Chapter 15: Mimi's laughter echoes through the empty workshop as Nicholas' massive hands dig into her ribs, her tiny frame squirming beneath him on the plush fur rug - until his fingers slide up her inner thigh and she gasps, her blue eyes widening as she feels his erection pressing against her through his red velvet pants.
The fire in the great living room hearth roared, casting shifting amber light across the vaulted ceiling. The enormous Christmas tree, freshly cut and decorated, filled the air with the scent of pine and cold resin. Tinsel shimmered, and glass baubles reflected the flames. It was a scene of perfect festive warmth, save for the two people who occupied it.
Nicholas, still in his workshop trousers and a loosened red tunic, lay sprawled on the thick bearskin rug. Mimi, curled like a kitten against his side, traced the patterns of the fur with a fingertip. A comfortable silence stretched between them, filled only by the crackle of the fire.
“You’re quiet tonight, little one,” Nicholas rumbled, his voice a soothing vibration in his chest.
“Just thinking,” she murmured.
“Dangerous pastime.” He grinned, his eyes twinkling. He shifted, rolling onto his side to face her. “I know what’ll fix that.”
A mischievous glint entered his eye a moment before his large hands shot out, fingers finding the sensitive spots at her ribs. Mimi shrieked, a genuine, girlish sound that echoed off the wooden beams.
“No! Nick, stop!” she gasped between peals of laughter, squirming as he tickled her mercilessly. She tried to bat his hands away, but he was too strong, easily pinning her wrists to the rug with one hand while the other continued its assault.
“Beg for mercy!” he chuckled, his beard brushing her neck.
“Never!” she giggled, bucking beneath him. Her struggles were futile, her petite frame no match for his solid bulk. In her twisting, her soft woolen dress rode up, exposing her thighs. Nicholas’s tickling fingers stilled. His gaze darkened, shifting from playfulness to something more intent.
He released her wrists, but didn’t move off her. His hand, now gentle, smoothed up her bare thigh. The contrast was electrifying. Mimi’s giggles died in her throat, replaced by a sharp intake of breath.
“What’s this?” he murmured, his fingers brushing the soaked lace of her panties. The fabric was dark with her arousal. “All that from a little tickling?”
She blushed, turning her face into the fur. “Maybe.”
“No maybes.” His voice was low, a private rumble just for her. He hooked a thick finger under the lace waistband. “Lift your hips.”
She obeyed, a shiver running through her as he peeled the soaked garment down her legs and tossed it aside. The firelight danced on her pale skin. He settled his weight more fully upon her, the hard ridge of his erection pressing against her through his trousers. One hand cupped her breast, his thumb rubbing her nipple to a tight peak through the wool. The other hand slid back between her legs.
He found her wet and hot, already swollen. He let out a gratified groan. “So eager for me. Always so ready.”
He kissed her, swallowing her whimper as he pushed first one, then two fingers inside her. She was tight, a silken clench around his digits. He worked them slowly, deeply, the heel of his palm grinding against her clit with each stroke. Mimi’s back arched, her small hands fisting in his tunic.
“Please,” she whispered against his lips.
“Please what?” he teased, curling his fingers, searching for that spot that made her cry out. He knew her body better than she did.
“You know.”
“I want to hear you say it.” He added a third finger, stretching her, the slow burn making her gasp. The wet, slick sounds of his hand working her filled the space between the pops of the fire.
“Fuck me,” she breathed, her hips rocking to meet his thrusting fingers. “Please, Nick, fuck me. I need you inside.”
That was all he needed. He shifted, fumbling with the fastenings of his trousers, freeing himself. He was thick and heavy, the head already glistening. He positioned himself at her entrance, using his own moisture-slicked fingers to coat his length.
He didn’t plunge. He teased, rubbing the broad head through her folds, nudging against her clit, then dipping just an inch inside before retreating. Mimi whimpered, a sound of pure frustration. She hooked her legs around his waist, trying to pull him in.
“Impatient,” he chided, but he was smiling. With one smooth, powerful thrust, he sheathed himself completely.
The air left her lungs in a rush. He filled her, stretched her, a perfect, burning fullness. He held himself there, buried to the hilt, letting her adjust. Then he began to move.
His pace was steady, relentless. Each deep drive pushed a soft “uh” from her lips. He braced himself on his forearms, caging her in, his face hovering above hers. Her small, perky breasts bounced with his rhythm. He lowered his head, taking a nipple into his mouth through the fabric, sucking hard.
“You feel so good,” he grunted, his pace increasing. “So fucking tight around my cock. Taking all of me, like a good girl.”
His words, crude and tender all at once, sent another wave of heat through her. She could feel the tension coiling in her belly, the familiar pressure building. Her nails dug into his broad back.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
Her eyes, glassy with pleasure, focused on his. In his gaze, she saw affection, possession, a simple, uncomplicated hunger. It was so different from the complicated, sharp-edged dynamics she sensed elsewhere in the house. Here, it was just this: heat, weight, friction.
“Come for me, Mimi,” he urged, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder, aimed precisely. “Let go. I want to feel you come on my cock.”
It was the permission she needed. The coil snapped, her orgasm crashing over her in a silent, shuddering wave. Her inner muscles clamped down on him in rapid, fluttering pulses. Her mouth opened in a soundless cry, her body rigid beneath him.
The sight of her, lost in pleasure, undid him. With a final, deep grind, he groaned, his own release pumping into her, hot and endless. He collapsed onto her, his full weight pressing her into the fur, both of them slick with sweat and spent.
He nuzzled her neck. “See? Better than thinking.”
She laughed, breathless, and wrapped her arms around him.
She laughed, breathless, and wrapped her arms around him. The only sounds were their slowing heartbeats and the fire’s gentle hiss. Peace, thick and warm as the rug beneath them, settled in her bones.
Then a different sound cut through the quiet.
A sharp, high moan pierced the ceiling, followed by the unmistakable, rhythmic thump of a headboard hammering the wall above them. A man’s guttural grunt, raw and straining, answered it. The noise was obscenely clear, a stark broadcast of Clara and Elias’s passion.
Nicholas lifted his head, listening. A slow grin spread across his face.
“And I'm the wild one,” he said, his voice rich with amusement.
Mimi’s eyes went wide, then crinkled with shared mirth. A giggle bubbled out of her, then another, until she was shaking with silent laughter against his chest. Nicholas joined in, his body vibrating against hers, the absurdity of the moment breaking the last of the serene spell.
Their laughter faded, but the energy in the room had transformed. The sounds from above didn’t cease; they became a relentless, driving soundtrack. Each cry from Clara, each slam of the bedframe, poured gasoline on the embers of their own spent desire.
Nicholas looked down at her, his eyes no longer just affectionate. They were dark, reignited, competitive. He was still inside her, softening, but at the sound of a particularly sharp gasp from above, he hardened again, making her gasp in turn.
“Hear that?” he murmured, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. He withdrew almost completely, then slammed back in, a deliberate, punishing thrust that mimicked the rhythm from upstairs. “You think they’re having all the fun?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He rolled them over in one powerful motion, the world tilting until Mimi was straddling him, his hands gripping her hips. The firelight painted her small body in gold.
“Ride me,” he commanded, his gaze locked on hers. “And I want you loud. Louder than her.”
His words were a switch. The shyness was gone, burned away by a sudden, fierce need to be heard. She rose up, taking him so deep she saw stars, then drove down, setting a frantic pace. Her small tits bounced, her nails digging into his broad chest.
“Is this what you want?” she panted, meeting each upward surge of his hips.
“Fuck yes.” His hands moved from her hips to her ass, squeezing the soft flesh, spreading her wider as he impaled her from below. “That’s it. Take every fucking inch. Use my cock, Mimi. Use it until you scream.”
The crude permission unleashed her. She rode him with a abandon, her head thrown back, her cries joining the chorus from above. She could feel his control slipping, his thrusts becoming jagged, desperate.
“I’m gonna come again,” she warned, her voice breaking.
“Do it.” He snarled it, bucking up into her. “Soak me. Let me feel you fucking come.”
The orgasm ripped through her, violent and shattering. Her scream was raw, unfiltered, drowning out Clara’s for a glorious moment. Her cunt convulsed around him, a milking, relentless pulse.
It triggered his own. With a roar that shook his whole frame, he emptied into her, his grip on her ass bruising as he held her down, pumping his release deep inside. The headboard above them finally stilled. For a few seconds, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing, a duel of gasps in the firelight.
He pulled her down, collapsing her onto his sweaty chest. His heart hammered against her ear. Upstairs, a floorboard creaked, then silence.
“Well,” Nicholas finally said, his voice hoarse. “That was a festive fucking interlude.”
Mimi giggled, the sound weak but happy. She traced a circle on his skin. “Do you think they heard us?”
“I hope so,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. His hand stroked her damp hair. “Might give the old boy something to aspire to.”