Login with:








Your info will not be visible on the site. After logging in for the first time you'll be able to choose your display name.

All I Want For Christmas


“Another gift basket?” I can’t hide the shock from my voice.

Kirby smiles at me. “Clearly your clients love you.”

I stare at the chocolates, cheeses, crackers and candies in the wicker basket all wrapped in festive clear cellophane with red and green snowflakes on it. This is the fifth Christmas basket a client has sent me personally this week. Ted, the owner of the small advertising agency I work for, is thrilled. He says he’s never had such positive reviews to an Art Director as he does to me. He’s told me he wants me to fill the recently vacated spot of Creative Director. It’s an honor, a real accomplishment. But it would probably mean doing less actual creative work. I like being locked up in my office for hours absorbed in minute photoshopping details or spending a day sourcing the perfect props for a photo shoot not kissing a client’s ass on a conference call or tied up in a meeting with the media department figuring out GRPs.

But if this last year has taught me anything it’s that The Rolling Stones are fucking visionaries and a girl can’t always get what she wants.

“Oh and this came for you!” Kirby adds as he’s about to turn and leave. He turns back and pulls a red envelope out of the back pocket of his faded, tapered Levis.

I take it. The paper is thick and slightly ridged. My name and address is printed in his neat, all caps, writing. I smile and open it without waiting for a nosey Kirby to leave.


“What?” I blink innocently.

“For someone who professes to hate Christmas that Christmas card is putting one hell of a smile on your face,” the office admin assistant announces.

“Good bye Kirby,” I say pointedly letting him know to mind his own business but I smile again as he leaves and add in a happy tone “Have a good Christmas!”

“You too!” he calls back as he disappears around the corner.

The card has a simple, sparkly silver snowflake on the front. Inside was a ticket to the game tonight between the Ottawa Senators and the Pittsburgh Penguins. I smile. So we’re doing this. Again.

Thank God.

We’ve done this dance every time he comes to town for the last 4 visits. He found out where I worked the very first night. It was the reason we met. My company was doing an ad campaign for Dempsters bread. Their celebrity spokesperson was Sidney Crosby and in order to accommodate his schedule we’d been ask to shoot the print stuff while he was here for a game. We’d set up in a ballroom at the hotel and gotten stuff done in between the morning skate and the afternoon nap. Dempsters, so thrilled Sid had accommodated them (hello, you’re paying him to do it), had used the same ballroom to throw a post-game party for the team, since they weren’t flying out until the next day. I was invited, as were all the Penguins. And that’s how I met Kris Letang.

That night we’d both gotten tipsy and subtly snuck off to his hotel room to bang like horny monkeys. I’d snuck out around 4am. As far as I knew no one was the wiser. I never got his number or his email. He didn’t have mine. I had assumed that it would be filed away in both our heads as a really great one-night stand. And I had no delusions. I knew it was a larger file in my head than it would be in the head of a professional hockey player. I probably wasn’t even the only girl he’s slept with in this city. Maybe not even on this particular trip. But I didn’t care. I had just come out of a bad breakup and was focusing on my career. I didn’t want another boyfriend. What I wanted was good, clean dirty sex.

That’s why when I got a card similar to this one on the Penguins next trip out to play the Sens I had been shocked. I forgot that although he didn’t have my direct contact he did know where I worked. But what shocked me more is that he’d wanted to contact me again. The card had contained the same things this one did. A ticket to the game and the message: We’re at the Hilton again. Room 402.

This time the room was 631.

I smile and twist the ticket around in my fingers.

If I had gotten to sit on Santa’s lap this year, this was the only gift I would have asked for – another night with Kris Letang.

* * * * * * *

This part was always the hardest. The card had been sent. Would she show up? I never knew the answer until I got back to my hotel room. As we dress, Sidney watches me from across the small visitors locker room. I look up and catch his eye.

“Plans after the game?”

He knows exactly what he’s asking.

“I think so.”

He nods and gives me a bit of a grin. I had told him about her. About the hook-up. I had to. I had been too drunk to remember the name of the ad agency she worked for. So I had asked Sid. I told him we hooked up.

“And you want to see her again?” he had seemed as shocked as I was.

“Yeah.” Was all I could respond because I didn’t really have more of an explanation for him – or myself.

I had a lot of one-night stands. It wasn’t news. I would love to say I was no Max Talbot but I was Max Talbot – at least when it came to numbers. The only thing that separated us was his conquests were so sloppy and public that there were websites dedicated to them. I kept mine private. Of course I had to. I had a girlfriend.

So while Max picked the loudest puck bunny with the least amount of clothes in any club or party or event, I picked the girl who looked like she couldn’t tell a hockey stick from a golf club. The girl who wasn’t sleeping with number 58 but was sleeping with some quiet longhaired French Canadian in town for work. I did that for two reasons, the first was because I didn’t want Catherine to find out. The second was because I wanted them to want me, sleep with me. Not my fame or my money. Just me.

That’s why I had picked her. She looked like she didn’t give a fuck about me. Well, and I had always been a sucker for natural blondes with blue eyes. And long legs. And a perfect ass.

I was actually shocked at how easy it was to talk to her. She looked cold and closed off in a dark tailored Calvin Klein business suit with a scarlet silk tank and matching heels. Her hair was twisted up high on her head. But she’d smiled warmly at me and laughed at my jokes and made some killer ones of her own. Before I could buy her a drink, she bought me one. And then I returned the favor. When we were on our fourth, I touched her hand and she touched my shoulder. And that’s when I knew I could probably take her up to my room.

She’d hesitated when the party was quickly winding down and I’d mentioned having another drink in my room. Her light blue eyes darted around the room and I realized then her hesitation was because she didn’t want to get caught, not because she didn’t want to do it. So I told her my room number and said I would meet her there and left without her.

She’d shown up twenty minutes later and I had her jacket and tank top off before the door had completely closed. The sex had been insanely good. Effortless. I didn’t have to think about it – or I was so turned on I couldn’t think about it. Whatever the case it made for great sex. She touched me with just the right pressure. Her hands went to all the right places at all the right times. So did her mouth. And judging by the way she came on my hand and again on around my cock, I was giving her just as enjoyable an experience.

I didn’t expect to want to see her again. I didn’t do repeats. It made it too difficult to keep myself from feeling guilty. I convinced myself that what happened in random hotel rooms on road trips wasn’t my fault. It was a natural reaction. A way to work off aggression from a bad loss or an accidental after effect of a victory celebration. So I could never see someone twice. That made it a concerted effort to cheat on my girlfriend.

Somehow though when I realized we were going to be back in Ottawa, I found myself approaching Sid for the name of that agency he worked with. Sid wasn’t stupid and he put two and two together. He didn’t care. He hated my girlfriend Catherine. The whole team did and any staff that had had to deal with her. Catherine had grown up in a wealthy family and had never been denied anything her whole life. The closest she'd ever come to work was starring on a Quebec version of The Real World. Her money was part of what attracted me to her. She wouldn’t be interested in mine. But it also made her demanding and immature.

And of course growing up in West Mount in Montreal with a plastic surgeon for a father she had never bothered to learn English. Because of that, she hated living in Pittsburgh. She couldn’t communicate well with anyone and she missed her family. Even though the Penguins tried hard to include wives and girlfriends in events and charity work when the players were on road trips, she wasn’t happy.

I’d come to realize that I wasn’t happy either. Don’t get me wrong she wasn’t a total nightmare – at least not to me. We’d had our good times and even our great ones. But those we’re long gone. I knew it and now she did too.

Sid is still smiling at me as we stand up and proceeded into the hall, waiting to take the ice and hopefully dominate the crap out of the Senators. I can’t help but grin back.

“Allie’s here?” he asks.

“I sent her a ticket.”

It’s the only answer I can give. I don’t know for sure where she’s here. I never know. And the last three times when Allie had shown up at my hotel I hadn’t taken the time to ask if she’d used the ticket. I was too busy taking her clothes off and devouring her with my mouth.

The game goes by swiftly and easily. We’re up 4 nothing by the third period. I had an assist. Unfortunately because the Senators weren’t having as good a night, they started to get chippy. They took 3 penalties in the next 5 minutes, including one for crosschecking Sidney in the numbers – hard. He tumbled forward narrowly missing the boards with his head. I was pissed. We all were.

As we took a face-off and won on our power play I took a slapshot from the line. It didn’t go in but Auld didn’t grab the rebound it shot out and Spezza tried to get it out but I blocked it. Shooting it to Staalsy in the corner I then skated hard to the net because they had tied up Kennedy and made it impossible for him to screen. Staal shot it hard. I snapped my stick down at just the right time, changing the direction on Auld – not that he could even see it through me – and scored!

I jumped and hollered but my celebration was cut short by Spezza’s fist to my face. I was completely blindsided. Had no idea he’d do that. He wasn’t usually the type. I lost my balance and fell to the ice as pain rippled out from the point of contact, just below my right eye. I was on my feet again instantly, throwing my gloves to the ground. I was going to knock him into next year. But I couldn’t get to him.

Staalsy and Cookie were already all over him as was all my other teammates. Jordan had one giant gloved hand on the back of Spezza’s helmet while Staalsy’s other hand face-washed him. Matt had Spezza by the jersey and started to shake him. A bunch of Senators now jumped into the mix. I skate over and tried to get at Spezza shouting at the top of my lungs that he was a fucking asshole and bitch.

The ref grabbed the back of my jersey and gave it a hard tug, pulling me backwards with the help of a linesman.

“Letang, you’re bleeding. Get off the ice,” he demanded and I raised my hand to my face and sure enough the pads of my fingers became slippery with my own blood.

A trainer was running towards me from the bench holding a towel. I took it and skated off the ice to the bench and onward through the tunnel.

I sat with a grimace in the medical room while our doctor, Charles, froze my face and sewed me up. The grimace wasn’t from the injury. It was from missing the end of the game. I hated missing any part of the game. Loathed it.

“It’s only four minutes Kris,” Charles said as if reading my mind. “Think about your Christmas break or something positive.”

Allie. In less than two hours I would get to be with Allie again.

“There you go,” Charles said smiling as my face relaxed. “It’s much easier to stitch when your whole face isn’t falling into your shoulder pads.”

* * * * * * *

I would probably beat him to the hotel. Normally I would linger a little, take my time getting back to my car and heading there. But after he got clobbered and left the game I was kind of freaking the fuck out. How injured was he? Would he even make it back to the hotel? What if they sent him to the hospital? How would I find out which one?

I decided right then and there that I would violate the privacy of my clients and get Sidney Crosby’s contact information from our database and call him if Kris didn’t come back to the hotel. If I lost my job, I didn’t even care. I was sick with worry.

The weather outside was crisp – snow was imminent, I could tell. I hurried across the hotel parking lot and smiled tightly as the doorman opened the door. The lobby was warm and festive. There was a 12-foot Christmas tree by the giant gas fireplace across from the front desk.

I pulled my beret style knitted hat off my head and gave my long blonde hair a shake to add some volume back. The young girl working the front desk eyed me suspiciously. I had learned from experience that the hotel desk staff was always on strict puck bunny, fangirl and autograph-seekers watch whenever a NHL team was staying with them.

I gave her a smile and casually walked over to the wing chairs by the fire. I glanced at my watch to make it seem like I might be waiting to meet someone and settled into the chair. I started to undo my crimson colored wool pea coat but thought better of it when I realized I was wearing the long-sleeved burnout Penguins shirt with Letang 58 on the back. If she saw that, the front desk girl would be calling security pronto.

I settled in and waited. The bus pulled in earlier than I expected. A hotel security guy, dressed in a cheap suit with an earpiece in his ear, shuffled into the hallway to greet them. I stood up and he eyed me skeptically.

Kris was the second person off the bus. I had to stifle a gasp when I saw his cheek. It was held together with black stitches and white butterfly tape. It was red and swollen.

He didn’t see me, he was listening to Dupuis who was talking to him. I started to walk towards him, ready to follow him to the elevator. If I was lucky I could slip in the same elevator car as him.
But the security guard had other ideas.

“Do you have a room here m’am?”

M’am. Wow. That was uncalled for. I hate the word M’am. It’s condescending and makes me feel old.

“I…. I don’t but I’m meeting…”

Kris turns around, sees me there and smiles. Then winces at the pain it causes his pretty face. Without a word to the security guard – or me for that matter – he walks over, puts a hand on my lower back and leads me toward the elevators.

The security guard shuts his yap.

The rest of his teammates are milling around chatting excitedly about their win. No one blinks at my sudden presence and no one looks confused. I guess they’re used to Kris bringing random girls back to their hotels. That thought creates an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach so I banish it from my head.

We shuffle into an elevator with Dupuis, Malkin and Crosby. Kris moves his hand off my back and slips it into mine. They’re making plans as to where to go tonight and party. I listen but my brain is concentrating on the warm feel of his strong hand around mine and the way his thumb is lazily making circles in the center of my palm.

The doors open on 4 and they all filter out.

“Later Tanger,” Dupuis says as he exits and smiles kindly at me.

“Bye Kris.” Malkin almost grunts in his heavy accent and he winks at me.

“Have a good night Tanger. You too Allie.”

Sid smiles at both of us and I feel a little wave of panic as he says my name. I had been hoping beyond hope he wouldn’t recognize me. But his big lips part in an easy smile and I realize he’s not judging me. He looks kind of happy for me. For us. Not that there is an ‘us’.

As soon as the elevator doors close Kris turns and presses my back into the wall. His hand lets go of mine and makes its way to my lower back, pulling him into me as his lips find mine.

The kiss is slow, luxurious, and different. Usually he’s aggressive. Dominate. Tonight his lips are tentative. His tongue gently grazes my lower lip begging me to open my mouth. I do it willingly. God I missed the feel of his tongue dancing with mine.

The doors ding and start to slide open on six. The room is to the left, not too far from the elevators, thankfully. I just wanted to get inside and be alone with him.

He slides the key card in and the light turns green. He turns, uses his back to push the door open and takes my face in his hands, kissing me painfully slowly as he pulls me into the room.

Our kiss starts to get urgent and needy – aggressive the way I know he loves to be. But suddenly he flinches and pulls away. Leaving me breathless and fighting the urge to moan for more.

“Are you okay?” I ask, concerned. Stupid question. His face is split open, of course he’s not okay.

He stares at me and shakes his head. I reached up and gently touch the skin right under his cut and bruise. It’s hot and puffy.

“I wish I could have punched him back,” he confesses, dejected.

“I wish you could have too,” I admit and smile guiltily. “That sucker punch he gave you was such a bitch move.”

“Potty mouth,” he jokingly chastises me.

I laugh lightly. He takes my hand and pulls me deeper into the room. The light by the king size bed is on and I can see his suitcase on the rack by the window. When we get to the bed he lets go of my hand and starts to undo my coat. I drop my purse to the floor and start to undo his coat too.

He shrugs out of his long wool coat and I slip out of mine and then he sees my shirt and grins. It’s a stunningly beautiful smile that makes his dark chocolate eyes twinkle.

“I wanted to blend in with the crowd,” I say nonchalantly and can’t hide my devious smile as I go straight for the belt at his waist and undo it.

“Then you would have worn a Senators shirt,” he reminds me as he turns me around and takes in his name and number on the back. “I’m surprised you didn’t get killed in this.”

“Nah. Sens fans are pussies,” I shrug and he laughs.

“Again with the potty mouth.”

Suddenly he grabs me by the waist and yanks me into him. I gasp. He nuzzles his lips against my ear his breath sending delicious chills down my spine as it tickles my neck. I push his pants over his perfect ass and they slide down his thighs and puddle on the floor.

“You know the only thing hotter than your dirty mouth,” he whispers and pauses as his tongue slips out and slides along my earlobe. “Is you wearing my number.”

His hands play around the waist of my jeans pushing the tips of his fingers inside ever so slightly and sliding from the back to the front. I kiss his lips softly pulling away to slowly run my tongue over my own lips. He watches with lust in his eyes.

His hands start to play with the button on my jeans. I want to scream ‘take them off already!’ Normally I wouldn’t have to but tonight he’s slower, softer – teasing me.

Instead I yank his tie loose in one fluid motion and start to undo his dress shirt. I don’t know where his suit jacket is but he isn’t wearing it. Thank God. Less clothes means being naked faster.

I push his shirt off his shoulders and he throws it to the ground before grabbing the bottom of my shirt and pulling it over and off my body. He sits on the bed. Cups my ass with both hands and starts to kiss my exposed stomach. My panties are dripping.

His hands move back to the button on my jeans and he has it undone and the fly down before I even realize what’s happening. Suddenly my pants are at my ankles. I run my hands through his hair as his tongue slides along the waistband of my red lace thong. I love his fucking hair. It’s so soft and long and fucking sexy. I love his tongue for the exact same reasons.

His fingers are hooked into the sides of my panties and sliding them down, dipping his head as he goes to cover as much of the newly exposed skin with his lips and tongue as he can.

“I missed this,” I meant to think it but somehow I said it.

“Moi aussi, belle,” he whispers and lightly bites the skin just below my hipbone before sucking it into his mouth.

And then there are no more words, he stands up in the small space between my body and the edge of the bed, wraps his arms around me spins me and drops me back onto the bed. Before I can catch my breath he’s on top of me and his mouth is covering mine.

He aggressively pushes his hips, still covered in formfitting boxer briefs, into my stomach. My underwear is trapped around my thighs making it impossible to wrap my legs around his waist and push back and I moan my discontent.

He smiles against my mouth.

“Something bothering you baby?” he says.

Little shit.

“I want us both naked. Completely,” I explain softly and move my lips to the corner of his jaw because I know it’s a hot spot for him.

He grunts and pushes into me again but this time he pulls away and sits back on his knees. His left hand grazes over my shoulder, down my side, over my stomach and my hip and catches my thong at my thigh and pulls them off. Then he shoves his own underwear down his wide, muscular thighs until the reach his knees. When he moves I think he’s going to shift so he can pulls them all the way off but instead he slides forward on the bed, parting my legs and nestling between them.

I close my eyes in excited anticipation. God I love when he does this.

I feel his tongue trace my opening and I sigh. He swipes again. And again. He sucks on my clit, nipping it with his teeth before pushing his tongue back into my folds.
Once again he has me on the brink in seconds. The world may think his natural God given talent is hockey but I know better. I would pay him double whatever he makes from the Penguins to lick my pussy for the rest of my…

My orgasm rips through my body taking my thoughts with it. I scream his name and slam my fists into the bed. As I start to come to my senses again I realize he’s removed his mouth and tongue and replaced it with his fingers. He’s back up on his knees, smiling down at me.

“I love to feel you come,” he tells me boldly, grinning as he wiggles his two fingers inside me and I squirm because I’m suddenly sensitive down there. “I love to hear it and see it and feel it. You’re so fucking hot when you come. You make me so hard.”

My eyes flutter to where his free hand is wrapped around the base of his own cock stroking firmly.

I grab his wrist, remove his fingers from inside me and climb up on my knees. I kiss him full on the mouth and with abandon, catching him off guard and making it easier to grab his shoulders and shove him backward.

He lands on his back and I climb on top of him. I immediately lower myself down on his cock.

* * * * * * * *

I decided after the second time we hooked up that there is nothing I love more sexually than her on top of me, riding me.

“Take off your bra. I want to see all of you,” I command and she obeys.

As soon as the lacy fabric hits the floor by the bed I reach up and greedily cup her tits in my hands. She smiles freely at that. I smile too. I love her golden hair and the way it skims her nipples as she bounces on my cock. Seriously, I come harder from her like this than I ever have from any position with any other woman.

Her body is perfect to me. She is made up of everything I find sexy - curvy hips, a round ass, natural breasts that aren’t too big, tiny waist, long neck. That’s Allie.

She’s already like a vice grip around my dick because I made her come so hard earlier. It sends stars to my eyes before she even starts to move and when she does – I fight the whole time to hold off release. This is how she is different from any other fling I’ve ever had. They were all about the conquest – getting in, getting off and getting out. With her it’s about getting in and staying there as long as I can possibly can and then planning a way to do it again.

But as usual her beautiful naked body and her hot wet core are too much for me and I can’t win this war. My vision starts to get clouded with stars and I slip my hands down from those perky breasts to the front of her perfect pussy. Sliding my thumb over her neatly groom runway strip of dark blonde hair I slip in between her lips and find her clit, pushing down on it and giving it a firm rub.

She let’s out a strangled cry and collapses on me, her hips still bucking wildly with my quivering dick deep inside her. Her orgasm milks out my own release as I bury my face in her neck and whisper raggedly in French before biting down on her neck.

As we lay together sweaty and panting I push her hair from her face and kiss her cheek softly. “Why is this so amazing?”

“I wish I knew,” she whispers back.

* * * * * * * *

I am just in the process of pulling on my coat when he speaks.

“Where are you going?”

I’m so startled he’s awake I literally jump which makes him laugh.

“Home. I know you probably have an early flight.”

He sits up, the blankets fall to his waist revealing a perfectly sculpted olive skinned chest. His dark brown eyes are sleepy and his hair disheveled. I fight the urge to walk over and run my hands through it.

This much I know - I will never date a man with short hair again.

His eyes move past me to the window I had been staring out while I put on the last of my clothes. He smiles again.

“It’s snowing.”

“Yeah,” I smile back. “I was looking forward to the walk home.”

He pulls back the sheets and stands up. He’s naked and it’s the most beautiful sight, even with a soft cock and his crazy bed head. He reaches for his underwear and starts to get dressed. I blink and stare, confused.

When he’s done he grabs his coat off the floor and walks over and cups the side of my face. “Let me walk with you.”

I just nod because as usual he’s dumbfounded me.

* * * * * * *

It’s a beautiful night.

The snowflakes are big and picturesque as they fall like powered sugar from the inky sky. She’s wearing fuzzy black mittens and I’ve got on leather gloves but I take her hand in mine anyway. I can’t feel her skin but I enjoy holding onto her just the same.

We walk out of the hotel and down the sidewalk a few blocks content in our silence as we take in the holiday displays in the store windows. I let her led and she takes me down a side street towards the Rideau Canal. We walk along the large sidewalk on the edge of it.

“It’s beautiful here in the winter,” I acknowledge and give her a sideways glance. The chunky snowflakes are clinging to the hair that cascades out of her hat. She looks like a living breathing snow angel.

What the fuck is wrong with me? This woman makes me a total emotional spaz.

“How’s your face feel?”

I wrinkle my nose and shrug. “Sore. But I’ve felt worse.”

We’re standing under a large tree whose branches have been weighted down by the heavy wet flakes and it’s drooping down nearly grazing our heads. It’s got those berries hanging from it, the kind my mom used to warn me not to eat when I was a kid. She said they were poisonous. I always wondered if that was true but was too chicken to try one. Still am.

“Maybe you should put something cold on it to keep the swelling down,” she suggests and before I can realize what’s happening her smile turns devious. “Let me help.”

She reaches up and tugs hard on the closest branch. She puts her whole body into it, bending down to a squat before letting go. The tree branch shoots up and showers me in cold wet snow. It hits my face in a soft wet lump, it rolls down my neck, it’s everywhere. Allie gets a good dose of it on the top of her little beret hat but she doesn’t seem to care. She’s laughing wickedly.

I reach out to grab her but she runs off in a sprint. I chase her and catch her easily, lifting her up and tossing her into a snow bank to our right and land on top of her.

She’s giggling wildly and I can’t help but laugh too. And then I kiss her. My tongue moving right into her mouth to claim ownership. She tastes like toothpaste and I realize she must have stolen some from my travel bag in the hotel bathroom.

The kiss goes on and on. We’re making out like horny teenagers in the middle of the night in a snow bank and I don’t want to stop. I would take her right here if she’d let me.

* * * * * *

I want to fuck him again right here and now. I’m sure the Ottawa police will give us a pass if they catch us. I mean hey, it’s Christmas and he’s the only thing I asked Santa for.

To be honest, I’m generally freaking out on every emotional level and I think the fact that I want to bang him in a snow bank – or at the very least give him a hand job – is because of my heightened emotional state.

I like him. I realized this as I lay beside him in the dark hotel room. His heavy thigh across my legs and his beautiful face turned into the crook of my neck. I like him more than you like a long distance fling. I like him more than you like a bed buddy. I like him in that way that makes your heart feel like it’s hovering somewhere above your head every time you’re in the same room. I like him in that way that makes you feel like you just won the lottery when you make him smile. And that’s a very, very bad way.

I know he has a live in girlfriend. I know he lives with that live in girlfriend in another country. I know if he’s cheating on her with me in Ottawa he’s probably cheating on her with a bunch of other girls just like me in every other city.

Liking him in THIS way is very, very bad.

But it’s his fault. Not only is he sexy and smart and funny but he said things you aren’t supposed to say to a fling. I grew up in Ottawa. I’m fluently bilingual. He doesn’t know that. He never asked and clearly never assumed.

He talks when he comes. Rambles, really – a flood of stuff in French – right before he bites me to stifle a groan or a moan. The first two times it was dirty “Fuck. You’re so wet. You make me come so hard.” “you’re pussy is so tight baby. ugh.” The third time it was sweeter, but still not romantic. “Baby you turn me on like no one else.” “I’ve dreamed about your face when you come.”

Tonight… tonight it was different.

“I’ve missed you so much.” He panted in French. “I never want to let you go.”

And I had to bite my lip to keep from answering him. Telling him I think about him all the time. I wish the league only consisted of the Sens and the Pens so I could see him every single week.

Thank God I stopped myself. He was drunk on lust and probably even suffering from a concussion. I’m delusional to think that he would ever want something more than what we’re doing. I’ve googled his Quebec reality TV star girlfriend. She’s a blow up doll come to life. She’s double d breasts and platinum hair and pouty lips and…

“Spend Christmas with me.”

My lungs stop taking in air and I blink at him, stunned. Did he just say…?

“I don’t have to be back in Pittsburgh until late on the 26th. My parents are on a cruise I bought them until after New Years. I don’t want to spend it alone in Pittsburgh,” he confesses in a rushed whisper that makes it hard for me to understand with his thick accent.

I stare up at him, my lips, swollen from all the kissing, hanging open. His eyes suddenly darken and drop from my face.

“You have family to see. Of course. Or a boyfriend or something. I’m sorry. I… I was just…”

He pulls himself up and is about to stand when I pull him back down and kiss him softly, shutting him up.

“My parents moved to Kelowna to be near my brother and his kids,” I admit and smile slightly, my heart hammering hard in my chest. “I was going to watch Christmas movies and eat frozen pizza.”

He smiles, his whole face lighting up. “I love frozen pizza.”

I laugh, my head falling even further into the snow bank behind it. He kisses my exposed neck.

“Let me stay.”

I look at him again. He looks so serious. So needy. Needy for me. I don’t know what alternate universe I’ve fallen into but I don’t ever want to leave it.

“Kris, I would let you have anything you want,” I tell him honestly.

“All I want is you,” he replies and kisses me again.

I smile and let him pull me up from the snow bank. We start back the way we came – away from my apartment we were heading towards and back to the hotel.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I tell him addressing one of his assumptions from early.

I turn and lock eyes with him.

“Good.” Is his only response.

“But you have a girlfriend,” the words leave my mouth before I realize that he may not want to stick around now.

“She went home for Christmas. Back to Montreal,” he informs me quietly and with no emotion in his voice at all. “And we’ve agreed it’s probably best if she stays there.”

I take in his words and try not to read too much into them. This has nothing to do with me. This is just a relationship going through trouble. Not because of me.

“So no, I don’t have a girlfriend anymore,” he corrects me and the tip of his pink tongue wets his lips. “And it’s because of you.”

“Why me?” I croak out.

He squeezes my hand and smiles. “I don’t know why you. That’s the thing. You’re beautiful and sexy and make my head explode in bed.”

I laugh and feel my cheeks get hot despite the chilly snow.

“But Allie, more than that, I’ve smile and laughed and felt more happy in four short nights with you than I did in months with Catherine,” he says, his voice deep and serious.

He turns and pushes me against the brick of a building beside us, putting his mouth on mine again. His lips lingering gently against mine as we both sigh after another scorching kiss.

I open my eyes and watch his flutter open. They’re so dark. I keep get lost in them. And I never want to be found.

“What do you want for Christmas?” he asks. “I should get you a gift.”

“I’ve already spoken to Santa,” I inform him and grin. “And he’s delivered my present.”

He grins back. It’s sweet and sexy at the exact same time.

“What do you want?” I ask him.

“More of you,” he kisses me again.

“Then let’s get back to the hotel so I can have all of me.”

I grab his hand again and start to run. He laughs and runs with me.

God, I love Christmas.


There are currently no comments