The Stocking Was Hung by Tara Sivec

backyard.
    “Noel, I-”
    “Shut up,” she cuts me off with a sharp whisper, striding so fast I have to jog through the snow to catch up with her.
    Yep, she’s definitely pissed. Maybe the things I said weren’t dumb-shit-Logan enough and that’s why she’s mad. What if her family knows he doesn’t say nice things like that and she knows I just ruined everything for her?
    Shit, shit, shit.
    “Will you just let me—”
    “Seriously, shut it,” she stops me again from trying to apologize, pausing to reach back, grab my hand, and yank me along faster behind her.
    We’re moving so quickly that I barely have time to check out the explosion of Christmas lights through the yard. The lighted blow-up things that sway in the breeze in the softly falling snow. The archway of rapidly blinking white lights we walk through behind the house. The giant red sleigh with a spotlight on it filled with foil-wrapped presents in every color. The lighted plastic figurines dotting every inch of the landscape from Santa to snowmen to a huge gingerbread house with animated gingerbread men twirling in circles in front of it.
    Noel keeps pulling me without a sound through the snow until we’re at least an acre away from the house and we come up to a large barn, lined with multicolored lights along the eves of the roof and a sign above the door that says “Santa’s Workshop”.
    She opens the door and drags me inside, slamming it quickly behind us. In the middle of the room is a huge, red chair outlined in gold, and I realize we really are in Santa’s Workshop and I’m looking at the fat man’s throne. There’s a small, electric fireplace in one corner of the room, and I watch silently as Noel walks over to it and plugs it in, the lighted flames of a fake fire glowing in the hearth and heat filling the room.
    “I’m sorry if I crossed the line in there,” I finally speak, hoping she doesn’t cut me off again and allows me to explain. You know, without telling her I meant all of those things because I don’t want to look like a giant pussy who falls for a woman a day after he meets her.
    She doesn’t say anything in response, just unzips her coat, pulls it off, and tosses it onto the floor. Stalking toward me, she grabs onto my upper arms and turns me around, pushing me backward until my legs bump into the red throne and I plop down into.
    My mouth falls open in shock when she drops to her knees between my legs and her hands go right to the button and zipper of my jeans.
    “W-w-what are you doing?” I stutter as her nimble fingers make quick work of the opening of my jeans and she runs her palm over the bulge behind my black boxer briefs that are peeking out.
    “Oh, sweet Jesus,” I mutter as she continues to rub her hand on my dick that hardened the moment she dropped to her knees. “Seriously, what are you doing?”
    I mean, I know what she’s doing, but…WHAT IS SHE DOING?!
    Her fingers move to the waistband of my boxers and she expertly lifts it and slides it up over my dick until I have no choice but to lift my hips so she can keep pulling them down along with my jeans. She moves everything out of the way just enough so that she can see every inch of my cock, and I thank God she had the foresight to turn on that heater, otherwise I’d be a sobbing mess blaming the cold air for the cause of shrinkage.
    Thank fucking God she turned on the heater.
    “What are you doing? You don’t have to do this,” I tell her in between moans as her hand wraps around my length and she slides it slowly up and down.
    “I’m just becausing your penis, shut up,” she mutters, using the excuse she did earlier at the Christmas house when she kissed me on the cheek.
    Another moan dies with a strange croaking sound in my throat as her head drops and her hot, wet lips wrap around the tip of my dick.
    “Shit-fuck-holy-mother-of-God,” I blurt as her mouth quickly descends to the base of my cock until it hits the back of her throat.
    My