impossible to ignore. Rebekah switched on the lamp to watch him. His hand jerked up and down his length. God, his cock was beautiful. Staring at his hand circling the shaft, fingers bumping over the rim of his head and thumb brushing the opening at the tip, had her too aroused to sleep.
She slipped her fingers between her legs and shuddered as pleasure pulsed through her.
“Are you wet?” he asked.
“Mmmhmm.”
“Mind if I taste you while I jack off?”
She laughed softly. “I don’t think I’ll mind that at all.”
She knelt over his face backward so she could watch him stroke his cock while his tongue danced over her clit and dipped into her soaking wet pussy. She wasn’t sure if watching him come—his fluids erupting from his tip to splatter over his lower belly—or the chaotic flicks of his tongue against her clit sent her over the edge, but she screamed when her orgasm caught her by surprise. She lifted her hips, pulling away from his face so she could slam two fingers into her clenching pussy as she came.
“Dear God, you’re sexy,” he groaned. She knew he was watching her pleasure herself, and as usual, his attention stoked her fire.
“You’re the sexy one,” she said, sliding her fingers free.
He caught her wrist and brought her hand to his mouth, sucking her cum from her fingers.
Now sated, at least for a little while, they cuddled beneath the covers and slept until well past checkout time.
“Where’s our next stop?” Eric asked as he started the van after lunch in a small town diner in Arkansas.
“Branson, Missouri. They say it’s the Las Vegas of the Midwest.”
“Have you ever been there?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“It wishes it was Las Vegas.” He laughed. “Not even close.”
“Do you want to go somewhere else instead?”
“Nope. I like Branson. Just don’t expect it to be like Vegas.”
She wasn’t sure what to expect from the little city in the Ozark Mountains—mountains that looked like large hills in comparison to the Sierra Nevadas and the southern peaks of the Rockies—so she was surprised by how charming she found Branson. The air was chilly, giving Branson an atmosphere different from the warmer desert towns. That night she could see her breath as they as they walked between Christmas-themed shops.
“We should get a Christmas tree,” she said, leaning into Eric’s arm and squeezing his hand. “We’ll be home just in time to put one up for the holidays.”
Eric stopped in front of a store displaying thousands of unique ornaments. “I always wanted to decorate a tree with ornaments that meant something—buy a new one each year to represent an important event that had happened that year so that in fifty years the tree would be completely covered with ornaments that showed the history of my life. But I never started collecting them.”
“Why not?”
“It’s depressing to do that kind of stuff by yourself.”
“But you’re not by yourself anymore,” she reminded him. “You have me. And I think it’s a neat idea. We should do that. Start a family tradition.”
“A family tradition?”
She squeezed his hand, knowing that he didn’t have any family traditions because he’d never had a family. It was one of the many reasons why she so wanted him to meet his grandparents in a few days.
“Our first of many,” she said with a bright smile. “We are a family, Eric. A small one right now, but one we’ll add to over the years. Just like our tree.” She tugged him into the shop. “Let’s start our ornament collection now.”
“I guess we can,” he said hesitantly, but his resistance faded quickly as the Christmas music inside the shop washed over them. “Little Drummer Boy”—how fitting.
So many wonderful things had happened to Rebekah that year that she had a difficult time deciding on a single ornament. She’d gotten her dream job as a soundboard operator for the hottest metal band on the planet. Defeated cancer. Found her
She slipped her fingers between her legs and shuddered as pleasure pulsed through her.
“Are you wet?” he asked.
“Mmmhmm.”
“Mind if I taste you while I jack off?”
She laughed softly. “I don’t think I’ll mind that at all.”
She knelt over his face backward so she could watch him stroke his cock while his tongue danced over her clit and dipped into her soaking wet pussy. She wasn’t sure if watching him come—his fluids erupting from his tip to splatter over his lower belly—or the chaotic flicks of his tongue against her clit sent her over the edge, but she screamed when her orgasm caught her by surprise. She lifted her hips, pulling away from his face so she could slam two fingers into her clenching pussy as she came.
“Dear God, you’re sexy,” he groaned. She knew he was watching her pleasure herself, and as usual, his attention stoked her fire.
“You’re the sexy one,” she said, sliding her fingers free.
He caught her wrist and brought her hand to his mouth, sucking her cum from her fingers.
Now sated, at least for a little while, they cuddled beneath the covers and slept until well past checkout time.
“Where’s our next stop?” Eric asked as he started the van after lunch in a small town diner in Arkansas.
“Branson, Missouri. They say it’s the Las Vegas of the Midwest.”
“Have you ever been there?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“It wishes it was Las Vegas.” He laughed. “Not even close.”
“Do you want to go somewhere else instead?”
“Nope. I like Branson. Just don’t expect it to be like Vegas.”
She wasn’t sure what to expect from the little city in the Ozark Mountains—mountains that looked like large hills in comparison to the Sierra Nevadas and the southern peaks of the Rockies—so she was surprised by how charming she found Branson. The air was chilly, giving Branson an atmosphere different from the warmer desert towns. That night she could see her breath as they as they walked between Christmas-themed shops.
“We should get a Christmas tree,” she said, leaning into Eric’s arm and squeezing his hand. “We’ll be home just in time to put one up for the holidays.”
Eric stopped in front of a store displaying thousands of unique ornaments. “I always wanted to decorate a tree with ornaments that meant something—buy a new one each year to represent an important event that had happened that year so that in fifty years the tree would be completely covered with ornaments that showed the history of my life. But I never started collecting them.”
“Why not?”
“It’s depressing to do that kind of stuff by yourself.”
“But you’re not by yourself anymore,” she reminded him. “You have me. And I think it’s a neat idea. We should do that. Start a family tradition.”
“A family tradition?”
She squeezed his hand, knowing that he didn’t have any family traditions because he’d never had a family. It was one of the many reasons why she so wanted him to meet his grandparents in a few days.
“Our first of many,” she said with a bright smile. “We are a family, Eric. A small one right now, but one we’ll add to over the years. Just like our tree.” She tugged him into the shop. “Let’s start our ornament collection now.”
“I guess we can,” he said hesitantly, but his resistance faded quickly as the Christmas music inside the shop washed over them. “Little Drummer Boy”—how fitting.
So many wonderful things had happened to Rebekah that year that she had a difficult time deciding on a single ornament. She’d gotten her dream job as a soundboard operator for the hottest metal band on the planet. Defeated cancer. Found her
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