This is Part 4 of an ongoing story. If you haven’t already read them, I suggest you start with On His Naughty List Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3.

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Michelle crept along the landing, leaving the lights off as she felt her way to the stairs then carefully descended, keeping a hand on the banister. Her mind was cast back to Christmases long passed, Christmases when Sarah slept soundly, dreaming of the presents that Santa would bring. Every year, they collected gifts under the tree, but Michelle still kept some back. She had to have some surprises. In the middle of the night she’d creep downstairs and spread the gifts from the fireplace, as if they’d been dropped by a midnight visitor, then she’d leave a small pile by the tree.

She smiled to herself. Sarah had been a sweet girl. Her girl. They’d missed far too much time. She thought of the text on her phone, of her own response written and rewritten three times but still unsent. No matter what she said, it seemed too cold, too little. Sarah’s apology was from the heart, her own reply needed to be similarly expressive.

Upstairs, the bed was in a mess. Not just covers strewn all over but sticky with her sweat and juices. It would need stripping and remaking before she would be able to sleep in it. That would have to be done, too, and the sheets would have to be washed before Derek came home. Not that he was likely to go near a laundry basket, of course, but she would know that they were there. She would know what they meant.

When she reached the living room, she still left the lights off. It seemed peaceful. Tranquil. She didn’t want to ruin it.

Creeping through the dark, she felt her way to the kitchen, then finally felt for the light switch. As the fluorescent bulb flickered and buzzed, she wrapped her arms around her shoulders. The tile floor was cold and it made the kitchen seem similarly chilly. She crossed to the sink, grabbed a glass and turned on the tap.

“I heard you.”

Michelle felt her shoulders rise, her spine tingling. She turned to find Loman standing in the doorway, watching her. “What are you doing up?” He was dressed, almost comically, in the trousers from the Santa suit, naked above the waist. “Why are you wearing those?”

“I didn’t have anything else.” He paused, and she glanced down, her eyes lighting on what appeared to be a bulge. She almost didn’t try to hide her interest. “I heard you, Michelle.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. I heard you.” He raised his eyebrows, and she felt the flush rise on her face.

He heard her.

There was no mistaking the meaning in his voice. The lust in his eyes. He leaned against the doorway, the muscles of his chest, his stomach, pulling tight, gaining definition. As his eyes wandered, she felt her skin prickle. The pyjamas stuck to her skin, they clung to the inside of her crotch.

“Were you thinking about me?”

“Yes,” she whispered, wanting to retreat but knowing there was nowhere to go.

“Good.”

Loman’s voice was gruff, sleep deprived. It suited him. Made him sound older and wiser, somehow, contrasting beautifully with the glowing youth of his body.

“This can’t happen,” she protested weakly.

“It’s already happening.”

“What if I don’t want it to?”

“Then stop it.”

He advanced, crossing the room until he was within reaching distance, then leaned forward, and she pressed back against the counter, her back arching, her fingers gripping tight to the edge as her feet slipped on the tiles.

“I’m going to fall.”

“I’d catch you.”

Michelle stared into his eyes. The sound of his breath in his lungs was as loud as her own. He was every bit as nervous right now, every bit as unsure of himself. It made her want him more, made her feel protective of his feelings.

She reached out a hand and cupped his cheek, and he leaned into the touch, closing his eyes at the contact. Her heart thundered as she eased forward, pushed up on her tiptoes and placed her lips against his.

This time, she knew she wanted the kiss. It wasn’t the alcohol or the moment or the way he looked at her. It wasn’t even the taboo or some misguided need to feel desirable. She wanted him just because she wanted him. She wanted to feel him touch her. She wanted his lips on hers, his scent on her flesh, his fingers on her sex.

To that end, as she kissed him, she grabbed his wrist with her free hand and guided it down, inside her pyjamas, between her legs. He gasped, but she just kissed him harder as she manoeuvred his fingers into the folds of her pussy, clenching and writhing as his fingertips slid through the damp petals.

He tried to take control, tried to push his fingers inside her, but she shook her head.

“No…like this…” she whispered, forcing him to stroke, controlling the rhythm and speed. “Slowly. Gently.” She moaned and drew a deep gasp. “Fuck…”

She ran her hands over his shoulders, pushing him back, turning together and pressing her advantage as he leaned back against the counter.

“I’m hard for you,” he groaned.

She undulated, rubbing her breasts against his bare chest. “That’s nice. Keep doing that. Just like that.” The fabric of her top caught on her nipples, stimulating them, combining with the rubbing between her legs. “Slower,” she huffed, grabbing his wrist and holding it still. “Just the fingers.”

“Touch me. Please.”

Michelle traced a finger between his pectorals, felt him tense as her hand caressed his stomach. She ran her palm over his muscular flank, breathing in time with his movements, and slipped her hand inside the waistband of his trousers, cupping a hard, muscular buttock.

“Touch my cock.”

She shook her head as she reached up, craning her neck and nibbling at his chin. “No…patience…” She stepped back slowly, holding onto his wrist, keeping him pliant, and tugged at the elasticated waist of the Santa suit. “This way.” She let his hand slide free, grabbing it and twining her fingers into his as she pulled him from the kitchen, leading him into the living room.

Then she lay back on the sofa, stretched her body long, her arms above her head, and raised her pelvis.

“Your mouth,” she said, meeting his eyes. “Use your mouth.”

Continue to On His Naughty List Part 5!

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If you’re enjoying On His Naughty List, I highly recommend checking out Pittsburgh Tales. This collection of four short erotica stories showcases strong women who know exactly how to get their own way.

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On His Naughty List is being serialized for Masturbation Monday. Check out the main page for more erotica, sexy blog posts and titillating images!