Merry Christmas everybody! Here is a specal gift chapter for all of you. I hope you enjoy this with some Christmas cookies, some eggnog, or with opening your gifts. So let's get started!
Cousin Mel from Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.
Daphne Spankenheimer from Grandama Got Run over by a Reindeer.
The silver tinsel draped over the fireplace coiled like a snake ready to strike, and Mel crossed her legs, letting the slit in her skirt fall open just enough to draw attention without committing to anything. Her fingers drummed against her thigh, the gold bracelets clinking softly, each tiny sound a metronome counting down to Grandma's inevitable surrender. Outside, snow dusted the porch steps, uselessly picturesque, like everything else about this godforsaken holiday, while inside, the scent of cinnamon and pine needles clung to the air like cheap perfume. Mel exhaled through her nose, watching her cousin Frank fumble with a wreath. Idiots, all of them. Especially Grandma, stubborn as a mule with that damn store.
The old woman shuffled into the room then, orthopedic shoes squeaking against the hardwood, her knitting needles clicking like a ticking clock. Mel's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Grandma," she purred, shifting so the light caught the swell of her cleavage just right, "you look… festive." The word tasted like spoiled eggnog. Grandma gave her a smile back while adjusting her glasses.
"Thank you, dear," Grandma said, patting Mel's shoulder with a hand that smelled like lavender and arthritis cream. "You always know how to make an old lady feel special." Mel's fingers twitched against her thigh. Old? Please. The woman had the hips of a pinup and a waist that could still make Uncle Ralph's throat click when he thought no one was looking.
Rita's voice sliced through the moment like a carving knife. "Mom! The pie crust!" Grandma sighed, rolling her eyes with the fond exasperation of someone who'd been baking since the Depression. "Duty calls," she muttered, squeezing Mel in a hug that pressed surprisingly firm breasts against her for a split second, Jesus, was she wearing a corset under that cardigan?, before shuffling off toward the kitchen. Mel watched her go, the scent of Chanel No. 5 clinging to the air where she'd been.
The fireplace spat a spark onto the rug. Mel dug her heel into it, grinding the ember into the fibers. Outside, a car backfired, and for a wild second she imagined it was a gunshot, something useful, something final. Frank dropped the wreath again.
"You gonna help?" Jake asked, not looking up, his small hands winding a glittering garland around the tree branches like he was strangling something. His cheeks were apple-red, stupidly cherubic.
She flicked her nails against her champagne flute. "Wouldn't want to ruin your artistic vision, Picasso."
Jake's grin didn't waver. He held up a crooked ornament, a chipped reindeer with one antler missing. "Santa's watching you," he said, singsong, swinging it by its thread so the light caught the glass. His eyes, Frank's eyes, Rita's eyes, Grandma's goddamn eyes, locked onto hers. "He knows who's naughty." The ornament spun, throwing fractured reflections across the ceiling.
Mel's pulse jumped in her throat. The kid smelled like candy canes and something sharper, schoolyard glue maybe. Her fingers curled around her glass. She could feel the cold sweat forming between her breasts where the silk clung.
"Funny," she murmured, crossing her ankles tighter. "I heard he prefers dirty girls."
Jake blinked, then giggled, high and bright like sleigh bells. "Gross!" He tossed the ornament onto the tree where it hung, lopsided, glaring at her.
Mel exhaled, too sharp, but caught herself. The kid had Grandma wrapped around his sticky little finger. The realization slithered down her spine: leverage. She forced her shoulders to relax, let her lips curve into something softer. "Alright, Picasso, where's the next masterpiece?" She plucked a tangled strand of silver garland from the box at his feet, the metallic threads catching on her manicure. The scent of pine resin clung to her fingertips, sharp and green, as she knelt beside him.
Jake froze mid-reach for another ornament, his freckled nose scrunched. "You're helping?" His eyebrows nearly disappeared under his bangs.
She draped the garland over his shoulder like a feather boa, leaning close enough to whisper. "And if I am?" Her breath warmed his ear. "Would that make me... nice?" The word dripped like honey.
Jake shivered, then grinned, sudden and conspiratorial. He held out a glitter-dusted star. "Here. You're tall." His fingers left dusty smudges on her palm, crumbs, probably, or powdered sugar. The weight of his trust settled in her hand, lighter than she expected.
Mel traced the star's worn edges with her thumb. "Is this from the attic?" she murmured, tilting her head just so, chin down, lashes lifted. The flush creeping up Jake's neck tasted better than the expensive pinot noir Frank kept "for guests only."
"Nuh-uh," Jake said, rocking back on his heels. "Grandma says it's magic." His knee knocked against hers, warm through the thin silk of her skirt. "She says wishes come true under it."
Mel's pulse kicked. Magic. Right. She flicked her gaze upward, there, tangled in the garland, mistletoe, its berries waxy and poisonous. The corner of her mouth twitched. Playing sweet, she leaned in, letting her lips brush Jake's cheek, a whisper of peach-scented lipstick. His breath hitched, startled, his skin scalding beneath her mouth. The scent of peppermint toothpaste clung to him, childish and sharp. She pulled back slowly, watching his pupils swallow the brown of his eyes whole. "For luck," she lied smoothly.
The living room air thickened, pine resin, melted candle wax, the cedar of Grandma's antique clock ticking too loud. Jake's fingers hovered near his cheek, trembling, his smile wobbling between confusion and delight. Mel let herself grin, wide and slow, tasting victory like sugar dissolving on her tongue.
"Jakey," she murmured, tilting her head toward the ceiling, "you know what's hanging right above us?" Her nail, sharp shell pink, pointed to the mistletoe stem. The berries pulsed, fat and ruddy like drops of blood. Jake's Adam's apple bobbed hard enough to ripple his sweater collar.
His lips parted, breath hitching. "It's tradition," he blurted, voice cracking on the last syllable. The words hung between them, clumsy, electric. Mel's pulse thrummed, not from the kid, God no, but from the power she easily has over him.
Mel arched a brow, slow, deliberate. "Oh?" she purred, letting the syllable curl like smoke. Jake's pupils swallowed the last traces of brown, his nostrils flaring as his gaze flickered down, just for a heartbeat, to where her blouse gaped. His fingers twitched against his thighs. The scent of peppermint and nervous sweat clung to him, thick enough to taste.
Jake swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing again. His cheeks flushed deeper, a shade closer to the garland's tacky crimson. "It... it's just a dumb tradition," he stammered, but his gaze stayed locked on her mouth.
Mel let the silence stretch, sharp as a wire, before offering a languid shrug, her gold bracelets clinking softly. "If you say so," she murmured, tilting her head just enough to expose the smooth line of her throat. Jake inhaled sharply, his breath hot and uneven against her skin. His fingers twitched again, closer this time, brushing the hem of her skirt.
And then, fast, too fast, he leaned in, pressing dry, chapped lips to her cheek. The kiss was feather-light, fleeting, but his entire body trembled, radiating heat like a furnace. Mel didn't pull away. Instead, she let her lashes flutter shut, exhaling deliberately, warm, slow, against his temple. "Sweet boy," she whispered, voice thick with amusement. Jake shuddered, his breath hitching against her ear.
She could practically hear his pulse racing, wild and erratic as a spooked rabbit. The scent of his cheap pine-scented shampoo mingled with something muskier, primal beneath it—fear or desire, maybe both. Mel's lips curved, slow, triumphant. She let her fingers trail up his wrist, nails skating lightly over his thrumming pulse point. "That's one tradition," she murmured, "down."
Jake jerked back as if burned, his chest heaving. His lips glistened, slightly parted, his pupils blown wide. The mistletoe swayed above them, mocking, its berries gleaming like tiny, poisonous eyes.
Mel straightened gracefully, dusting imaginary lint from her skirt. The fabric clung to her thighs, damp with tension, or maybe just the oppressive heat of the room. Jake's gaze followed the movement, transfixed.
"Problem?" she asked sweetly, cocking her head. Jake's mouth worked silently, his fingers flexing at his sides.
"I... uh... we need more decorations," he blurted, swallowing hard. His pulse thundered in his neck, visibly jumping beneath flushed skin. "Upstairs. I'll..." He gestured vaguely toward the ceiling before bolting, nearly tripping over the garland in his haste.
Mel watched him go, pressing her tongue to the back of her teeth. The muffled thud of his footsteps ricocheted through the ceiling, followed by the creak of pipes as cold water rushed through them. She traced the rim of her flute, the ghost of his breath still warm on her cheek.
Downstairs, Grandma's laughter bubbled up from the kitchen, tinny and bright. Mel smirked, rolling Jake's shattered composure around her mind like a marble. So fragile. So deliciously easy.
"Why not?" she murmured aloud, tracing a finger along her collarbone. The thought slithered into place, serpent-smooth. Rita, her soft hands always buried in dough, her blush too quick, her gaze lingering a beat too long whenever Mel stretched to reach the top shelf. Daphne, all coltish limbs and bitten lips, vibrating with barely-contained rebellion. And Jake, already halfway to worshipping at her altar.
Mel's pulse kicked up a notch, her skin prickling with possibility. She plucked another ornament from the box, a glass ball distorted by her reflection, her lips parted, her eyes dark with intent. Her fingers tightened around it, the cold seeping into her palm.
Daphne's voice floated down the stairs, husky with sarcasm. "Oh my God, Jake, why are you panting like you ran a marathon?"
Mel's grin widened.
"Just getting the rest of the decorations," Jake stammered upstairs, his voice cracking like thin ice. Mel arched a brow, adjusting the neckline of her blouse lower, the fabric slipping just enough to reveal the shadowed curve of her cleavage. The footsteps descending the stairs were lighter than Jake's, quicker, sharper. Daphne. Mel smoothed a hand over her hips, the silk of her skirt whispering against her thighs. Perfect.
The girl appeared at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed, her hoodie sleeves shoved up to her elbows. "What's your damage, Jake? You look like you saw a ghost," Daphne said, rolling her eyes. Then she froze, spotting Mel lounging against the armchair, one heel dangling precariously from her toes.
Mel let the silence stretch, watching Daphne's gaze flick from her bare legs to the half-empty champagne flute balanced between her fingers. "Problem, Daph?" she purred, swirling the liquid lazily.
Daphne's nostrils flared. "You're gross," she muttered, but her cheeks flushed pink beneath her freckles. Mel smirked, stretching languidly, the hem of her skirt riding higher. Daphne's breath hitched, just a fraction, but enough.
Mel's pulse throbbed low in her belly. She uncrossed her legs slowly, the silk whispering against her skin. "Come here," she said, voice honey-thick. Daphne stiffened, but didn't move. Mel tilted her head, letting a curl of orange hair slip over her shoulder. "Scared?"
The girl's jaw clenched. "Of you? Please." But her fingers dug into her sleeves, knuckles white.
Mel laughed, low and throaty. She leaned forward, the neckline of her blouse gaping. Daphne's gaze darted down, then away, too fast. "Look at me," Mel murmured.
Daphne swallowed hard. Her pulse jumped in her throat, visible beneath the thin skin. When she finally met Mel's eyes, her own were dark, pupils blown wide.
Mel's smile turned feline. "That's better." She reached out, brushing a fingertip along Daphne's wrist. The girl shuddered, her breath coming quicker. Mel traced the delicate bones there, feather-light. "You're shaking."
Daphne jerked her arm back. "I'm not..."
Mel caught her wrist, pulling her closer. Daphne stumbled forward, her boots scuffing the hardwood. Mel's breath ghosted over her ear. "Liar."
Daphne's chest rose and fell rapidly, her hoodie smelling faintly of fabric softener and something sweeter beneath, nervous sweat, maybe. Mel inhaled deeply, her lips grazing the shell of Daphne's ear. The girl shuddered, a full-body tremble.
The champagne flute hit the side table with a sharp *clink*. Mel's fingers tangled in Daphne's ponytail, yanking her head back just enough to expose the flushed column of her throat. "Close your eyes," Mel murmured, her breath hot against the girl's skin. Daphne squeezed them shut, lashes fluttering against her cheeks like moth wings.
Mel bent her knees slightly, lowering herself to Daphne's height. The kiss wasn't gentle, it was wet, possessive, her tongue sliding between Daphne's lips before the girl could gasp. Daphne's hands flew up instinctively, fingers twisting in Mel's blouse, pulling the fabric taut across her chest. The seam strained dangerously, buttons groaning. Mel's teeth grazed Daphne's lower lip, then bit down just enough to make her whimper.
When Daphne finally jerked back, the slick *pop* echoed between them. Her lips glistened, swollen pink beneath her smudged lipstick, her chest heaving like she'd run uphill. "What the fuck, Mel!?" she snarled, voice cracking.
Mel smirked, tilting her chin upward toward the mistletoe dangling above them, its berries dark as old wine. "Relax," she drawled, thumb wiping a stray bead of saliva from Daphne's chin. The girl flinched at the contact, her pulse rabbiting beneath Mel's fingertip. "Just a Christmas tradition."
Daphne's shoulders tensed, her breath ragged against Mel's collarbone. "You can't just..."
Mel kissed her again, deeper this time, her tongue sliding against Daphne's with deliberate obscenity. She tasted like peppermint gum and stolen sips of eggnog, her lips trembling under Mel's. The girl's fingers scrambled against Mel's waist, half-pushing, half-clutching as her knees buckled.
The fireplace crackled, spitting embers onto the rug. Mel pulled back just enough to watch Daphne's lashes flutter open, her pupils blown so wide only a thin ring of brown remained. "See?" Mel murmured, pressing her thumb against the girl's lower lip, feeling the wet heat of her own saliva there. "Not so bad."
Daphne's throat worked silently. Her hoodie had slipped off one shoulder, exposing the delicate ridge of her collarbone, flushed pink beneath a dusting of freckles. Mel traced it with her nail, dragging lightly enough to raise goosebumps. "Unless," she whispered, leaning in until their foreheads touched, "you *wanted* it to be." Daphne's breath hitched, her lips parting on an aborted gasp. Mel's grin sharpened. "That's what I thought."
In Daphne's mind, she thinks to herself, *Why does this feel like Christmas morning and getting caught stealing cookies rolled into one?* Her throat tightens as Mel's dark-pink lips curve into a smirk that makes her stomach flip, not disgust, not even close, and that's the problem. The heat between her legs pulses in time with her heartbeat, a traitorous rhythm that has no business syncing up with her cousin's breath against her mouth.
Mel's fingers twist in the fabric of Daphne's hoodie, yanking her onto her tiptoes before she can protest. The third kiss is wetter, hungrier, Mel's tongue sliding against hers with a practiced ease that makes Daphne's knees buckle. She tastes like stolen champagne and the peppermint gum she'd been chewing earlier, a dizzying mix that Daphne shouldn't find intoxicating. *This is so wrong,* she thinks, even as her fingers dig into Mel's waist, pulling her closer.
The creak of the floorboard is the only warning before Rita's voice cuts through the room. "What's that noise?" Her footsteps pad closer, the natural sway of her hips making her jeans whisper against her thighs. Mel breaks the kiss with an audible *pop*, leaving Daphne's lips tingling and swollen. By the time Rita rounds the corner, Mel is adjusting a throw pillow with exaggerated innocence, while Daphne wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, her cheeks burning.
Rita's brow furrows as she takes in Daphne's flushed face and Mel's too-casual lean against the armrest. "What were you two doing?" she asks, one hand resting on her hip. Daphne's pulse stutters *lying to Mom* is one thing, but lying *about this*? Her voice comes out too high, too fast: "Nothing! Just... decorating." Mel's fingers brush against Daphne's wrist, a silent *good girl* that sends a shiver down her spine. Rita's gaze flickers between them, but all she says is, "Well, OK than." She turns, her perfume lingering like an accusation, and Daphne exhales shakily. Mel's thumb traces circles on her palm, a promise. Or a threat.
Daphne pulls away, her legs unsteady. She needs air, space, *anything* but the way Mel's lipstick is smeared just slightly at the corner. The scent of pine and champagne clings to her hoodie, suffocating. Mel watches her retreat with lazy amusement, stretching her arms above her head until the hem of her blouse rides up, exposing a sliver of peach skin. Daphne's mouth goes dry. *Pathetic,* she thinks, but her body doesn't listen, her thighs pressing together under the guise of adjusting her stance. Mel's smirk widens.
Jake's footsteps thunder down the stairs then, his sneakers skidding on the hardwood as he clutches a box of ornaments to his chest. His cheeks are still pink from earlier, his breath coming too fast. "S-sorry!" he stammers, nearly tripping over the garland strewn across the floor.
Mel arches a brow, letting her legs fall open just enough to make his gaze dart away. "Keep me waiting any longer," she purrs, plucking a glass snowflake from the box, "and I might think you don't *want* my help."
Jake's throat bobs as he swallows hard. "N-no! I do!" He thrusts the box toward her like a peace offering, his fingers brushing hers, *warm, sticky with candy cane residue* and jerks back as if burned.
Mel's laugh is soft, mocking, as she dangles the snowflake above his head. "Careful, Jakey," she murmurs, her breath ghosting over his ear. "You'll spill all your secrets." His pulse jumps beneath his skin, visible even from where Daphne stands, her own heartbeat loud in her ears. The air smells like cinnamon and something darker, something *hungry*.
Mel's fingers tighten around Jake's wrist, pulling him backward until his sneakers scuff against the hardwood. "Oops," she purrs, pressing her chest against his shoulder blades as she points upward. "Look where we are." The mistletoe sways above them, its berries gleaming like drops of blood. Jake's breath hitches, his lips parting, half-protest, half-invitation. Mel doesn't wait. She yanks him around, her other hand gripping his chin, and crushes her mouth to his.
Daphne's nails dig into her palms. The kiss isn't sweet. It's wet, *filthy*, Mel's tongue sliding against Jake's with deliberate obscenity. His hands flutter at his sides, unsure, before clutching her waist, fingers sinking into the silk of her blouse. The sound he makes, a muffled, desperate noise, curdles in Daphne's stomach like spoiled milk.
"Jake!" Rita's voice cuts through the room, sharp as shattered glass. "Set the table!" The command hangs in the air, unacknowledged, drowned out by the slick, rhythmic *smack* of Mel's lips against Jake's. Daphne watches, transfixed, as Mel's fingers tangle in Jake's hair, pulling him closer, *too* close, his sneakers lifting off the floor as she arches against him. A drop of saliva glistens at the corner of his mouth.
Mel exhales a laugh against Jake's lips, her breath hot. "Tradition," she murmurs, barely audible, and Daphne flinches at the word, her own mouth tingling with the ghost of Mel's kiss. The air smells like melted wax and something muskier beneath, something Daphne doesn't want to name. She turns sharply, her boots loud against the hardwood, and stalks toward the kitchen without waiting for Jake.
Rita's eyebrows climb when Daphne shoves past her, grabbing plates with more force than necessary. "What's *your* problem?" Rita asks, wiping flour-dusted hands on her apron.
Daphne's jaw tightens. The ceramic is cold under her fingertips, the edges biting into her skin. "Nothing," she mutters, stacking the plates with a clatter. Behind her, she can hear the muffled gasp of Jake breaking free, Mel's low chuckle, the whisper of fabric as she adjusts her blouse. Daphne's throat burns.
(Back in the living room.)
Mel smirked against Jake's lips, tasting the cherry chapstick and peppermint candy he'd been nervously gnawing on. His fingers trembled where they clutched her skirt, the fabric wrinkling under his desperate grip. "You're *such* a good boy," she murmured between kisses, her tongue flicking against his bottom lip just to feel him shudder. The grandfather clock ticked lazily in the corner, its hands unmoved by the wet, sloppy sounds filling the room.
Rita's footsteps creaked on the floor, sharp as a gunshot. Mel pulled back with a final nip to Jake's swollen lip, leaving him swaying on his knees, his cheeks flushed crimson. "Mom's coming," she breathed, thumb swiping spit from his chin. The boy blinked dazedly, his shirt askew, his hair mussed from her fingers. Rita rounded the corner just as Mel smoothed her skirt, the only evidence of their tryst the way Jake's chest heaved like he'd run a mile.
"Jake," Rita said, frowning at the way her son jumped at the sound of her voice, "help your sister with the table." Her gaze flicked to Mel, who lounged against the armchair, one leg crossed over the other, her heel dangling precariously. Rita's nostrils flared, *perfume, sweat, the metallic tang of Jake's nervous saliva still clinging to the air*.
"Of course," Mel purred, watching Jake stumble toward the kitchen, his sneakers squeaking on the hardwood. Rita folded her arms, her wedding ring glinting in the firelight. "We need to talk," she said, low and firm. Mel arched a brow, her pulse jumping not from fear, but from the way Rita's eyes darkened *not suspicion, not quite. Something hungrier*.
"Oh?" Mel uncrossed her legs deliberately, letting the slit in her skirt fall open wider. Rita's gaze flicked down, then back up, her throat bobbing. "What about, darling?" Mel's fingers trailed along her own collarbone, slow, teasing. The scent of Rita's perfume, vanilla and something spicier, wrapped around them both.
"You know damn well," Rita muttered, stepping closer. The heat radiating from her body made the tiny hairs on Mel's arms rise. "The kids are jumpy as hell. Jake's practically vibrating, and Daphne won't stop glaring at the mistletoe." Rita's breath hitched when Mel leaned in, her lips brushing Rita's earlobe. "What did you *do*?"
Mel pulled back with an innocent flutter of her lashes. "Me? I was *helping*," she murmured. "Jake needed an extra hand with the tree. Poor thing was *overwhelmed*." Rita's right eyebrow raised. Mel smirked.
Rita's eyebrows lifted in complete surprise, her fingers tightening at her sides. "Wait... you were *helping* Jake?" The words came out too fast, her lips parting in disbelief.
Mel's smirk deepened as she leaned back against the fireplace mantle, letting one shoulder dip just enough to make her blouse gape wider. "Mm-hmm," she murmured. "He was struggling with the garland. Sweet kid, really. Just needed a little... encouragement." Rita's pulse jumped at the way Mel's tongue darted out to wet her lips, dark pink and *knowing*.
Mel tilted her head, her curls brushing the exposed skin of her collarbone. "Though," she mused, tapping her chin, "maybe the kids are acting weird because of the mistletoe."
Rita blinked. "The *what*?"
Mel took a slow sip of wine, her throat working as she swallowed, then licked a stray drop from her lower lip. "Just a little tradition," she purred, stepping closer until the heat of her body radiated against Rita's. "A kiss on the cheek. Innocent." Rita's breath hitched as Mel's fingers curled around her wrist, tugging her forward.
"But," Mel whispered, her breath warm against Rita's mouth, "it definitely wasn't like *this*." Her lips crashed against Rita's with bruising force, her tongue sliding between them before Rita could gasp. The scent of Mel's perfume, spiced vanilla and something darker, flooded Rita's senses as Mel pressed her full E-cups flush against Rita's D-cups, the silk of their blouses whispering together. Rita's knees buckled; Mel's free hand splayed against the small of her back, holding her upright as their breasts crushed tighter, nipples pebbling through the thin fabric.
The grandfather clock ticked once, twice, deafening in the sudden silence. Rita's fingers twisted in Mel's blouse, her pulse hammering where Mel's thumb stroked her wrist. *This is wrong*, she thought, even as her hips arched forward of their own accord, her body betraying her. Mel's teeth grazed Rita's lower lip, tugging just enough to make her whimper, a sound that melted into a moan when Mel's knee nudged between her thighs. The mistletoe swung lazily above them, its berries glistening.
"We... Jesus, Mel, *stop*..." Rita gasped, though her hands slid greedily up Mel's sides, her thumbs brushing the undersides of those heavy breasts. The lace of Mel's bra scraped against her skin, and Rita shuddered, her nipples tightening against the silk of her own blouse. She could feel Mel's smirk against her mouth, that infuriating confidence as those manicured fingers squeezed the curve of Rita's ass through her jeans, pressing them flush. *God*, she could feel every inch of Mel against her, the heat, the friction...
"Stop?" Mel murmured, licking into Rita's mouth before she could answer. Her hips rolled forward, grinding against Rita's thigh until Rita's breath hitched. "You're the one grabbing my tits, darling." Rita's fingers froze, but Mel just laughed, low and throaty. "Don't." She caught Rita's wrist, guiding her palm back to cup the full weight of her breast, her nipple pebbling instantly against Rita's touch. "Unless you *want* me to tell Frank how his wife moans for her cousin."
Rita's stomach lurched, *cousin, Christ, which side was Mel from?* but then Mel's lips were on her neck, sucking hard enough to bruise, and the thought unraveled. Her hips jerked forward, her clit throbbing against the seam of her jeans, and she barely registered the creak of the floorboards before Grandma's voice sliced through the haze.
"Dinner!" The old woman's tone brooked no argument, the scent of roast pork and sage thick in the air. Mel pulled back with a wet *pop*, her lipstick smeared, her pupils blown black. Rita swayed, her knees weak, her mouth still tingling. Mel's thumb swiped over Rita's swollen bottom lip, slow, deliberate, before she turned toward the dining room, her hips swaying like a challenge.
"Coming, Grandma," she called, tossing a glance over her shoulder. Rita's chest heaved, her blouse rumpled, her skin buzzing. Mel's grin was all teeth. "Better fix your lipstick, darling."
(Hours later.)
Mel's reflection smirked back at her as she dabbed the dark pink lipstick across her lips, the robe slipping off one shoulder to reveal the swell of her breast. "Jake?" she murmured to herself, tracing the curve of her bottom lip with her pinky. The memory of his trembling lips against hers flashed hot behind her eyes, so eager, so easy. But the kid was practically a walking liability, his adoration too loud, too messy. She clicked her tongue, uncrossing her legs just to feel the silk slide against her thighs. "No, no. Too obvious."
Her fingers moved to her hair, twirling a curl around her finger as she considered Daphne. The girl's sharp tongue, the way her pulse had jumped when Mel's thumb grazed her palm, oh, that was tempting. Mel's breath hitched just slightly at the thought of peeling that hoodie off her, of feeling those slim hips buck beneath her. But Daphne's glare in the kitchen had been pure venom, her arms crossed tight over her chest like armor. "Too much work," Mel sighed, though her toes curled against the plush rug at the challenge.
Rita, then. The thought sent a slow heat curling low in Mel's belly. Rita's mouth had been hot, desperate, her fingers digging into Mel's waist like she wanted to bruise. Mel's robe slipped further open as she leaned forward, her nipples pebbling against the cool air. "Always the married ones," she purred, dragging a nail down her own sternum. Rita's guilt would make her pliant, eager to please, easier to manipulate. But the way Frank had watched them at dinner, his gaze lingering a beat too long on Mel's cleavage… maybe there were better ways to leverage that particular weakness.
A knock at the door shattered the silence. Mel didn't turn, just arched her back slightly, letting the robe gape wider. "Come in," she called, her voice syrup-sweet. The hinges creaked, and the scent of pine and peppermint curled into the room, thick enough to taste. Mel's lips curved. Finally, someone had made the choice for her.
Daphne stood in the doorway, fists clenched in her pajama sleeves. Her eyes flickered to Mel's exposed shoulder, then away, fast as a spooked rabbit. "What did you *do* to Jake?" The words cracked, too loud, too desperate. Mel watched her throat bob, watched the flush creep up her neck, not anger, not quite. Something hotter.
Mel uncrossed her legs with deliberate slowness, letting the silk whisper against her thighs. "Lock the door," she murmured, tilting her head toward the latch. Daphne hesitated, her breath coming too fast. Mel's fingers traced her own collarbone, slow, teasing. "Unless you want someone to hear what you *really* came for."
The lock clicked. Daphne's back pressed against the door, her chest rising and falling like she'd run upstairs. Mel rose, the robe slipping another inch, the warmth of her skin radiating in the frigid air. "You're not here for answers," she purred, stepping closer. Daphne's breath hitched as Mel's fingers brushed down her pajama shirt. "You're here because you watched." The metal teeth parted with a hiss. "And you liked it."
Daphne frowns up at Mel. "I thought you wanted *me*," she whispers, her fingers tightening in the fabric of Mel's robe. "You kissed Jake right after." Her breath hitches as Mel's thumb traces the curve of her bottom lip. "Am I not... am I not enough?" The words tremble between them, raw and unsteady. Mel's pulse thrums beneath Daphne's touch, warm and steady, a contrast to the girl's shaking fingers.
Mel arches a brow, her lips curling into a slow, knowing smirk. "Jealous?" she murmurs, tilting Daphne's chin up with a single finger. The girl's breath fans hot against her wrist, quick and shallow. "Or just hungry?" Daphne's cheeks flush crimson, her teeth sinking into her lower lip hard enough to leave marks. Mel's gaze flicks down to the bite, her own lips parting in amusement. "Tell me," she purrs, leaning in until their noses brush, "did you watch Jake tremble under my touch and wonder what it'd be like?"
Daphne shudders, her hips jerking forward involuntarily, the thin fabric of her pajamas doing nothing to hide the heat between her thighs. "Shut up," she hisses, but her voice cracks, betraying her. Mel's chuckle is low, dark, as she slides a hand up Daphne's spine, nails scraping lightly through the thin cotton. The girl gasps, her back arching into the touch like a cat starved for attention.
Mel doesn't give her time to think. She crashes their mouths together, swallowing Daphne's startled whimper with a hunger that borders on possessive. The girl tastes like spearmint toothpaste and something sweeter, something uniquely *her*, and Mel licks into her mouth with a groan that vibrates through both of them. Daphne's fingers tangle in Mel's hair, pulling just enough to sting, and Mel rewards her with a sharp nip to her lower lip. "Mine," Mel breathes against her mouth, though she isn't sure which of them she's trying to convince.
Daphne gasps as Mel's hands slide under her thighs, lifting her effortlessly. "W-wait..." she stammers, but Mel merely smirks and squeezes the soft curve of her ass, relishing the way Daphne's breath hitches.
"No," Mel murmurs, punctuating the word with a slow, filthy roll of her hips against Daphne's. The girl's legs tighten around Mel's waist instinctively, her body already betraying her protests.
"But..." Daphne's protest dissolves into a gasp as Mel drops her onto the mattress, the springs creaking beneath them. "I don't know how to..."
"You don't need to," Mel interrupts, sliding a hand up Daphne's thigh, relishing the way the girl's muscles twitch beneath her touch. "Just breathe." Her fingers hook into the waistband of Daphne's pajama bottoms, dragging them down inch by agonizing inch. The scent of nervous sweat and something muskier hits her, Daphne's arousal, thick and unmistakable. Mel's mouth waters.
Daphne jerks as cool air ghosts over her exposed skin, her hands flying to cover herself. Mel catches her wrists effortlessly, pinning them above her head with one hand. "Look at you," Mel breathes, her free hand tracing the delicate curve of Daphne's hip. The girl shudders, her skin pebbling beneath Mel's touch. "So perfect." She leans down, her lips brushing the shell of Daphne's ear. "And all mine."
Mel takes off Daphne's pajama top first, the fabric sliding easily over the girl's slim shoulders. "See?" Mel murmurs, her fingers trailing down Daphne's collarbone, her breath hitching as goosebumps rise in their wake. "Easy." The pajama shirt pools on the bed beside them, forgotten. Daphne's small bra follows, Mel's fingers unhooking the clasp with practiced precision. The sudden cool air makes Daphne shudder, her nipples pebbling instantly under Mel's predatory gaze. "Perfect," Mel breathes, tracing the curve of one breast with her thumb, watching Daphne's stomach flutter with each erratic inhale.
Panties next. Mel hooks her fingers into the waistband, dragging them down slow enough to make Daphne whimper, the sound choked and desperate. The girl's thighs press together instinctively, but Mel spreads them with a single firm hand, her smirk widening at the slick heat she finds there. "No hiding," Mel purrs, lifting Daphne's hips just enough to slide the fabric free. The scent of her arousal is thick, intoxicating, peaches and salt and something unmistakably young. Mel's mouth waters.
Now Daphne lies bare beneath her, all trembling limbs and flushed skin, her chest rising too fast. Mel lets her look her fill, drinking in the way Daphne's gaze lingers on her body, wide-eyed and ravenous. Then, with deliberate slowness, Mel unties her robe, letting it slide off one shoulder, then the other. The black lace beneath is sheer enough to outline the swell of her breasts, the dark peaks of her nipples. Daphne's breath catches audibly.
Mel leans down, her lips brushing Daphne's ear. "Still think I don't want you?" she murmurs, her voice dripping with promise. Daphne's fingers clutch at the sheets, her hips twitching upward in silent plea. Mel rewards her with a slow drag of her tongue along the girl's pulse point, savoring the way Daphne's body arches into the touch, already hers for the taking.
With a wicked grin, Mel shifts, pressing her E-cups flush against Daphne's smaller breasts, the contrast stark and delicious. "Feel that?" she breathes, rocking her hips just enough to make the girl whimper. Daphne's nipples pebble against Mel's lace-clad chest, the friction sending shivers down both their spines. Mel's fingers trail down Daphne's sides, nails scraping lightly over sensitive skin. "You're so fucking responsive," she purrs, her voice thick with approval.
Mel hooks her thumbs into her own panties, dragging them down her thighs with deliberate slowness. The fabric catches on her heels before pooling on the floor, forgotten. The scent of her arousal mingles with Daphne's, heady and intoxicating. "No foreplay tonight," Mel declares, her tone leaving no room for argument. Daphne's breath hitches, her pupils dilating further as Mel straddles her waist, her wetness slick against the girl's trembling stomach.
"You're mine now," Mel murmurs, leaning down to capture Daphne's lips in a searing kiss. The girl moans into her mouth, her hands tangling in Mel's curls, pulling her closer. Mel's hips roll forward, the heat between them unbearable. "And I'm going to ruin you," she adds, her teeth grazing Daphne's lower lip. The girl's answering whimper is music to her ears.
Mel pulls back just enough to watch Daphne's face as she shifts, pressing her thighs between Daphne's. "Feel that?" she whispers, grinding down slow and deliberate. Daphne arches beneath her, a broken gasp escaping her lips. "That's what you wanted, isn't it?" Mel's fingers tighten on Daphne's shoulders, her nails leaving crescent moons in their wake. The girl's breath comes in ragged pants, her hips lifting to meet Mel's every thrust.
"Please," Daphne chokes out, her fingers clutching at Mel's hips. The word is raw, desperate, and Mel rewards her with a particularly rough grind. Daphne's back bows off the bed, her nails digging into Mel's skin. "Oh God...Mel..."
"Say my name again," Mel commands, her voice thick with lust. She slows her movements, drawing out each drag of her body against Daphne's. The girl whines, her thighs trembling around Mel's hips. "Come on, baby, say it." Daphne's lips part, but before she can speak, Mel surges forward, capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss. Their moans mingle, the sound muffled but no less intense.
Mel's rhythm falters as the friction becomes unbearable, her own pleasure coiling tight in her belly. She breaks the kiss to press her forehead against Daphne's, their breaths mingling in the scant space between them. "You're so fucking perfect," she breathes, her hips stuttering against Daphne's. The girl clings to her, her body trembling on the edge. Mel's lips find Daphne's pulse point, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. "Come for me," she orders, her voice rough with need.
Daphne's response is a ragged gasp, her fingers tightening in Mel's curls as her hips jerk upward. "I... I can't..." Her protest dissolves into a high, keening sound as Mel's hand slides between them, pressing firm circles against her clit. Mel watches, transfixed, as Daphne's eyes roll back, her mouth falling open in a silent scream. The girl's legs tighten around Mel's waist, her heels digging into the small of Mel's back. "Oh God... Mel... !" Her voice cracks as the orgasm crashes over her, her body arching off the bed.
Mel doesn't slow down, grinding against Daphne's slickness with purpose. "That's it, baby," she murmurs, her own pleasure building with every roll of her hips. She feels Daphne clenching around nothing, her thighs trembling with aftershocks. Mel's breath comes in short, sharp gasps as she chases her own release, her body moving instinctively. The scent of Daphne's arousal is thick in the air, mingling with the musk of her own sweat. "Fuck," Mel hisses, her nails biting into Daphne's hips.
Daphne's hands slide down Mel's back, her fingers pressing into the dimples just above Mel's ass. "More," she whispers, her voice hoarse, her legs tightening around Mel's waist. The request sends a fresh wave of heat through Mel's veins. She arches her back, her breasts bouncing with each thrust, the lace of her bra rasping against Daphne's oversensitized nipples. The friction is delicious, unbearable. Mel's vision whites out as she comes, her body shuddering against Daphne's, her moan muffled against the girl's shoulder. She feels Daphne's nails rake down her back, the sharp sting grounding her as pleasure pulses through her in waves.
Mel collapses atop Daphne, their sweat-slicked bodies sticking together. She can feel the girl's heart pounding against her chest, rapid as a trapped bird's. "You're mine," Mel breathes into Daphne's ear, her voice rough with satisfaction. She traces the bite mark she left on Daphne's collarbone, the skin already purpling. "Say it."
Daphne's breath hitches, her fingers tightening in Mel's hair. "Yours," she whispers, the word trembling between them like a vow. Mel smirks against her skin, her fingers trailing down Daphne's side possessively.
The scent of sex clings to them, thick and heady, mingling with the lingering pine from the Christmas tree downstairs. Mel rolls onto her back, pulling Daphne with her, the girl's smaller body molding to hers like they were made to fit. Daphne's fingers trace idle patterns on Mel's stomach, her touch feather-light, reverent. "What now?" Daphne murmurs, her voice small, uncertain. Mel catches her wrist, pressing a kiss to her palm. "Whatever I want," she purrs, her teeth grazing the delicate skin. Daphne shivers, her thighs pressing together instinctively.
Mel's smirk deepens as she watches Daphne's face, the way her lips part slightly, her breath quickening. She's already anticipating the next touch, the next command. Mel leans in, her lips brushing Daphne's ear. "Again," she orders, her voice low, dark. Daphne whimpers, her hips jerking forward of their own accord. Mel's fingers slide between them, her touch firm, deliberate. "Good girl," she murmurs, her other hand twisting in Daphne's hair. The girl's answering moan is music to her ears.