The Stocking Was Hung (11 page)

“I knew it. I look like shit,” I huff, throwing my hands up in the air in irritation. With a quick turn, I stomp back into the dressing room and slam the door behind me, but never hear it click shut. When I start to turn around, I’m suddenly surrounded by man and I hear his foot kick the door closed.

“Um, this is the women’s dressing room, what are you doing?” I reprimand, trying to sound indignant, but failing when I hear his shopping bag drop to the floor and feel his palms on the outside of my thighs, slowly sliding upward.

“Holy shit, what are you doing?” I whisper brokenly when his hands move from the outside of my thighs to between my legs and continue moving upwards.

“This dress,” he groans. “Fucking hell, this dress. Do you have any idea how damn gorgeous you are?”

He removes one hand from the inside of my thighs and wraps it tightly around my waist, holding me securely against him.

“Put your hands on the wall,” he orders me in a hushed tone, shuffling his feet and moving us forward until I’m forced to do as he says before slamming face-first into the back wall of the dressing room.

“I need to touch you. Just for a minute, I promise. Please, let me touch you,” he begs in a low voice, his breath puffing against my ear as he takes the edge of my lobe in between his teeth and tugs on it.

“Fuck, yes,” I hiss, his hand finishing its path up the inside of my thigh and his fingers ghosting over the front lace of my thong.

“You’re so wet,” he mutters, placing a kiss in the crook of my neck.

His fingers continue moving lazily over the thin fabric until I want to grab his hand and shove his fingers inside of me. I’ve been wet since I met him and who knew this caveman action of shoving me into a dressing room and pushing me against a wall from behind would be such a turn-on.

“I knew this dress would look good on you, but God damn, Noel,” he murmurs, his fingers moving to the side of my thong and teasing their way under the edge of the lace.

I spread my legs just enough to urge him on and give him easier access, my head falling back onto his shoulder while he nuzzles his face into the side of my neck, placing tender kisses on my skin in between his words.

“I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want you. I’ve never been this fucking hard for anyone. Just you, Noel,” he confesses as his fingers finally dip inside the edge of my underwear and I feel him touching me for the first time.

We groan in unison when two of his fingers slide through the wetness his words and his teasing touch have created. One of my hands against the wall flies down to his arm around my waist and I dig my fingernails into his wrist when he moves his fingers in slow, perfect circles around my clit. His thumb quickly replaces those fingers and before I can catch my breath, he’s pushing two long, thick fingers inside of me, sliding them all the way in to his knuckles.

I’m panting like a dog in heat as he holds his fingers still inside of me but keeps moving his thumb back and forth over my aching clit. I’ve never felt anything this amazing before. I’ve never wanted to come within two seconds of a guy touching me. And I’ve certainly never gotten turned on with dirty talk. But sweet lord alive, dirty talk coming from Sam’s mouth should be sold on street corners for a hefty price. He’d make a killing.

“Fuck, you’re so tight and perfect,” he whispers as he starts slowly pushing and pulling his fingers out of me and my hips begin moving with the rhythm of his hand between my legs. “God, I wish we were anywhere but here so I could be inside you. I want to feel your tight pussy wrapped around my cock.”

“Yes, yes, fuck yes,” I groan, my hips jerking faster against his hand as he continues working his fingers in out of me at a quicker pace now, his thumb flicking quickly over my clit until I want to lose my mind with the need to come, until what he said suddenly hits me.

“I wish we were anywhere but here…”

Oh my fucking God, I have a guy’s fingers in my twat in a public dressing room. At the mall. AT THE FUCKING MALL!

I know I said I wanted to embrace the slut and BE the slut, but this is slutty even for
me
. I can’t even tell him to stop because if he takes those perfectly long, thick fingers out of me right now I will cry and quite possibly punch my hand through the wall in front of me.

What a fucking conundrum.

Like he immediately knows what I’m thinking, the arm Sam hold securely around my waist moves up until his hand is gently covering my mouth while his fingers continue their glorious assault between my legs, twisting and sliding through all the wetness he’s pulled from me just by being him.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he soothes me. “No one can hear us with the loud music, just let go, Noel. I need to feel you come on my fingers.”

Sweet Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and the Wise Men, that’s it, I’m done. Another smooth flick of his thumb over my clit and I’m tumbling into oblivion, moaning and shouting muffled curses against his hand as I do what he says and come on his fingers. My hips jerk forward and I hold them suspended while Sam pushes those beautiful fingers even deeper inside of me and holds them still, letting me ride out my orgasm against his hand, his palm bumping against my clit until I feel like I might die from coming.

Holy longest orgasm in the world, Batman!

The explosion and thumping pleasure between my thighs slowly fades away until I’m back to panting and trying to catch my breath against Sam’s hand, which he finally drops from my mouth. My head thumps forward against the wall of the dressing room and my hand that was busy clutching his arm joins the first one to hold myself up. Sam’s head drops into the crook of my neck while we both take a minute to slow our breathing and I groan through another wave of pleasure when he slowly pulls his fingers out of me and tugs my dress back down.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly when I continue holding my face against the cold wall to cool off my flushed cheeks and try to form words.

“Dead. Legs no work. Me sleepy,” I mumble.

I feel the rumble of laughter in his chest that is still pressed against my back and he grabs my hips, slowly turning me around to face him. I move like a limp noodle, my back collapsing against the wall when he gets me turned and my arms falling uselessly at my sides.

“I’m definitely buying this dress,” he remarks with a smirk, brushing a few errant strands of hair out of my eyes.

“I’m definitely
letting
you buy this dress. It has magical powers,” I inform him as he scoops up his previously dropped bag of presents while I quickly pull the magical dress off of my body and slip back into my jeans and sweater. Fuck modesty at this point. The guy had his hand up to his knuckles in my doodlebug, he can look at me in my red thong and matching bra as much as he wants.

And going by the dazed look in his eyes, he wants. As I pull my sweater down over my lace covered breasts, he groans in disappointment and shifts that lovely package in his pants to a more comfortable spot.

When I get my boots pulled back on and the dress returned to its hanger, Sam grabs my hand and tugs my barely working legs out of the dressing room.

“So, do I just toss this bag under the tree and let everyone grab their shit?” Sam asks as he pays for my dress at the front counter.

“Uh, no. You wrap them, you know, since they’re Christmas presents and all.” I laugh as the cashier hands me the tissue wrapped dress, now safely tucked away in a red holiday bag where it can’t tempt Sam and I do run back into the dressing room for a little more fun with fingers.

“Like, with tape and scissors and paper with snowmen on it and shit?” he asks with a grimace, grabbing my hand again as we walk out into the main part of the mall and head to the food court.

“Yes, with tape and scissors and paper with snowmen and maybe if you’re lucky, we’ll even find some with cute little kittens with tiny red bows around their necks,” I tease him.

“How about I just let you be in charge of wrapping, preferably in the nude, and I’ll watch,” he winks.

“I think that can be arranged,” I reply with a wink of my own as we join my family in the middle of the food court, arguing about whether Sbarro Pizza is a better choice than Taco Bell for lunch.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Noel Holiday,” Sam whispers before giving me a peck on the cheek and then pulling my chair out for me.

You’re already killing my heart, Sam Stocking.

Sam

“S
he’s fine, I
don’t think my wife and our mother will bite her,” Nicholas laughs, lifting his bottle of beer up to his mouth and taking a swallow.

I turn my head back guiltily from looking out the kitchen doorway to the living room where Noel has been busily wrapping presents with her mom and Casey for the last half hour. It would be best if I don’t tell her brother that I’m not worried about Noel because I’m too busy daydreaming about her pussy and those little throaty moans she made every time I moved my fingers a certain way inside of her.

Jesus, she’s hot when she comes. Fuck, she’s hot when she just stands there, breathing.

While Reggie is busy outside checking bulbs and making sure all of his lights are in working order for the judging later tonight, Nicholas decided we needed a little one-on-one time in the kitchen. I’ve spent the last two beers ignoring his glaring eyes and his jokes about my worry for his sister every time I glance over my shoulder.

I just want one look at her. Once peek at her ass in those black leggings she slipped on when we got home from the mall that left nothing to the imagination. Damn, that ass. Such a fine, fine ass.

“Stop picturing my sister naked and focus,” Nicholas scolds, pointing his bottle at me. “What are your intentions with Leon?”

I raise an eyebrow at his question and take a drink of my own beer to give me a minute to process my thoughts. I don’t think Noel would appreciate it if I told him to fuck off. I’ve resorted to saying WWLD in my head each time Nicholas grilled me in the house tour yesterday. What Would Logan Do?

Right now, I don’t really give a fuck what that dumb-shit would do. He’s not here and I am.

“What do you care about my intentions? Seems to me like all you care about is picking on your sister,” I snap back.

Nicholas sets his bottle down, crosses his arms over his chest, and leans his chair back on two legs. “Not true. Leon just makes it too easy because she never defends herself.”

“Not a good enough reason to make her feel like shit all the time,” I scoff.

He shrugs. “You’ve got family, you know how it is. We tease, we nitpick, but we still love each other at the end of the day.”

His eyes bore into mine like he knows damn well I don’t have a family and it makes me uncomfortable. I just nod my head in agreement, acting like I know everything there is to know about loving families.

“How much money do you make a year?”

My head jerks at the sudden change in topics and I try to push back thoughts of Noel standing in her bedroom wearing nothing but scotch tape, trying to remember what the fuck I said when he asked this same question yesterday.

“Um, like three-hundred K.”

It makes me physically ill to spit that out, knowing Noel had it made with this guy. I barely make just over a tenth of that with the military.

“Right, and how many clients do you have as a fancy money manager?” Nicholas quickly asks next.

“Uh, seventy-four.”

“Aren’t you an investment banker, not a money manager?” he asks casually.

I rerun his previous question through my head and realize my slip-up.

Son of a mother fucking bitch!

“It’s pretty much the same thing,” I tell him stupidly, not really knowing or giving a fuck if that’s true.

The feet of Nicholas’s chair drop back down to the kitchen floor with a
thud
and he smacks his palms on the top of the table.

“Alright, I can’t take this shit anymore. I know you’re not Logan,” he tells me with a shake of his head.

My mouth drops open as he pushes his chair out from the table, gets up and walks over the fridge, grabbing two more beers. He silently pops the tops off using the magnetic bottle opener stuck to the front of the fridge in the shape of a candy cane, before waltzing back over to the table and sliding one of the beers across it to me. As he sits back down in his chair, he takes a drink of his beer and then casually sets the bottle down on the table. Meanwhile, I’m still sitting here with my mouth open, the beer I’ve already drank curdling in my stomach while I try and quickly come up with a defense for what he just said.

“Breathe, dude, I’m not going to kick your ass or go running to my parents,” Nicholas snickers.

“Right, like you could kick my ass. I’d mop the floor with you,” I mutter, the subtle threat the only words I can come up with as I wonder how in the fuck he knows I’m not Logan. It was the lame excuse for my little southern accent, wasn’t it? It’s not my fucking fault almost my entire platoon is filled with Texans and I spent the last year-and-a-half listening to them twang all their damn words. It rubbed off, dammit.