White Chaotic Christmas
December 25th, Christmas Morning
Morning light bled into the windows and danced as trees in the yard cut in front of the sun and back again. I reached out and patted across the space on the bed beside me.
Empty.
Where was my wife?
I’d expected her to be here after the workout we’d put in last night, after how hard she’d come—all three times.
I looked up at the headboard and smiled at the small tear in the upholstery she’d put there.
Back arched and moans getting louder, Georgia ground down on my face as she neared her second orgasm. My face was soaked, and I had a brief thought that I would keep it that way, unwashed, so all it would take was a lick whenever I wanted a taste of her.
I groaned as a new rush of wetness flooded my mouth and swallowed it down, my dick aching to be inside her so bad he’d started to make signs for a formal protest.
I flicked my tongue against her clit and then swirled, stopping at the bottom to push it inside her.
Her pussy spasmed and she shook, her hands clutching violently into the fabric of the headboard.
“Oh my God!” she exclaimed on an angry whisper. “My nail went through!”
I smiled against her pussy, still firmly resting on my face, but that didn’t stop her from seeing the amusement in my eyes.
“Kline!” she snapped. “This is a thousand-dollar headboard, and I just put a hole in it.”
I lifted her up and flipped her to her back so suddenly, she gasped.
“I’m not worried about the hole in the headboard. I’m worried about the hole in you and how I’m gonna fill it.”
I smiled again as I remembered her scandalized face, and my dick jerked at the memory of the soft heat that had followed. She’d needed the release, and God, I’d needed to give it to her. But apparently, even that much pleasure hadn’t completely unwound her.
I hopped from the bed and pulled on a pair of pajama pants, not bothering with underwear or a shirt, and went in search of my Georgie.
The house was quiet, much like the morning before, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before some hyped kids came somersaulting down the stairs, demanding to be shown to their presents.
At the bottom of the staircase, the bodies started—not dead, thankfully—and I danced and weaved accordingly. Only the last, Mr. Quarterback himself, Quinn Bailey, presented a challenge, as he slumbered laterally in front of the doorway to the kitchen. I considered my options only briefly before stepping directly over his giant frame.
Still out like a light, most likely worn-out from one too many jokes from my father-in-law, he didn’t notice.
I was glad they were there, even if they made the house feel much smaller than it was. Wes had explained shortly after their arrival that the players who’d shown up all lived outside of the New York area and didn’t really have time to go home for the holidays. Their next game was a week out, but evening practices started back up the day after Christmas. They could have rushed a flight home and back again, but nobody really wanted to spend their Christmas Eve and Day in the airport for a completely unfulfilling visit. Coming to the cabin had been a win-win situation for everyone—Sean got to spend time with his sister, and the rest of them got to spend time with people who cared about them.
“Good morning, baby,” I greeted and took my time perusing the gorgeous creature in front of me. Her long, blond hair hung loosely down her back, ending a scant inch above the silky fabric of her pajama camisole. I smiled when I reached the luscious curves of her ass covered by a pair of her favorite Christmas-themed sleep leggings.
Have mercy.
She turned at the sound of my voice, a coffee mug in her hand, and raised one pointed eyebrow. “When you said you had the sleeping situation figured out, I didn’t think you meant every available inch of surface area on our floor.”
I shrugged with a cheeky grin. “It’s working, isn’t it?”
She inclined her head in agreement. “Look, Kline. I know I’ve been a little—”
“Crazy?” I offered.
She turned back toward the coffeemaker, but I didn’t miss the scowl that covered her full lips.
“Overanxious,” she corrected, and I couldn’t help but smile at how adorable she was.
“Right,” I agreed, leaning a hip into the counter and crossing my arms over my chest and my feet at the ankles.
“I just wanted everything to be perfect,” she admitted.
Practically at that exact moment, the screeching started.
“It’s Christ-masssss! Presents! Santa-s Dick! La la la la la la!”
“Lia! Lia! Do you see any presents with my name?”
I didn’t take my eyes off of Georgie’s face as hers closed slowly in acceptance of her overanxious moments that had occurred during this holiday. Quinn jumped up to sitting behind me, his Southern twang just barely intelligible as he was still waking up. “What in the Jesus is that shit?”
I mumbled over my shoulder. “The kids. And Christmas. When you combine the two, you get lots of yelling.”
Georgia smiled at my remark and pushed a mug of hot coffee into my chest. “We better get in there before they unwrap the upholstery off the sofa.”
I grabbed her by the elbow and touched my lips to her neck softly. “It is perfect, baby. You and me and the lives we created together, little monsters that they sometimes are… How could it be anything other than?”
All of her features went soft, like I’d massaged all of the tension right out of them. “Kline,” she murmured, her voice mellow like her face.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Thanks for making it always hurt good.”
Her words hit right me in the chest. Those were our words, ones that held a lot of memories and meaning, and all I could do was smile in response. Ditto, baby.
I locked my hand with hers. “I guess it’s time for presents, huh?”
“You think the guys brought some of their football equipment? We might need it once the kids spot the presents under the tree…”
I laughed and let Georgia take the lead toward the impending chaos.
But before we made it to the scene of the crime—aka, the kids unwrapping presents—the doorbell rang. I thought maybe Georgie would freak out again, but she just laughed.
“I mean…who can it even be at this point?”
“My parents?” I suggested teasingly.
Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and I laughed with my hands up defensively. “Hey, you asked.”
“It was a fully rhetorical question, and you fluffing know it, Kline Brooks.”
“Yoo-hoo!” Dean greeted, and both of our heads turned. He was in a pose, foot turned out with one hand to his hip. After he got done posing for us, he turned to the man holding the door open for him.
Quinn had risen from his spot on the floor—though, I should have noticed the fact that I hadn’t had to step over him upon exiting the kitchen—and made it to the front door before us, apparently.
“Well, hell-o.” Dean looked Quinn up and down, following the lines of his sculpted body in a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt, and then marveled over the almost perfect good-old-boy features of his face. “Sweet merciful Jesus, you’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?”
“Uh,” Quinn mumbled and, even at the sight of an extra guest and all of our pets as they bounded in the door like cattle, Georgia smiled.
“Quinn, this is Dean. He works for Kline.”
“For the right price, I could work for you, honey.” Dean cupped his hands around his mouth and stage-whispered. “It won’t cost much. Just a little slap and tickle.”
Quinn’s eyes widened, but it didn’t last long. I expected him to turn to us for help, or even more likely, turn tail and run, but he didn’t really seem all that fazed.
“Sounds like a good time, but if you want me to do any work, I cost a little more,” he said in his famous Southern twang and punctuated that statement with a wink.
That wink equaled lights-out.
For real. Dean fainted.
Jesus Christ, people are dropping like flies around here…
Lucky for him, it occurred right in front of a professional quarterback with the quickest hands in the league.
Quinn looked back at us then, but we were already rushing forward.
“Come on, come on,” he urged. “Help me get him to the couch.”
Dean came to just as we were starting to lift, but he didn’t seem shaken by his loss of consciousness in the slightest. Instead, he looked satisfied, as though he’d just lived one of his wildest Christmas fantasies to completion.
“Well, well. Merry Christmas to me, indeed.”
I wasn’t sure I agreed with the reasons, but the sentiment—that was worth repeating.
By the time we’d gotten Dean back to his feet and reached the tree, we found Julia and Ace jumping around the tree like banshees.
Julia twirled. “Presents! Presents! I loves everything!”
“I want to open presents!” Ace exclaimed.
“Calm down, little dude. We have to wait for everyone else to get down here,” Thatch said through a yawn as he walked into the living room with Gunner on his hip. Cassie followed behind and had my daughter Evie in her arms.
“Thanks for bringing her down,” Georgia said as Cassie set Evie to her feet.
Our youngest daughter didn’t waste any time, running toward her sister and Ace to join in on the Christmas dance.
Wes, Winnie, and their daughter came shortly after, and the instant Julia spotted Lex, she started a whole new round of screeching and excitement.
And of course, the life of the party showed up dressed as Santa Dick with his smiling wife on his arm. “Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas, everyone! Let’s see what my brother Santa Claus brought us this year!”
“Merry Christmas, Santas Dick!” Julia exclaimed. “Did you leave us some presents too?”
“Of course I did, little lady,” Dick responded. “I left a few presents under the tree with your name on them.”
“Yay!” Julia smiled and then looked at Savannah. “Mimi, did Santas Dick get you a present too?”
Cassie and Thatch burst into laughter, while Georgia just about choked from shock.
But Dick, well, he did exactly what you’d expect a man like Dick Cummings to do.
“Santa’s dick gave Mimi lots of presents last night.”
Jesus. We really need to work on the whole letter S situation.