Christmas Short Stories Novels & Stories

At the bottom of the frame a woman's hand rested on the waistband of his trousers, her position making it clear she was on her knees. The whole image just sat there saying everything it needed to say without a single word. Chloe and I looked at each other and we pressed it at the same time. “That's it.” “Yep! Absolutely it!” A message loaded and popped up in the home screen. Chloe read it out loud, slowly, in the voice she used when something was almost too much. "Your Christmas Fantasy is about to get dangerous. If you can resist the heat—" she stopped. Looked at me. "Come with your dripping pussy."

He was tall, really tall for a Santa Claus, that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes—oh, his eyes. They were an icy gray that seemed to bare my soul, uncovering every hidden secret before his eyes. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine, but I couldn't tell if it was from the cold or the way those eyes made me feel, something so distinct yet I couldn't put my hands on it. “Merry Christmas,” he murmured, his deep baritone causing my heart to thrum so loudly in my chest I could only stand there and gawk like a damn fool.

I encouraged myself to go into my bedroom. After much thought, I spent Christmas indoors. I wore my Christmas pajamas and a big Christmas cap after eating some homemade cookies brought to me by my neighbors. I set up the Christmas tree, took a selfie with it with a glass of champagne in my hand. After posting the picture. I sent a message to my dad wishing him a Merry Christmas and another to Jasper and Tessa, briefly asking her if she had gotten off the plane. "What a boring Christmas!" I pouted on the verge of crying again; the loneliness made me think of the game, Lord, the sex escapade, and the lovely little banters we had the night before departure.

I learned to be thankful and quiet. That acceptance made me hate Christmas. Love songs made my skin crawl. The lights under our tree looked like glass eyes. The ribbons on the presents were traps. Every year, the house tuned itself to cheer and I pretended to enjoy it. The twenty-fifth became the night when a new kind of cold touched my bones. It was the day the truth had crawled out at me like an animal. It was the day I had learned how much of my life had been decided by other hands.

It doesn't help that we just had to turn the clocks back an hour for daylight saving, so now it’s already dark at five o’clock in the evening. Jon's Auto Shop is one of only two shops in the small town of Randleman, North Carolina. This is where I grew up and have lived my entire life. I want to leave, but I have nothing to leave for. I'm twenty-three, 5'5" with shoulder-length golden brown hair and hazel eyes. I'm not bad to look at in my opinion, but when all the eligible bachelors are men you've grown up with, it kind of decreases the options in the dating pool.

If my choice also chose me, we’d share a kiss at midnight under that mistletoe and remove our masks. That was the tradition in Mistletoe Mountain. I thought it just came from the town founders’ strong idealism that nobody should be alone on Christmas and Christmas was a time to find and share love, to kindle relationships, and to let magic happen. But I wasn’t sure that was really the case, but it made sense to me. So, every Saturday after Thanksgiving for the last two hundred-odd years, we kicked off Christmas with the Santa Claus Ball, complete with games, dancing, plays, carriage rides, and the Mistletoe Mystery.

I shrugged, reaching my thumb and index finger out to pick the cherry on top of the drink. "So, what's your name? Or should I just call you hot Bartender that I want to fuck?" I asked, bringing the chery to my mouth but I didn't eat it. "You are pretty blunt, huh." He chuckled lightly, tearing his eyes away from the cherry that was grazing my lips. "I get told that a lot. Now, tell me your name or would you rather I call you that?" I asked, inclining my head to the side. "Jax, you can just call me Jax." He responded.

but not here. Richard listens to all this, his face intent, but he chuckles, shaking his head ruefully. "Yes, and last Christmas was no picnic either, was it? You three hunted by Klempner´s men and, well, getting my offices attacked and set on fire wasn´t exactly my first choice from Santa." He gives her a long look. "I imagine that Christmas when you were a child, in the Blessingmoors Home, was nothing to celebrate either?"

I was happy that Damien was here too. I looked at my phone and decided that it was time for me to watch Christmas movies. I always watch the 24 hour marathon of the movie "The Christmas Story." It was my favorite. Wasn't nothing gone keep me off my couch with a bowl of popcorn. I could watch it all day and night. I never got tired of it.

—Ricardo was startled by his father's statement and must have understood that I had premeditated that night. ― I had said that I regretted dying without having the joy of seeing a grandchild born and Manuela revealed that she dreamed of having a child with Ricardo. That's why we made our requests to the Universe and it sent us more than two miracles, but three. My health and my two grandchildren. And now I want to make a toast to my Christmas miracles. Everyone raised their glasses. Alice and I had the fruit juice, but it had the same meaning as the champagne they all drank. Later, after the distribution of gifts, I asked Ric if he was disappointed in me and he replied: