Being Thankful

Transcript

These things always start with the smallest, tiniest bit of suggestion. It doesn't need much. When you're surrounded by people and preoccupied by fantasies, with the target of said fantasies right there, grinning back at you, well, it's hard to concentrate.

Let's just say that. The holidays are always such a big deal. Everyone comes in town.

You help pull things together. Favors are requested. There's cooking, cleaning, last-minute phone calls for shopping trips, a ridiculous amount of talking, and someone always calling your name, asking you to help with this one last thing.

Maybe that's just what the women deal with. It's sexist, it's true. It's getting better, maybe, but it always seems like there is something else for the women to be doing.

It's unfair, I decide. He's not helping a bit. He knows what he's doing, smiling at me with that little tilt of his head, a glimmer in his eyes.

He knows I'm busy, doing everything I promised I would, up to my elbows in food and drink and gods know what else. Oh, I'm sure he's equally as busy. He's not the type to stand idle, but it just seems that every time I see him, he's looking at me, or looking down at me, smiling, winking, biting his lip, or breathing.

Hours go by. This all started too early and I'm no longer resisting the urge to step outside. I take a breath of cool evening air, the door swinging shut behind me.

Dinner is going to be ready soon, food is nearly done, and I just can't seem to cool myself off. I lean against the railing of the porch, thankful only the stars can witness my ridiculous state of unrest. Horny on Thanksgiving, I mutter to myself, get a grip, girl.

Yes, that depends on what you get a grip on, draw the object of my many sordid fantasies right over my shoulder. Shit, I hissed, twisting sharply to stare at him, and then scowl. I poked him gently.

You're doing that on purpose, I grumbled, turning to lean back against the railing, crossing my arms over my chest. Doing what? His look of innocent confusion was wholly unbelievable.

I waved my fingers at him. This, you, being all clever and smirking with the eyebrow and the lip curl, all of it. He pressed a hand to his chest, the not image of the affronted southern belle.

Excuse me, these charms are for everyone, not just you. That got me stepping close to him. It pleased me to see that playful look drop from his face, my own expression quite serious.

My eyes narrowed, and he visibly swallowed. With deliberate care, I curled my finger into the loop of his jeans, my eyes never leaving his face as I said quietly, are they? Really? His mouth quirked up and he leaned into me, his breath feathering across my cheek.

Are you jealous? I bared my teeth at him, tugging on his loop. Not normally, I growled at him.

Because if you are, I'm not. It's a little hot. This man.

I'm not jealous, I grumbled, giving him another gentle yank. I'm frustrated. The back of his fingers stroked my cheek, and I tilted my head to give him a good, solid bit of eye contact.

Room full of people, busy, busy, busy, I murmured. And all I can think about, my finger curled into the top of his jeans, my knuckle brushing the brass button that kept them closed. I licked my lips, blushing.

I didn't know if I wanted to tell him. His lips brushed my jaw, his hot breath feathering down the neckline of my sweater. I jumped, startled.

What is it you're thinking about? His whisper was just as bad, tickling my skin. I shivered.

Licking my lips, I drew back just enough to look him in the face, my eyes on his. I took a long, steadying breath and said very carefully, I keep thinking about what you taste like. He inhaled sharply, quiet, otherwise letting me speak.

I keep thinking about pushing you into that closet upstairs. My fingers undid the button. He twitched.

I think about kissing you until we're both dizzy, about your skin under my hands. I drew down the zipper just enough to reveal a few inches of skin. My fingertips stroked him there but dove no further.

My lips stroked his chin. I think he was holding his breath. And then I get on my knees for you.

He drew back and grabbed my hand. I blinked, then squeaked in surprise when he hauled me around the house and threw the side door into the garage. What? I began, only for him to open the damn storage closet in there and haul me in after him, slamming the door shut.

It smelled like lawn equipment and gasoline, the old vestiges of summer clinging to metal blades, the lawnmower covered but still faintly reeking of fuel. I noted this in a moment because the next had me pinned up against the storage door, his hands in my hair, kissing me. It was hungry, tongue-consuming, lip-nibbling.

It had me scrabbling for his shoulders and leaning up on my toes to meet him, to return every affection with equal fervor. Did you mean it? He paused to pant against my mouth, eyes searching mine.

Another kiss, a groan reverberating through it. Maybe. I smirked, my hands cupping his neck, and I nipped at his bottom lip.

Will you admit you were teasing me on purpose? Yes, he moaned, kissing me again, his tongue sweeping deep. I dug my fingers into the back of his neck, whimpering.

Yes, I did. I was. My hands dropped to his zipper, working it open and sliding my hand down into his jeans.

I felt him grunt against my mouth as I wrapped my fingers around him, squeezing to stroke him once. His hands planted on the door behind me, arching his body to give me space to work with. I stood on my toes again to nibble on his mouth.

You were what? I prompted, breathless and smiling. He swallowed visibly again, looking down at me with beautiful, pleading eyes.

I was teasing you. Yes. Yep.

I snickered. I think if I told you to confess to anything, you'd. ..

Yep. I did that too. He started nodding fervently.

Uh-huh. Mm-hmm. Whatever you.

.. Fuck. I wasn't going to let him continue on like that.

I squeezed my hand around him and stroked again, dropping my mouth to his chest to press my teeth firmly against his nipple, trapping the fabric between my lips and his skin. I mouthed him firmly, my hand working, freeing him up from the confines of his zipper. My shoes scraped against the concrete floor as I got to my knees.

Instantly, his hand was in my hair. Gotta be quick, he mumbled, staring down at me, his eyes heavy-lidded, all of his focus trained on me. In answer to that, I bathed the underside of his cock, from scrotum to tip, with the flat of my tongue before swirling around the wide glands at the end, arching my throat and swallowing him down.

I didn't tease. My lips hollowed out as I sucked on him, head bobbing up before dropping again, taking my time, inching him past my lips, deeper, closing my eyes as I eased him past my gag reflex. My lips pressed to his skin where his cock met his body, and I held him there.

My shoulders trembled and his fingers dug into my scalp, tangling in my hair as I let him soak in the heat of my mouth, draped along my tongue. I tasted salt. I moaned, long and low, around him, my brow furrowing at the intensity of the moment.

He mumbled something, a plea, a warning, I'm not sure, but I didn't wait. My hand wrapped around the base of him as I eased back, his skin wet from my saliva. His moans bounced off the walls of the closet as I began to work in earnest, my lips sliding up and down his shaft as my tongue pressed firmly along the underside of his cock.

There was no finesse. I sucked him down like I was starving, teased the tip of him to taste the salty pre he leaked. Fuck.

I loved that. I loved the taste of him. I don't know how long this went on for.

He was hard, wet, velvet between my lips, stroking along my tongue with a pleasure that was enough to make me squirm on the hard, cold floor. My warm hand cupped his balls, squeezed and hefted carefully. His noises made me whimper around the mouthful of him, the clutch of his hands in my hair making me wet.

You want to taste me? He panted above me. My eyes flicked up to look at him, his shaft stretching my mouth open.

I couldn't answer. I kept sucking him, moving my lips up and down him. The hands in my hair tightened.

Do you? He growled, gritting his teeth. He was moving his hips now.

I whimpered, my eyes going wide as he held my head still and bucked into my mouth. I forced my jaw to go loose, blushing as I let him use me as he wanted, as he needed. Fuck, I am so goddamned wet now.

I tried to nod, my eyes watering as he pushed deeper, stroking over my tongue, brushing my throat. He was getting thicker, grunting as he held my head captive and pumped into my mouth. He stepped into me, forcing my head to tilt back.

I stared up at him as he pushed slower and deeper, swelling.