Two Weeks Later: Christmas Eve
Tyler
I usually love Christmas, but after everything that’s happened this year, we’ve decided to boycott it. Well, not boycott it completely, but Mia and I are doing our own version of Christmas that technically isn’t Christmas.
The decorations are up but not the kind you’d expect. No, instead of decorating the house with a traditional Christmas tree, tinsel, twinkly lights, and the works, the living room is covered in Halloween decorations. We have a few five-foot Grim Reapers hanging from the ceiling and an animated possessed doll in the corner of the room whose head spins round in a three-hundred-sixty-degree rotation just like in the film The Exorcist. Various garlands hang along the walls—some with gothic designs of spiders and skulls, others with bloody weapons attached—and a bloodstained white gauze drape hangs from the fireplace. Spiderwebs with giant spiders cover the majority of every surface in here. Our living room looks as if it belongs in a haunted house from the Halloween Horror Nights at Universal Studios.
Both Mia and I are dressed for the occasion. I’m dressed in The Flash outfit—the male version—and Mia is in only a T-shirt—her favorite Star Trek T-shirt.
Halloween is our thing, and since we missed it this year, we decided to screw Christmas and bring back Halloween.
Plus, the thought of my first Christmas without Mom didn’t sit right with me. We were invited to stay with Ashton and Ava for the holidays in Seattle, but honestly, it really didn’t appeal to me.
Even though Mia had snapped me out of the emotional rut I found myself buried under in the week following my mom’s death, there’s no denying I was still grieving. And, with that, I just wanted a low-key break to spend some quality time with Mia, just the two of us, especially since, as of last week, Mia moved the last of her stuff back into the house and was no longer living a separate life at the apartment. Now, she’s back where she belongs, where she’s always belonged.
Dad, however, has gone to stay with Ava and Ashton for a week, as I don’t think he can stand being in the big house that was my childhood home without his sweetheart. I can’t blame him, as the house isn’t the same without her in it.
It’s nine p.m., and we’re sitting in the middle of the floor with potato chips, candy, and pepperoni pizza, having a Final Destination marathon, and it’s the first time in two weeks where I don’t feel an ounce of sadness. I feel good, happy, and Mia has everything to do with the smile I have plastered on my face.
The current movie is Final Destination 3, the one where the roller coaster derails, two girls get burned alive in their tanning beds, and a chick gets impaled by a flagpole. It’s a fucking awesome way to spend Christmas—finding misery in other people’s pain with blood and guts added to the mix. I’m not usually one for blood, but for horror films, I make an exception.
I chuckle whenever Mia laughs when someone dies, loving how sick and twisted my wife is.
As the film plays, Mia leans over me to grab a slice of pizza before sitting back beside me, taking a bite and chewing. I take hold of her bare legs and pull them over my thighs, my hands caressing up and down the silky skin. The sunbed scene comes up, and Mia tilts her head back with laughter when they begin to sizzle to death, seconds from being turned into ash.
“God, of all the ways to die, this has to be the most ridiculous.” She snorts, chowing down on her pizza.
I glance at her with amusement. “Hey, that could totally happen. Electrical fires are a thing,” I point out just as they combust into flames.
“Yeah, but the Grim Reaper orchestrating it isn’t. It’s just stupid and too obvious. It just isn’t the demise I’d have anticipated for them, you know? Maybe they should have gotten knocked down by a car or died of natural causes triggered by their use of way too many minutes spent under those sunbeds because, news flash, they don’t need to tan since they’re both as orange as the drink blondie sets down.”
I shake my head, chuckling, noting that it’s gone to the next scene at the girls’ funeral. “You take this film way too seriously.”
“It’s just too stupid for words.”
“Yet we’re still watching it,” I add.
She shrugs her shoulders, smiling. “What can I say? I love cheesy slasher movies. Although, after watching that scene years ago, I haven’t set foot in a tanning salon since. Spray tans are the way forward. You might get some blotchy bits, but it’s better than burned bits.”
I glance at her, laughing. “You know, horror films make you a little crazy. I think, after this, we should watch a movie with puppies in them, just to even out your crazy.”
She glares at me, as if I’m the crazy one. “Wow, talk about a low blow.”
“Would it make you feel better if I told you I liked you a little crazy?”
“Yes, but you know what else would make me feel better?”
“What’s that?”
“If you grabbed me a root beer from the refrigerator.” She gives me the pretty-pretty-please smile she sets upon me when she wants something from me, her puppy-dog eyes fluttering.
What she doesn’t realize is, she doesn’t need to use these tactics to wrap me around her little finger. Just one glance at her beauty has me wanting to hand her the entire world.
“One root beer coming right up,” I say.
She gives me a quick peck on the lips. “Thank you.”
“No need to say thank you. Just reward me with a blow job later.” I grin as I lift her legs up off my thighs and hoist myself up from the floor, my ass a little numb from sitting down for too long.
The jingle of Harley’s collar sounds from the armchair as he sits up with attention at my sudden movement.
“If you make me a root beer float, I’ll give you two blow jobs.” She winks.
My smile widens. “If I add a cherry on top, can I have three blow jobs?” I ask jokingly.
“Now, you’re just being greedy.”
“Okay, okay, two blow jobs it is but none of that LipSense shit. I want your lipstick wrapped around my dick this time.”
“You can count on it,” Mia teases.
I walk toward the kitchen with a huge grin on my face and one hell of a hard-on.
I love her like this. Playful and joking around.
Since we returned from our vacation, moments like these have been far and few between, so to finally see her with a smile on her face is everything. It’s so nice to get back to a sort of normalcy in our relationship—if you can even call a Halloween Christmas normal, but it is to us.
Harley whines at the back door, so I let him out to do his business while I go to work, making Mia her root beer float. I call Harley back in a few minutes later, and of course, he trots back in, his mouth covered in mud and soil.
Jesus, this fucking dog.
“Have you been at the plants again?” I ask with humor.
His tail wags as he glances up at me with a guilty look in his eyes.
I clean his face up, knowing Mia would have a field day if I let him in the living room with mud everywhere. Even though he’s a little shit, I grab Harley a meat-filled dog bone from the pantry and place it into his eagerly waiting mouth, tail continuing to wag with happiness. As soon as he guards it with his teeth, he shoots out of the kitchen and in the direction of the living room where he will no doubt chew on the thing for the next three hours.
I return to the haunted house with a root beer float in one hand and a bottled beer in the other.
“Thank you, baby,” she coos with her appreciation as she accepts her root beer float.
I set my beer down and tell her I’ll be a minute. I take the stairs two at a time before taking a leak, and then I head to our bedroom, grabbing the quilt and pillows from our bed.
Mia raises a brow as she eyes the quilt and cushions I have buried under my arms as I carry them through to the living room.
“My ass was going numb, so I thought I’d put a bit of cushioning down. There’s hardly any padding in this Lycra costume; it’s pretty much a second skin.”
Mia sniggers around a mouthful of root beer and ice cream. She shifts out of the way as I set the quilt down on the floor. I place the cushions around us, and we sit back down, resuming our original positions. Mia automatically splays her bare legs over my lap. I continue with my leisurely stroke of her inner thigh while I take a sip of my cold beer.
“What did I miss?” I ask, referring to the television.
“Nothing much. Just some weird voodoo-wind thing in the cemetery and these two dipshits thinking they’re detectives of the year,” she says with an eye roll, pointing at the TV. “But I predict the next death to be in approximately fifteen seconds.” She smiles evilly, scooping up ice cream from her glass.
My eyes shoot to the movie on the flat screen as a truck begins its pursuit downhill toward a drive-through. Seconds pass, and the chick and guy narrowly escape the truck hitting them before the truck totals the back of their car, causing the engine to shoot out at the impact of the truck. Then, bam, it takes out half of a guy’s head and brains in the yellow convertible in front of the truck.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter as blood splatters everywhere. Then, I gag a short while later as the engine embedded in the guy’s head shifts forward, causing his head to loll down.
“Now, that is believable,” Mia states with confidence, giggling away, not at all fazed with the gore.
Forty-five minutes later, the credits begin to roll, and Mia grabs the remote control and sets the next film up.
The movie begins, and I smile at Mia, who’s giving me her undivided attention, given that no one is currently dying on the screen. Yet.
“You know, you once told me you despised costumes, yet here you are, dressed as The Flash. Although I’m a little disappointed you didn’t try to squeeze back into my costume.”
Laughter spills from my mouth as I lift my arm up, showing off the bulging muscles of my biceps. “I’ve gained more muscles since then. I would definitely rip it to shreds like the Hulk while trying to put it on.”
She throws her head back on a laugh. “Well, I think you should put it on,” she says, batting her eyelashes.
“No way,” I reply gruffly.
One of her hands moves to my stomach, and her fingers crawl downward until she’s cupping my dick through the Lycra of my costume. Her eyes remain on mine as she gives me a squeeze. I let out a quiet moan as I immediately begin to grow harder within her grasp.
“I’ll make it worth your while.”
When she says it like that, all sexy and sensual, it’s hard to say no.
Like the pussy-whipped husband I am, who thinks with only his dick the majority of the time, I head in the direction of our bedroom and change out of the male version of The Flash outfit to Mia’s slutty, sexy female version.
A few minutes later, I return, and she falls into a fit of laughter, her legs flailing around with her hysteria. I stand there, in the center of the living room, wearing the dress like a motherfucking tutu. The edge of the dress comes up to just below my hips with my dick and balls hanging out of the bottom, and as predicted, with my bulkier muscles, I did in fact rip a bit of the seam while trying to squeeze into the thing.
A second later, she manages to compose herself and stands to her feet. “You were right about the muscles. You look…” She presses her lips into a thin line, as if she’s trying to hold back more laughter.
“I’m going to change,” I grumble as I pivot on my feet to turn around.
She shoots forward, keeping me in place. “No, don’t change! Please.”
“I look ridiculous.”
She steps up to me and rises onto her tiptoes, her hands coming up to rest on my chest. “You might look ridiculous, but the last time you wore this was the night I fell in love with you.”
My heart skids to a halt before running to a gallop in my chest. “You did, huh?”
She gives a gentle nod of the head. “Within ten minutes of meeting you, you turned my shitty night into the best night of my life. I realized then that no other guy could ever measure up to you. You switched outfits with me, so I wouldn’t have to feel uncomfortable, and, baby, you wore that thing like a badge of fricking honor for the rest of the night. You proved to me that not all guys were self-centered assholes. If you hadn’t worn this costume, then I might not be standing here in front of you right now.”
I inch closer, my eyes fiercely locked on hers. “Oh, trust me, I’d have gotten you one way or another. It would have just been a matter of time,” I confidently state.
“You think rather highly of yourself, don’t you?” she teases.
“Hell yes, but if you hadn’t given me the time of day that night, I’d have just bugged you for a date until you caved in. Then, I would have made you fall in love with me. Luckily, you did give me the time of day, and look at where we are now.”
I lean in and press my lips to Mia’s for a tease of a kiss before pulling back. “You know what I fantasized about when I first saw you wearing this outfit?”
“What’s that?” She smiles.
“You riding my cock, dressed in only this costume. Nothing else.”
Even surrounded by the darkness of our makeshift haunted house with only the light from the television and spooky lanterns dotted around the place illuminating the room, I can still see the way her pupils dilate at my words and how her breathing grows more rapid.
“Well, I did say I’d make it worthwhile for you,” she says in a low, husky voice.
She steps out of my hold and whips the Star Trek T-shirt up over her head and drops it in a heap at her feet. My cock grows harder as I take in the sight of her naked body, her nipples pointing in my direction, almost begging for the attention of my tongue.
Wordlessly, I follow suit, and once I’ve tugged the dress over my head, I hand it to her. I watch intently as she pulls the dress on, and I fight back a groan.
My fingers instinctively go to my rock-hard dick, and I slowly move my hand along the length just to find an ounce of relief. She looks hot as hell.
Sexy as fuck.
“I know you didn’t feel beautiful in this costume the last time you wore it, but goddamn, it looks fucking breathtaking on you. Do you feel beautiful? Because I want to make you feel beautiful,” I breathe out as I continue to palm my dick, pleasuring myself.
“I always feel beautiful when you look at me like that,” she says before a sultry smile appears on her lips. “Sit,” she demands.
Immediately, I sit my naked ass in the center of the sofa. She saunters over to me, the bottom of her dress swaying a little with the erotic swing of her hips. I lean my head back as she straddles my thighs.
“You want me to ride you, huh?”
“God, yes,” I say just above a whisper.
The feel of her pussy pressed up against my dick is fucking everything.
She leans forward, brushing her lips to mine. “I’m gonna ride you so hard that you’ll be seeing stars.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it, baby.” I smirk as my hands grip hold of her waist, desperately wanting to be buried deep inside her.
With a shift of her hips, she presses herself over my dick, and with a breathless curse, she plunges down on me. As mayhem of the first premonition becomes apparent on the flat screen, Mia’s moans intermix with the screams, the explosions of crashing cars, and the splattering of blood and guts in the background. I notice the way she briefly looks toward the screen before giving out a moan-filled laugh.
“Ugh, such an unrealistic way to die. Damn Grim Reaper.” She groans, still laughing, before locking her eyes back to mine. Then, she soon forgets what’s playing on the TV screen as she fucks me to oblivion.
How she looks while riding me, dressed in the little red The Flash costume with her tits hanging out—thanks to me tearing the front of her dress open in my desperate need to get a taste of her—is a sight I’ll never be able to erase from my mind. I swear, it’s quite frankly the most erotic moment of my life.
Hot damn, I need to buy her another costume.