mysteriously as it began.

He jumps from his seat, in wild applause as she stays bowed before him, breathing heavily and slightly panting. Padding forward in his socks, he swoops his hand under her waist and swings her up to her feet. Still hidden under the mass of hair, he pushes it back from her face, her blue eyes shining bright. “Holy fuck, that was awesome! The sexiest thing I’ve ever-”

Her mouth closes over his, swallowing his words, a hard, forced kiss, teeth gnashing against teeth. His arms pull her tight, his body flush against hers. Heat. Adrenaline. Pure sex appeal. His hands roam over her lusty ass, down the backs of her thighs as he tries to get closer, to crawl into her as she pulls and tugs his plump lips between her teeth, her tongue diving into the far reaches of his mouth. Clawing at his hair, holding him close, her leg slides up his, wrapping behind his thigh, holding him even closer. His hard cock twitches, grinding against her barely clothed body.

With a satiated sigh, she pulls away, an almost shy smile creeping across her face. “Fuck, that was sexy,” she whispers.

Her throaty twang reaches to his dick, causing another jerk, pushing into her. Holding her ass closely, his hands creep under the fabric cupping her rounded cheeks. She’s so wet, already primed. He begins to lower his wife to the hardwood floor, ready to take her here and now.

“Evans, you aren’t doing me on the hardwood floor,” Emery laughs, fighting against him to remain standing.

He looks around quickly. “There’s dance mats.”

In a quick spin, she extricates herself from his hold, “There’s also three cameras from different angles filming the dance, and your reaction.”

He grabs her hand, spinning her close to him, sliding his hand from her knee up her thigh, gripping her waist as he thrusts against her. “This is my reaction.”

“I know; I saw,” she giggles. “Thank god you didn’t whip it out and keep stroking.”

Chris looks around, seeing for the first time the tiny red glow from a camera light. “Let’s just turn off the damn cameras?”

“How about we drag our achy, sore bodies to the hotel room I booked across the street?”

“You did not?” He incredulously intones.

“I did too,” she smiles wildly, gliding and tapping away from him, just out of his reach. She runs around, turning off the cameras and tucking them under her arms while he puts his street shoes on. “Shontae just said to lock up. She’ll be back in an hour or so to close up for the night.”

He takes the cameras from her hands, catching her fingers in his grasp and brushing his thumb over her sparkling wedding ring. “Shontae. She helped throw this together? I didn’t know you could still tap.” He remembers now pictures around her parents’ home of various dance recitals and years as a cheerleader. He chuckles as she lowers herself into the metal chair. “All the bruises, and aching muscles? That wasn’t from working out with Don at Drive495?” He’d hated knowing while he was running scripts and warming up for evenings on Broadway, that she was often getting in afternoon workouts with his pal, Sebastian Stan. He didn’t care she’d lost fifteen pounds, and enjoyed the routine. Jealousies run deep…

“Oh, no, I was still working out with Don and Seb,” she replies, running her hands down her sculpted abs, “but Shontea came into the city once a week to meet me at a studio, and she and another trainer worked with me to get this little surprise ready for you.” She lazily points to a bag in the corner while sliding off the knee pads. “Can you bring me my shoes? I’ll walk across the street dressed like a hooker, but I’m not ruining my taps.”

She hugs the heels to her chest and he chuckles, scooting his feet across the floor to get her bag. He groans, reaching to pick it up. Crossing the room again, he’s afraid he wouldn’t be able to pull his tired, pained body up out of the chair if he sits again, so he leans against the wall, watching her slide on a pair of athletic sandals. “How long you been working on this surprise?”

Her brow furrows, as she presses her hands to her thighs, pushing herself to stand up. She winces. From her bag, she pulls out a water bottle and aspirin, offering him some as well.

“Last fall? When you started dancing again? After some classes last fall in Atlanta, I realized my body could do it, so I came up with this crazy plan last December.” She tilts her head back, swallowing the little pills, massaging the nape of her neck. She raises her eyebrow. “The room has a giant jet tub…” Changing back to the subject of dance, she continues. “I thought it would be a fun surprise. Give me something to do while we were in New York…” her voice trails off as she places her hand in his.

He throws her bag over his shoulder, leading her to the door. Pulling it closed, he makes sure it locks and they slowly walk down the stairs to the street below, each hiding the muffled “ooffs” of muscle aches and pains. “Too damn old,” he whispers again.

“Speak for yourself, I’m in my prime,” she chuckles, nearly stumbling into him when he stops on the step.

“You just keep getting better with age,” Chris admits, throwing his arm around her neck as they step out of the building, onto the sidewalk. “You really do look like a hooker, very Julia Roberts, Pretty Woman.”

“Thanks,” she says, tucking into his side and looking down the walk for observers. With a quick kiss on his lips, she shakes out her hair, untamed and free. No cars coming, they jog across the road quickly. “This place is probably used to it,” she chuckles, pulling open the door to the older city hotel.

“Right? It would be my luck to get caught by a photographer right about now, though. Hidden on a back page in the Boston Herald… ‘Hometown Hero Up to Old Tricks.’” He laughs, following her through the lobby, just a step behind to watch her ass. The clerk nods, a blush reaching the younger man’s cheeks. Chris tries his best to hide his scowl. Jealousies run deep…

“Caught with hookers here before, honey?” She teases, shaking her head disapprovingly at him. Goosing her as they wait for the elevator to arrive, she turns away from him, shaking her head and pushing away his hands.

“Not hookers, but…” He decides it’s best to let the sentence trail of when she raises her eyebrow higher than he thought humanly possible.

When the box opens, he advances towards her and she gracefully steps back. It clicks in his head she’d been carrying herself well, proud and confident, for the last few months. Finally growing into the role as a celebrity icon herself. Working out and dancing had been good for her, primal and empowering. The doors close and he pushes her against the wall. Rolling her eyes, she reaches around him, and punches in the number for the top floor. With her back to the wall, his hands grip her waist, his thumb caressing over her exposed belly button. He delights in the catch of her breath, the tiny goosebumps that bubble across her skin. Looking down on her petite, svelte figure, he beams with pride. “What is this anyway?” he teases, his hands ghosting up her muscled form, tugging at the knotted fabric between her breasts.

Her eyes drop to his hands, and he fumbles momentarily before the fabric falls free, exposing her breasts. Keeping her blocked from any surveillance, his hands cup the heavy globes, squeezing the warm flesh, feeling her nipples pebble under the caress of his palms.

“You better fuck me good tonight, Evans,” she warns, her voice heavy and rich.

The door buzzes and opens. She tugs the fabric together, clutching it to her chest, barely covering herself and walks around him.

He covers his face in his hands, chuckling, running out of the elevator to follow her down the hall. “You say that like you’ve been disappointed lately-”

She turns to him, dropping her hands, the ripped t-shirt falling open, only covering one of her breasts as the other half falls to her side. “Let’s just say we’ve both been too tired, and focused on the wrong things.”

“Ouch,” he whispers seeing a quick blaze of anger behind her eyes. He steps in front of her, hoping to keep his prize from view on security cams.

From a pocket on her bag, she pulls out a room key and slides it over the keypad, gaining access to the room. Blocking the door, her hand snakes out and grabs his belt buckle. “When we step through this door, for tonight, I want all this boring, ‘married life,’ ‘day to day’ chat to stop. I just wanna fuck, and forget the world tonight.”

Her eyes darken and her features are harsh under the poor lighting. Red curls billow around her angel face and she’s so beautiful, his love for her grows a bit more. In his silence, entranced by her prowess, she has begun to loosen his belt, slowly pulling it from the loops.  Visions and memories flood his mind, and he profoundly hears her words. With a moment’s hesitation, he bows his head, making a fast decision, her song choice still rolling through his head. He places his hand firmly around her wrist, stopping the tug of his belt. “Then I’ll damn well take care of my Kitten, my bride, no complaints?”

Emery’s hands drop to her side. Her smile grows, understanding his unspoken words. “Don’t get too carried away. Remember to strip me before you tie me up with that thing.” She smirks. “Unlike last time,” she murmurs under her breath.

Already challenging his authority. He grins, choking back his sigh. She’s too damn hard headed to really play his games, but they have their own fun. A freedom he’d never had before. Love and trust. The true key to happiness. Feeling his need rise, an inner beast raging inside him, he can’t remember the last time they truly had time to play.

Reading his mind, she whispers, “No one else is on this floor tonight, and we have late check out tomorrow. Now cut the bullshit, Evans. It’s like you’re stalling,” she taunts.

Reaching his hand over her shoulder, his eyes grow dark in an instant as a memory of her tied up once before skates through his thoughts. His fist pushes the door open. He steps towards her and she doesn’t budge. Testing him. “In. Strip. Slowly.”

He watches her entire presence change. She softens, ready to have her needs met at his command. She dutifully turns, her hips swishing from side to side, dropping the cut t-shirt to the floor as she strolls in. Chris flicks on the light switch, and two dim lamps in the room react, setting a mood. She doesn’t turn to look at him as she slides out of her sandals, leaving them beside the bed. He swipes his phone screen, calling up some music, her dance song of choice filling the air. The little shorts barely cover her ass, having ridden up between her cheeks as they ran across from the studio. As he watches her roll the second-skin fabric over her hips and down her legs, he undresses quickly as well. He can see she’s already wet, the clothing having been pressed into her sex. Faint tan lines mark across her back from different pool outings with all their nieces and nephews and trips to Georgia, to the lake house. He tries not to laugh at her white ass, blindingly pale, compared to the light tan.

“I’m still more tan than you,” she says quietly.

“How the fuck do you do that?” He asks, walking up to her quietly and running his hand down her spine. Her shoulders quake as a shiver runs over her. “Know my thoughts?”

“Magic.”

“Oh, I’ll show you ‘magic,’” he replies. “Bend over.” His hand presses against her back as she complies. “Rest your palms on the bed…. Beautiful. So beautiful.”

Her deep breathing fills his ears, tuned into her, the music merely to keep outside sounds filtered. Looping the belt together, he drags the worn leather over her alabaster skin. He can hear her exhale, and he repeats the path before drawing it in circles over her canvas. In his mind’s eye he sees the outcome, splattering his cum all over her backside. Tonight is raw, animalistic… He pushes the thoughts of creating a baby from his mind, wanting to see his seed wasted instead. When your wife says she wants to get fucked, and hands over the reins, you can do what you want. Chris grins at the thought. Tonight’s gonna be fun.

Admiring her ass, her taut skin, her legs pressed together. A small bruise on the back of her thigh, probably from a fall during a dance rehearsal. He can’t believe she’d been practicing for months, and he hadn’t even known. He’d believed her tales, slipping on ice on the subway steps, bumping into a desk at work. Her sprained wrist had kept a brace on her hand for weeks. Dancing. She’d been dancing to surprise him. “What a woman,” he praises. He tilts his chin up. “Spread.”

Her breathing is controlled as she slides her right leg out, rebalancing and distributing her weight evenly between her feet. His cock twitches, hardening, lifting and bobbing against his belly. He groans. Shifting closer to her, he leans forward, pressing himself across the divide of her rounded ass. He rubs the head of his shaft over her, slowly hissing out his own pleasure, smearing her with his pre-cum. He settles himself between her legs, stroking back and forth. Arching over her back, his hands fall forward to play with her freely swinging breasts. “Unmph,” she moans, wiggling back into him. Pushing against her, playing with her tits, it’s barely all he can take to not explode before they even begin. Last week? We had sex sometime last week, right? He pinches her peaked buds as he positions himself to line up with her rim. Dropping one end of the belt, he wraps it around her waist, gathering it in one hand, fisting it against her lower back. Her pussy is hot and wet, inviting him in, soaking the tip of his hard cock. She sighs again. He bites his lip to keep from laughing at her annoyance, letting go of her breast to swat her ass. “I say when,” he reminds her.

When? Now? Why the hell wait?

Waiting’s fun, he reminds himself. He slows his breathing, remembering when sex was fun, before it became rushed, fitting it in their schedules, trying again to create life.

He glides his finger through her wet, bringing it back to caress over her puckered hole. Her weight sags forward, melting into the floor. Her weakness, never would have imagined playing with her ass would be her weakness. Pulling up on the belt, he perfects her stance as he pushes his finger, teasing her tight rim. The small squeak she vocalizes makes him smile, and he can picture the delight on her face. Smoothing over the shiny pink surface, he holds the belt tighter around her waist before stimulating her asshole again. “Breathe deep, Kitten,” he reminds her, knowing she’s holding her breath. Seeing her relax, he takes advantage and pushes in up to his knuckle, feeling her silky smooth wall hold him in firmly. When she relaxes more, he slides out and pushes in again, completing the same action with his cock into her waiting cunt, dripping and ready. “Fuuuck,” he whines. “You feel so good baby.”

She cries out, almost squirming away from him, and he holds still a moment while her body adjusts to the stuffed feeling. “Damn tight,” she moans. Not accepting him tonight, her body constricts, forcing his finger out. Leaning over her again, he reaches for her torn shirt, and wipes his hand clean. Her legs are already shaky and her arms, extended in front of her with only her palms on the bed, are twitchy. He can feel her exhaustion, knows it in her muscles from her performance. Sliding his hand under her wild mane of hair, he grips her neck, increasing the pounding behind his thrusts in and and out of her sopping pussy. The smell of sex fills the air and her sweet nectar runs down her legs, squishing out with each forceable propulsion.

“Don’t be mean,” she whispers.

For her defiance, he yanks up on the belt, slamming her to him, in balls deep and holding her neck tighter. Still afraid to admit she likes it rough, he ponders. The sound of their skin slapping together drives him to pump faster, and harder, but with no stimulation to her clit or breasts, she can continue to pant in heat. Her whines grow as the elusive orgasm pains her, her breaths quick and sharp. Her fingers grip the edge of the bed. Chris wonders if she’ll let go, if she’ll defy him further and reach to stimulate herself. He feels his own pressure building as her legs begin to quake. He walks them forward a few steps closer to the bed, dropping his hand from her neck to her shoulder, gently pushing her down to rest her forearms against the bed, tipping her ass up a bit higher. Directly hitting her spot with each ram, her cries grow louder, breathy whines and moans. “Beg,” he commands.

She shakes her head ‘no,’ slowly. “No use,” she groans. “You won’t let me come.”

He chuckles, the tightening low in his belly, and he leans into her, sucked down into her wet flower, gripping and squeezing around him. The first pulse of his cum shoots through him and paints her deep inside. “Shhh-it,” he hisses, dropping the belt to the floor and pulling out to spill all over her back, just as he’d fantasized. It’s in her hair, shot too high, she’ll hate that. Tugging and twisting over the swollen veins of his cock, he pumps faster, watching the ropes of thick white cum splatter her skin. A few drops fall to the floor, but not a big mess. As the pulses die out and he stills in his hand, her form sinks. “Just wait, Kitten. Let me get you cleaned up.”  She nods, but doesn’t speak.

Warming the wash cloth under the sink water, he reaches over and turns on the jet tub, filling it with hot water. Returning quickly to her side, he wipes up the mess, whispering praises for her performance, on the dance floor and as his submissive toy for the evening. He watches her struggle to hold back her words as he picks her up and carries her to the tub. Sinking down in the hot water, it’s like she unfreezes and her words tumble out. “I asked you to fuck me, no, I told you too. What the hell was that, Jellybean?”

Playfully dunking her under the water, he adjusts the knobs for the jets. She emerges, wiping water from her face, spluttering.

“That was us, just getting started tonight, Kitten. I’m nowhere near finished with you yet. We have lots of lost time we need to make up for. I’m gonna call down to the front desk in the morning. We might just hide up here for the rest of the week, no cares, no responsibilities. All the fucking you want and need.”

Climbing over him as he settles into the water, she grips his cock in her hand, not even attempting to be gentle and says, “Sounds like the perfect summer plan to me!”

Read more about Emery and Chris in their novella, Georgia on My Mind, and their story collections

Scroll down under author note for link to next story…

Author’s Note: Inspired by this AMAZING video, choreographed by Chloe Arnold, featuring the Syncopated Ladies. Emery could handle MOST of the routine, stopping at 1:57…

Click here to read the next Emery&Chris story, Sunday with Grand-dad

Copyright © 2018  avenger-nerd-mom. All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

 

Wet Sand

 

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Wet Sand

a Tom Hiddleston drabble

by avenger-nerd-mom

Word Count 676

Warnings: Language, Fluff, Nudity

Tom and his new secret love enjoy an evening walk on the beach…

April 2017

Walking along the shore, Tom and his lovely fair-haired companion gaze out over the horizon, watching the birds dip and swoop for their evening meal.  Tom carries his shoes and wonders if she left hers on the terrace after dinner. Her long flowing dress trails in the water and the blue and purple swirls of fabric at her tiny feet remind him of a mermaid.  “Isn’t that the dress you bought in Milan a few weeks ago? It’s quite lovely,” he compliments.

She side-eyes him, bumping her elbow into his arm.  “Are you afraid I’m ruining it in the water?”

He chuckles quietly.  “Well… far be it from me to tell you what to do; it’s your vacation home- but yes, won’t the water cause damage?  It was rather expensive, as I recall.”

Stepping ahead, she turns on her heels to face him.  Gathering the fabric up to her hips, she kicks and splashes him playfully.   With his long legs, he kicks back and water and sand spot across the front of her dress.  “So sorry! I was only-” Tom begins his famous apologies before she cuts him off.

“Ruined now.  It’s ruined.” Reaching up, she feels the globs of sand on top of her head.  “And sand in my hair?” She tsk-tsks, looking down at her chest, the wet sand clinging to the tanned globes peeking out from the deep v-neck cut of the summer gown.  “Well, that’s that, I guess.” Her eyes locked on his, she pulls the dress over her head, revealing herself to be totally nude under the flimsy gauzy fabric. She tosses the dress to him and backs slowly into the water.  “You’ve made me dirty, Tom.  That wasn’t very nice.”

Dropping his eyes, he looks away, embarrassed not by her natural display but by the instant need it creates in him.  Hearing a splash as she twists and dives away, he turns with a smile to watch her swim from the shore.

“Aren’t you worried the ships on the horizon have paparazzi with telephoto lens?” He asks, thinking back to another time he once played on the beach with a woman and how it did not end well.

“It wouldn’t be the first time my breasts have graced the tabloids, dear,” she mocks before diving under again, her sweet little ass rising above the water’s surface before disappearing.  Springing up, she pushes the wet hair back from her face. “Are you too afraid to have your cock on display? It’s very beautiful… You should strip down and join me. The water’s perfect.”

“And have the press finally catch us together, as a couple?”  He asks, wondering if this might truly be her plan.

She giggles, swirling in dizzying circles, creating her own current around her.  It reminds him of their life together, always spinning in circles, waiting for one wave to crash into the other.

“I’m your fashion designer, Tom.  They already caught me with my hands down your pants a few weeks ago. Purely of a business nature, of course.”   She winks. “What’s the point of keeping it secret any longer?”

“Darling, I’m more than happy to step out in the press with you, if that’s what you want; if you think we’re ready, but…” he shields his eyes from the setting sun, again eyeing the ships with wary. “Dropping my trousers in daylight to skinny dip with you isn’t what I had in mind.”

“Oh, really.  Then tell me, Mr. Hiddleston.  What do you have in mind?” She asks, her voice throaty and full of lust and desire.

Clutching the designer dress tighter in his hands, he begins to slowly back away.  “I think I’d rather steal your clothes and watch you run along the path, naked, back up to the cottage.”

“TOM!  You wouldn’t!” Thrashing through the water, she tries to reach him, but she’s too late, as she watches him sprint down the shore to the path leading to her secluded beach home.  “That British fucker,” she complains, taking off after him, water dripping down her shapely body.

Copyright © 2018  avenger-nerd-mom. All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

Score Another Goal

original score another goal less fuzzy question.jpg

*a Chris Evans fan fic*

by avenger-nerd-mom

After soccer practice, a single mom gets an eventful ride home…

NSFW, with my trademark fluff; “fluffy smut”

Word Count: 6737

“Just go talk to him.  You know he’s here every week, and he’s always watching you behind his shades.”

“Bullshit; he is not,” she blushes.  “He’s here to help his brother-in-law coach the team, and spend time with his nephews.  I’m not gonna butt in on that.”

“Speaking of ‘butts,’ look at his ass in those sweatpants, I mean damn,” says a third mother.

“I can’t, I’m too busy thinking about his thighs,” she laughs.

The sound must reach the field, because Chris looks up and waves at the group of moms.

“You really should talk to him,” says the brunette.

“Why me?” she asks.

“Well, first of all, you’re single.  I’m a lesbian, and Tamara’s married.  And if anyone of us needs to get laid soon, it’s you.”

She hides her face behind her hands.  “Shh… There are children around!  Someone will hear you.”

“Hey, I’m just saying, if you don’t try to tap that soon, Carrie and I are considering asking him to join us.”  The brunette wiggles her eyebrows and the women dissolve into another fit of laughter.

***

Practice ends and she stays to help the head coach’s wife clean up snack.  Tommy’s dad had showed up and offered to take him to dinner and wanted to keep him for the night.  The two women discuss arrangements for the upcoming bake sale at school and generally catch up on details with one another’s busy lives.  She is surprised when the portly woman budges her arm as they clean up the empty juice pouches and announces,  “He can’t take his eyes off you.”

“Who?” she asks.

The woman tilts her head toward the field were Chris and his nephews and dog are running around laughing and chasing after the ball.

“You think so?  Someone else said that same thing about an hour ago.”

The coach’s wife looks inside the abandoned cleats for the owner’s name.  “These belong to Miles.  Why don’t you walk them out there?”

She shakes her head.  “Oh, really.  Y’all are being ridiculous.  He could have any pick of all the women in the world.  He wouldn’t want me.”

The older woman throws the shoes inside her big utility bag and throws it up onto her shoulder.  “You might wanna rethink that.  He was at the house the other night and asked about you…”  The woman’s words trail off as she walks away.

Her phone buzzes and she smiles towards her son’s teammates and calls goodbye to another family leaving.  She looks down at the silly photo her son sent from his favorite restaurant, helium balloons tied to his ears.  “God, he’ll be so hyped on sugar he won’t sleep tonight,” she mumbles as she walks to her car.

The days are shorter now and the streetlights flicker to life as it finally begins to get dark.  A minivan honks at her as it drives past and she waves goodbye to another family.  Chris’s laughter draws her attention back to the abandoned field.  His nephews and brother -in- law have left and he’s just enjoying time with his dog. The scene is reminiscent of the reunion video that recently went viral when he returned home from a long engagement overseas. She’s not a fangirl and doesn’t keep up with his happenings anymore, although she knows their mothers are still friendly at church.  But even she saw the video.

The whoop whoop of her keys echo against the trees and she sees Dodger jerk his head towards her.  His car must be the other in the lot, she thinks as she climbs into her vehicle.  She’d like to leave quickly and avoid a confrontation, although her friends put some positively sinful images into her mind.  Turning the ignition, cool air blows from the vents and a classic 80s song fills the tiny sedan.  But not the sound of the engine.  She turns off the music and tries again.  Nothing.  Something flashes on the dash and the ‘check engine’ light angrily fires back at her.  She hits her head back against the seat, watching him start to jog over to her car.

Sighing, she climbs out of the vehicle, reaching for her laptop bag in the back seat.  Closing and locking the door, she leans against the trunk until he’s in closer proximity.  She feebly calls out, “Hey, can I get a ride?”

His stride stops short.  He pulls off his baseball cap and runs his hands through his longer hair.   She’s known him their whole lives and realizes this may be the first time she’s seen him without product in it.  Her fingers itch, wondering if his hair is as soft as it once was… She blinks away the thought and shoves her hands down into her pockets, fighting the desire to flex them.

He puts the cap back on and removes his sunglasses now that the sun has disappeared over the tops of the trees.  He chuckles.   “Ah. This looks familiar.  I seem to recall a day I needed a ride home and you left me standing in the rain.”

She laughs at the memory.  “You were being a really jerk that day,” she recalls.  “Come on, Chris, ya can’t be serious.  You can’t leave me here in the dark, at night.”

Dodger trots over to her and sits at her feet, turning his head side to side between them.  She laughs at his floppy ears and pulls a hand out for him to sniff.

“JoJo, it’s not up to me.  His decision.  You’d be taking his seat in the car.”

Her stomach flip flops at the use of the old nickname he had for her.  She crouches down to the mutt.  He nuzzles into her neck and his whiskers tickle.  She giggles and looks up at Chris.  “Not sure, but I think your dog just got to first base.”

“Lucky boy.”

The look in his eyes is unmistakable.  A flicker of desire rises up in her belly.  She rises tall.  When she speaks she can’t deny the words sound sultry even to her ears.  “So, about that ride?”

“I can give you a ride, no problem,” he says, blushing at the implied sexual reference.  He nervously rubs the back of his neck.  Nodding towards the car, he asks, “What’s wrong with it?  Want me to take a look?”

She throws her head back and laughs.  Dodger jumps up, his paws on her waist, barking. “Your daddy is silly; he makes me laugh,” she sing-songs to the dog, grasping his white paws in her hands and moving in a silly dance before gently pushing him down.  “Chris, you know jack shit about auto mechanics.  You can help in two ways- call me a tow, or take me home.”

“Come on,” he motions, reaching out his hand to take her heavy bag.  She slides it off her shoulder, handing it to him and is instantly transported back to sophomore year, when he carried her bag to class every day.  She swears to herself she can even smell the cafeteria in the air.  “I’d never hear the end of it from Ma if she found out I left you in a dark parking lot.”

“How is your mom?  I haven’t seen her in a while,” she asks, following him to the politically incorrect gas guzzler he drives.

“Then you aren’t attending Mass,” he gathers from her comment.

She sighs.  “Oh?  You can’t see the scarlet ‘D’ on my chest?  Half the church threw a shit fit when I left Nathan…  Your mom was cool about it though.  I guess she remembered how difficult divorce can be when you’ve got kids to worry about.  Thankfully, I just have the one, not a houseful, like she did.”

He sucks in a breath, and hisses out.  “Yea, I don’t attend Mass much either.”  He tugs at the St. Christopher’s medallion rested against his tight pecs, pulling it out away from his neck and looking down at it before tucking it back into his t-shirt.  “Hard in this day and age to buy all that, sometimes…  Divorce doesn’t make you evil, JoJo.  You know that, right?  You did what you had to do…  Good to know Ma was supportive.”

Her arm burns from his brief touch as he reaches out to her in a physical display of solidarity.  He opens the back door and sets her bag on the floor.  “Dodger, up!” He commands.  The dog jumps up and turns a quick circle on a towel on the bench seat before laying down and curling his paw over his nose.  “Good boy,” Chris compliments, scratching behind the dog’s ears.

“So, uh, Nathan?”  Chris asks, opening the front door of the sleek black vehicle.  “Is the local gossip true?  I heard some of the parents talking about it…”

She moves between him and the door, climbing up into the leather seat.  “Yes, he got his secretary pregnant…  We co-parent fairly well, but I don’t give a fuck what he does in his private life anymore.  His mother came to the house to visit Tommy a few weeks back and said the woman realized if he cheated once, he’d probably do it again, so she called off their wedding.  I think the kid is about a eight months old now?  He’ll probably end up paying child support to her too.”

“Shit,” Chris murmurs.  “And I thought my relationships were kinda fucked up.  At least I don’t have moms and kids everywhere.”

His sadness hangs in the air, trapped inside with her when he closes the door.  She watches him walk around the front of the car, seeing only the upper half of his body, hidden under that ridiculous retro sweatshirt he often wears.  She shakes her head and a small smile graces her lips.

“What?” he asks, opening the driver’s side and peering in at her.

“Just thinking about that sweatshirt,” she blushes, moving a script out of the front seat for him as he lifts up into the seat.  “I nearly choked on my popcorn when I saw you wearing it in that movie.”  She pinches her lips together and on a whim, reaches out and caresses the well worn fabric between her fingers as he settles his arm over the center console. “You thought you were hot shit when you bought that thing.”

He nods, a faraway smile on his face as he rests his head back against the leather seat.  He turns his head and looks over his shoulder as puppy snores come from the back seat.  Chris himself lets out a puff of air.  “Of all my movies, you saw that one?”

“Not your best, but really a bit like you, I must say,” she laughs, laughing even harder when he flips her off.

“Get outta the car, you’re walking,” he teases, looking down to where her hand still rests on his arm.  “JoJo-”  His tone is full of long forgotten emotions.

Pulling her hand away, she quietly says, “Please, just take me home.”

He grunts and pushes a button on the dash to silently start the ignition.  He eases the car back, exiting the parking space before shifting into drive.  “Ok, fine, but I don’t know where home is…”

She gives him directions and he slowly enters into the moving traffic headed deeper into the suburbs.  “Pretty fancy neighborhood,” he clucks.

“Pretty damn good lawyer,” she states.  “I got to keep everything.  Even the boat.”  She turns to him with a grin.  “Wanna buy a boat?”

He laughs, “Aw, man, that bastard shoulda known better.”  He watches her from the corner of his eye as he maneuvers through the traffic.  “The men in your life have to learn lessons the hard way, huh?”

She ignores his veiled commentary.  “Chris?  What are you doing?  You just missed the turn.”

“Yes, Miss Fancy Pants Lawyer, we’re gonna get dinner first.  Text DeMineo’s and order whatever kind of pizza you want, and an order of garlic bread sticks.  And a calzone, pepperoni, extra cheese.  And don’t tell me you don’t have Sal’s number in your phone.  Everyone in the old neighborhood still does.”

“Chris, we don’t have time to drive all the way out there,” she says, already placing the order on her phone.

“Nathan’s got your son, and I bet you didn’t eat before the game, or you had some wimpy salad while he ate a kid’s meal.  I sure as hell haven’t eaten and my stomach feels in knots.  We can get it to go and take it back to my place; it’s closer.  I’ll call Bobby to check on your car and I’ll get you home, all before the late news starts.  I promise.”

“God, you’re still a bossy pain in the ass,” she swears under breath, looking out the window to hide her smile.

“Yea, and now I’ve got the money to use to get what I want.”

Quiet settles between them, and she ponders his words.  On the social ladder, her family had been a step up from his, and his mother had always kept the Evans’ kids on a short leash, tight curfews and a long list of chores before allowances were doled out.  If she only knew how many nights those kids snuck out the back window of the guest room over the garage.  She wipes her tongue over her teeth; hell, Lisa knew.  She always knew everything.  Chris probably told her.  She remembers the summer he cut grass to buy that ugly sweatshirt and how proud he was to wear it and give it to her.

It had broken her heart to give it back.

She’s shocked he still has it after all these years.  She rolls her head around her shoulders, trying to get the kinks out, wishing she’d remembered to set an appointment at the spa.  She needs to take a day off work; to find some time for herself.  She’d forgotten how to be anything more than a lawyer and a mother, and she felt like she wasn’t very good with either one right now.  Lost in her thoughts, she’s surprised when they pull up under the bright red lights at DeMineo’s.  “Does he still have the red and white checkered cloths?” she asks, her voice melancholy and full of memories from long ago.  “I haven’t been inside in years.”

“Wanna eat in tonight?” Chris asks, shifting the car to park.

“Nah, not really up for the noise, but thanks.  I’ll have to bring back Tommy sometime.  I bet he’d love it.”

“He would.  I know the kids love it here when we come with Carly and Ryan.  Sit tight.  I’ll be back in a minute.”

She nods.  Reaching over, she turns on the radio and turns it her favorite station, listening to local radio.  The announcer’s voice comes through loud and clear as the station switches over to play the late game.  She checks her watch quickly and realizes the time is later than she thought.  Reaching in her pocket, she pulls out a twenty dollar bill and places it in his glove box, just like she did when they were teens.  He’d always insist on paying, even when she knew he was scraping by, so she always found a way to pay him back.  Chris never said anything about it, but he had to have known it was her all those years.  She jolts at the weight on her shoulder, and chuckles when she realizes it’s just Dodger.  She wraps her arm over the top of his head and rubs the tender spot above his eyes.  “You have doggie breath,” she whispers.  “He’s lonely, isn’t he, Dodge?

The dog’s quiet whimper answers her question.

She rolls the car window down when he exists the little Italian eatery and approaches the car with a giant box and a bag precariously balanced on top.  He hands the items to her and scolds Dodger, telling him to get back in his spot.  The dog nuzzles her cheek again before doing as told.

Chris crawls back into his seat and they are back on the road, heading to his house.  “I already texted Bobby, and he’s gonna send one of his guys over to see if he can get it to start.  If not, they’ll tow it to the shop and look at it tomorrow.  He said he’d call later and let me know, and he could arrange a ride to work tomorrow if you need it.”  He shrugs.  “I’d say if the car is broken down, use it as an excuse to take the day off.  You look like the type of woman who works too hard; when was the last time you had a vacation, anyway?”

The box is warm in her lap and the smells from the bag are too enticing.  She reaches in for a breadstick.  She rolls the bag back down, tearing it in half and offering some to Chris.  He reaches across with his left hand and takes it from her.  “I’ll have you know, Tommy and I spent two weeks in Florida with my dad this summer, and really enjoyed time at both parks there- holy shit, I forgot how good these breadsticks were-” she giggles along with him, “-and went out to Cape Canaveral, did the space stuff, and spent a few days on the beach.  I can relax and have fun; I’m not always an uptight witch with a stick up my ass.  That’s just at work,” she explains.

“I never said that-”

“Chris, come on, I know what everyone says about me.  I know we don’t see each other a lot, but we still run in a lot of the same social circles.”

He licks his lip and doesn’t comment on the gossip.  “Other than the soccer field, when did we last see each other?”  Chris wonders aloud.

“Some wedding, I’m sure.  It seems like someone we know is always getting married.  I think you had a girlfriend with you, and she kept pulling you away from your pals.”

“Well, damn, that could have been any number of times then,” he scoffs.

“Always a groomsman, never a groom,” she teases.

“Ain’t that the truth,” he laments.

She eyes his sad profile and wishes she could take back her words.  She exhales quietly.  “Sorry; I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Nah, maybe I need to hear it; talk about it; get my shit together.”  He signals a right hand turn and takes the car down a quiet lane, not far from the old neighborhood.  “I had a lot of time to think while I was away.  South Africa is an interesting place, but, man, it was a long time to be gone. Almost too introspective for me.  Too many demons to deal with…”

He signals another turn down a shaded driveway and parks in front of the garage.  She looks out the large front window and realizes it’s the house he always liked, the one he always said he’d own one day.  “Your dream house,” she whispers.

“Yea, well…  I guess I made at least one or two dreams come true.  It’s kinda too big for me and the dog, but when it finally went up for sale, Tara helped me get it.”  He exits the car, jogging around the front and taking the items from her hands.  With his own full, he looks perplexed that he can’t be a gentleman and offer her a hand.  She shoos him back away from the car and steps down onto the pavement, reaching around to open the door for Dodger to bound out.  “Couldn’t give up on all my dreams, I guess,” he states matter of factly.  “I still haven’t given up on settling down one day.”

“Always the dreamer, Chris.  That’s actually an admirable quality,” she compliments, grabbing her bag from the back seat and taking the food sack into her hands.  “Lead the way,” she commands.

Dodger pounces past them both, trying to trap a cricket under his large paws.  Chris chuckles at his antics and whistles to him.  The dog snaps his attention to his master, and follows up the path to the front door.  Chris balances the box on his hip and types in a key code to unlock the door and dismantle the alarms.  “I like you’ve kept it very unassuming, like no one famous lives here.”

He nods his agreement, stepping aside to let her into the lit entryway.  “Straight on back and to the left,” he says, dropping his car keys and sunglasses on the little table by the door.

Walking past the open living room, she notices how the dark wood floors add a homey touch to the white space.  Family photos in black and white peer out from the shelves, loaded with books and memorabilia- Disney, Patriots and Marvel.  Walking into the dim kitchen, she finds the light switch and bathes the room in a warm glow.  The barnwood table is a wonderful accent piece, and she finds herself a bit jealous of any woman who could someday claim the space as ‘hers.’   The feeling stabs her in the gut.  “Whew,” she whistles out quietly.

“Sorry, what was that?”  Chris asks, stepping up behind her.

She looks to him, confused, her head starting to pound and she feels flushed.  “Um?” She licks her lips, taking the pizza box from his hand.  “Chris, I’m not hungry.  I don’t want pizza.”  She sets the box on the counter.  Her heart pounds in her ears and she can’t catch her breath.  Before she can really think it through, she throws herself against him, pressing her lips hungrily to his.  She flings her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her, and grabbing and tugging at his shaggy hair, his hat falling to the floor.   After a moment of surprise, his arms slip around her waist, holding her tight, returning her kisses with the same fire and need.  Splitting apart briefly for air, she whispers, “I want you.”

His tongue darts between his teeth and washes over her full lips.  “Are you sure?  I guess we could work up an appetite?”  He bends over her and kisses again, pulling her lower lip between his, sinking his teeth down into the soft, familiar flesh.  “You taste the same, JoJo.”

“Fuuuck,” she hisses through her teeth.  “You’re good liar, but I’ll take it.”

He scratches his full beard along her jaw and down her neck.  “I remember everything about you, babe, I never forgot.”

Her head spins with his touch, his scent, and she knows she isn’t a high school girl anymore, fumbling around on the couch in his parents’ basement.  But damn, he can make her feel that way.  It’s her chance to see if all the ‘what ifs’ in her mind actually could be true.  One thing’s for sure, the beard is a nice, new touch.  And he uses it to his advantage, as he burrows into her neck.  “Been wanting to do this all night, since the damn dog beat me to it,” he whispers against her.  Scratching his beard along her delicate skin, his lush lips find the sensitive spot behind her ear.

“Damn you,” she sighs.  “You do remember.”  The burn against her neck stings and awakens feelings deep inside she’s long forgotten.  Chris always had that special touch, even as a teen, no other man has ever offered her.  He knows all her buttons; he helped her discover them.  They perfected them together.

She wonders what else he remembers as she digs her fingers into his biceps, his kisses harsh then soft, while she slides her hands over his collarbone.  She reaches between them and unzips his sweatshirt, pushing the worn fabric back from his sculpted shoulders. In her mind, he was always the muscled man she sees before her today, always her superhero ready to fight her battles.  He spins her around, pinning her against the table.  Leaning his upper body away from him, he pulls the jacket off, swiftly turning it inside out and dropping it to the floor.  She looks down, smiling at it puddled at their feet before lunging back to him, putting her lips to his.  One of his strong hands lifts under her ass, boosting her to sit on the table, while the other slides under the back of her shirt, spanning across her spine.  With a gentle nudge she falls into him, wrapping her legs around his waist.  A perfect fit, as always.  Chris holds himself steady, but she can feel how hard he’s growing, how desperate he is for her.

Like greedy kids, their mouths never part, and they share the same air.  Her hands move down the back of his arms, gripping at the tight muscles, pulling back to laugh at the removed tattoo.  “I told you it was stupid,” she reminds him, tracing her fingers over the faded marking.  His eyes watch her hands and he bites his lip, waiting impatiently to have hers again.  He pushes against the table, trying to hurry her up.  She doesn’t give, enjoying his skin, and the smooth sensation under her fingertips, adoring all the little freckles and scars she remembers, curious about the new ones.  Her hands snake under his heavy arms and wrap around his skinny waist, something she always teased him about, but secretly loved because it made him easier to hold on to…

No longer able to watch her hands as she scratches his lower back, he tilts his knuckle under her chin and turns her face back to his.  He raises his other hand up and runs both over her cheeks, his fingertips massaging along her hairline, gently pressing against her skull.  His blue eyes wash over her skin, his eyelashes long against his cheeks when his eyes drop to examine her mouth.  “Hmmm… I had forgotten one thing.  This scar on your lip,” he says, his thumb brushing across it, and pushing her lips in a sensual manner.  “You were so embarrassed with the stitches, and you’d yell at me every time I’d make you laugh and it would pull.”

“That was a lot of yelling,” she remembers, lifting the hem of his shirt and running her fingertips along the elastic waist of his sweatpants.  “You always knew how to make me laugh.”

Pressing hard into the muscle tissue, he sighs at her touch, tenderly kissing the tiny scar.

The lightest touch, like the wings of butterfly, sends chills through her body.  “What was that for?” she whispers.

He tilts his head.  “You wouldn’t have gotten it if Scott and I weren’t fighting over that baseball bat,” he chortles, shaking his head at the stupid memory.

“How is it you were always an idiot in one moment, and my hero in the next?”  She says, her hands dipping lower down his backside.

“Can I be your hero again?  Tonight?” Chris asks, trying to mask his boyish grin when she nods her consent.

Stepping back, Chris pulls her back into his arms, her legs still wrapped around his waist as he lowers himself to the floor, into a seated position.  Straddling him, she lifts her arms to hold the edge of the counter above and rocks her body against his, shifting her weight to free her legs and fold them back at his side.  She pulls off her sweatshirt and t-shirt, somewhat grateful for the lady-like lace inserts on the sports bra she put on when she changed clothes after work.  Chris whistles appreciatively, mumbling some throwback compliment to their high school days.  She briefly wonders if she’s been dressing just for him for weeks, hoping to be alone with him.  Avoiding the obvious answer, she reaches between them, subtly rubbing the back of her hand against her throbbing pussy, grasping the hem of his shirt and raising it above his head, chucking it in the pile.  Freed of the cotton barrier, his arms fold across her back and he brings her to him, leaning forward at the same time and nestling his full beard between her aching breasts.   His breath is warm and hot as he whispers his praises, “Always the perfect tits, JoJo; the stuff of fantasies.”

She arches into him, silently begging him to take her into his mouth.  It’s obvious he plans to torture her as he slides his nose up one valley, licking along the lacy edge of clothing.  His hands never stop roaming across the soft skin of her backside, climbing up and down her spine, her sides, and chuckling at the goosebumps he leaves in their wake.  His hands grasp under her ass and lift her, pushing her closer to his mouth, his breath hot and wet as he laps at her nipple through the fabric.  The bud reacts to his attention and she longs to free herself, but doesn’t want to rush his sinful tactics, lessons learned as a man, from the boy she loved.  Her fingers card through his hair, and she manipulates his head closer, and then pulls his hair, tugging him away, guiding his touch.  “Always were a tease,” he jokes as his fingers push under the tight elastic band of the athletic gear.  Finding it restrictive, he gives up, instead grabbing the fabric near her shoulders.  His fingertips dance over the top curve of her breasts, teasing her moments before yanking the fabric down, exposing her to the chilly evening air.  Her nipples bud and the flesh rises from the cold, a gasp of desire and awe escaping her.  His hands grope and fondle her full breasts, pushing them together and releasing them before whispering in her ear, “Tell me what you want, JoJo.”

A tiny whine releases from the back of her throat.  “What I’ve always wanted, Chris; I haven’t changed, I want your mouth on me, biting and sucking.  Please,” she begs, rising closer to him, giving herself to his mouth and shifting her weight across him to straddle his thigh.

He kisses her exposed skin, teasing in circles around her nipples, his own breathing heightened with need.  They begin to rock in a rhythm, their rhythm, one they wrote years ago.  She grinds herself against his thigh, the lace wisp of her thong pushing between her lips, the denim an added friction.  “We’re not on the plaid couch; no one’s gonna walk in on us,” he quietly goads her.  “You can have the real thing, not just my thigh,” he offers.

Tugging the long hair at the back of his neck, she rises up and pulls his head back, looking into his eyes.  “It worked then, and it works now.  I spend a lot of nights thinking about riding your thighs, Evans, so shut up and let me.”  She holds his head tightly in place and when he opens his mouth to speak, she shoves her nipple towards him.  She quietly coos when he bites down tenderly.  “It’s one way to shut you up,” she says, leaning into his affections as his tongue instantly knows what to do.   His hands hold tight to her hips and force her back down upon his leg, bending it slightly, raising and lowering her, listening to the echoing whimpers in the room.

His power is stronger, and his ability to hold her up is fueling her need.  She feels youthful and greedy, and wants all that he will give to her.  But she has a power now that she didn’t have before.  The ability to know what she wants and needs, and how to vocalize it- a power she didn’t have at seventeen.  “Chris, I want you to fuck me, to truly fuck me and show me what I’ve missed all these years,” she whispers, as his bites follow the curve of one breast to the top of the next.  His hands guide her hips as her thrusts pick up speed, and he cradles her, holding her tight to his leg as she rocks back and forth.  When his tongue teases around her taut nipple and he sucks her in between his teeth, continuing to bite and suck the sweet button, her cries grow strained and she stops moving, the orgasm building from deep inside, clenching, grasping at nothing.  Her need is unfulfilled and she’s insatiably left wanting more as a glimmer of sweat builds over them both.

“You come for me so beautifully, JoJo; you always did, my pet.”

His little name for her, words she hasn’t heard whispered in years and silently tears begin to the fall from her eyes, the emotions too much to bear.  She can’t believe she’s in his arms again, even if just for the night.  With a strength and confidence he didn’t have in his youth, he hastily flips her over onto her back, the tiles cold against her bare skin. Crouching back on his knees, Chris undoes her pants and pulls them from her body.  In one swift movement, her jeans and panties are gone, and she wiggles out of her sports bra under his watchful eyes as he quickly shimmies out of his sweatpants.  Resting on her elbows, still panting from before, she stares with wonder at his glorious cock, beautiful and more than she remembered it to be.  She leans on one side, grabbing him in one hand tenderly and motioning him to move closer.  His eyes watch hers, his own filled with mirth at her inspection as she runs her fingertips over the veiny ridges.  Lost in thought, relearning every line and indentation, she jumps when his fingers enter her, not even bothering with a tease.  “So wet, and slick; always ready for me.”

They might as well be hiding in the basement, snuggled under a blanket on the old couch as they caress one another, mutual hand jobs driving them to the edge.  His fingers pulse in and out, teasing over her puffy lips before diving back inside her hidden well.  Her fingers glide along his shaft, fingerpainting with his precum and enjoying the feel of him in her hands.  “You’re killing me, JoJo.  I wanna be inside you,” he whines.

With his free hand, he grabs at her wrist and releases his cock from her hand, and raises her arm above her head.  He pulls his other hand from between her legs and raises it to his lips, waving his hand under his nose to catch her scent before licking his fingers clean. “That’s sexy,” she murmurs as he climbs between her legs, nudging with his knee for her to spread them further apart.  He grasps her calf, leaning over her for a kiss as he slowly pushes into her.  She gasps at her tight hole expanding to accept him, filling her full.  He slides in again, deeper, sliding his sticky hand down her chest to fondle her resplendent breasts.  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers into her ear, nibbling her soft flesh.  She sighs peacefully when his cold medallion hits her chest and his beard tickles her neck.

“More,” she grunts, grabbing his ass with her free hand, and slapping it before pulling away again.

He flinches at her touch, pumping in and out again.  He pauses, pulling all the way out, brushing his dick across her opening, teasing her now.  “Sure you can take all this?”

“Willing to try,” she laughs as he pushes back into her, rocking against her again and again.  He lets go of her hand and holds his weight off her, pulling her other knee up and with his arms, pinning both of her legs to his sides.  Her arms wrap over his shoulders and she digs her fingernails into his back, biting at the Tolle quote on his collarbone.  Her body starts to hum with pleasure, finding her release quickly.  “God, I needed that,” she confesses.

He continues to buck against her, drawing out her orgasm as she convulses around him, her muscles sucking him inside, deeper and wetter.  The quiet sounds of their rapid breathing and their bodies slapping together fill their ears.  She can’t hold back her laughter and shakes against him when he starts fussing at Dodger to go away just as he spills inside her.  He collapses on top of her, his laughter and orgasm pushing her into the hard floor.  A tennis ball rolls into her view and she tosses it towards the living room, the dog bounding away after it, his nails clicking against the surface.

When Chris finally catches his breath, he apologizes and carefully slides out of her.  Her walls constrict and throb, wanting to be full again.  “What are you apologizing for?” she asks, as he begins to wipe her clean.

“I didn’t… Well, I didn’t invite you over here for that.  I mean, I was kinda hoping but…”  His voice trails off and his cheeks turn pink at his admission.  Rested on his side, still wiping at their mess, he kisses her shoulder.  “But really, JoJo, I was gonna pull out, and then the damn dog distracted me, and I’m really sorry, and-”

She mentally does the math, wondering when she last worried about birth control. She has no clue, since it’s been so long since she’s had sex.  Bells and whistles buzz inside her head, but he doesn’t need to know that at the moment.  She’ll just stop at the drug store tomorrow, within the time frame the doctor once told her about.  “Stop talking, Chris; I’m not worried, and… and you’re making a bigger mess.”  She wraps her hand around his wrist, looking down and laughing when she sees it’s his old sweatshirt he’s using to clean them.  She closes her eyes and rolls her head from side to side on the cold, hard floor.  “That sweat jacket’s always been good for that, babe, hasn’t it?” she reminisces.

He chuckles, his smile indicating he remembers that day long ago too.  “The couch was more comfortable,” he reminds her.

The front door of the house opens and slams shut, and Scott’s boisterous calls echo down the hallway.  She punches his arm, scrambling to pull her clothes over her body.  “I thought you said no one would walk in on us?” she hisses.

“Scott, FREEZE.  Do not make one more step.  I swear to God-”

“Dude, where are you?”

“I said STOP. Do not come into the kitchen!”

Quickly he rolls her to his chest, hiding her face from the room, depending on where Scott might be, covering her exposed ass with her t-shirt.

“Fuck, dude, all I see are legs, feet, clothes and that stupid ass sweatshirt.  Hey, pretty girl!”  Chris’s younger brother says.

“Hey, Scott,” she calls out.

There’s a moment of silence as he ponders something, and Dodger runs back into the room with his ball, bounding around the island and nuzzling the back of her head and she can’t help but laugh.  “I hate you,” she whispers into Chris’s neck.

“No, you don’t.  You love me,” he teases, pinching her ass and throwing the ball so Dodger will run away again.  “You always have.”

“I know that voice; why do I know that voice?” Scott asks.

“Scott, toss me some towels from the laundry room, and then go outside to start the campfire pit.  You can join us for dinner.”

“Oh my God!  JoJoGirl!  Is that you?”

“Hi, Scott,” she mumbles into Chris’s neck, embarrassed and amused at the same time.  “Get the fuck outta the kitchen so I can get dressed.”

“Oh my God; this is so exciting!”  He claps with glee and the towels drop to the floor next to them.  “You know, I’ve seen your ass before; I don’t know why you’re hiding it.”

“Get out!” Chris commands.

Scott leaves the kitchen area, mumbling about not being wanted, and Chris moves to a squat next to her.  He wraps her in the towel and picks her up in his arms, righting her to her feet.  “Go upstairs, second door on the left.  Just find something to wear for dinner and then I’ll send the idiot home, before we get sleep.”

“I thought you were taking me home.”

“I lied.  I trapped you here, and now I never want you to leave again.”

“Are you telling me you’re looking for a woman and a kid?  ‘Cause we’ve been looking for a man and a dog…”

“Hmmm…”  He hums.  “Tell me more about this boat you have.”

Copyright ©2017 avenger-nerd-mom.  All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

Baking Cakes

baking cakes june 5 2017

*Emery&Chris*

*a Chris Evans fan fic*

by avenger-nerd-mom

Chris gets some time away from filming to surprise his wife Emery at their Savannah home.  He knows it will be a difficult visit, but home is where he is needed.

Word count: 2481

Drabble inspired by the cover photo in my collection.  It was found on Pinterest of actress Rachelle Lafevre, the “faceclaim” for Emery Thomas Evans.  Emery has been telling me parts of this story for weeks, and it’s a plot point I’ve known would happen since I began writing their tale in 2015.

Rumors of sightings in Atlanta and Chris’s birthday coming up prompted me to sit down and write this chapter.  The thing I’ve always loved about Emery&Chris is the fact that even though he’s a famous movie star, when he’s with Emery, he’s real.  And real life shit happens.  This is just a step on their path; no matter what happens, they’re together “till the end of the line.”

Warnings: Real life, Marriage, Language, Fluff, pain, loss, tears, depression, angst, fertility issues, insecurities, anxiety, family support

Based on these warnings, if you would like more information on this chapter before reading, please send me a message.  I do not want to give away any plot points to the story, but I also don’t want to trigger emotional distress for any of my readers.

Click here to find out more about Emery & Chris!

June 2017

“Lucy, I’m home!” Chris calls out in a silly voice, reminiscent of an old TV show.. The door bangs open and West’s barks echo through the house; happy her favorite playmate is home.

“Shit,” comes the muttered response from the kitchen.

Dropping his bags at the door, Chris chuckles, grabbing a stack of mail from the shelf on his way past.  “Is that any way to treat your returning war hero?”

Emery whirls around quickly stretching her arms wide on the counter to hide what’s behind her.

“Oh, honey.  Fuck.  Do you gotta come home in costume?  I think my panties just burst into flames,” she giggles.  “But… but.  You gotta go away.” Her mood changes and panic crosses her face.  “Go do…  something.  Go to the mancave and get a beer, or take West for a walk or something.”

“Emery Rose!  I have not seen my wife in… in what?  Seven days?”  He holds up his hands in surrender when she starts waving a spatula at him.  “No welcome home kiss?  Aren’t you- Em, are you hiding something?”

“Chris, go away! Please!”  She begins to pout when he dodges right and left to try to get a look at what she’s hiding on the new island counter.

Tossing the mail onto the table, he moves closer. “What is it?  Let me see!”  He says, finally grabbing her wrist with the cream covered spatula.  He raises it to his mouth and tentatively sticks his tongue on it.  “Buttercream.  My favorite.”

“Chris!  No. Stop.  You’ll ruin the surprise,” Emery nearly cries, her eyes welling up.

The handsome movie star freezes in his tracks.  “Alright. I’ll stop.  If you won’t walk away from whatever it is, then follow me to the living room.”

Still holding her by the wrist he begins to walk out of the room and she follows him, only to have been tricked when he twirls her around to see what she was hiding.

“Oh my God, Em.  Really?”  He steps forward, his own eyes starting to mist over.  “Is that for me?”

“Well, actually no, this one wasn’t for you.  It’s a practice cake.  I’m still working on getting it down perfect.  There’s a bubble in the fondant and-”

The counter is littered with bowls, measuring cups and egg shells.  In the center of the mess sits a round cake on a spinning wheel platform, slightly lopsided and only half decorated.

“Emery,” he pulls her close, truly looking at his beautiful wife for the first time since he’d walked through the door of their small Savannah home.  It’s theirs now.  It’s where they fell in love.  He’s not about to let it go.  He pushes her red curls back, seeing the flour dusting across her cheeks, covering the cute freckles he loves.  “You made me a cake from scratch?”

“Yea, well,” she shrugs.  “You told me to find something to take my mind off things.  I wanted to surprise you, so I’ve been taking some cake baking and decorating classes.”

“But my birthday is still a few days away…” He says, delivering a faint wisp of a kiss to the tip of her nose, holding her tight and trying to keep the tears at bay.

“I know.  This was a practice.  I was gonna take it over to Mom and Dad’s tonight so we could sample it.  Then next week I was going to make the real one- Susan was going to let me come to their rental house and use the big kitchen there and then I was going to bring it to the set and surprise you.  So, surprise!” she giggles, wiping away her tears.

“Robert’s wife?”  She nods and he wipes her tear stained cheeks.  “Stop crying.   The flour and the tears will make a paste on your cheeks…  I promise, I’ll still be surprised.”

She taps her fist against his muscular arm.  “Fool, you know that’s not why I am crying.  I cry all the time; it just won’t stop.”

He holds her tight and let’s the wave of sobs wrack through her little body.  Her pain is killing him and there is nothing he can do.  “Shh, shh… it’s okay, honey, I’m home now.  We got this; we got this.”

When the tears stop, she hiccups a little and reaches behind her for the bowl of frosting.  It’s hardened during the short period of time and is no longer useful.  “Well, I hope you think it looks good as is, ‘cause I can’t finish it now.”

“It’s perfect, kitten, just like you,” Chris says against her temple.  He steps back.  “I should have told you I had some time off, but it really came up quick and I wanted to surprise you.  You have other plans?  A hot date?”

Shaking her head, she wipes her nose on her sleeve.  “Just with Mom and Dad.  They wanted me to come over for dinner; he was gonna grill burgers, but I can cancel and we-”

“No, no.  Actually nothing sounds better right now than a real burger and a beer.  Why don’t you go get the shower going and I’ll give them a call and tell Mom to cook for one extra?”

He hides his concern for her, not collapsing in the kitchen chair until he hears her enter the bedroom.  Banging his fist on the table he holds in his own despair, trying to be brave for his wife.  But right now, he could really use a dose of Mom and Dad too, and his own are too far away.  He punches in the familiar number on the keypad and the Southern twang on the other end instantly brightens his mood.  “Hey, Mom.  Got room for one more at dinner?”  he asks quietly, trying to keep it together.

His mother-in-law, Anita, instantly knows his chest is tight and he’s holding in his own feelings. “Oh, Chris.  Of course.  There’s always room for one more.  Sounds like the whole gang might be here; is that too much?”

He shakes his head, digging in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes, wishing he hadn’t given them up for Lent at his new bride’s insistence.  It’s an old habit but he really could use one now.  She’s not even Catholic, and he doesn’t practice anymore, but she’d required they both make one positive change in their lives to remember the season of rebirth.  He rolls his eyes and smiles.  “I don’t know, Mom, what do you think?  I… I came home because I may have to work hard, long hours the days right around my birthday.  I mean, they gave me time off when I needed it, but that messed up some schedules for other people and now I feel like I’m paying for it.”

“Chris, honey, you can’t control any of that.  If anything, this is just a lesson in how little control any of us really have.  The good Lord works in ways we don’t understand and-”

His gut twists and Chris interrupts.  “I really can’t over the phone, Mom.  I haven’t been home in two weeks; we had a great time when Emery was in Atlanta with me last week; but if you don’t think Em can handle the family all together, she and I can do something else for dinner tonight.”

“Nonsense, son.  I think she’ll be okay; it’ll be good for you both.  It’s actually been easier on her since she finally put it out in the open and started talking.”

“Alright, Mom.  Hey, did you know she’s been learning to bake cakes?”

“Oh, child, let’s hope this one is better than the ones a few weeks ago.  They were like lead bricks in my stomach for hours,” she teases.

Hanging up the phone, Chris turns to admire the blue cake with white stars.  He can see the red frosting mixed and hardened into a bowl and smiles at the design she must have planned.  The outer layer of frosting is tough, but stabbing the knife through it, the inside is edible and he carries the bowl and knife with him to the room.

He’s surprised to find her laying on their bed, playing with her wedding ring.

missing him.png

He sucks in a breath and sits on the bed next to her.  Offering her a dab of frosting, she huffs and shakes her head ‘no.’  They sit in silence and he continues to lick the frosting from the end of the butter knife, humming his delight.  Emery stares at her ring, rolling it in her fingers, her elbow now rested on his knee.

“Chris?  Are you ever sorry we got married?”

“Oh, hell, babe.  How can you even ask that?”  Wiping his hand over his face in frustration, he then pulls his shirt out of the waist of his pants, wanting more room to move.  She continues to stare at something only she can see, avoiding his eye contact. “Emery, I know these first six months have been tougher than we thought, and we never expected any of this.  You were sick most of the winter, your grandmother’s passing and then…  Well, and then... “  His throat chokes on the words and he can’t bring himself to say them.   “It was just a lot of stress on you; on us.  But no.  I still know marrying you was the best decision I’ve ever made in my whole damn life.”

Leaning forward, he places the bowl on his bedside table.  He kicks off his shoes and lays down next to her.  On his side, he watches her, thinking of the freckles on her face and how he adores them.  Her long lashes flutter closed and she rolls her head to look at him.

“What if that was our one shot?  What if something isn’t right and we can’t have kids; would you be sorry then; if I can’t give you what you want?”  Her voice shakes and he can barely hear her whispered words.

His hand takes hers and he carefully pries the ring from her grasp, sliding it back on her finger where it should always be.  Where it will always stay.  He kisses her hand gently.  “I married you for YOU, not what you can give me someday…  You know the doctors said we’re both fine.  All the antibiotics and steroids you took when you were sick; we weren’t even trying.  I mean, how often does the pill fail?”

Holding his hand tight, she scoffs.  “Are you asking for a statistical lesson?”

Placing his hand on her hip, he pulls her close.  “No, kitten, I’m just begging you not to sink into it too low.  All those medicines in your system; that baby just wasn’t a fighter like his mama.   We’ll really try again when you’re ready.  And you know if it doesn’t work, there are so many other options for kids,” he sighs.

“You’re right; I know.  It’s just…  Is it crazy to miss something the size of a peanut?  I mean, he wasn’t even kicking yet.  But he was a part of us, you know?”  Tears escape her eyes and she tries to wipe them away.

Wrapping his arms around his girl, he rolls her over on top of him, squeezing her tight, trying to hold her together.   He cradles her head to his chest as the salty tears gather on his shirt collar.  He loves that she thinks of their lost child as a him, although at only a nine weeks along, they had no way of knowing the gender.  His wife is always so strong and tough, a steel magnolia, so he finds her insecurities unsettling and struggles with his own pain and sadness at the loss.  They’ve talked about it, and therapy has been good for them both. He doesn’t want to be an ass and just tell her to ‘move on.’  He’s hoping in time this pain will be less and she’ll start to be more herself.  But time and patience is all he can give her now.

“I understand, sweetheart.  I feel the same.  Like there’s nothing to physically mourn, but there’s a whole in my chest.”

She sniffles again and he’s pretty sure she wiped her nose on his shirt.  “You know, all this has been rough.  I picked cake baking because it reminds me of something MawMaw Dalia used to always say.  She said havin’ kids was like baking cakes.  Everything has to be balanced just right for the cake to rise and not to open the oven door too much, ‘cause the cake knows what it’s supposed to do.  She said the same with kids, balance them right and they’ll grow up with what they need, and they’ll rise to do what they should.”

Chris can’t really wrap his head around the Southern analogy, so he stays quiet, simply running his fingers through her long red curls.

“So I keep baking cakes for practice and taking them to the schools where I work.  Teachers love to hear there’s food in the workroom.  And I keep telling myself our cake just wasn’t balanced this time.  I cry a lot and then I make another cake.”

“Whenever you’re ready, we can practice again, making our ‘baby cake.’  I’d really like to have lots of practice,” he laughs.  “Lots of it.”

Pulling away from him, she wipes her tear stained face for what seems like the thousandth time. Looking down into his beautiful blue eyes, she can’t help but laugh with him.   Her teary, red shot eyes rest against his suit and she cocks her eyebrow.  “Well, seeing as how you came home dressed like Steve, maybe later tonight you could convince me to help you rehearse?”

“Oh no,” he chuckles, relieved to have lifted her even just slightly from her sadness.  “Tonight, I’m having sex with my wife, if she’ll let me; not Steve.  I mean I know we like that role play every now and then, but tonight it’s just us.  After dinner with your family, of course.”

“Mr. Evans, I still didn’t get that shower.  I got lost in my thoughts.  How about you join me, and help wash all my troubles away.”

“Well, Mrs. Evans, I think that sounds like a lovely plan!  And then some of that cake?  It’s looks amazing, and I don’t think I can wait till dinner.”

Sliding down from his body and rolling off the bed, she stands and pulls her flour dusted tank top over her head, tossing it to him.  Remembering the night she first told him she loved him, a thought jumps to her mind.  “You always did want dessert first; come on.  Let’s clean up, Jelly Bean, so we can get dirty.”  She winks playfully, a lift to her spirits as she runs off to their bathroom, squealing when he finally catches up to her and spins her around in his big, strong arms.

Author’s Note: R.I.P. “MawMaw” Nadalia- March 3, 2017.  Author’s license was taken from something I once said to my husband about baking cakes and raising children, but was given here in memory of my grandmother.

Click here for the next Emery&Chris story, Online Shopping

Copyright © 2017  avenger-nerd-mom.  All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

 

 

Healing Hands

healing hands USE jan 15 2017.jpg

A Chris Evans fan fic

By avenger-nerd-mom

Chris and his girlfriend get caught in an ice storm while on a romantic getaway.  Chris is worried about her health and does everything he can think of to help her feel better.  If he doesn’t Dodger might just attack him

Warnings: Language, Adult Situations, fluff, concern, NSFW, drinking, anal play, daddy kink, dom/domme behaviors, finger fucking, penetration, pull out method, no condoms

Word count: 4212

He sneaks up on her quietly as she sits in front of the fireplace, sweetly whispering to Dodger in her lap.  He cringes when he hears the cough rumble in her chest and she heaves to catch her breath.  He winces at her perceived pain.  “Oh, babe, I’m so sorry.  This isn’t really what I had in mind for our romantic getaway.”

He sits quickly and offers up his apologies.  Dodger lifts his head, looking at his owner, his eyes pleading with him to help her.  “I hear ya, Bud.  There’s no medicine in the place.  I searched every cabinet and drawer.  All I could find was this.”  He holds up the dusty bottle of whiskey and two small jelly jars he found in the kitchen.

Her burst of laughter breaks into coughs and he pats her back.  Her eyes water and she giggles quietly.  “Likely story.  You’ve been wanting to get me drunk from the minute we started dating and I told you I’ve never even had a shot.”

He kisses the tip of her nose, blushing at the truth to her statement.  “Whiskey is on old-time medication, it’ll definitely sooth the pain.”

“Or I’ll be so drunk, I won’t care.”  She laughs, caressing the side of his cheek, scratching at his beard.  “You need a trim.”

Chris shrugs.  “Ah, I gotta shave it off soon enough.  I’m doing the mountain man thing this week, just for you, babe.”  He stretches out his arms to show off the tight Henley and flannel plaid and she leans against his chest.

“I love my man in plaid,” she chokes out and he caresses her hair back over her shoulder and rubs down her spine as another series of coughs wracks through her little body.

He feels just awful. Their time together is always so rushed and sporadic.  She hadn’t been able to get away at the holidays, so they’d compromised with a mid winter getaway to a cabin owned by a friend of his.  He wasn’t expecting an ice storm to hit, followed by a large snow.  The power lines had snapped on their second morning in the cabin, and now on the third night her cold had turned worse.  He’d tried earlier to get the car out, but there was no where to go.  All the shops in the village down the mountain were closed and they were pretty secluded from the outside world.  Fortunately his phone service worked, and he’d been able to inform friends and family they were safe and sound, but he really was concerned for the rattle in her chest and wanted to get her back to civilization as soon as possible.

“Stop thinking.  You’re too loud.  I’m fine,” she wheezes.  “Pour me a shot.  Let’s do this.”

She sits up and rolls her eyes as his look of concern takes on a mischievous grin.

“Go ahead.  Rub your hands together gleefully like the villain in old cartoon about to steal the innocent virtue of the fair maiden.  I know you’re dying to,” she teases.

He throws his head back in a hearty laugh, but stops when her laughter brings on another series of deep coughs.  He shakes his head, “Stop that!”  He rubs her arms and scolds her.  “Don’t laugh at me; it makes you cough.”

“Telling me not to laugh at you is like telling Dodger not to bark at birds in the yard.  I can’t help it.  Your laughter is infectious. It’s one of the things I love about you.”  She dips her head and smiles up at him sweetly.  “It’s one of the first things about you when we met that I was attracted to.”

“Not my charming personality or my bulging muscles?”  He flexes his arm for her and she turns up her nose.

She shakes her head and holds up her jelly glass. “Not too much… No. None of those things.  Those things actually make you a dick sometimes,” she giggles.  “It was watching you at my niece’s party laugh and play with the kids on the swingset for an hour and you never wore out or got tired.  That’s my Chris.  That’s my fantasy and the man I want.  The Hollywood you can go to hell.” She coughs again and smiles wryly.  “But it’s time to get back to work.  You’re getting soft.  Been sitting on your ass too long.”

“Man, you really know how to kick a man, don’t you,” he chuckles.  “Yes, ma’am.  On it.  Back to work ASAP.”  He salutes her before pouring a fair amount of the dark amber liquid into her glass.  “How is it you’ve made it to this point in your life, you were a college sorority girl, and you’ve never been drunk or had a shot before?”

“Smart life choices.”  She taps him on the nose with each word and he smiles.  “Oh my God, this fuckin’ stinks.  It’s like paint thinner.” She complains and screw ups her face.

He smiles at her expression and his heart flutters.  “Don’t smell it.” He pours himself a larger drink.  “Just knock it back.”

She stares at the liquid and swishes it around.  Dodger lifts his head to watch her and he even pulls back from the smell and brushes his paw over his nose.  “Right, bud?  Can you believe Daddy willingly drinks this shit?”

“Fuck, babe.  Don’t call me Daddy unless you mean it,” Chris moans in frustration and adjusts his jeans to prove his point.

She chuckles and does her best to hold in her cough, trying to hide her blush.  “Damn you, I didn’t mean it like that.”  She tosses her head back and her curls cascade down her back as she lifts the glass to her lips and downs it all in one choked gulp.  She sputters and lifts her head upright and cringes at the taste, wiping her mouth on the back of her wrist.  “Fuuuuck, that burns.”

Chris lifts the glass to his lips.  He watches her closely as her eyes follow his movements, and he chugs his shot down quickly.  He laughs as she holds her hand to her chest, still shuddering from the burn of the whiskey.

“That’s awful,” she whispers.  “Why?  Why would you chose to drink that for fun?”

Chris moves closer to her and Dodger growls at him lowly.  “Hey man, she’s my girl too.  Watch it.  I’m not gonna hurt her, relax Bud.”  Dodger bares his teeth and Chris taps him on the nose.  “Enough of that.  You go.”

Dodger nudges her hand and she tugs on his ear gently.  “It’s okay, you’re not in trouble.  Go sleep.”  The protective mutt rises from his spot and stretches slowly, irritating Chris on purpose.  She coughs and chuckles and taps the dog playfully on his hindquarters to get him moving faster.  “Go now,” she commands and he totters away, his back legs stiff from his interrupted nap.

“Damn dog,” he grumbles.  “Likes you more than he likes me.”  Chris adjusts the pillows behind him, and leans back against the couch.  “Are you warm enough?” he asks as he pours two more shots, handing her another.

She shakes her head no, trying to refuse the little glass. Chris doesn’t give her choice. “You’re still coughing.  Tonight it’s not meant to be fun.  It’s to help you get better until we can get to the store or a doctor and get you some medicine.”  He holds the glass to her until she willingly takes it and chokes it back.

“No more.”  She spits out, scrunching up her face again.  She covers her hand over her mouth and breaths in.  “God, it’s on my breath.  It stinks.”

“Hush,” he drinks his glass and gently pulls her to him.  “You complain a lot.”  She rests against his chest and plays with the buttons on his shirt.

She bows her head sheepishly.  “I’m sorry.  I’m kinda ruining our romantic getaway, aren’t it?  You’ve done everything.  All I’ve done is sleep, cough and sneeze.  You’ve been chopping firewood- very sexy to watch from the window, I might add- gathering food we can cook over the fireplace.  Thank god for hotdogs and popcorn,” she giggles. “And I’m glad you carried the mattress down here.  The loft would be too cold.”

She reaches her arm up and pulls another blanket off the couch from behind him and he helps adjust it over the top of them.  He doesn’t want to admit to her that he’s too warm under her body and the blankets and the heat of the blazing fire.  After the blanket is settled, he tugs under her ass and shifts her body higher against his, resting his denim covered cock between her legs.  She’s weightless on top of him and he loves being her big, strong protector.

He wishes she could see what he sees right now.  Under the haze of a slight fever, her eyes warm from the liquid fire she ingested and glints of hazel and green sparkle back at him as she searches his face.  Her lips are plump and ripe for the taking.  And the smell of the whiskey on her breath begs to be savored.  He pulls her close and kisses her tenderly, not wanting to take all her air but needing to share his with her.  Her lips part so she can breath and he continues to caress her bottom lip between his as a breathy moan escapes the back of her throat.

She snakes her hands from between them and wraps one around his neck and slides the other lower, down the row of buttons on his shirt, stopping at the waist of his pants..  His bottom lip resting against hers, he whispers.  “No, you need sleep.  We can play later.”

She whines her complaint and he chuckles, kissing her again.  She moves her hand and grabs his hip, sighing.  “I really am sleepy.”  She kisses him again, sucking in all of his air to her desperate lungs before separating with a smack.  “Thank you for breathing for me,” she chuckles.

“Anytime, sweetheart.” He kisses her forehead before gently pushing her to the side, snuggling her next to his body and adjusting her in the crook of his arm.  “You realize you haven’t coughed in nearly five minutes?”

“Yes, fine, oh wise one.  The whiskey worked.  You were right.  I’ll cross-stitch it on a pillow for you.” The little blonde pokes him in the ribs.  “Don’t get too used to hearing me say that.  But I’ll make you a commemorative keepsake.  I’ll date it and everything.”

“Well, damn.  You’re rambling like a woman who might be a little tipsy.”  He laughs warmly, the shake of his body jiggling both of them.  His foot wiggles from under the blankets.

“Shut up and kick off your socks.  I know you want to,” she laughs, snuggling up into his neck and inhaling deeply.  “You smell so good.  Like cologne, firewood and snow.  Better than a candle,” she mumbles.  “So sleepy…”

Dodger raises his head and gives a happy bark before resting his head on his paws again, curled in front of the hearth.  Chris tips his head to the dog, indicating they both have watch over their girl for the night.  Chris tries not to shift away from her damp breath on his neck but he knows he needs to keep her warm through the night.  He’s worried about her becoming more sick before the morning.

#

Hours later, the wheeze has returned to her lungs and her chest heaves for breath.  He can feel each labored cough as they slowly build again.  The fire has died down, and Dodger is curled up on her other side to keep her warm.  Chris slides out from under her and smiles at the quiet whistle she makes from her congestion.  She would be so embarrassed, but he finds it just  adorable.  She’s always so tough and strong and this vulnerable state is endearing.  She’d probably punch his arm if he told her, so he’ll keep his thoughts to himself.  While covering his feet with his socks, Dodger lifts his head and yawns.  Chris puts his finger to his lips, as if the dog really understands.  The pup lays his head back down over her hip and whimpers quietly.  Chris pats the mutt’s head affectionately, knowing he’s leaving her in good care.

The power is still out.  A quick check of his phone tells him the time, but to conserve the battery he shuts it back down.  Piling on the old army jacket and silly fur hat he found earlier in the day, he heads out to the back porch to bring in more firewood.  He is startled by a doe and her fawn foraging under the tree and stands to watch for a moment before they run off across the valley.   He’s pretty sure he hears coyotes baying in the distance. The air is cold and stings his lungs while he quickly gathers enough wood to last till sunrise.

Returning to the chilled living room, he quietly places the wood in the fire and stokes the flames, Dodger and his love sound asleep.  He makes a stop in the bathroom and changes into comfortable sweatpants before foraging in the kitchen of the small hand crafted cabin.  Taking a water bottle from the cooler he finds her more aspirin.  Nibbling on the chocolate cake they brought from the bakery, he realizes he’s not really in top shape to go back to work.  A few more days of splitting firewood should do the trick.  Through the cold night air seeping through the chinked paneled walls he can hear trees bending and cracking under the pressure of the ice.

Stepping into the living room-

“Sweet Jesus.”  His heart stops at the sight in front of the fireplace.

Her bare bottom is raised up in the air, as she rests on her knees, face down on the mattress, her arms folded over above her head.  At least twelve thoughts- only twelve?- roam through his mind and he thanks God quietly she is faithful about attending her yoga class.  A quick look around the room has Dodger in his kennel, out of sight, and the jelly glasses lined up on the hearth, hers empty and his ready to go. Trying to find his voice and not sound as off balance as she’s thrown him, he murmurs lowly.  “Can I do something to help you?”

“I can’t sleep.  I thought you might be able to wear me out,” she offers, turning her head to him, her voice low and quiet in return.

He kneels on the mattress behind her, his eyes on the prize, willingly given to him.  “Are you sure?”  He asks tenderly, wanting her so badly but knowing she isn’t really physically up to anything zapping what little strength she has left.  His hand caresses gently over her right cheek and her skin rolls under his touch.

Licking her lips, she sticks her tongue seductively between her teeth, before breathily supplying her response.  “Yes, Daddy, make me better.  Use your hands to heal me.”

His own breath catches and he grips her flesh.  He instantly springs to attention turned on by her words, a game they’ve never played before.  He raises his eyebrow to her and she winks back, giggling and hiding her cough.  Closer now to the fire, he sees she’s added their favorite lotions to the pile of her clothes next to the whiskey bottle.  Daddy?  How drunk is she?  “My pet,” he intones, using a new nickname for this little foray into a darker world, “are you sure?”

She rolls her eyes at him and shifts forward on her arms, raising her ass higher.  “We already have a few rules, Daddy.  If I start coughing too much, or can’t handle it, I’ll call ‘recess’ tonight.  And no, I’m not drunk.  Just feeling very warm, from the booze, the fever, the fire. You.  We haven’t been together in weeks, Chris. First we were apart, then my period, and now I’m sick.  I just need it, please?”  She reaches back and squeezes his thigh, one of their signals to continue.

He reaches for the bottle of lotion and pours some in his hands, warming it with friction as he rubs his palms together.  The fire crackles and pops, the dancing flames reflected in the warmth of her eyes.  He takes the poured liquor and savors the taste, hot on his tongue.  He pours another shot for later as a filthy idea she just might like pops in his mind. He smiles and shakes his head as she hiccups quietly.  “Not drunk, you say?”

“Oh, maybe a little buzzed,” she confesses.  “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want this, or that I’m not aware of what’s going on.  I had the forethought to put the dog up, get lotion and condoms.  Give me some credit, man.  Control issues.  You and me both.  If you think I’m not game, stop.  But I know what I want, and right now, I really just want you to finger fuck me.”

He chuckles.  Strong and independent.  Just the way he likes her.  Loves her.  “Why?”

She coughs and he rubs over her back as the sound subsides.  She chokes out a quick breath before telling him what he needs to hear.  “I saw you light up when I was talking about our puppy parenting.”  She moans quietly as his hands run over the curve of her ass and she rolls with his caress.  “I can give up my need for control so you can have your fun, that’s what loving couples do, Chris.  I want to give this to you.  So, tonight, while I’m tipsy, I’ll be your pet and you can be my Daddy.”  She rocks back on her heels and rises to kiss him.  “Play, have fun, babe. I love you.”

He kisses her lips tenderly at first before growing in intensity.  When she’s struggling for breath, he releases his hold of her mouth and gently pushes her back to her resting position.  As her breathing returns to normal, as normal as it’s been the last few days, he continues to rub over her.  She settles in and his hands work magic over her skin.  Work tension and family stresses leave her and they listen as the wind picks up and freezing rain pelts the cabin again.  He murmurs to her, telling her all the things he loves about her.  She moans and whines happily and he loses all track of time.

Taking another shot, he wonders if she’s half asleep.  A slight cough answers his question as he smiles, holding the warm liquor in his mouth.  He bends over her, ripe and ready and pulling her flesh apart, he swallows the heated whiskey before licking his tongue gently across her pretty pink rim.  She gasps in shock, then practically purrs in excitement, while he kisses gently, teasing with his tongue, pushing her tender opening.  She spreads her legs for him and with one hand he wraps around her waist.  He blows warm air across her sweet little hole, reaching under her to slide his fingers between her wet, aching lips.  He sets a slow rhythm, nibbling on the flesh of her rounded ass, grazing her pussy with his fingertips.  Her breathing builds and she coughs a few times, humming her pleasure and fisting at the sheets.

“Please, more,” she whines.

He soaks in her pliancy and teases along the entrance to her cunt.  She’s dripping with desire and he wants her so badly.  “Please, what?” he growls, his hand slapping across her ass.

She chuckles, her eyes watching the fire blaze.  “Daddy, please, I need to feel you inside me; your healing touch.”

He swiftly brushes over the tight bundle of nerves found hidden between her walls and she jumps in his hands.  He bites at her hip and kneads her toned skin. Another swipe through the wet, and he pulls some out to tease around her clit, rolling the swollen button between his fingers.  She whines and rocks back in his hands, grinding against his palm.  Darting forward, he penetrates her with two strong fingers and pushes to her inner depths as she cries out a happy sound.  “Fuck, me Chris,” she pleads.  “I wanna come in your hands.”

“You’re so wet, my pet,” he rolls his eyes at the unintended rhyme.  “It won’t take long will it?  Tell me.”

“No, no it won’t,” she admits.  “I hate playing without you; I need this.  Daddy,” she giggles.

“That’s right, you shouldn’t play without me.  You should save yourself and only come for me,” he commands lowly.

“Then do it; make me come.”  Her body ricochets against his intrusions and her breasts sting against the friction of the mattress.

His fingers scissor through her slick, pounding again and again.  Her cunt tightens around him and as her pleasure rises her vocals echo in the small room.  He leans over her, kissing her back and pulling himself from his sweatpants with a swift, forceful tug, drops of precum rolling down her backside.  As she begins to come she shifts onto her stomach and grinds his hand into the mattress, pushing her clit against the bed.  He falls over her as her body stills and she silently finishes her rolling orgasm, pulsing and pulling his fingers in as far as they’ll reach.  He bites at her shoulder and she turns her head, searching for his mouth.  She lifts up for a kiss as the quaking stops and he covers her mouth, capturing her final sounds of completion.

Her body begins to convulse in shakes and he realizes she’s coughing again, but she requests he doesn’t move.  “I like feeling you on me.  Warm and safe, Daddy.”  She smiles between coughs, before she finally rolls to the side and pushes him off.  “You always make me feel so loved, so protected.”

Her eyes are drawn to his exposed cock, and he shakes his head ‘no.’  “No,” he chuckles, trying to put it away.  “You’re too sick.  You can’t stop coughing.”  He pauses so she can hear herself and he can prove his point. “I’m not gonna ask you to take care of me.”

She reaches for his stiff cock and says, “You’re not asking, and I appreciate that, but I need this too…”

She tugs up quickly on his shirt, and his nipples harden in the cold morning air.  She pushes him back against the pile of pillows against the couch, and straddles him quickly.  “I’m done playing and begging.  Now I’m taking what’s mine.”

His head falls back and roars with laughter as she straddles him and sheaths him.  “It’s all yours babe, my pet, every inch of it.” He looks down to see he’s totally hidden inside her and it’s so fuckin’ sexy.  He quietly whispers his thoughts to her as he tucks her hair back and holds her face in his large hands as she rides him.  Up and down, controlling him now, she quickly pulls him to his edge.  Teetering there, he pushes her over, pulling out and tugging, long ropes of creamy white cum on her tight stomach.

He collapses next to her and she winds her fingers in his hair.  “You cheated,” she coughs.  “That’s not what I wanted.”

He kisses her shoulder, and mumbles sleepily.  “Wasn’t covered… unless we’re ready for a little one to be calling me ‘daddy…’”

She traces her fingers along his profile.  Her voice dances with a gleeful joy.  “Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad…”

He rises up on his elbow and smiles down at her.  He grabs his shirt and wipes up his mess across her belly.  “Now I know you’re drunk,” he laughs.  “Just a month ago you didn’t want to talk about this.”

“Things change,” she shrugs her shoulders and her eyes seek his in the firelight.  “Just a month ago I didn’t know how tender and calm you could be in a crisis.  It’s like you just passed a test or something.  You’ve taken such good care of me, so worried about me and doing everything to comfort me and make me better.  Maybe it is time someone really call you ‘Daddy.’”

Dodger barks and growls, pacing in the kennel.  “Diaper changes, letting the dog out in the middle of the night, guess it wouldn’t be that different,” he jokes.

“The man with the plan and healing hands,” she giggles and coughs.  She sits up and pulls on her tank top.  She pours another shot of whiskey to calm her cough and her face reflects the bitter taste.

Chris chuckles, his hand tight on her thigh.  “Just where do you think you’re going?”

“Dodger needs out and I gotta use the restroom,” she blushes, searching the pile of clothes for her panties.

“You’re not going out there.  I heard coyotes, and it’s raining.”  He rises next to her and kisses her neck with care.  He crawls to the hearth and puts another log on the fire.  “I’ll take care of him; you take care of you.”  He hands her the water and aspirin.

She smiles kindly, and teases in a light tone, “Yes, Daddy.

Copyright © 2017  avenger-nerd-mom.  All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

Christmas Adventures: Naughty or Nice?

Christmas Adventures.jpg

*a Chris Evans fan fic*

By avenger-nerd-mom

Actor Chris Evans spreads holiday cheer

Warnings: NSFW, language, fingering, oral sex, penetration

This is written as a “choose your own adventure” type story.  The opening to the story is the same for both pieces, but when I reached one point in the story, I saw two possible endings.  And since I couldn’t decide which to use, I wrote both.

Opening Word count: 1859

“Hey pretty girl, wanna sit on Santa’s lap?”

The voice calls out over the din of the room.  The hospital Christmas party.  The little boy balanced on her hip has finally stopped crying, so she sets him down, balancing him on his feet before he toddles away, gripping his candy cane.  Her hands are sticky. Her feet are tired.  She doesn’t want to seem like a grinch, but the days before Christmas in a child’s sick ward are difficult days.  She does not need this crap.  She looks at her watch, seeing she’s well over her step count for the day, and realizing it’s only about twenty minutes before she can clock out.

“Are you on the naughty or nice list?” his voice calls out to her again.

Damn. Where did they hire this creep from?  Another child walks past him, smiling and thanking ‘Santa’ again for her new doll.  The nurse steps closer, but staying out of Santa’s grasp.  “Listen, here fat boy. I’m not interested. And if you-”

She shuts her mouth when she sees the head nurse giving her the evil eye.  “God, I hope you’ve just been creepy to the nurses and not the kids.”

In his incredibly ‘realistic’ costume, his belly laughs.  “I promise, I’m not a sick bastard.  I just have a thing for pretty nurses with dark hair.”

She rolls her eyes, moving to break up a fight between two little boys over a set of Legos.  Santa reaches in the big sack of toys and pulls out a matching set and offers it up to the older boy.  She begins to move away but pauses when the younger boy begins to complain that means the older boy got two presents from Santa.

She watches as Santa kneels down next to the boys and the littlest one, about five rests on his extended knee, pouting.  “Jonathan,” Santa says in a low authoritative voice.  How does he know his name? She wonders.  “Brandon has an older brother that always comes to visit.  What if we let Nurse Janelle keep the basketball here, so when Brandon’s brother visits, you can all play basketball together?”

The little boy chews on his lip for a minute, looking at Santa, Brandon and the dark haired nurse.  “You mean like a present for all of us?” he asks Santa.

Santa ruffles the top of his hair, careful not to bump the IV pole attached to the tubes in the boy’s arm. “For everybody,” he nods.

The little boy wraps his arms around Santa’s neck for a quick hug and calls ‘thank you’ as he runs off to get a cookie.  The older boy hands the ball to Santa, who hands it to the Nurse.

Taking the brightly colored ball, she tucks it under her arm.  “How did you know their names? About Brandon’s brother?”

Adjusting his fake beard, he laughs again.  She tries to ignore the pleasant tone and steps back when he reaches to her.  He drops his arm, defeated he can’t charm her.  “I’m Santa.  It’s my job to know the names of all the kids.  The ones here at the hospital are especially important to me.  And I try to know all their names and wishes…. Just like the nurses.  Nurse Janelle.  And you’re wishing for a Disney trip?”

Who the fuck is this guy?  “My scrubs are covered in Mickey.  That’s not hard to deduce, fat boy,” she pokes him in his foam padded belly, catching sight of her watch again.  She just wants to go home. Take a hot shower. Order pizza. Have a beer.  Be alone for the next three days.  He grabs her jacket sleeve, turning her wrist to see Mickey on the watchband as well.

“Call it a lucky guess?  So what are you doing after work.  I’m guessing you’re off now? You’ve been watching the clock for the last hour.  If you’re not bus-”

“Nurse Janelle! Nurse Janelle!”  Santa steps back when an adorable little blonde runs between them, tugging on the nurse’s jacket.  “It’s time; you’re leaving?”

Janelle squats down to the child’s level.  “Yea, sweetie, but I’ll be back.  You know that.”  While she talks to the girl, she holds her tiny hand, discreetly checking the child’s pulse to make one last note for the day.  “I’ll be back on Saturday, and you can tell me all about your Christmas, ok honey?”

The little girl looks over her shoulder at Santa, smiling.  She steps closer to Janelle and whispers in her ear.  “I asked him for a pony. But it can’t come inside the hospital.  How do you think he’ll do it?”

Janelle giggles at the wisp of breath the little girl creates against her neck.   Moving back, she looks in the innocent bright blue eyes.  The eyes.  Something jumps in her mind.  She shakes her head as though she knows it can’t be right.  Knowing the child’s parents have made plans to take her out of the hospital for a sleigh ride on Christmas Day, she firmly replies, “Santa always works magic.  I’m sure he’s already figured it out.”

She hugs her sweetly before rising tall.  Tugging her scrubs in place, she turns to go quickly before any more of the kids catch her.  “Sure I can’t change your mind?” Santa asks.

Sighing, she huffs, “I’m sure.  Thanks, but no thanks, Santa.”

Making her quick get away,she shuffles down the hall quietly, keeping her head low, just waiting to get to the workroom to clock out, hoping there are still some cookies left that haven’t been touched by children.  She loves her job, but off duty, she does not want kid germs on her food, especially during the cold winter months.  If she’s sick, she could be off the job for days, just to keep the patients from becoming more sick.

The workroom itself is festive with the group getting ready to go on shift, and those getting ready to leave for the night.  Washing up quickly, she takes the cookie and hot chocolate her friend Chani offers her.  Nibbling on the wonderful sweet she moves to the counter to clock out before plopping down on the couch, joining her friend for a quick rest before heading out into the cold night.

“Janelle, girl, come with us.  Honey, you can’t sit at home and mope for the next few days,” Chani prods.  “I’ve got a slinky black dress perfect for you! Hit the town with us.”

“Slinky black dress? I’m all for that.”  His unmistakeable voice fills the space.

Looking up, Janelle can’t believe it.  Santa was played by none other than Chris fuckin’  Evans.  “Sweet Jesus,” she mumbles under her breath as he leans forward to give Chani a kiss on the cheek.

“Hey, good-lookin’!  I’ve missed you!  I’m so glad you got to come play Santa,” Chani laughs, letting her hand rest against his chest a moment longer than necessary.  “I see you’ve been staying away from the Christmas cookies this year, ‘Santa.’”

“Gotta stay in shape, ya know.  It’s a tough job, but somebody’s gotta do it,” he laughs.  Eyeing the table of sweets, he reaches for the smallest cookie he can find, the sugar cookie kind with a chocolate kiss pushed in the center, and pops it in his mouth before sitting on the coffee table, trapping Janelle’s knees between his legs. He taps her knee purposely with his.

“I’m sure you’d look charming in an LBD, because I’m not wearing it.  You two know each other?” Janelle asks indifferently, taking a plate of goodies one of the other nurses hands to her.  She nibbles on a white chocolate covered pretzel totally ignoring the good looking actor sitting in front of her.

“This handsome fella came by the clinic I used to work at in Chicago once and we’ve been friends ever since.  He was the first person I knew when I came to Boston,” Chani explains, stealing a cookie from Janelle’s plate.  “HE’S the guy I’ve been trying to set you up with for months.  I think you two are perfect for each other.”

“I am NOT the same animal as him,” Janelle replies quickly, almost feeling bad about it when she sees him wince at the comment.

Recovering quickly, Chris rubs his hand over Chani’s knee.  “Aw, honey, thanks.  But I get the feeling she doesn’t want to be set up, even with a great guy like me.  Don’t believe everything you read,” he teases as he winks at Janelle.  “Come go with us; it’ll be fun. I’ll get changed out of this Santa suit-”

Looking him squarely in the eye, Janelle interrupts.  “Take away the suit and you’re still just a millionaire, playboy, philanthropist… I’m. Not. Interested.”

Chris clutches at his heart, pretending to be hurt.  “Oh, that’s a good one, sweetheart, like I’ve never heard that before.”  She can see in his eyes her dig cut just a little bit.

Chani shakes her head, stage whispering, “Girl! What is wrong with you? Chris Evans is asking you to go out with us!  Come on; you have no need to rush home.”

“I don’t know Chani, maybe she has cats to take care of,” Chris dismisses her as he gets up and shakes his arms out of the heavy Santa jacket.  Like the abs in his too-tight tshirt are going to change my mind…

“Oh, that’s original.  No wedding ring, early thirties, so you automatically assume I have cats.  Nice.” He shrugs his shoulders.  “I have a boyfriend; Chani you know I have a boyfriend.”

“That douchebag?” Chani rolls her eyes, setting her plate on the coffee table, waving goodbye to a few of the nurses leaving for the night.  She signals to the girls she plans to meet with later.  “If he’s so great, why have I never met him?”

Janelle hits her head against the back of the couch, accidentally thumping it against the wall.  She screws up her face and rubs at the tender spot.  “I can’t help he lives outta town and it’s easier for me to go visit him.”  She glances to Chris.  “But if you wanna have this discussion again about how unsuitable you think he is as a suitor for me, can we do it in private? After Christmas?”

Sheepishly nodding her head, Chani apologizes.  “Sorry.  That was rude.  I’m sure if you like him, he’s not a total douche.  But leaving you alone at Christmas totally sucks and I really wi-”

Janelle stands up, bumping into Chris, nearly tripping over his feet and he places a hand on her waist to keep her from falling.  She jerks away quickly from his touch.  “Chani.  Enough.  Babes, I love ya.  But I am going home.  To call my boyfriend,” she says pointedly to her friend.  “And to feed my cat,” she addresses to Chris.  “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Stalking to her locker, she quickly grabs her coat and gloves, murmuring her goodbyes and good wishes of a holiday season to her coworkers.  She glares back at Chris before she leaves the room, resisting the urge to flip him off.

Click here for “Naughty” ending, NSFW, 2784

Click here for “Nice” ending, Fluffy NSFW, 3365

Copyright © 2016 avenger-nerd-mom. All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

Christmas Adventures: Naughty

Click here for the Opening of the story

Two hours later, she picks her little black bag off the side table, the cat jumping up at the sound of jingling keys.  Fuck this.  I’m going out.  Checking her phone again, she grabs her coat and scarf, and heads down to the lobby to wait for her Uber ride, ready to follow the directions Chani shared with the girls at work earlier in the week.

#

Greeted at the door of the home lavishly decorated for the holidays, Janelle has no idea where exactly she is, but passes over her coat and takes the ticket claim number she is handed.  Wandering through the holiday revelry, she calls out hello to friends from work, although confused by who all the other people might be.  The house is packed. She makes small talk with friends as she moves through the house, looking for Chani.  Walking into the kitchen, she smiles at the sight of Chani and Chris dancing around the room, manning the blender and mixing drinks.  Stepping up behind the handsome actor, she places her hand on his hip, reaching around him for his glass of Scotch, knocking it back swiftly.  He grabs her wrist, face unseen, turning and pausing when he sees who it is.

“Didn’t expect to see you here!” He shouts over the music, smiling at Chani’s bouncing excitement with the arrival of her friend.  Calling out to the man on the other side of the counter, he yells, “Scott, man!  Turn it down; we’re talking here.”

Scott, whoever he is, looks her up and down, and she puts a hand on her hip defiantly.  She doesn’t need some pretty boy checking her out.  She knows she looks good dressed in all black, jeans and v-neck sweater.  “Nice boots,” he compliments, giving a thumbs up appraisal before reaching over to quiet the music.

Turning her head to Chani, she smiles questioningly, ignoring the heat of Chris’s stare, his eyes obviously curving over her sculpted ass in the designer jeans she had to have last pay day.

“Don’t mind him.  He’s gay- and Chris’s brother.  He likes to critique our clothes. You look fuckin’ hot, baby girl,” she mocks her worship, raising and lowering her arms.  She nods at Chris as he takes the empty glass from Janelle and refills it, handing it back to her.  “What about the boyfriend?” she asks.

Swirling the amber liquid around in her glass, she watches as Chris steps aside for Scott to take over blender duties and moving closer to her. The Santa hat cocked on the side of his head makes her giggle and shake her head.  She takes another long draw from the small tumbler.  Pursing her lips and biting the inside of her cheek, she sighs, “Well, seems he forgot a few weeks back he had a girlfriend.”  Dropping her voice, she looks away from Chani, not wanting to see her look of sympathy.  “I ah… I just wanted to get through the holidays before I started telling people.”

She finishes the rest of the drink, resting the glass on the counter.  “Food, I need food.  All I’ve eaten today were cookies at the hospital.”

“Oh, my god, baby, let us get you something.  That asshole cheated on you?” Chani questions.  “Where is he? I wanna kick his damn head in.”  She guides Janelle into another room, two large tables covered with food.  “Plate?” she demands of Chris, working like a team, friends who’ve known each other well for a long time.  Accepting the plate, she begins to fill it full of real food for her friend.  “I’m sorry you didn’t tell me; I didn’t know.  I wouldn’t have teased you.”

“Honey, it’s okay.  You had no idea.  I didn’t want to bring anyone down.  He was an ass, you were right… I didn’t need to hear ‘I told you so.’” Pointing at the cheeseball and crackers, she motions for Chani to add more to the plate.  Looking around the array of food, the room decorated for the holidays, she pulls herself back into the moment.  “Where the fuck are we anyway?” she laughs.

“Belongs to a millionaire, playboy, philanthropist…” Chris shares modestly, shrugging his shoulders.  “I’m not just a dick that plays Santa for sick kids.”

Rubbing her forehead in embarrassment, “I’m a bitch.  I shouldn’t have said those things today.  What you do for those kids at the hospital, for us nurses?  It’s really amazing.  I’m sorry; it was out of line.”

“No harm done.  I like feisty women,” he chuckles, smacking her on the ass, preparing to walk away.  “And I am kind of a dick.  See ya around, Disney.”

Mouth agape, Janelle watches with confusion as he walks away, his jeans hung low on his hips, the fabric tight on his ass as he moves.  “Chani, what the hell just happened?” she asks, welcoming the plate of food into her outstretched hands and picking up a chilled water bottle.

Chani leads her dark haired friend to a quiet alcove down the hallway.  Resting in the window seat, Chani kicks off her shoes, tucking her feet under when she sits.  “He’s not a bad guy, Janelle.  You just announced your so-called ‘boyfriend’ cheated on you.  He’s giving you space; but he was disappointed after meeting you at the hospital that you didn’t plan to come-” she bursts into laughter and Janelle giggles with her, trying not to choke on her food.  Rocking with laughter, Chani can’t catch her breath, and Janelle just shakes her head.  Waving her hands at her face, Chani calms herself.  “Oh, girl!  That was too funny.  Bad choice of words; I should say he was disappointed you didn’t plan to attend the party… But ya know, he’d also be disappointed if you didn’t come…”

“Chani!  Shush!” Janelle admonishes.  “People will hear you,” she giggles.  “Oh my god though, I so need to get laid.  That’s my Christmas wish.”

The girls high-five and collapse into another fit of giggles.  Their easy camaraderie attracts other friends to them and before long the little quiet alcove has turned into its’ own private party.  One of the girls turns up the playlist on her phone and beers are passed among the friends.  Janelle passes on the drinks, losing herself in the music, dancing from song to song.

Arms raised, snapping to the beat, she dances among her friends, remembering the fun she used to have with them on Friday nights.  Like the Grinch, she feels her heart grow surrounded by their love and support, but it’s the firm hand on her hip that adds a warmth to her she hasn’t truly felt in ages.  Without even looking she knows it’s Chris.  She moves into him with the beat of the music and his strong arms wrap around her waist, pulling her close to him.

Her back melts against his solid chest and she sways a bit more to the music, brushing her ass against his groin, bumping against him with each rhythm change.  His hands roam across her stomach, the soft sweater caressing her skin and awakening inner desires she’s tamped down in an effort to get through the holidays alone.  His breath is hot against her neck as he nuzzles his nose in her hair.  His hands dig into her flesh, pulling up on her sweater, trying to find her skin.  The crowd swells around them and his bold advances are unseen to observers.  His deft fingers skim the soft plane of her belly, tugging at the snap of her jeans, popping it open and grazing his fingertips along the band of her jeans.  Her skin is on fire with his touch and her heart races. Sighing contentedly, she lowers her arm around the back of his neck and grasps the wisps of hair on the nape of his neck.

As the song changes, she spins in his arms, turning to face him and reconnecting their bodies as soon as possible.  “Nice package you got there, Santa,” she teases, looking up into his bright blue eyes, sparkling in the glow of the Christmas lights in the window.

He chuckles, sliding his hands down to cup under her ass cheeks, rising her up on her tiptoes to fit better against his stiffening cock.  “Christmas kink?  Nice.  I can do that…” he purrs.  “What do you want for Christmas, baby girl?”

On her tiptoes, she whispers in his ear, puffs of warm air against his neck, delighting in the slight shiver she feels run through his body at her deliciously sinful wish.  Balancing herself with her hands on his rock hard chest, she turns her head slightly to the left, her lips landing against the soft spot below his ear.  Her mouth slightly open, she quickly flicks her tongue against his warm skin as his grasp tugs upwards on her ass again, his cock harder than before.

Dropping to her flat feet she pulls back and winks at him, surprised to see a small blush of pink to his cheeks.  He blinks quickly, his dark lashes against his pale skin, looking around to see if anyone is watching them.  “Chani was right.  We’ll get along famously,” he laughs, taking her hand in his and leading her through the crowd.

#

The upstairs of the house is quiet, thanks to friends of his sitting at the top of the steps, keeping people away.  Janelle can’t help but notice one of the guys giving Chris a ‘thumbs up’ as they walk by.  Silently she hopes to herself this isn’t a normal situation, but he’s so Hollywood, how would she know.  She’s a little shocked by her own brazen behavior, but when would she ever get a chance like this again.  Her hand is comfortable in his and his thumb strokes gently over the back of her hand.  Occasionally he looks at her sideways and offers her a smile, putting her at ease. She catches glimpses of his personality as they walk down the hallway, gym shoes on the floor, a ballcap and glasses on a side table, photos of tourist destinations and family line the walls.

Pausing at a doorway, Chris opens the door and swings his arm to invite her in.  “You go first, Disney.”

She giggles at the nickname, brushing past him purposefully as she steps inside.  A Christmas tree takes up a large corner of the room, lighting the dark space and she stops just inside the doorway, not really sure what to do next.  What the fuck am I thinking? She asks herself, her mind swirling.

His hands come to her hip and he moves her to the side, closing the door before stepping in front of her, sliding his hands around to still rest on her hips.

Taking a deep breath, she moves three steps back against the door and he steps with her, drawn like a magnet to her dark eyes gleaming in the Christmas light. Reaching behind her, she turns the lock, a wicked smile forming at the tiny click, keeping the rest of the world out. The pretty nurse leans forward into his space, liking his cocky smile and licking her lips at the last second before kissing him, momentarily drawing his eyes to their glistening wet.

His eyes dart back up to hers  Not wanting to play her game, he tugs her belt loop forcing her  closer to him as his lips land on hers aggressively.   Brushing his beard against her skin, he kisses her roughly, his tongue teasing against her ripe lips. She doesn’t wait long before opening to him and kissing just as fiercely, biting and pulling at his swollen bottom lip in the process.  At the power of her mouth, a soft moan escapes his lips and her own sound mimics his in the quiet room.

Breaking contact, Chris sinks to his knees, gliding his hands down her tight denim clad thighs, smiling up at her from below.  Her head lowers as she looks down on him with a thoughtfully . curious grin.  At the back of her calf, he slowly unzips the heeled boot and pulls it off as she balances against the door.  His hungry look adds to her fueled desires and she can feel her panties get wet, shifting to rub them between her lower lips when he sets her foot to the ground, removing the other boot.

Tossing them both aside, his hands slide back up, creating a  tickle behind her knees, but she holds in her laughter.  This is hunger. This is power. This is different from anything she’s ever done before.  His hands reach up under the hem of her sweater, dipping his thumbs in the waist of her jeans and pulling them slowly down her legs.  He’s gonna draw this out… His breath is warm against her exposed flesh and goosebumps break across her pale skin.  Aiding in helping her to step out of them, he looks up again at the dark haired beauty in her black fuzzy sweater and red lace panties.  “Damn, that’s a beautiful Christmas picture… Red lace, how festive,” he teases.

Rising up on his knees, he reaches around to her hands still resting on the doorknob.  He holds them tightly behind her back, both her small hands in one of his.  She recognizes her smell of sex in the air at the same time he does and his eyes grow dark.  Angling towards the prize, Chris brushes the tip of his nose against the evident wet spot, inhaling deeper.  “You smell delicious and already so wet for me…”

Tilting his head to to the side, he presses his lips to her covered mound.  Boldly, he parts his lips and laps his tongue up and down the saturated silk.  Impulsively he stiffens his tongue and pushes the damp fabric between her folds, intruding against her sensitive clit.  With a sharp gasp, he feels her knees give way so he supports her with his other hand as she falls forward.  Letting her hands free, he smiles when she braces herself on his shoulders.  His hand now freed as well, he slips his fingers under the lace trim, pushing it aside and sliding his tongue through her wet slit.  “Sweet Jesus, yes,” she whispers, digging her nails into his shoulders.

Encouraged by her enthusiastic praise, he continues to lap at her pink walls, her sweet juice dripping to his beard.  From her position she rocks against him, using his tongue to fuck her, listening to her moans rise and fall.  Her sounds of delight change, becoming more high-pitched but still not loud enough to be heard by party-goers downstairs, when he surprises her by plunging two fingers inside her wet cavern.  His thick fingers penetrate deeply, working in tandem with his mouth.  When her pussy begins to pulse, grasping around him, he pulls away from her, not knowing her limitations. Lifting his shirt to wipe the sweet mess from his face, he licks his lips and raising his eyes to hers.  “You taste as good as you smell… You good?” he asks kindly, his own need echoed in his voice.

“Uh, huh,” she replies still weak against him.  “You’re not done; you didn’t finish me… I need more.”

Tugging on the shoulder seams of his shirt, she pulls it over his head as he rises to a standing position, pulling her sweater off her at the same time.  He wraps his arms around her full waist, lifting her off her feet and bringing her up to his eye level, placing his lips on her mouth, his tongue teasing her lower lip.  She stifles a moan, pulling back and wiping her own wet he shared with her from the corner of her mouth.  Wrapping her legs around his waist she begs, “Take me to the bed.”

“I’m all for granting Christmas wishes,” he replies with a devilish grin, turning on his heels and dropping her at the foot of the bed with a bounce.  Kicking off his shoes one at a time, he watches her eyes sweep over his solid chest, taking in his tattoos while he unbuckles his pants.  Shimmying out of them, he reveals maroon colored Calvins straining over his hard bulging cock.  He chuckles when she crab crawls backward on the bed and he chases after her.  Grabbing her ankle, he yanks her down the bed, climbing over top of her.  “Whatdya say I unwrap the rest of my Christmas present?” he challenges.

Still panting with her unmet need she wraps her leg around his thigh and sliding her silky smooth leg up and down his she purrs, “You can open your presents now… I think you’ve been a very good boy.”

Click here for “Nice” ending of the story

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