That Man 3 (5 page)

Wasted, I collapsed against her, my head falling onto her marked shoulder. She ruffled
my damp hair with one hand and caressed my sweat-laced back with other. It felt so
good. She felt so good.

“I love you, tiger,” I rasped against her sweet glistening skin. How easy these once
unspoken words now came to me. I loved her so fucking much.

She nuzzled my neck before taking my mouth in hers. “Blake, you’re a very naughty
boy.”

Indeed I was. Blake Burns was a
very
naughty boy. But Santa had looked the other way and given me just what I wanted for
Christmas.

Jennifer

T
he egg was a wonder toy. Blake showed me every which way to use it—from stimulating
his cock to putting it in my butt while he fucked me. The sensation of having it in
my butt was beyond words. I experienced an out of this world orgasm that made me see
stars. And there were more levels of stimulation. One called escalation—vibrations
that started at a slow speed, then sped up and then stopped abruptly making me desperate
for more, and another called surging, a mixture of pulsation and normal vibrating.
I swear, I don’t know how many times we fucked. And I swear, I don’t know how either
of us didn’t wake my parents up.

Blake wanted me to go to sleep with the egg inside me so I would wake up wet and stimulated,
ready for him. I told him that wasn’t necessary. Just having him in my bed, naked
and raw, was all I needed. But he insisted, and I finally gave in, not having the
energy to fight him. We exchanged yet another round of “I love you.” I’d lost count
of how many times I’d said those words. And heard them. But I couldn’t get enough.
In no time, I fell asleep in his arms, cradled in his warm manly body.

*

I was the first to awaken in the morning. My eyes fluttered open as awareness seeped
into my brain. I was still spooned in Blake and could feel his heart beating against
my back. One sculpted arm curled above my head while the other draped over my tummy.
We had fallen asleep in this position, flesh to flesh, his erection pressed tightly
against my backside. I twisted my neck to peer at him. God, he was beautiful in the
morning. Soft breaths, as soothing as a cat’s purr, emanated from his gently parted
lips, and a lock of silky hair fell onto his forehead. The fine layer of stubble that
circled his jaw made him even sexier than imaginable. Oh God. What had I done to deserve
this man?
This
God. This man who loved me and whom I loved back with my heart and soul. Usually,
I woke up on Christmas morning with excitement and anticipation. Today, I woke up
totally contented and satisfied. Santa had come and dropped off my best present ever.
Blake Burns.
Thank you, Santa.

The familiar sounds of Christmas morning sounded in my ears. Downstairs, I could hear
“Deck the Halls” playing on my parents’ stereo system (they still hadn’t upgraded
to surround sound). When I was a little girl, I was always the first to wake up and
trot downstairs, eager to see what Santa had brought me. As I grew older and learned
Santa = Dad, I slept later, needing the extra hours of sleep to supplement my time-sucking
hormones. I could have stayed in bed all day with Blake—just like this in his arms—but
that wasn’t an option. As sunlight filtered into my room, I remembered something.
Before we’d fallen asleep, Blake had told me Santa had another surprise for me—another
toy. While nothing could possibly top that fucking (no pun intended) egg, I was suddenly
eager to find out what it was.

I maneuvered myself so I was facing Blake. I kissed his forehead, and his dazzling
blue eyes blinked open.

“Merry Christmas, Blake.” I brushed the wisp of hair off his forehead. My beautiful
bedhead!

He smiled and his eyes twinkled like stars. “Merry Christmas, tiger.” He traced my
jaw with his fingertips before smacking his lips against mine. Another all-consuming,
tongue-driven kiss ensued. I could easily get used to waking up this way every morning.

After taking separate showers (we couldn’t risk taking one together with my parents
up), we got dressed, both of us in jeans and sweaters. I was also wearing something
else at Blake’s insistence—the little vibrating egg in my pussy. At the moment, it
wasn’t vibrating. Blake had set the remote to the “off” position.

“You’d better behave,” I whispered as we headed downstairs.

“Don’t worry.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” He playfully slapped my ass.

I worried Blake wouldn’t be true to his word. He was a very naughty boy. My parents
had learned over dinner we worked together but had no clue he was more than just a
friend or that I worked for him. At a porn channel no less. Though Mom and Dad knew
the job with Peanuts, Conquest Broadcasting’s former children’s network, had fallen
through, I’d led them to believe I was working for another division of the company.
I’d just conveniently failed to mention it was Adult Entertainment.

When we got downstairs, “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” was playing, and my dad
was in the living room in his favorite reclining chair, reading the morning paper
over a cup of coffee.

“Good morning, you two sleepyheads,” he said, looking up from his paper and smiling.

“Good morning,” Blake and I responded in unison.

“You two sleep well?”

Blake grinned. “The best bed I’ve ever slept in.”

I cringed. Why did everything this man say have to be loaded with sexual innuendo?
I sure as hell didn’t want my parents to know he’d fucked my brains out right under
our roof. Before I could respond, my mother waltzed into the room, holding two mugs
of steaming coffee.

“I could hear you two come downstairs from the kitchen. I’ve brought you some fresh
coffee.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I said, taking the mugs from her. I handed one to Blake.

Mom: “Blake, I hope you take cream in yours.”

“Yes, thank you, Mrs. McCoy. The more cream the better.”

I almost regurgitated my first sip of coffee. Last night, while he was fucking me
for the second time, Blake had told me that he was going to cream me as he was about
to come. My pussy quivered.

My father rose from his chair and ambled toward our Christmas tree. “Now that everyone’s
up, let’s see what Santa’s brought.”

The rest of us followed him. As we gathered around the tree, my mother apologized
to Blake. “Blake, dear, had we known you’d be here with us, we would have surely gotten
you something. I feel terrible.”

Blake smiled warmly at my mother. “No worries. Being here with you and your husband…
and Jennifer… is more than I could possibly ask for.”

Upon saying my name, he shot me a sexy little wink. It sent tingles down my spine.
The sooner we opened presents, the better. He was affecting me again.

As was tradition in our house, we all sat down around the tree, with our mugs of coffee,
and began the ritual. Cross-legged, Blake sat right next to me. So close, I could
feel the heat of his body. My heart pitter-pattered, and my pussy felt as lit up as
the Christmas tree.

My parents and I exchanged gifts first. They were thrilled with what I’d gotten them—matching
lambswool scarves and each a book—and I was equally delighted with what they’d gotten
me—a stunning Coach backpack that matched my briefcase. It was quite an extravagant
present given they were now living on my retired father’s pension. I gave them each
a big hug.

Blake and I watched as my parents then exchanged gifts. After all these years of marriage,
a deep-rooted, true love still lit up their eyes as they handed each other festively
wrapped up boxes. For Mom, a lovely red pullover sweater, and for Dad, a handsome
argyle cardigan. Every year, the same glow, the same thank you, the same kiss on the
cheek. Knowing my best friend Libby’s parents had gone through an ugly divorce, I
felt blessed to have my loving parents.

There were three remaining large boxes. All from Blake.

“Those two are for you, Mr. and Mrs. McCoy,” he said, pointing to the two monstrous
side by side boxes, identical in size and wrapped in exactly the same hunter green
paper. Each was topped off with a humongous red velvet bow.

“You didn’t have to buy us anything,” said my mother, reaching for the two boxes and
handing one to my father. I watched as they opened them and gawked when they uncovered
what was inside. Two magnificent Ralph Lauren plaid cashmere blankets. They must have
cost a fortune. My parents could never afford anything like them.

Blake was beaming. “I hope you like them. My parents have the same ones, so I thought
they were a good bet.”

My mother lovingly held the soft cashmere blanket to her cheekbone and then wrapped
it around her shoulders. “Oh Blake, dear. They’re so beautiful. You shouldn’t have.”

“My pleasure.”

“An outstanding choice, son. Thank you from both of us.” My father, though he didn’t
blatantly show it, was equally impressed and delighted with Blake’s extravagant gift.

Blake gathered the last remaining box in his hands. This box was different in size
and shape than my parents’—big and bulky—and it was wrapped in a whimsical, childlike
snowman-themed paper. “This is for you, tiger.”

My stomach muscles twisted. Shit. He called me “tiger” in front of my parents. While
my mother, enraptured with her new blanket, was oblivious, my father raised a brow.
Maybe, he just thought it was odd.

“Thank you,” I stammered, taking the box from him. It was not particularly heavy or
solid. I had no idea what could be inside. I carefully unwrapped it. A big red shiny
box was now in my lap. Slowly, I lifted off the lid.

My breath hitched in my throat when I eyed what was inside. With trembling hands,
I took it out of the box. Another toy. This time a beautiful, white plush tiger with
black stripes, a pink nose, and glass eyes as green as mine. About three feet tall,
it was in a seated position, its limbs spread apart as if ready for a hug and then
a fuck. Around its neck hung an exquisite pink tourmaline heart on a gold chain. My
birthstone! I had told him in Vegas my birthday was in October. He remembered! My
own heart hammered as my eyes met Blake’s. I knew this necklace was meant for me to
wear. To have his heart close to mine.

“Do you like it?” he asked, his voice soft and sultry. “It’s a snow tiger. They’re
an endangered species. Very special and rare.”

“I love it!” Tears were verging.
I love you.

So wanting to hug him, to be in his arms, I hugged the cuddly tiger instead. “Thank
you,” I said in almost a whisper, pressing my lips against its soft, sweet face. A
tear escaped my eye and disappeared into the tiger’s velvety fur.

My mother’s voice brought me out of my trance-like state. “Honey, do you want to help
me make breakfast?”

I lifted my head, hoping tears were no longer falling. “Sure, Mom.”

“Wonderful. I’m making eggs.”
Eggs?
She turned to Blake. “Blake dear, how do you like your eggs?”

Blake shot me a cocky grin and then responded. “Mrs. McCoy, I’m easy. I like my eggs
every which way.”

My pussy throbbed. Oh, God, egg talk! I suddenly became aware again of the little
egg hiding inside me.

My father stood up. “While my girls make breakfast, I’m going to dig out the driveway.”

I glanced out the window. Our front yard was covered in snow. At least three feet—significantly
more if you counted the drifts against our almost buried picket fence.

“Let me do it,” insisted Blake.

My father smiled. “I could use the exercise. But I’d appreciate your help, son.”

“You’ve got it, Mr. McCoy.”

My father nodded. “Thank you, and you can call me Harold.”

As my mother and I retreated to the kitchen, Dad and Blake readied for the manly task
that awaited them.

Blake

W
hile I was in extra­ordinari­ly good shape from working out at the gym and doing the
Santa Monica Stairs, I’d never shoveled snow before. At our family house in Aspen
that we’d recently sold for a small fortune, we always had plows come by to dig us
out. Man, shoveling snow was fucking hard work. I was breathing heavily and working
up a sweat despite the nippy temperature. As I struggled to scoop up the dense powder
from the packed driveway, I watched in awe as Jen’s father seemed to effortlessly
shovel it away.

“Pace yourself,” he urged. “And use your shoulder muscles as much as possible so you
don’t hurt your back.”

He was definitely in good shape for a man his age, and I tried my dammedest to keep
up with him. Like with pumping weights or any sport, my mind was filled with the task
at hand. But when I took short little breaks, my mind drifted to Jennifer.

I’d had the most sensual experience of my life last night. Watching her play with
her toy and come over and over again was one thing. But sleeping with her in the raw
in my arms was something else. Our naked bodies spooned together, almost one, her
heart mine, palmed in my hand. Sharing a blanket, our bodies warming each other. Yes,
I had fucked many women, but I’d never slept with one after the act. Only my tiger.
The girl I loved.