Christmas Spirit

Shalina Divine works the room like it owes her something. She sets the tree lights just right, slips into a fishnet Santa dress that clings and hides nothing, then turns her attention to the man on the couch. David’s coffee is still warm when she takes the cup from his fingers. She trades it for the heat of her mouth instead—wet, slow, thorough—until he’s hard and she’s ready for more. She turns, pulls the thin red fabric aside, and offers what the season promises: a tight, willing ass, presented without apology. David moves in, slick and steady, working her open until every inch disappears and she’s gasping against the cushions. She pushes back, greedy for it, until he pulls free, strokes himself once, and paints her flushed face in thick, white streaks.