Grumpy Cat Memes Christmas Novels & Stories

"She gets kinda grumpy when she doesn't eat enough meat, but other than that, she's a pussycat." I growled because that was going a bit too far.

"I am not ordering Christmas dinner, Rex! I am not an animal. What kind of message would that send to Ethan and Paul, huh? That I'm willing to make a phone call and share a meal?" He presses his lips together tightly. Poor guy is doing his best not to laugh in my face but he's not succeeding very well. "Christmas doesn't have to be a specific menu. It's not about the food. It's about family and spending time together." "Well aren't you poetic," I sneer, cranky. "Testy, testy." "Don't mess with me, Rex. I'm a little, well, you know." "Pregnant and irritable?" My glare doesn't affect him in the least. "We don't know that."

Jordan said and hummed happily enough when he gripped his wrist and tugged him to the bed. “Christmas dinners? Are we spending Christmas together?” Derrick mused pushing him down and covering his body when he smirked up at him with a nod. “Yeah, turkey, stuffing, presents, you mister grumpy are going to learn the true meaning of the word Christmas spirit.” “That’s two words.” “It doesn’t matter, you’re going to learn the meaning.”

I grip his shoulders as I lower myself onto his cock, whimpering from the pain and pleasure. Oh, fuck yes! Pleasure erupts inside of me, and I begin riding his cock as he holds onto me tightly, kissing me deeply once more as he meets my thrusts with his own. Yes, we’re a little crazy right now, but it’s ok to be crazy sometimes, even when you’re a mother with a hundred responsibilities, it’s ok to have some fun… I smile against his lips. This is truly the best Christmas ever…

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.

I shove clothes and a dress into an overnight bag just in case I suddenly recover and become a functioning adult again. I drag myself to the kitchen while Doom launches a full-scale attack on my toes — hissing, pouncing, offended by my existence. I fill his water bowl, then open a tin of cat food. Big mistake. The smell punches me straight in the sinuses, and I gag, holding my breath while I dump it into his bowl. Broken-heart flu is not for sissies. “Merry Christmas, little sister.” I’m grabbed from behind and hauled into a crushing hug.

“And before you go filling your head up with all mambo pambo stuff, I’m more than happy being the manager, it’s good for me, Immi so don’t go feeling all guilty and shit on me. Okay?” I merely nod, I still feel guilty. Whilst he will be working his butt off, I will be spending Christmas Eve with the love of my life all snuggled up and with Kitten at the Lake house with a fire on, Hallmark movies, some corny Christmas movies like The Kranks, it’s one of my favorites, oh and Santa Claus. I just adore that movie.

By the time Yves Golding got home, it was already midnight. I was lying in bed, staring at a photo of him and Melissa Lane. His abs showed faintly beneath his red Santa suit as she leaned against them, eyes shyly closed. Their colleagues had left comments below the post, saying that they were a perfect match and that Yves was quite bold. Melissa commented, "You guys, stop making things up. Mr. Golding was just being kind by keeping a lonely soul like me company for Christmas!"

I am such a couch potato. I’m laying on the orange and brown floral couch my grandmother has always had. A whole box of saltines and a galleon water bottle within reach and the remote at the ready. My training program doesn’t start for a couple weeks, so I am soaking up every moment of responsibility free time that I can. The phone resting on my stomach chimes. I pick it up and see Jareth has reacted to the meme of a baby goat screaming. Then after moment he sends me a meme of a baby pig eat ice cream.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” I force myself to shake my head, heat creeping up my cheeks. “No, I just…” I stammer, suddenly forgetting how words work. “What do you mean, ask Santa? Who is Santa?” He chuckles, the sound deep “Santa,” he says, his grin widening, “is an Alpha who can get you anything you want. You know… just like this dress you’re wearing.”