It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas Anxiety
December 18th Morning
I awoke with a start, and my eyes scanned the room, striving to grasp at familiarity and focus. The walls of our bedroom were already lit with the morning light of the sun.
Shit. The sun doesn’t come up until fucking noon—only a slight exaggeration, by the way—this time of year. I almost didn’t even want to know what time it was.
Still, I guessed I was part masochist because I rubbed at my eyes and glanced at the clock on the nightstand beside me anyway.
8:12 a.m. About two fucking hours later than I normally woke up on weekday mornings.
Georgia turned onto her side, her eyes still closed, but her hand already reaching out for me. Soft and warm, her fingers slid down my bare chest to my abdomen until they reached the skin just above the waistband of my briefs.
I stopped her movements before they made it to a place I wouldn’t be able to resist.
“We don’t have time, Benny. We gotta get moving. It’s already past eight.”
Completely ignoring my rebuttal, my wife giggled and stretched her leg over my waist until she was sitting up and straddling my hips. Before I found the willpower to stop her, her devious fingers moved my briefs out of the way, releasing my now hardened cock from its cotton restraint.
Surprisingly—and deliciously—bare underneath her nightshirt, she rubbed herself against me until I was sporting more than just morning wood.
Fuck me. Bare pussy. I groaned and pretended to pretend to think about resisting. I mean, I needed to be in the office.
With a slow and seductive roll of her hips, she slid my cock inside of her.
It was like she’d heard my silent prayer—the one where I spent the morning fucking my wife, not the one I was pretending to have about making it to work in a timely fashion.
“Georgia.”
“Kline,” she mocked me—fucking me at the same time. Maybe it made me twisted, but I had to admit I liked it.
“We’re going to be late for work.”
“I don’t care.” She smiled like the devil and moaned as her head fell back. The tips of her long, blond locks brushed across my thighs.
“My boss is a real prick.”
She laughed at my obvious lie—being that the boss was me—and shook her head.
“I have heard that about him, but you’ll just have to deal with his wrath.”
“I really do have a meeting with that film production company this morning.”
“Still don’t care.”
She rolled her hips, and my vision blurred. Good God, I have never cared about work less in my life.
“I’m pretty sure you also have a morning meeting…” I went on, content to play the game if it made her work harder to get my attention—attention that was so already gotten.
“I. Don’t. Care.” Up and down, she moved her hips, pleasuring herself on my cock. “I need this, Kline. Please,” she begged. I almost broke character at the begging, and I wasn’t the only one. My cock was about to go off-script and write his own ending if she didn’t get herself off pretty quickly. I watched, entranced, as she pulled her nightshirt over her head and tossed it to the floor.
I had a feeling Georgia was using this good-morning sex as a way to alleviate anxiety. She’d been so focused on making sure our little family and friends had the best Christmas in the Catskills next week that I was starting to worry she would drive herself crazy.
I probably should’ve tried to get her to talk about it instead of giving in to the fucking, but the day I could resist my beautiful, sexy, fucking amazing wife, I’d be ten feet in the ground and without a pulse.
Maybe just talk after the sex.
Yeah. That was a good idea. I’d talk to her about it after the sex.
The delicious. Perfect. Mind-blowing sex with my wife…
I groaned, and I couldn’t stop myself from arching my back and sliding deeper inside of her. Warm, soft, tight. Being inside of my wife was honestly heaven on earth.
Reaching out my hands, I gripped her waist and took the lead. Not too slow. Not too fast. But so wonderfully fucking deep. Good Lord, I loved being buried inside of her perfect cunt.
“Yes. Thank God,” she moaned and braced herself with her hands on my chest. A slow and seductive smile curled her lips, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of the goddess sitting above me.
I stared at her eyes. Blue. Heated.
I stared at her lips. Soft and parted and wet.
I stared at the lush curves of her perfect tits and tiny waist.
And when my gaze caught sight of the wedding band resting on her finger, a new pulse of pleasure ran through me. Mine. This gorgeous, sexy creature was all fucking mine.
I flipped her onto her back and pushed myself to the hilt.
Heaven. Fucking heaven.
Then I did it again.
And again.
And again.
Georgia’s moans grew breathier, longer, and deeper until her tight cunt came all over my cock, her body arching inside my arms and her nails finding their way up my back and into my scalp.
She felt too good. Too warm. Too fucking perfect. And I’d been skirting the line of blowing my load since the moment she’d sunk down on me.
I was officially done.
I didn’t last another minute and came deep inside my wife with a groan.
“Okay, so I just need the tents, chairs, lanterns, sparklers, and the ingredients for the cupcakes. I could swing by the sporting goods store right after work and then head to the grocery and the specialty bakery,” my wife muttered to herself as she struck off item after item on her to-do list and added two more for every one she removed.
“Georgie, baby?” I called, my forehead wrinkled in confusion as my hands worked to finish knotting my tie.
“Yes?” she answered distractedly, still looking at her list.
“Am I missing something?”
“What do you mean?” I waited patiently for her eyes to leave the paper and meet my own, and eventually—about fifteen seconds later—she didn’t disappoint.
“What do you mean, Kline?” she asked, sassy this time. She didn’t like that I was wasting her time with things like eye contact.
“I mean…our cabin has furniture. Bedrooms. Electricity. Pretty sure you don’t need to pack tents, chairs, and lanterns.”
She rolled her eyes. Apparently, I was so not in the know. “They’re not those kind of chairs, and the tents aren’t to sleep in. They’re for the Chinese lantern release I have planned one night.”
“Chinese lantern release?” My eyebrows inched toward my hairline.
She sighed. “Just show up.”
“Okay,” I agreed, officially done asking questions. “Show up, I could. Show up, I would,” I remarked in my best Yoda voice.
She cracked a little smile just as our oldest came skidding into the kitchen like she was at the end of a zip line.
“Mom! I’m hungrys! I want Eggos!”
Georgia looked harried immediately, so I stepped in. “I got this, Mom.”
She turned grateful eyes on me immediately, but I was already en route to the freezer.
“Blueberry or plain?” I asked my angel, slathering my voice with disgust on the word plain.
She giggled and cheered, “Blueberrys!”
I grabbed the appropriate box out of the freezer and popped a couple of waffles in the toaster before walking over to Evie in the high chair and blowing a kiss at her. She giggled and tried to catch it. “And what about you, princess? What can I get you this morning?”
“She already ate,” Georgia commented. I turned to look at her, but her face was still aimed directly at the list.
“Baby, why don’t you eat breakfast? I’ll fix you something.”
She was shaking her head before I even finished speaking.
“Christmas is in a week, and we leave in four days. This stuff has to get done!”
“I know what else has to get done.”
Her eyes turned venomous as they actually met mine. “Ugh. Don’t remind me.”
“Georgie—”
“I’m doing it today, okay? You can get off my back.”
I laughed at her theatrics. I’d barely even mentioned the fact that she’d yet to tell her parents we wouldn’t be spending Christmas with them. But I wanted to make sure she fit it on her list somewhere instead of standing them up. I’d broken the news to my parents fairly easily. Of course, they had a habit of spending this holiday in the Caribbean anyway. But still, she needed to do it.
“I was just reminding you.”
“Well…thanks. I guess that’s nice.” The tone of her voice said she didn’t think I was nice at all. I hid my smirk behind my mug of coffee. “Here,” she said, grabbing a piece of paper from the bottom of her pile and shoving it to the side for me to read. “My email to Savannah. Give it a look, and let me know if you think I can send it as-is.”
I plucked the paper from the surface of the counter and had almost started to read when she added, “Which I hope you do. I don’t have time to draft another.”
O-kay. Note to self: Don’t suggest any changes unless she refers to her mother as an overly sexualized Joseph Stalin or the like.
Dearest Savannah and Dick,
I rolled my eyes, but I resisted the urge to comment and kept reading.
I regret to inform you that we’ll be unable to attend family Christmas this year. As much as you know I enjoy blood sport, injuries, and easy-chew meals, I’ve decided to go a different direction this year. I’m not “on call” like Will, but we will be otherwise occupied. We wish you the happiest of holidays and will see you the week after to celebrate.
Thanks for your understanding,
Georgia Rose Brooks (and family)
Wow. Okay.
It was both honest and vague, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on how to tell her she might want to take a second look.
“Georgie…” I muttered, and her head shot up, fire blazing in her eyes in direct challenge. Upon witnessing all that hostility, I treaded carefully.
“What?” she snapped when I took too long to form words.
“It’s…”
“It’s…what?”
“Maybe you should do a second draft—”
“It’s my fifteenth.”
Looking at my wife, seeing how desperately she wanted this Christmas to be different, I made a command decision to let it ride. Dick and Savannah were adults, and knowing them, they would probably get a kick out of all the things that might be perceived as insults by someone else.
“It’s perfect. Send away.”
“Thanks, Kline,” she said, her body melting, her voice soft, her eyes loving.
I leaned forward and touched my lips to hers.
“You’re welcome, love. Though, I wouldn’t completely count out an easy-chew meal in your future.” It took her a minute and a wink from me to get it.
“Oh, gross!” she yelled through a laugh. “Jesus, get out of here and go to work, would you?”
I smiled and slipped around her, dragging a hand across her hip before grabbing my keys off the counter, tossing them in the air, and catching them on the drop. “You know, I think I will go to work. At least Dean would appreciate the creativity in that statement,” I teased.
“Goodbye!” she retorted with a finger wave.
I laughed all the way out of the house. But even more important, through listening carefully, I knew she kept giggling just as long.
I was almost into the city when my phone rang. I’d made a pledge not to look at my phone while driving—even to see who was on the caller ID—so I hit the button to answer and use hands-free on my steering wheel.
“Hello?”
“Well, goooood morning, Klinehole!” Thatch’s voice boomed over the sound system of my car. I almost groaned.
“You sure sound chipper this morning,” I remarked, forgoing a formal greeting since I knew my ridiculous friend didn’t want one anyway. He wanted the attention to go to him as quickly as possible.
“Cassie gave me a morning blowie, and I swear my balls are still tingling.”
“Jesus Christ, that’s entirely too much information.”
“Wow. Grumpy much? I think we can safely rule out your having gotten a morning blow—”
I rolled my eyes and cut in. “Thatch, the point of your call?”
“What? A friend can’t just phone a friend in the morning? Are we so past traditional pleasantries that I have to have a reason for my call? By God, I’m insulted. We’ve been friends for nearly half a century, and my devotion is unquestionable. What makes you think—”
“Shut up!” I broke in. “Stop bullshitting me, and get to the point.”
“You know, Kline,” Thatch said with a chuckle over the speakers. “This is why I like you so much. You don’t take bullshit, and you don’t waste time. You get right to the heart of the matter and don’t back down when the rest of us circle it. I—”
“I’m this close to hanging up on you.”
“Cassie told me to call. Find out what we needed to bring to the cabin.”
“I thought the girls got all of that squared away when Georgie threw that planning dinner last month?”
“Yeah, about that…Cass’s attention was half-assed at best. We had a bet going, and…” Thatch paused and chuckled into the receiver. “Honestly, I never should have doubted my wife and her bag o’ dick jokes. She must’ve texted no less than fifty to me that night.”
Thatch, Cass, and ridiculous bets over dick jokes…
Did any of this surprise you?
It really shouldn’t by now.
My eyebrows drew together. “Okay…so why doesn’t she just call Georgie?”
“Something about the danger zone and Georgia being in her most fragile state. I don’t know, bro. Why do I love titties so much? Just the way of the world.”
I shook my head as I pulled into the underground garage at the office and parked in my spot. “Then, I guess, nothing. Georgia’s got a list a mile long. I’d say you could call and offer to handle a couple of items on it, but I’m pretty sure she’s attached to each and every item on a personal level.”
“Like, how attached?”
“How attached are you to your nuts?”
“Wow. True love, then.”
Despite the ridiculousness of the conversation, I chuckled. “I’d say so.”
“How you handling all that focus, bro?”
“I’m good. She just wants it to be perfect, and I want her to be happy.”
“All right. Let me know if I can help. Drop off a couple of extra kids for you to watch, that kind of thing.”
“Thatch, I’m not watching your kids so you and Cassie can bang in the living room.”
“Hah,” he scoffed. “Kitchen’s where it’s at, son.”
I laughed and shut off the car. “I’m at the office. Gotta go.”
“Working? Oh yeah, heard that. I work for the money too. It’s—”
I didn’t even feel bad as I pushed the button to end the call. I’d have a whole Christmas of Thatch, thanks to my wife’s plans, and I reckoned that was just about enough.