I watched Isabella sling her backpack over her shoulders, her suitcase in tow. Her smile—gentle but eager—tightened something in my chest.
“All ready?” I asked, my voice unsteady.
“Not until you give me a hug.” She stepped closer, the familiar scent of rose, cinnamon, and clove enveloping me.
I hugged her, clinging to the faint warmth of her through her thick winter jacket. I wanted to tell her to stay, but instead, I let her cheek brush mine—a soft nudge that said it was time to let go.
The winter chill swept in as I opened the door, wrapping us in icy silence. She stepped out, her boots crunching against the snow. “Bye, Hannah! I’ll text you when I land.”
“Have fun,” I called after her, forcing a smile. “And tell your family I said hi.”
I closed the door quickly, pressing my hand against the frosted glass. Her scarf trailed behind her until it disappeared around the corner, leaving an ache I tried to ignore. Snow swirled in the blush of early morning light, while inside, fairy lights and Bing Crosby’s voice cradled me in warmth.
For the first time, I was spending Christmas alone. My parents were on a cruise, and Isabella—my constant, my best friend—was off with her family.
But there was no room for melancholy today. If ever there was a time to make the best of things, it was now. Turning up the jingles, I let their cheer fill the apartment as I headed to the kitchen. A bottle of spiced wine waited like an old friend. Noon was a technicality; cork in hand, I decided wine and baking would drown my solitude.
The first sip bloomed warm in my chest as memories of Isabella—her laugh, the sparkle in her eyes—teased through my mind. Humming along with the music, I started gathering ingredients for cookies, floury fingerprints smudging my apron. Soon, the kitchen came alive with the scrape of spoons, the hum of the oven, and the mingling scents of chocolate and spice.
By the time the first batch was in the oven, tipsiness warmed my cheeks. One glass became two as I worked on cinnamon bread cookies, my hands moving deftly in search of distraction. When my thoughts turned a little dirty, giggles spilled out. My cinnamon bread people sported boobies and erections by the time the oven beeped.
The knock startled me mid-dick-doodle, and my hands slipped, bending the cookie. My heart jumped. Half-past noon—who could it be? I wasn’t expecting anyone.
“I’ll fix you in a moment, little man,” I muttered to the misshapen cookie, wiping my hands on my apron as I walked to the living room. The record player skipped before Bing Crosby’s voice smoothed back into the room, wrapping the space in nostalgic warmth.
Peeking through the frosted glass, I frowned—no one was there. Standing on tiptoes, I spotted the corner of a package on the doorstep. Curious, I opened the door, a gust of icy air making me shiver. A large box, gleaming in green and gold wrapping and crowned with a crimson bow, waited on the stoop.
The box was heavier than I expected. Huffing, I dragged it inside, landing on my butt with an undignified thud as it slipped from my grip. Kicking the door shut, I blew a stray strand of hair out of my face, only for it to fall right back, taunting me. My fingers brushed the glossy paper, stopping at the tag.
To Isabella.
A pang hit, sharp and unwanted. I swallowed it down. Of course, someone would send her something—Isabella, with her easy laugh, deep brown eyes, and a smile that could light up a room. And those lips. Stop it.
I pushed the box toward the Christmas tree we’d decorated together, its lights scattering tiny sparks across the gold-embossed wrapping. Standing back, hands on hips, I resolved not to stare. “Okay, Hannah,” I muttered. “Cookies. Wine. Not mystery boxes.”
As I headed for the kitchen, a faint whisper seemed to call my name. I shook it off—just the heater—and returned to my cinnamon bread people. Picking up the bent one, I grinned. “I… kind of like the curve.”
After sliding the cookies into the oven, I grabbed a chocolate chip one from the rack and my glass of wine. Nibbling and sipping absently, my gaze drifted back to the package. It seemed larger now, looming, daring me to peek. The temptation curled around my thoughts, warm and insistent. My eyes flicked to the half-full wine bottle. Another sip wouldn’t hurt, right?
The spiced wine, rich and heady, slid down with ease, loosening my resolve. With another sip and a mysteriously vanishing cookie, a sly voice teased: Just a peek. Isabella was my best friend—we shared everything. But privacy mattered. Still, the wine made the voice harder to ignore.
Then she appeared—my saving grace! My little angel on my shoulder, clad in an ugly Christmas sweater, mistletoe panties, a Santa hat, and cookie crumbs dusting her rosy cheeks. She was here to steer me in the right direction.
“Open it.”
Seriously? That’s your advice? “Aren’t you supposed to tell me no—respect Isabella’s privacy? To not grab the extra wrapping paper to cover up this crime of curiosity?”
But my feet betrayed me, carrying me to the closet. My hands found the festive rolls of paper before I could stop them.
Before I knew it, I was back on the floor, kneeling beside the box. My fingers trailed the edge of the paper. “Just a peek. I’ll rewrap it after,” I whispered, as if Bing Crosby himself might hold me accountable.
The wrapping gleamed, its glossy surface catching the kaleidoscope of lights from the tree. My heart raced, each beat daring me to go further. I was captivated, like a kitten seeing her first Christmas ornament. The possibilities were endless.
My fingers found the seam in the paper. With a quick tug—crrrt!—a dull brown stripe appeared where the green and gold had been. My breath caught. No logos, no markings—just plain, cryptic cardboard, as if it held secrets too big for words. My hand hovered, poised to tear another strip, when my fingers brushed the tag hanging from the bow.
To Isabella.
A string of guilt cut through me. What was I doing? This was a terrible idea. I should stop now, pour another glass of wine, and think about what to order for dinner. I let out a long sigh, trying to summon some resolve.
“But didn’t she take your favorite sweater years ago and stain it with ink?” my angel chimed in, arms crossed and dripping with sass. “You know, the one that hugged your boobs just right?”
“Yeah, but I told her she could borrow it, and she didn’t know the printer at work was going to explode,” I muttered, nodding despite myself.
“You’re missing the point,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“And what’s that?”
“You’ve already shredded the rest of the package,” she giggled.
My focus snapped back, and sure enough, the wrapping paper lay scattered around me like evidence at a crime scene. I blinked, momentarily stunned. For a so-called guardian angel, she was disturbingly good at rationalizing bad decisions. All that remained in front of me was a plain, unassuming brown box.
My hands trembled as I picked it up, excitement thrumming in my chest. It felt daring, even dangerous. A grin crept across my face as a memory surfaced: when Bella and I were kids, we’d sneak peeks at Christmas presents, trying to guess what was inside. If she were here now, she’d probably cheer me on.
I grabbed more wine and scissors before settling back in the living room, heart pounding. Weighted blankets? Pots and pans? What was in this box?
“Rip it open, you coward!” my little angel hollered.
“Alright, alright,” I shot back, rolling my eyes. “No more cookies for you. You get way too impatient.”
The blade glided effortlessly down the middle of the box. A shiver ran down my spine as Bing Crosby crooned, Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. Don’t mind if I do, Mr. Bing. I slid the scissors along the edges of the lid, the tape surrendering with a satisfying pop.
I pushed the flaps open—and froze. Inside lay a piece of black card stock, its deep purple letters bold and glossy against the matte background. A single word stared back at me: Sybian.
My breath caught. “No… this can’t be.” My hand hovered over the card, trembling as curiosity and denial waged war inside me. Pretending I hadn’t seen it was an option—a tempting one—but the heat creeping up my neck betrayed me.
Setting the card aside, I plunged my hands into the sea of packing peanuts, fingers brushing smooth handles. With all the cookie-and-wine-fueled strength I could muster, I hauled it out, sending peanuts scattering across the floor. I stepped back, staring at the contraption I’d unearthed.
Bathed in the twinkling glow of the Christmas tree, the black leather gleamed like something out of a forbidden catalog. On top, a jutting nub covered in tiny bumps took center stage. A bundled power cord rested on one side, a control box neatly attached to the other.
“Oh. My. God.” The words slipped out on a strangled laugh as I clapped a hand over my mouth. Isabella, you naughty girl. Who had bought this for her? And, more importantly, what would I need to do to get one?
My fingers toyed with the hem of my sweater as an image of her flared to life: eyes closed, lips parted, her breath quickening as her hips rolled against it. Heat pooled low in my belly, familiar and insistent. I swallowed hard, glancing around the room as if caught doing something illicit. Of course, it was just me, the cookies, and Bing Crosby serenading us with Christmas cheer.
The contrast was ridiculous—here I was, crafting cinnamon bread people with tits and dicks, purely innocent compared to this unapologetic piece of debauchery gleaming in all its provocative glory. Kneeling beside it, I felt temptation pulsing louder. My hand hovered over the machine, hesitant, as though a single touch might jolt me. Slowly, my fingertips brushed the cool leather, a chill racing up my arm as I traced its sleek contours. My hand found the top, the rubber piece with its bulbous middle and comb of nubs, smooth as velvet beneath my touch. A shaky breath escaped me.
“Hop on…” my angel whispered, her voice dripping with suggestion.
I sighed, caught between desire and restraint. “I can’t. I shouldn’t.”
“No one will know,” she purred, sly and silken.
I glanced at the rolls of wrapping paper and tape stacked nearby, ready accomplices to conceal this crime. Tipping the box, I spotted plastic bags crammed with accessories—different nubs, dildos. They got her the whole package. My fingers closed around the control box, its weight grounding me. Simple—just buttons for rotation, vibration, and two little knobs for intensity. My thumb hovered over the buttons, itching to press one.
“Okay, Hannah, this is ridiculous,” I muttered. The wine, the loneliness, and the warm glow of the lights teased away my last shreds of resistance.
“Don’t overthink it,” my angel said, smirking as she stripped off her top with a flourish. “Now, plug it in and let’s start humping!”
The machine purred to life, its slow rotation and deep hum teasing, daring me closer. Its quiet power felt alive, coaxing surrender.
“Fuck me,” I murmured, the words slipping out unbidden, a mix of awe and trembling desire.
I turned it off, my heart pounding. My cheeks burned, whether from the wine or anticipation, I wasn’t sure. Standing, I tugged my sweater over my head, the cozy air wrapping around my bare skin. My nipples, taut and sensitive, brushed against the warmth. Hooking my thumbs into my sweatpants, I pushed them down, stumbling slightly as one leg caught stubbornly.
Finally free, I stood tall, victorious over the sweatpants. The Christmas lights bathed my skin, my panties the only thing left. My gaze locked on the machine, determination unshakable.
“Let’s ride.”
I lowered myself onto it, pressing my nub against the jutting bulb. The pressure alone sent a tingling warmth through me. I gripped the control tightly, hesitating. It wasn’t too late—I could still back out. The faint voice of guilt pleaded with me to stop.
“Let’s just ignore that, shall we?” My little angel rolled her eyes before leaping onto the switch with exaggerated gusto. When that failed, she slammed her butt onto it.
The machine hummed to life, sending a gentle buzz through my panty-covered sex. A soft gasp escaped me as the last fragment of resistance dissolved. The vibrations coaxed the first stirrings of arousal, gently shaking the foundation of my cinnamon bread house of desire.
I twisted the knob, the vibrations intensifying, the hum growing louder. My breath turned shallow, hips rocking instinctively. Each movement sent a delicious jolt through me, urging me further. I pressed the rotation button—and squealed. The massaging motion wasn’t what I expected. It was better.
Setting the controls aside, I gripped the edge of the device, my breasts pressing together as I surrendered to the waves of pleasure building within me.
The nutcracker’s painted mouth gaped in mid-gasp, making me giggle. Using Isabella’s toy felt forbidden—but imagining her on it made it intoxicating.
“We’re definitely on the—oh,” my little angel moaned, fanning herself dramatically. “The—the naughty list now.”
A wicked grin spread across my face as I ground softly against the machine. “Let’s see what this thing can do,” I murmured. Shifting slightly, I angled the bulb against my entrance, my clit resting on the row of tiny nubs.
I twisted the knob higher. The vibration surged, growing almost violent, sending shockwaves through me. My breath hitched as the intensity made my hips jerk.
“Holy shit!” I gasped, leaning forward as my hands hit the carpet, fingers clawing into the fibers. I climbed higher and higher, the foundation of my desire crumbling beneath me, ready to collapse into an orgasm. My hips ground harder, my breath rapid, my core tightening. My moans mixed with the hum of the toy and Bing’s crooning voice, creating a symphony of pleasure.
Then it died.
My climax hovered just out of reach, the vibrations suddenly cutting off like a cruel joke. The silence was deafening, leaving me trembling and gasping on the edge.
My eyes shot open, panic tightening in my chest. “Shit, shit, shit—did I break it?”
“What the hell are you doing?”
The voice, low and laced with amusement, came from behind me. My heart leapt into my throat as I whipped around, cheeks blazing. Isabella stood in the doorway, scarf half-unwrapped, holding the power cord with a smug grin. Her eyes were wide—not with anger, but something else. Amusement flickered, shifting to surprise, then something darker.
Scrambling off the machine, I turned to face her, arms wrapping instinctively around my bare chest. “I, um—” Panic scrambled my thoughts, leaving me fumbling for words. My eyes darted to my shoulder.
Little angel?
No help.
Bitch.
Isabella crossed her arms, a smug grin lighting up her face. “I was, um—doing quality control!” I blurted, my voice wobbling. “Making sure this thing works as advertised.”
Her brow arched, smirk widening. “Is that so?” she drawled. “Looks like Mr. Nutty’s enjoying quite the show.”
I blinked, mortified, as Bing finished his set on the record player, leaving the room oppressively quiet. My pulse pounded in my ears. Isabella’s gaze drifted to the Sybian, her amusement giving way to something intent. She bit her bottom lip, her eyes caressing me like phantom touches.
“Hannah?” she asked, my name dragging from her lips, deceptively sweet. A shiver raced down my spine.
“Uh, yeah?” I wobbled slightly, nervous energy bubbling up like champagne about to spill.
Her gaze dropped. “Is that…” She gestured lazily, her lips twitching. “…mistletoe on your panties?”
Laughter broke through, rich and melodic. I groaned, my cheeks blazing as I buried my face in my hands. “Don’t. Just… don’t.”
Her laughter was infectious, tugging me along despite my embarrassment. “Oh, no, I have to,” she said, still giggling as she shrugged off her jacket and kicked off her boots. “You’ve outdone yourself, Hannah. Really. Christmas spirit and all.”
Peeking through my fingers, I found her standing just an arm’s length away. Her familiar scent—rose, cinnamon, and clove—washed over me, teasing and warm. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, but there was something heavier now. Intimate.
“Well,” she murmured, her voice dipping low, savoring every word. “Don’t let me stop you. In fact…” Her eyes flicked to the Sybian, a devilish grin curling her lips. “Mind if I join you? Call it research…” She stepped closer, her gaze locking onto mine. “…or maybe just indulging a little Christmas curiosity.”
The air tightened between us, my heart pounding like a drumline. I opened my mouth, but no words came—just a faint, strangled sound. Coherent thought was a lost cause. The way she looked at me—knowing, commanding—stole the air from my lungs. There was only her.
She tugged her top over her head, revealing matching red lingerie that glowed in the Christmas lights. With practiced ease, her bra slipped away, her full breasts bare, nipples taut in the cool air. Smirking, she slid her panties down, baring smooth, flawless skin.
“Like what you see?” she teased, her voice low, dripping with confidence.
I nodded, my mouth dry, resolve crumbling to nothing. Seeing her like this—so sure, so wanting—left me drenched, the ache between my thighs unbearable. It wasn’t just her body; it was the way she looked at me, like she already knew I couldn’t resist her. Like she’d been waiting for me to realize it too.
Her smirk widened as she stepped closer, mischief glinting in every deliberate move. She stopped inches from me, her curves bathed in the flickering glow of the tree. “Well,” she murmured, warm and teasing, “don’t let me stop you. Let’s see if this thing can handle us.”
I lowered myself onto the Sybian, the warm leather cradling me, and flicked the controls. Its low hum returned, teasing exactly where I needed it. A gasp escaped my lips, making me shiver.
“I made—” I began, my breath catching as the vibrations rolled through me, relentless and deep. They teased every nerve, leaving me trembling, moaning with abandon.
“A mess?” Isabella quipped, her laugh rich and wicked, cutting through my gasps.
“Fuck—oh… off,” I groaned, sitting taller as the vibrations toyed with me mercilessly. My hips moved on their own, seeking more, the ache within me intensifying. “Cookies… Wine… Kitchen.”
She grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she watched me writhe. “I am Groot,” she snickered, absurdly casual.
Laughter bubbled up, colliding with a moan as my core tightened. “Bitch!” I shot back, breathless.
Her gaze softened, the teasing giving way to something deeper. Her eyes roamed over me, drinking me in, and when our gazes locked, the heat in hers made my breath hitch. She crouched beside me, her hand brushing my thigh—a featherlight touch that sent a shiver coursing through me. “God, you’re beautiful like this,” she murmured, her voice low, almost reverent. The way she looked at me—like I was the only thing in the world—set every nerve alight.
With a giggle, Isabella sauntered toward the kitchen, her caramel skin glowing under the tree’s soft light. My gaze followed her, entranced by the sway of her hips and the playful bounce in her step. Every inch of her—the elegant curve of her back, the lush swell of her thighs—was hypnotic.
My fingers tightened around the controls, turning the vibrations a notch higher as my desire surged in rhythm with her movements. From the kitchen, her delighted laugh rang out. “Hannah!” she called, thick with amusement. “Did you seriously give the cinnamon bread men and women dicks and boobs?”
A laugh bubbled in my chest, mingling with a quiet moan as the Sybian pulsed beneath me. “Maybe…” I managed, my voice shaky, the laughter softening the edges of my pleasure.
“Filthy little baker,” she teased, her voice a melody of laughter that wrapped around me like a caress. Her words tugged at something deeper, pulling another giggle from my lips even as I tilted my hips, pressing harder against the Sybian’s nub. The vibrations carried me higher, teasing every nerve as my body rocked in time with its hum.
Her laughter was maddening—in the best way. It wasn’t just a sound; it was a thread pulling me toward her, unraveling me with every note. I didn’t just want her touch; I wanted all of her—her playfulness, her fire, her confidence—all wrapped up in that knowing, mischievous grin.
Each pulse unraveled me further, leaving no room for thought—only the electric heat coursing through me and the sound of her laughter, lingering like a promise. I was lost—in the rhythm, in her voice, in the weight of her presence that clung to the air even out of sight.
The soft patter of her bare feet caught my attention, growing muffled as she stepped onto the carpet. I opened my eyes, and the sight before me stole the breath from my lungs.
She stood there and donned a Santa hat, the fluffy white trim framing her mischievous grin. A cookie dangled from her lips, a glass of wine balanced effortlessly in one hand, and in the other, a little elf hat. Her skin seemed to shimmer under the twinkling lights, her presence magnetic and irresistible.
She set the glass on the coffee table before kneeling in front of me. Our eyes locked—hers, rich and chocolatey, shimmering with mischief; mine, half-lidded with bliss. Her gaze swept over me, lingering on my flushed skin and trembling body. Amusement and appreciation danced in her expression, her lips curling into a playful smile as she leaned closer.
Without a word, she reached forward and carefully placed the elf hat on my head.
A moan escaped me, followed by a breathless laugh as I lurched forward, aiming for the cookie dangling from her lips. She pulled back at the last second, her teasing smile widening. I whined, needy and raw, but it wasn’t the cookie I wanted—it was her lips.
“Dirty elves don’t get cookies,” Isabella teased, her giggle light as she leaned back against the foot of the couch. Her legs stretched out, the glow of the Christmas lights painting her curves in warm, golden tones. Relaxed and radiant, she sipped her wine, taking delicate nibbles from the cookie like she was savoring every crumb.
When her hand wasn’t holding the glass, it was between her legs, fingers lazily tracing over her glistening folds. The casual, unhurried motion made my breath hitch, my eyes transfixed. Her lips, rich and inviting, parted slightly, glistening with a bead of her arousal. The warmth in my belly blazed into an inferno, desire threatening to consume me.
The sight of her—so unashamed, so utterly magnetic—blended with the relentless rhythm of the Sybian beneath me, each vibration pulling me closer to the edge. I couldn’t tell what intoxicated me more: the way she touched herself, slow and sensual, or the way her gaze stayed locked on me—playful, predatory, and knowing. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the edge of the machine, my hips rocking as the sensations built.
Each pulse, each flicker of her gaze, carried me higher. My moans filled the room, mingling with the soft croon of music and the faint clink of her glass as she set it down. Her eyes never left me, her fingers moving faster, mirroring the rhythm of my desperate, bucking hips.
“Bella, I’m—” My voice broke, shaky and breathless, as the final rush of pleasure surged through me. Ecstasy blossomed, then shattered through my body, leaving my thighs quaking and every nerve alive with fire. The vibrations burrowed deep, relentless, wringing wave after wave of bliss until my mind blurred and all I could do was feel.
My back arched, my body tense as I clung to the machine like it was the only thing anchoring me to earth. Heat coursed through me, my moans breaking into gasping sobs of pleasure until the intensity finally crested. I collapsed forward, trembling uncontrollably.
Laughter and moans spilled from my lips as the orgasm left me shaking, clutching the machine for support as I struggled to catch my breath. My fingers fumbled for the controls, and after a few frantic attempts, I managed to silence the hum with a shaky push of a button. I sagged in relief, my chest heaving as my pulse thundered in my ears.
When I opened my eyes, strands of hair clung to my face, and Isabella was watching me, her wicked smile curling as her hand traced slow, teasing circles between her legs. “Fuck, Hann, that was hot,” she said, her voice dripping with admiration.
She crawled toward me with the grace of a lioness, the lights dancing across her skin. My heart pounded—half from the orgasm, half from her. I wanted to grab her, pull her close, but my body still trembled with aftershocks, heat simmering under my skin.
As she passed me, her hand grazed my butt, the touch gentle yet electric, sending a shiver up my spine. I turned to her, a hazy smile playing on my lips.
“My turn,” she purred, her voice pure silk.
Before I could react, her hand rose behind me.
Thwack!
A sharp sting of pain and pleasure sent me tumbling off the machine, laughter spilling from both of us. I leaned back against the couch, gasping for air, while Isabella slid onto the Sybian’s bulb, her movements slow and confident. Lifting my hips, I peeled off my soaked panties, the lingering heat still simmering across my skin.
Isabella adjusted her position, taking a sip of wine before glancing at the controls. “Okay, so how does this work?” she asked, her tone a mix of curiosity and challenge.
Using my feet, I dragged the controls just out of her reach, grinning as I claimed the upper hand. “Well, since I’ve been promoted to your helper…” I flicked the little bell hanging from my elf hat, letting it chime playfully. “Let me show you. And don’t worry…” I flicked the rotation switch to its lowest setting.
She jumped slightly, a soft gasp escaping her lips before it melted into a sigh of delight. “I’ll be nice,” I promised with a smirk. “For now.”
Her hands rested on her thighs, her eyes fluttering shut as another breathless moan slipped free. The Sybian’s gentle hum pulled her in, relaxing her body into its rhythm. I watched, transfixed. She was stunning, her skin glowing under the soft Christmas lights. But I wasn’t ready to give her exactly what she wanted—not yet. The anticipation, the slow tease, was as intoxicating as her reactions.
“Not bad, huh?” I teased, my finger tracing slow circles over the dial as my gaze lingered on her taut, chocolate-brown nipples.
Her eyes fluttered open, locking onto mine. A smirk curved her lips, her gaze simmering with playful defiance. “Is that all my helper can do?” she quipped, her voice dripping with mischief.
Her thighs quivered, her lips parting as a low moan escaped, her body yielding to the Sybian’s deeper pulse. I couldn’t look away—the way her chest rose and fell, her fingers digging into her thighs as she surrendered to the vibrations.
My little angel—whose morals were now highly questionable—urged me to unleash the machine’s full power. Not yet. I let my finger hover over the dial, savoring the way her breath hitched, knowing I could keep her on the edge for as long as I wanted.
Finally, I turned the vibration dial just a little higher. Her reaction was immediate—a quick hitch of breath, her back arching as her luscious breasts lifted, her body adjusting to the heightened sensations.
“Easy now,” I murmured, my tone dripping with mock innocence. “My fingers tend to have a mind of their own.” I twisted the dial higher, the hum deepening as it rolled through her body.
Her fingers curled around the edge of the machine, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she fought for control. Still, she smiled, her voice thick with pleasure. “You call that a challenge?” she murmured, her eyes daring me to push further.
I obliged, twisting the knob higher. The vibrations grew stronger, rolling through her body and pulling a soft gasp from her lips. Her head fell back, hair cascading over her shoulders as her body shuddered.
The controls slackened in my grip as my gaze roamed over her, captivated by her beauty. She glowed in the kaleidoscope of colors cast by the Christmas tree—the delicate curve of her neck, the rise and fall of her chest with each shaky breath, the gentle bounce of her soft belly. She was better than I’d dreamed.
A rush of appreciation surged through me. Her playfulness, her confidence, the warmth we’d shared for years—it all came together in this moment. Seeing her so open, so vulnerable, yet utterly in control, was more thrilling than I’d anticipated. She was breathtaking.
Isabella’s eyes fluttered open, catching me watching her. As if she could read my thoughts, her hand slid to her breast. Her fingers rolled and tugged at her nipple, drawing it taut. A teasing grin spread across her lips as her gaze flicked between me and the controls.
“Don’t tell me you’re going soft on me now, Hannah,” she purred, her voice a velvet challenge.
Her taunt snapped me back into the moment, a wicked grin curling across my lips as excitement surged through me. Without a word, I cranked the rotation up a notch along with the vibration. The machine responded instantly, drawing her hips into a rhythmic sway.
Her laughter melted into a moan, her fingers clutching the edge of the machine as the relentless motion took hold. I watched as her eyes fluttered closed, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted in surrender. The pleasure radiating through her was palpable, her breathing heavier, her movements erratic as she climbed closer to the edge.
She was stunning, teetering on the brink—and I wasn’t ready to let her fall just yet.
My little angel appeared again, perched smugly on Isabella’s shoulder, giving me a subtle nod of approval.
“Let’s see if you can survive this,” I whispered, my voice low and teasing. Before she could brace herself, I twisted the vibration dial all the way up.
The effect was immediate. Isabella’s entire body stiffened, a strangled gasp tearing from her throat as her orgasm crashed over her, raw and consuming. Her hands clawed at the Sybian, her back arching as the relentless vibrations held her captive, dragging her deeper into agonizing bliss. Her moans fractured into shaky laughter, a sound caught between desperation and euphoria.
“Oh—oh my god, Hannah…” she gasped, her voice choked with pleasure as wave after wave rolled through her. Her body trembled, caught in that exquisite space where ecstasy and torment intertwined.
I didn’t ease up, my fingers steady on the controls as I watched her unravel. The sight of her—so lost, so undone—sent a fresh surge of heat pooling between my thighs. My own arousal reignited, radiating outward in a tingling pulse that left my skin burning with want.
The vibrations carried her higher, her climax cresting into something almost unendurable. Finally, with a desperate gasp, she pushed herself off the machine, collapsing onto the carpet with a soft thud. Her body curled in on itself, trembling as breathless laughter spilled from her lips. She was radiant, glowing in the aftermath, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
I quickly turned off the machine and scooted closer, laughter bubbling up as I wrapped my arms around her. She was panting, her body still trembling as aftershocks rippled through her, leaving her giggling and breathless.
“Are you trying to kill me?” she managed, her words muffled as she buried her face in my shoulder, her shivers betraying the lingering intensity.
“Oh, you’re fine,” I teased, pulling her closer and snuggling into her warmth. The moment wrapped around us like the glow of the Christmas lights—soft, golden, and perfect. Our laughter filled the room, mingling with the lingering hum of contentment.
We lay there, tangled together, our hands wandering across each other’s bodies with no urgency, only curiosity. Isabella’s eyes fluttered shut, her breathing steadying as I studied her face in the afterglow. The tiny bump on the ridge of her nose, the way her eyebrows softened, the deep flush on her cheeks, the smudge of chocolate at the corner of her lips—every detail felt precious.
God, I was happy she was here.
But then a thought wiggled its way through the haze of bliss. Wait… why was she here?
The question hung in my mind, reluctant to be asked. I pulled back just enough to see her face, still flushed and glowing in the soft light. “I thought you… went home,” I murmured, brushing my thumb gently along her cheek.
Isabella’s eyes fluttered open, her smile warm and unguarded as she leaned further into my embrace. “My flight kept getting delayed, then canceled altogether… until tomorrow,” she said softly, her voice soothing. She stretched languidly, pressing herself firmly against me, her warmth sinking into my skin. “I sent you a text. Told you I was on my way back.”
My cheeks burned as a sheepish laugh escaped me. “I, um… My phone’s in my room. I had no idea.”
Her laughter bubbled up, light and contagious, her hands squeezing me playfully. For a moment, we stayed like that, wrapped in each other, letting the absurdity of the situation wash over us. Our shared laughter filled the room, a warm echo of our connection.
But another question began to stir, one I didn’t want to ask—didn’t want to know the answer to. The risk of ruining this moment felt too great. Still, the words slipped out, my voice weak, betraying the false playfulness I tried to muster. “So, who bought you this wonderful toy?”
Her warm eyes met mine, searching as if she could see straight into my soul. “I did,” she chuckled, the sound light and unguarded. “It was supposed to show up next week, but I must’ve screwed up the dates.”
A weight I hadn’t realized I was carrying lifted, leaving me almost weightless. Relief flooded my chest, and I pulled her closer, gratitude blooming in my heart. For a moment, we simply lay there, our gazes locked, as if the rest of the world had melted away. The lights cast playful shadows on her face, softening her expression into something ethereal.
I glanced down between us, feeling bold, vulnerable, and ashamed all at once. “Can I tell you something?”
She hummed in response, her fingers tracing lazy patterns along my arm.
“I’m selfishly glad your plane got canceled. At least I get to be with you a little longer.” The words spilled out before I could stop them, but I meant every one.
Isabella’s smile softened, her hand rising to caress my cheek. Her thumb brushed over my skin, warm and tender, sending a shiver cascading through me. I leaned into her touch, letting the warmth of her palm ground me.
Taking a deep breath, I pressed my fingers into her bare skin for reassurance. “I didn’t want to spend Christmas alone,” I admitted, my voice trembling. “But I didn’t want to ask you to stay… or to come with you. I didn’t want to be a burden.”
Her eyes softened, kindness radiating from her like a warm embrace. She pulled me close, her arms tightening around me as if to silently tell me I was never a burden.
We stayed like that for a moment, wrapped in each other, until a spark of determination lit her gaze. She leaned back slightly, her eyes flicking to the pile of clothes on the floor.
Before I could ask, she reached over and rummaged through the fabric until she pulled out her phone. “What are you—” I began, but she didn’t answer. Her fingers flew across the screen with practiced speed, her expression focused.
Moments later, she set the phone down with a small, satisfied smile, her gaze locking with mine. The warmth in her eyes hadn’t dimmed; if anything, it glowed brighter, pulling me in and quieting my unspoken questions.
“I canceled my flight,” she said softly, her words hanging in the air like a fragile, precious gift. “I’m spending Christmas with you.”
“W—why would you do that?” My heart raced, her words settling over me like something too good to believe.
She rolled onto her back, a serene smile playing on her lips. I propped myself up on my elbow, searching her face for answers. “Maybe it’s the cookies. Or maybe the Sybian. Or…” She trailed off, leaving me clinging to every word, every teasing pause, her eyes shimmering with something deeper.
My angel screamed at her to just say it, to admit what I was afraid to acknowledge. I placed my hand gently on her stomach, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my palm.
“Maybe it’s because I want to be with the one I love.” Her whisper fell between us, quiet but powerful, shattering every doubt in my chest.
I stared at her, stunned into silence, her words rushing over me in a flood of warmth and light. She was staying—not just for Christmas, but because she wanted to. Because she loved me.
Without a word, I leaned down, rolling on top of her, my mouth finding hers in a deep, grateful kiss. My fingers tangled in her hair as I poured everything I felt into it—gratitude, longing, love. She responded just as fiercely, her arms wrapping around me, pulling me closer, as if to tell me she felt the same.
When we finally broke apart, laughter spilled from both of us, our foreheads resting together as we caught our breath. The air between us was thick with unspoken promises, the question of what this might mean hanging there—but neither of us felt the need to answer it yet. It was enough to simply be here, wrapped in each other under the soft glow of the Christmas lights.
A mischievous glint sparked in my eyes as I leaned back, a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. “So…” I began, unable to resist, “how do you feel about going for round two on the Sybian?”
Isabella’s laughter rang out, clear and bright, her eyes lighting up with playful anticipation. “Yes, please,” she said, her voice rich with anticipation.
Reaching for the controls, I couldn’t help but smile as the holiday lights twinkled around us, casting the room in warm, shifting hues. Isabella’s gaze met mine, and in that shared look, there was a promise—a promise of more laughter, more love, and many more Christmases to come.
