A Christmas Visitor

I drop my bag onto the floor and slip out of my black high heeled boots before closing the door behind me. Coming home after a twelve hour shift is never fun. Coming home after a twelve hour shift on Christmas Eve is perhaps one of the most tortuous ways to spend a day. It’s like sitting on a rusted nail—it won’t kill you, but it makes your life hell.

I wish I could say I spent my day working away on something meaningful, that I was a pediatrician or a nurse. I wish I could say I spent my day helping people, and that it was the reason my company didn’t let me take the day off. At the very least, I wish I liked my job. Unfortunately that is not the case.

My job as a corporate accountant pays well—I can afford a condo in the city, to go on vacations abroad, buy designer clothes, and go out with my friends. Unfortunately, the soul-sucking hours leave me no time to do any of that. I am rarely ever home, I buy clothes I can never wear out, vacations are a pipe dream, and I don’t remember the last time I saw any of my friends. The end of the year only makes things worse. Every penny has to be accounted for before January 1st, which is proving to be nearly impossible at our current staffing levels.

I make myself a drink—an old fashioned—and sit on my kitchen counter. I look out the window, wondering if it’s worth the effort to order takeout or if it's better to just throw a Lean Cuisine into the microwave. 

It’s been a frigid winter, and tonight is the coldest night of the month. This cold does more than chap your lips and make your nose red. It’s the kind of cold that seeps into your bones, the kind that makes you feel like you’ll never be warm again. Snow is falling softly, drifting lazily from the sky and blanketing the world outside in a thick layer of white. The streets are quiet—empty, except for the occasional car passing by with its headlights cutting through the swirling snow. From where I sit I can see the twinkling lights and wreaths hanging on every door, the festive decorations that mock my solitude. 

I swirl the ice in my drink and take a swig. Everything outside looks so beautiful, so full of life. I used to love Christmas. When I was younger, it was magical. My mom spent the entire day cooking, filling the house with delicious smells. My dad would play games with my brother and I. There was always laughter, always warmth.

But now, Christmas just feels... empty. Hollow. 

I was supposed to fly home. My brother and his wife just had a baby, and I was excited to meet my new niece and see my parents. Of course, work got in the way. Sure, we mailed each other presents. I called my parents. My brother sent pictures of his baby. But it’s not the same. Everything seems so distant and unreal, as if it’s all part of a life I used to have.

I glance at the clock. It’s 9:30 p.m. I need to decide if I’m going to want takeout or not, before all the restaurants close for the day. There’s still a long night ahead of me. I sigh and grab my cell phone. “I should at least have a decent meal,” I whisper to myself, already dialing the number of my favorite Chinese restaurant. “It’s Christmas. I should eat something with a little flavor.”

As I turn away from the window, a shadow catches my eye—a figure moving beneath the glow of the streetlamp on the quiet street below. Is it just another passerby? Maybe one of the neighbors decided to brave the cold for some strange reason. 

After a few seconds, I realize the person outside is a complete stranger. The man is tall, with broad shoulders, and is wearing a thick coat, and heavy boots. He’s walking with purpose, his gait sure, and there was something unmistakably otherworldly about him.

Am I seeing things? It’s late, the snow is falling heavily, and perhaps sleep deprivation is finally getting the best of me.

That’s when the man stops, as if he notices me watching, and looks up at me through my window.

Our gazes lock and I feel a strange flutter in my chest. He doesn’t look away and starts walking towards my building. As he gets closer, I see he has dark hair that’s slightly tousled and a thick beard. I finally lose sight of him when he reaches the building’s entrance, and I wonder which of my neighbors he’s visiting.

“Jade Dragon Chinese, how can I help you?” the voice on the other side of my cell phone finally says, bringing me back to reality.

I place an order for beef chow fun, shrimp fried rice, half a roasted duck, a side of green beans, a side of eggplant, and egg rolls. It’s Christmas, after all. 

Then, there’s a knock at my door.

Uh oh.

At first, I think I’m imagining it. Who would come visit me on Christmas Eve? I’m not expecting company despite what my takeout order might indicate. They knock again—louder this time, more insistent.

I freeze. My first instinct is to ignore it. Whoever it is will probably leave. Maybe they have the wrong condo. But then, for reasons I can’t explain, I find myself getting up and walking toward the door. I don’t want to be rude, I guess. Or maybe I’m just desperate for any kind of human interaction. Or maybe I’m just curious.

When I open the door, I’m not prepared for what I see.

A strange man is standing there. The same strange man that was outside only a few minutes before.

The man towers over me and his shoulders are almost as wide as the doorframe. He has piercing blue eyes that seem to shine with a warmth that is both inviting and mysterious. His beard is thick and neatly trimmed, framing his muscular jawline. The corners of his mouth are turned up into a slight smile and there is a twinkle in his eyes—as if he knows something I don’t.

"Can I help you?” I ask, my voice steady despite now regretting opening the door. I live alone, and a woman can never be too careful.

The man smiles. "Good evening,” he says in a deep, velvety voice. “I’m sorry to bother you on Christmas Eve,” There’s a slight southern accent there, faint but noticeable. “I’m lost. Can you help me? I’m looking for the Matthews residence.”

“Matthews?” I ask to confirm. “I think that’s the family that used to live in this unit before me.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, as if it’s important. “This is the only address I have. My name is Nick. Nick Matthews.”

I scoff. “Of course I’m sure. I’ve lived here for years and they clearly don’t live with me.” Realizing I’m being rude for no reason, I clear my throat and try to sound more understanding. “I’m sorry,” I add, “but I don’t know anyone by that name. Maybe you’ve got the wrong unit.”

There’s a long pause. I expect him to turn around and leave, but instead, he takes a step closer. His gaze doesn’t leave mine. There is an undeniable pull, an unspoken connection between us, like a thread stretching across the distance, tugging at me. 

His name doesn’t ring any bells. I don’t recognize him. Still, there’s something about this man, something about the way he speaks, the way he looks at me, that makes me want to keep talking to him. 

“Do you want to come inside?” I ask without thinking. “It’s freezing outside.”

“Oh no,” he says, his voice soft, but certain. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.” 

“Well, where else are you going to go?” I realize I’ve asked the question as if he’s a close friend—passive aggressively but laced with good intentions. I hardly know him and I’ve already been rude to him twice. Of course he doesn’t want to come inside.

His twinkling blue eyes look down at his feet before meeting mine. “I’m going to try and catch the bus home. I can make it if I hurry.”

“I understand,” I reply. “Your wife and kids must be excited to see you.” 

“No wife and no kids,” he replies with a smile. 

I was fishing and I’m glad it paid off. “In that case, it’s my duty to stop you from pointlessly rushing out in the cold. There’s no way you’re going to make it to the bus station in this snow.”

The man smiles. “That’s really nice of you, but I don’t understand why you’re so concerned about me,” he says. His voice has a rich, melodic quality to it—deep but gentle, with an almost hypnotic undertone. It’s the sort of voice that makes you feel like the world has stopped, that everything has fallen into place, if only for a moment.

I stare at him, wide-eyed. My heart beats so loudly I’m sure he can hear it. Why am I so concerned? Maybe it’s the loneliness that’s messing with my head. But the way he’s looking at me—the way he’s speaking—lets me know it’s something more primal.

“It’s Christmas and it’s freezing outside. I thought it would be my one good deed for the day, that’s all,” I lie.

The truth is, I took one look into this stranger’s blue eyes and broad shoulders and became weak in the knees. I saw his thick beard and started to wonder what it would feel like grazing against my skin.

I expect Nick to turn around and walk away any second, but he doesn’t. Instead, his lips curve into a smile, his eyes never leaving mine. He seems to be savoring the moment, as if he knows the real reason I want him to stay.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to stay warm,” he says, trying to appear sheepish but failing.

I step to the side, letting him inside my condo. He moves through the space with a comfortable ease and looks around the room, taking in every detail of it. I find myself staying close behind, following him through my living room to the kitchen. 

"Your place is really nice,” Nick says matter-of-factly, his gaze lingering.

“Thanks,” I reply. “Can I get you something to drink? I have takeout arriving soon.”

Nick points to my drink, its ice now melting. “I’ll have the same thing you were having.”

I pour him a drink. As I hand him the glass, our fingers brush against each other, sending a spark of electricity up my arm. “Here you go,” I say, trying to sound casual, but my heart races as I catch his gaze. There’s something different in the way he’s looking at me now, a mixture of lust and something more carnal.

“Thanks,” he says, taking a sip and holding my gaze a moment longer than usual. 

The air between us thickens, and I can feel the tension building. It’s as if the walls of my condo have closed in, leaving just the two of us suspended in this moment.

“So, where are you from?” I ask, attempting to break the spell, but my voice comes out softer than I intended.

“Louisiana,” Nick replies. 

I wait for him to ask me the next natural question, to ask me where I’m from. But he doesn’t. 

“Look,” he continues, licking his lips. “I know you don’t care where I’m from. And to be honest, I don’t care where you’re from.”

I’m too stunned to speak. What was I thinking when I invited this stranger into my home? I think of something to say, but can’t think of anything to say. Nobody has ever been this rude to me under my own roof.

“Sorry, I don’t mean it that way,” Nick quickly adds. He must have felt the rage radiating from my pores. “It’s just that I’m not usually around attractive women like you. Women of your caliber rarely take notice of me.”

I look at Nick, really look at him. He’s chiseled but rugged. He is well-groomed and smells of tobacco and musk, but he does not look like the men I run into in the city. His dark red shirt is faded, and his boots are worn for wear. Though neatly trimmed and kept, his hair and beard are thick and coarse. His hands are calloused. For the first time since I've laid eyes on him, I wonder what he does for a living. 

“—and you’ve invited me into your home,” Nick continues, bringing me back to reality. “I know you didn’t do that because you wanted to have an interesting conversation, and you know I’m not interested in one, either.”

My breath gets caught in my throat. He spoke with such certainty, such confidence. There was no hint of doubt in his words, only the kind of assurance that only a man with real life experience would have.

"Why are you here?" I ask, my voice steady. I know why, but I want to hear the words come out of his mouth.

Nick hesitates, and then, in a moment of boldness, he leans in, closing the distance between us. “I’ve wanted to rip your clothes off since the moment I saw you.” 

I swallow hard, my heart racing so fast it can burst out of my chest any second. A heat starts forming between my legs, spreading through the rest of my body. Without a second thought, I lean in, too. Our lips meet in a soft, tentative kiss, a spark igniting as the world around us fades away. It’s raw and intense, both familiar and thrillingly new.

Nick’s hands are soon working their way down my body, tugging at my clothes. He tries to unbutton my shirt, but his hands and fingers are too big for the tiny buttons. Before I know it, he tears it open, sending the buttons flying in all directions. He pulls the straps of my lacey white bra down, and I help him by undoing the clasp.

Nick takes a step back, his eyes running up and down my body as he takes in the sight of my bare breasts. His gaze linger on them before he looks up to meet my eyes. “You’re so hot,” he whispers, his voice low and husky.

He takes a step closer and I can feel his breath on my face. He puts his large, warm hand gently against my cheek and rubs my lips with his thumb. His touch is electric, addicting.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?”

The heat between my legs intensifies and turns into slick moisture at the sound of his words. I want to say something sexy, but I’m so turned the only thing running through my mind is the thought of his penis inside me. Instead, I just bite my lip and nod.

Nick smiles and nuzzles his face into my breasts, the bottom of his beard tickling the skin on my stomach. His hands trace circles down my back until he reaches the waistband of my pencil skirt. He runs a finger underneath the fabric and runs it across my waist, teasing me. 

I lift his face up to mine and press my lips against his. Our breath mingles as I explore the inside of his mouth with mine. He nibbles on my bottom lip, only breaking our kiss to run his teeth gently down my neck.

My hands work quickly to undo his jeans. I pull them and his briefs down to his muscular thighs before running my finger down his happy trail. Then, I grab his thick length. I give it a gentle squeeze. He’s already rock hard. 

Then it’s my turn to rip his shirt off. I don’t even bother with trying to undo the buttons and throw it across my kitchen. Nick is lean and muscular underneath his shirt. He has a powerfully built chest and big, strong arms. I nuzzle his neck, kissing his shoulders while my hands play with his torso. 

Nick runs his hands down my thighs and hikes up my skirt. He lifts me up from the stool where I’m sitting and lowers me onto his thick, bulging cock.

I let out a deep, guttural moan. Nick’s penis is so big it’s stretching me out further than ever before, and the sensation of its tightness is incredible. 

“You like that?” Nick asks, a wide grin plastered on his face.

“Mmhmm,” I nod, wrapping my legs around his hips. “I love it.”

“That’s a good girl,” he whispers in my ear, sending shivers down my spine. Then he wraps one of his strong arms around my waist and grabs my ass with the other. He lifts me up and down his cock, letting gravity pull me down deeper and deeper down his shaft. My boobs bounce on his chest as my body crashes into his, and Nick throws his head back in pleasure.

Seeing Nick enjoy himself so much awakens something inside me, nearly sending me over the edge. “I’m so close,” I say.

“No, not yet.” Nick stops bouncing me in the air and without lifting me off his cock, walks us over to the couch. When he gently lifts me off so he can sit down, I’m left feeling empty and my desire for Nick only grows more powerful. 

“Sit on my lap and tell me what you want,” Nick says, his cock upright as he leans back into my couch.

I join Nick on the couch and put one leg on each side of his thighs, straddling him. I lower myself onto his shaft with my back to him, welcoming back the fullness of him inside me. “I want you to make me happy I invited you in.”

Nick takes one of my breasts in each hand, playing with them and massaging them as I bounce myself on his dick. I start off slowly, riding it up and down… up and down… until my body can no longer take it and I speed up the pace. Meanwhile, Nick pinches my nipples, twisting and pinching them as if testing the limits of how perky they can get.

“Are you happy now?” Nick purrs in my ear.

“No,” I breathe, barely able to speak through the pleasure. “Not. Until. You. Make. Me. Cum,” I say, each word punctuated by a bounce against Nick’s thick cock.

A growling sound comes from Nick’s chest, and one of his hands flies from my breasts down to my clit.

“Cumming is for good girls,” he says, “and you’re clearly a really naughty girl.” 

“Stroke it,” I say, desperate to feel his fingers between my thighs.

“Say please,” Nick orders, his voice soft but certain. “Good girls say please.”

My pulse quickens at the sound of his words. This man is driving me crazy for making me beg for it, and I like it. “Please.”

Nick immediately starts stroking my clit, running two of his fingers up and down, then using his palm. Having him both inside me and his hands on me is bringing me to the brink of climax, and I let out a whimper. 

Nick immediately stops. “Not yet. I’m saving the best for last,” he says, as if somehow reading my mind. He lifts me off his shaft once again and lays flat on my couch. “Sit on my face,” he orders.  

I do as I’m told and straddle his face. He puts his hands on my hips and lowers me onto his mouth. His tongue flicks every corner of my pussy, and when he starts moving his jaw, his beard tickles my perineum. 

Nick was right, he was saving the best for last. He’s eating my pussy like a man who hasn’t eaten all week. 

I twist my fingers into his thick hair, pulling on it to move his face where I want it to go. His tongue goes deeper and deeper inside me. I can’t hold back anymore and my legs tighten and shake before I explode into an all-consuming and powerful orgasm.

I scoot down and sit on Nick’s thighs. He holds my gaze while I move my hand up and down his cock. I watch as he finishes, his back arching and his thighs tightening underneath me.

“Are you happy you invited me in?” Nick asks, a giant grin spreading across his face, his eyes sparkling with playful mischief.

“Very,” I reply, unable to suppress my own smile. "I was having a very shitty Christmas until you came along." 

Just as the aftermath settles between us, the doorbell rings, interrupting our moment.

Nick throws his pants on and opens the door. “You ordered Chinese?” he asks a few minutes later, one large bag of takeout in each hand.

“Yes,” I smile. “It’s Christmas dinner.”

“But I just ate.”