Sugarplum Fairies and Sultry Nights
A little Christmas treat! Inspired by Hold Me Close, Hold Me Tight. Happy Holidays everyone ✨ - peace and love to you all. ❤️ (18+)
Each passing season burgeoned a new found enchantment in the stillness and frenzy of motherhood. In the early presence of Spring, you woke to helpless wails, the sound somewhat foreign and all too frightening. You would hold your precious little boy close, soothing away his discontent with a faint brush of your finger to his cheek, your heart settling as did his cries. As your weary eyes adjusted to frosted windows and glittering specks of trickling sunlight peeking in by noon, you would become painted in a glistening yellow hue. Sunlight bathed both you and Jora, as you breastfed, perched underneath the window in a rocking chair. You would watch his honey brown eyes wander your face as he embedded the beauty of his mother to mind.
Sleep overnight was scarce, your bundle of joy hungry and seeking the existence of his mother. Fatigue consumed you throughout Spring, Joe's tender touches helping you out of bed, his arms wrapped around your waist as he held your frame while Jora latched to your breast. You relished in the tranquility of Spring nights, your back pressed against your husband's, his long muscular legs cascading around yours, and his lips pressed to your ear, murmuring just how breathtaking of a mother you were.
And with Spring came the doubtful thoughts, all too encompassing fears of failing as a mother. When fatigue consumed you senselessly, limbs fragile and emotions shakeable, your lover held you close. Reminding you of the beauty of the life before you, basking you in the sunlight as Jora slept, guiding your eyes to the blossoming flowers. "You're blossoming," Joe would whisper, rubbing circles at the back of your hand, ushering away hiccuped cries and wiping away fearful tears. "Blossoming into the mother I know you can be."
By Summer, you had fallen into a dazed routine. Jora slept more soundly at night, the feedings less frequent. Instead of wailing cries, you woke to sunlight wafting through the French doors of your master bedroom. Body plush against the California King, scent of rich velvety coffee consuming your senses. The trailing fingers, tracing every stretch mark - a reminder of the golden boy laying in the nearby room - against your naked frame, engulfed in cotton sheets and ears filling with the chirping birds and the everlasting sweet innuendo's passing through your husband's lips.
Your eyes would open to the fleet of butterfly kisses against your cheek, the unhinged tracing of incoherent patterns separating your thighs, hovering touches to the lace concealing the sacred spot between your legs. And when his thick fingers would embed deep into the plush skin of your thighs, your chocolate brown eyes would meet his oceanic blue, a reminder that Summer brought upon a new wake in Joe - devoted entirely to you and your little family. It was the teasing remarks of growing your family, his "little man" needing a "little sister". You'd hush him with a kiss, pressing your body into his, inhabiting yourself against his large frame, fingers dancing in his luscious brown hair.
By Autumn, the outside world became painted in glories of muted orange, yellow, and red. The smell of cinnamon and spice graced every corner of the home, the candles casting ominous shadows of your little family. Nights became longer, mornings barely attainable as your lover would press a kiss to your forehead, pull the covers tightly over your frame, and leave before even a fraction of daylight graced the sky. In Autumn, you woke to the sounds of an alarm clock, limbs quickly moving to grace the honey brown eyes of your baby boy, who waited patiently in his crib, mumbling unintelligible nothings that brought you joy. The lingering woody scents of you Joe's perfume enveloping you and your baby boy in an embrace, a sentiment that he had been in the nursery, savouring any and all precious time with his golden boy this season.
And with Winter came a harsh storm of bitter cold and frozen wrath. Despite Joe's tremendous attempts to rewrite the course of the Bengals' season, he often fell short. Nights became lonesome as you lay in bed alone for hours, his end of the bed empty till his tired frame would enter the doorway, a disapproved and apologetic smile on his face as he recalled yet another missed bedtime, another missed night to hold his son, another missed moment to spend with his wife. But in all chaos that ensued, in all misfortunes that crossed his mind, he would fall to your embrace, wrapping his arms around you, seeking silent solace as you held him, fingers brushing into his hair, residual scents of your floral perfume and Jora's baby powder lulling him to serene.
Despite the limitations of his precious time, Joe would pull from your hold in the early wakes of day, when darkness devoured the sleeping sky, the faint sounds of your waking and hungry baby boy assimilating your jaded senses. It was the gentle mumbles of, "I got him, go back to sleep mamas", that would send you in a haze, the warmth of Joe's hand rubbing the small of your back. And when you did rise, you would follow the white light cascading in through the windows, toes curling against the carpet, and watch from the door of the nursery as Joe held his son, his chest bare, eyes heavy with sleep but filled with endearing love and infatuation. And ever so silently would you stand, heart swelling as his muscular arms held Jora, close to his bare chest, whispering gentle reminders of his love and future promises he swore to uphold.
And so, on this Christmas Eve night, as you stood in Jora's nursery, rocking him back and forth as he slept in your arms, you prayed he dreamt of sugarplum fairies and iridescent lights. You hummed a mindless Christmas tune, the delicacy of the sound drawing his mind and body back into a dreamy state. He was lost in peaceful bliss, snuggled against your breast, lips parted. Adorned in a cozy red onesie his grandmother knit him, the words First Christmas patched waywardly on the back.
The Bengals' had hosted the Browns' for a Christmas Eve special that ended in a spectacular win. Playoff hopes were kept alive yet again, the city an electric buzz of the impeccable Christmas miracle. Before settling Jora for the night, you pranced across the living room with him, his giggles filling the air as you pointed at the television. "There's daddy, baby, look! Daddy won!"
And although he had no clue what foreign words you spoke to him, his giggles proceeded, eyes bright and vibrant as he glanced at his joyous mother and reflections of his father on the big screen. He had taken an immense interest in the Christmas tree in the corner, brightly lit with twinkling yellow lights and ruby red ornaments. Each morning, when his mind was still at ease and the time on the clock slow, Joe held Jora firmly in his hold, watching as his tiny little arms outstretched towards the ruby red balls, grasping them in pure fondness. His babbles would fill the silent morning air, immensely absorbed in the twinkling lights, curious eyes dancing between the tree and his father's. It was next to the same tree, would Joe kiss you, pulling you firmly against him. Kisses this season had been bold and filled with love, a reminder that no matter the length of time spent apart, he yearned for you. And when you would release you, a smirk gracing his pink lips, satisfied with how easily he took your breath away, fingers grazing over the rouge on your flushed cheeks, would he turn to Jora, who often lay in his playpen. "Take care of your mom, alright buddy?"
It was a teasing tone, sealed with a kiss to Jora's cheek, and the profound, "Love you guys", as he would exit from the front door, leaving you standing, picking at the reminders of him throughout the day, from the remnants of his scent, to the last few sips of black coffee in his mug, and persistent sensation of his hands on your body.
Tonight, the front door opened as the clock struck quarter to midnight. You listened for the heavy yet quiet footsteps ascend up the stairs. Jora lay soundly before you in his crib now, unknowing to the arrival of his father. A large frame, a familiar shadow cast along the doorway, pulling your attention from one boy to the other. You smiled softly at the sight of Joe.
A tired yet pristine glow flashed across his face, hair a slightly messy yet undeniably soft from his post game shower. He smelt of locker room shampoo, nose slightly red from the cold outside. A crisp black shirt adorned his body, black jeans covering his thick legs. It took him two large strides to consume your space, hands seamlessly falling at your waist as he leaned towards you. The satin night slip did no justice keeping you warm, but his sudden arrival showered you in a warmth so tender and comforting. His right hand trailed upwards, finding resident in your hair, the ends of his thick digits soothing any lingering doubts in your mind.
"Great game nine." The affirming words, barely audible in your whispered tone crept past your luscious lips, your eyes meeting his with such a timid gaze. His hand dropped from your hair, trailing down your back, teasingly riding the frilly ends of your night slip higher, till he rested his hand on sliver of exposed supple skin of your rear. You blushed, nuzzling your head into his chest. Joe relaxed into your embrace, as your arms snaked around his neck, eyes closing when his lips pressed to your neck.
"Sure as hell needed it." He was quiet, careful not to wake Jora, but his voice was always hoarse and heavy after games, igniting a fire in your stomach that you could not deny. "Jora sleeping okay?"
When Joe pulled back, he did so briefly, stepping behind you as you both faced your baby boy. Carefully, Joe reached for Jora's smaller hand, his finger instantly becoming wrapped in the little hand. Joe relaxed into you, his chin resting along your shoulder, as he gazed at Jora, the slight guilt of missing his bedtime yet again evident across his baby blues. You nodded, silently assuring him. "Just fed him again, went to sleep quick."
Pulling your eyes from Jora, you turned, back pressed against the crib and chest millimetres from your husband. Underneath the yellow lamp light, you could make out the faint bruise along his the underside of his jaw. His eyes bore into yours, a heavy yet mischief smile on his lips. "I'll give you some with him." You tilted your head back to Jora, pressing a chaste kiss to Joe's cheek before fleeing his presence.
And while Joe became lost in Jora, escaped the constraints of the world and in tune with his sleeping baby boy, you washed away the day. The warm water of the shower basked your skin in a delightful cordiality. Standing before the mirror not to long after, bare and open, you gazed at the wonders of motherhood across your body. Fuller breasts, stretch marks across your body, and the undeniable glow of playing mommy. Before you stood a girl who was once so afraid to fail, that over a year ago, stood in the same position, whispering sweet promises to the growing baby in her belly.
And now, feeling heightened in the way you seemed to glimmer, embracing the beauty of motherhood, and in the spirit of Christmas, you flushed red as you dressed yourself in a sultry lingerie set, prepping your skin in a vanilla honey lotion you knew drove your husband senseless. You hoped to take his breath away, just as effortlessly he took yours.
Christmas Eve had long become Christmas Day when Joe returned to your shared bedroom. He found you sitting up in bed, resting your back against the headboard. The room smelt of lavender and honey, room warm as the humid heat that existed only after a shower traveled from the bathroom door. Tired yet intoxicating eyes met his, your chocolate brown orbs almost black in the dim light. He neared slowly, running a hand through his hair, agonizingly slow as if embedding this moment in his mind.
He often thanked his lucky stars he had found you. Not only was your heart and mind pure and full of love, it was the mere beauty that you upheld that often left him at a loss for words. Unequivocally, you made his heart skip a beat, left him speechless, and insensibly craving your attention and tender touches. Your voice, velvety and dulcet, emancipated his senses like no other. Skin rich and brown, your hair jet black and thick. It was unfathomable the way motherhood had only elevated the majestic beauty of your existence to your lover. The stretch marks, the way your breasts were tender and full, a newfound love in your eyes, and the mere intoxication he found himself in the way you cared for Jora.
And tonight, was no different.
You rose from bed slowly, standing firmly on your feet before meeting him halfway. His eyes raked over your body as you stood a few inches from him. face bare of any makeup, but long lashes framing those heavenly eyes. Cheeks rouge from the timidness you upheld, and the found courage to lead whatever you desired for the night. Hair falling along your back, the curls loose, but shining and inevitably soft. You had not bothered to adjust the satin white robe. It fell over your right shoulder, a teasing preview of the dark green lace that adorned your frame. The gold Cartier 9 necklace rested against your chest, a faded love bite peeking from underneath the robe.
"Merry Christmas Joe." The words leaving your lips came out breathless, a shaking reminder of what hovering thoughts crossed his mind seeing you like this. All exhaustion and pain consuming his soul, any sense of fatigue left his body as he neared you. He was gentle, lifting your chin with such ease, forcing your eyes to meet. His appeared restless, his eyes raking over your frame once more, a heartfelt sigh of content and mere infatuation causing his chest to flutter.
You kissed him first, the last picture washing through your mind of his lustful darkening pupils that were no longer oceanic blue. He was careful, easing you into a night of splendour. His lips molded against yours, igniting a thousand sparks in your core as his fingers wrestled with the ties holding your robe. The kiss was slow - steady - and when his tongue met yours, he caught you against him, savouring the tastes of mint toothpaste. He felt his lips curl into a smile against yours, before pulling back, granting you the air he deprived.
He undressed your slowly, wordlessly, his eyes growing larger and softer as he exposed every curvature and imperfection. The dark green lace concealed your most intimate spots, the colour exquisite against your skin. His fingers danced silently over you, tracing the outline of yours breasts, grazing down your stomach, eyes flashing to yours before lingering at the waistband of your panties.
Something as simple as his touch left a fire burning on your skin, an impatient yet endearing desire for him to take you all the way. Before he could proceed, just as his thick fingers nestled their way between your thighs, you pressed yourself against him, arms wrapping around his neck as he kissed you yet again, a chuckle leaving his lips at the way you burned against his touch. His hands rested at the small of your back, and it took a forbearing push to guide you backwards, your head meeting the pillows, his body hovering over yours.
You broke the captivating kiss, a groan escaping your lips at the sensation of him unclasping your bra. Before he could expose your chest entirely, he paused, his silence soon overcome with a desire that flashed over his eyes like no other. His thigh nestled between your legs, creating friction against your clothed lotus, your mind a frenzy as tempestuous warmth crept up your stomach.
For a few seconds, he watched the emotions pass through your eyes. Lust, greed, desire, and most of all impeccable infatuation. An unexplainable love, your hands resting against his face, pulling him close as he guided you through a high.
"You're the most beautiful girl in this world, you know that?"
Unable to speak you flushed, your face burning once again, hips impatiently lifting up, the action creating further friction as you slid up his thigh. His lashes fluttered against your neck, his teeth grazing sensitive skin. His hips pressed against your own. You moaned as the heat rose from you, the delicate fabric of lace concealing you pooling with wetness. His eyes found yours again, hands nestled around your waist as he held you still, commanding all attention on him. You chest rose profusely, lips trembling ever so slightly, hair sprawled underneath you. His finger brushed back a lonesome hair, a softness washing over his features, and for a fraction of a second you swore his eyes became a topaz blue you had never seen in all these years.
"I swear mamas, I keep falling for you. I want you for every Christmas I live to see." His finger brushed a single tear that escaped your right eye, the revelation filled with so much love and thought, your mind a senseless spree of a thousand emotions. His lips parted once more to speak, your hands no enveloping together.
"Merry Christmas baby, I love you so fucking much."
And with that flawless statement, filled with immense gratitude, love, and appreciation, he descended upon you. As his shirt was rid from his frame, he wallowed in your touch, hands brushing across every pane, every bruise. Skin to skin, you relished in the close proximity. And he kissed you with such delicacy, dreamy eyes meeting yours as you filled the air with faint moans, his name whispered endearingly surrounding him.
From your lips, to your neck, down to your chest. And then he freed you, your chest fully exposed, his lips pressing against tender skin. And you swore, you were convinced your head spun as he treated down your stomach, his digits tracing every scar and stretch mark, mumbling endearing terms of your beauty, invading your air and mind. The sheets were grasped within your nimble hands, faint whimpering and helpless trails of his name bouncing off the walls.
And you became one, as your panties were pulled down, achingly slow, and his lips finally on you. As you whiter against him, his arms firm around your hips, he sends you in a euphoric high. And you become one, a beautiful tangled mess, a united front.
And when morning comes, as you lay together as one, lingering scents of sex and sweet nuisances heavy in the air, he wakes you with such tranquility.
It is Christmas morning.
You lay as one, body pressed against body. His shirt covers your frame, cheeks still flush from the antics of last night. Silence consumes you both, his fingers tracing constellations on your hip. You desire nothing more but to sink further into the mattress, savouring the attendance of your lover.
"Jora's gonna wake soon, why don't we get up before he does?"
Joe's morning voice is captivating, pulling you from sleep as you adjust your eyes to the growing white light of freshly fallen snow outside the French doors captivating the room. The clock reads a time far to early to fathom wakefulness, but you oblige when his arm snake around your frame, pulling you from slumber and into the bathroom.
Steam surrounds you, as he fills the tub with lavender salts. You sit perched on the vanity, watching him work in silence. His sweatpants hang low on his waist, the muscles of his back flexing with each movement. He is a delicious sight, a captivating need, and a impeccable dream. And when he approaches you, consuming your space with his presence, you fall at his grace as he undresses you, guiding you into the bath. You inhale as warm water envelopes you in comfort, easing against him as he sits behind you, holding you close.
It is not to long before you settle in the kitchen. An cheeky oversized Christmas sweater covers your frame. Your face is enveloped by your hair, eyes an ignited rich brown. It is a dull yet pleasant Christmas thus far. Soft chatter about the game from the night before flows between you and you lover, the occasional claims excitement of opening gifts once Jora is awake and fed. Joe stands across from you dressed in an grey hoodie, masking him in a snug embrace. And you watch the way he speaks, eyes animated, browns furrowed when he speaks of discontented woes, and it takes a subtle pull on the waistband of his pants, before he arrives before you, legs spread as you jump onto the counter.
The taste of peppermint mocha is divine in your mouth, the waft of his black coffee pulling your from a drizzle of fatigue that settles in your bone. You smile as he succumbs to you, dropping his head lower, while at your height you gaze up at him endearingly. "I love you nine." You smile, chuckling as he kisses your jaw, teeth grazing a love bite from before. "I love you too, I love you alot."
And you kiss, slowly and softly, basking in each others comfort. Till a sound erupts from the baby monitor. Joe pulls you from your spot, hand engulfing yours as he leads you to the nursery.
And so, this Christmas morning, you sit underneath the lit tree. Naked limbs outstretched, surrounded by Joe's longer ones. His hands wrapped around your waist, lips brushing over your ear. Jora in your lap, as he smiles up in awe at the tree above him, belly full of milk.
"This is all I could ask for." Joe announces, pressing a kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering there as Jora lets out a squeal of delight. You smile, laughing softly, feeling Joe's nose against your hair, as his lips press another kiss to the side of your head. His fingers tickle the bottom of Jora's foot, who appears all the more elated.
"Maybe next year, we'll be here again. With a little sister for your little man." You turn your head abruptly, meeting an eager Joe, a smirk across his lips and those blue eyes once again filled with admiration. He kisses you sweetly, his fingers now underneath your sweater, mindlessly toying with your soft skin. And when your foreheads rest against each other, the peace of this Christmas so tender, the hazy passion of becoming one from the hours prior, he does nothing but fall intoxicated your presence, finding solace in the comfort of his wife and baby.
"I sure hope so mamas, I sure hope so."
