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leahburreaux · 6 hours ago

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Under the Mistletoe

(Warning: CNC)

(a/n: I hate this so much, it's so rushed. I apologize in advance.)

Doll giggled softly, smoothing the delicate design on her panties into place, the soft fabric hugging her curves. The velvet, black against her skin, felt like a little secret she was sharing only with herself—and maybe Joe later, if he bothered to pay attention. She glanced at herself in the bathroom mirror, twirling slightly, her oversized t-shirt—one of Joe’s, of course—swishing around her thighs. The shirt was comically large, the LSU logo on the front. Her smile was wide and giddy, the kind of smile that came from knowing she had something up her sleeve.

Her moment was shattered by a loud, impatient pounding on the bathroom door.

“Doll, come on, I gotta fuckin’ piss,” Joe mumbled from the other side, his voice thick with frustration.

Doll huffed, rolling her eyes as she grabbed the door handle. “You’re so dramatic, Joe,” she muttered under her breath.

Before she could fully swing the door open, Joe pushed past her, his broad frame brushing hers as he rushed inside. “Jesus Christ,” he grumbled, already tugging his sweatpants down just enough to do his business.

“Sorry,” Doll mumbled, stepping aside. He didn’t even respond, too busy handling his own urgency.

She wandered back into Joe’s room, the familiar smell of him—faint cologne, and something distinctly Joe—settling around her. Crawling onto the unmade bed, she sank into the softness of his sheets and propped herself up against the headboard. A contented smile spread across her face. Despite his grumpy demeanor, she looked forward to tonight.

“What movie?” she called, tilting her head toward the bathroom.

“Grown Ups,” Joe shouted back, his voice muffled.

Doll’s shoulders slumped dramatically. She had spent all week convincing Joe to have a proper Christmas-themed night with her. It was their last evening together before heading back to their respective home states for the holidays, and it would be weeks—possibly a month—before they’d see each other again. Exams were over, and all she wanted was to soak up these final hours.

“Joe,” she whined, her voice carrying into the hallway. “Grown Ups isn’t even remotely Christmas. You said–”

Joe emerged from the bathroom, wiping his hands on his sweatpants like a toddler who didn’t understand towels. His grey sweats hung low on his hips, teasing the V of his torso.

“Jesus, kid,” he grumbled, running a hand through his messy hair. “I don’t fuckin’ care. I’m gonna fall asleep halfway through anyway.”

Doll sat up, her pout deepening. “You’re being such a party pooper,” she muttered, crossing her arms.

Joe gave her a pointed look, his brows furrowing in mock disbelief. “M’not a party pooper,” he shot back. “I just don’t get why you wanna do all this Christmas shit. It’s corny.”

She gasped, clutching her chest in faux horror. “Corny?” she exclaimed, her eyes wide. “It’s festive! It’s fun! It’s—Joe, it’s Christmas spirit!”

Joe flopped onto the bed beside her, grabbing his phone and ignoring her little speech entirely.

“Hey!” Doll snapped, her indignation bubbling over as she snatched the phone out of his hand. It was bold, but she was committed.

Joe’s head snapped toward her, his eyes narrowing. “You got some balls tonight, huh? What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“You’re so grumpy,” she muttered, her fingers already scrolling through the movie options on the TV.

Joe sighed heavily, leaning back against the pillows and glaring at the ceiling. “Just pick somethin’ already.”

Ignoring his attitude, Doll finally settled on A Charlie Brown Christmas. “A classic,” she declared triumphantly, shooting him a smug look.

Joe groaned, tipping his head back in exaggerated despair. “God, kill me now,” he muttered, though he didn’t make a move to stop the movie from starting.

Despite his complaints, she noticed him glancing at the screen every so often, his expression softening in the glow of the animated Christmas tree. Doll smiled to herself, satisfied. Grumpy or not, Joe was still here, still indulging her, and that was more than enough.

The room was dim, illuminated only by the soft, flickering glow of the TV screen as A Charlie Brown Christmas played on. Doll felt the weight of Joe’s leg draped lazily over hers, a casual, unconscious gesture.

Joe’s leg was heavy, his calf pressing against hers as if to claim his space, but he didn’t move. He stayed, attention fixed on the screen, his chest rising and falling steadily. The subtle scent of his cologne and the warmth radiating from his skin pulled her focus away from the movie.

Doll shuffled just slightly, enough to tangle their legs together in a way that felt intentional yet nonchalant. Joe didn’t react, his eyes glued to the screen, though she thought she caught the corner of his mouth twitch into something resembling a smirk.

She forced herself to turn her attention back to the movie, her fingers gripping the edge of the blanket draped over their laps. But her mind was already racing, her excitement building.

Beneath Joe’s oversized shirt, the velvet of her panties felt like a mischievous reminder of the secret she was keeping. They weren’t just any panties—they were picked deliberately.

Joe shifted again, this time leaning back against the pillows, one arm resting behind his head as he absentmindedly scratched at his bare chest. Doll glanced at him, her cheeks heat up at the sight. He looked so comfortable, so Joe, yet entirely too unaware of the storm brewing in her mind.

Doll’s lips curled into a sly smile, her head tilting against the headboard as she stole another glance at Joe. She knew one thing for certain: whatever mood he was in, Joe wasn’t going to turn this down.

“You’re awfully quiet,” she teased, her voice light, sing-song, deliberately poking at his already thin patience.

Joe grunted, his eyes fixed on the TV, his jaw tightening slightly. “You told me to watch the fuckin’ movie, so I’m watchin’ it,” he muttered, his tone clipped and irritated.

Doll nodded, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from giggling, but her silence didn’t last long. Even as she tried to sit still, her body betrayed her—shifting restlessly, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of his oversized shirt. She cast quick glances between the screen and Joe, her movements subtle at first, then more pronounced as her impatience grew.

Her thighs pressed together, a soft, involuntary whimper escaping her lips.

Joe’s head snapped toward her, his expression darkening as his patience wore thin. “The fuck is your problem?” he growled, his voice low and sharp. His eyes dropped to her legs, noting how tightly they were squeezed together. “It’s Charlie Brown, not some goddamn porno. Sit still.”

Doll’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t answer, her lips twitching with suppressed laughter. Her squirming, however, only got worse. She adjusted herself again, letting the hem of his shirt ride up slightly as she curled her legs beneath her.

Joe’s brows furrowed, his frustration evident as he reached out and shoved her legs off him roughly. “Jesus Christ, quit fuckin’ moving,” he snapped. “You’re driving me nuts.”

She scoffed softly at the shove, a flicker of indignation lighting up her expression. Doll’s heart raced, the tension between them thickening. She shifted again, slower this time, her movements deliberate as she let out another soft hum of frustration.

Joe turned toward her sharply, his eyes narrowing. “Doll,” he said, his voice low and cutting. “If you’ve got something to say, spit it the fuck out. Otherwise, knock it off before I lose my shit.”

The weight of his glare sent a thrill down her spine, her pulse thrumming in her ears. She hesitated, her lips parting as if to respond, but she bit her bottom lip instead, holding back.

“Fuckin’ figures,” Joe muttered, leaning back with a scoff. His words dripped with challenge, daring her to push him further.

The unspoken tension between them crackled like a live wire, and Doll felt her resolve strengthen.

He lets out an exasperated huff as she straddles him, his hands instinctively gripping her hips to still her, the sudden motion not what he expected. “Joe...” she breathes out, her voice laced with both frustration and need as she pulls his hands off, determined to take control of the situation.

She moves again, her body positioning itself in a way that feels bold, uncharacteristically daring. “I have something to show you,” she mutters, her voice betraying her embarrassment as she feels the heat of his gaze on her, more intense than before.

His brows knit in confusion, his eyes narrowing slightly as he shifts beneath her. “Yeah?” His tone is low, almost mocking as he adjusts himself, laying flatter on the bed. “Show me then, doll.”

She takes a deep breath, pushing herself up his body, inch by inch, until her knees are positioned on either side of his head. She sits on his chest, heart pounding, her breath shallow and quick as the anticipation courses through her. She can feel his eyes burning through her, and though she's nervous, the excitement is stronger. Her chest rises and falls quickly, her body betraying her unease and desire.

His hands move instinctively, coming up to knead her ass, then trailing down to her thighs, caressing the soft skin there as his gaze flickers up to her face. He watches, amused, the way her confidence seems to build with each movement, her determination mixing with her vulnerability. His expression is dark with curiosity, but there's a clear sense of control in the way he looks at her.

She hesitates for a moment, then finally, her fingers grip the bottom of his oversized shirt and tug it over her head. The material falls to the side, revealing the delicate velvet panties she’s chosen to wear. But it’s not the fabric or color that captures his attention—it’s the embroidered mistletoe on the waistband. His eyes lock on the design, and his tongue flicks out to lick his lips, the anticipation and amusement evident in his smirk.

“Mistletoe, huh?” he hums, his voice thick with amusement as he runs his thumb across the delicate stitching. The touch sends a shockwave of sensation through her, his thumb brushing against her clit in a way that makes her body twitch involuntarily. The sensation makes her gasp, the heat building between them palpable.

She bites her lip, unable to find the words for a moment.

His smirk deepens as he looks up at her, eyes darkening with hunger. "Y’ kiss under a mistletoe, don't ya? That’s the rule?" His voice is almost teasing, but there's a dangerous edge to it as his thumb brushes along her slit, pushing the fabric of her panties to the side. Her arousal already begins to seep through, wetting his thumb as he moves deliberately, each stroke slow and precise, drawing out her reaction.

“S’a Christmas tradition,” she murmurs, the words coming out shaky as she fights the urge to squirm under his touch.

“Yeah,” he mutters, voice husky as his gaze never leaves her, hunger evident. His hands grip her thighs firmly, pulling her forward, forcing her off his chest until she’s hovering directly over his face. His breath ghosts over her, and his eyes lock onto her in a way that makes her pulse race faster.

He doesn’t wait for another word from her. With one swift movement, he pulls her panties to the side, revealing her wet, pink folds. His eyes darken, and he licks his lips, the hunger in his gaze becoming undeniable. “Tradition,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper, before pulling her down further.

He mutters, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips, "Mistletoe on your panties, huh?” He chuckles, “You trying to get kissed or something?"

She shudders at his words, heat pooling low in her stomach. "Joe..." she breathes, voice already shaky, unable to form anything more coherent as she looks down at him. His hands slide up her thighs, caressing the soft skin there as he watches her, his eyes dark with hunger.

"Yeah, I see it," he murmurs, leaning in closer, his breath hot against her inner thighs as he presses a gentle kiss to the delicate fabric of her panties. She gasps at the sensation, her body already reacting to him in ways she can't control.

He presses a kiss directly over the mistletoe design, his lips lingering, teasing her as he pulls back slightly, his eyes locking with hers. "A kiss under the mistletoe, huh?" he says, his voice thick with desire. "Yeah… yeah, I can do that."

Before she can respond, his hands move to her panties, pulling them to the side, deliberately. Her breath hitches as he watches her closely, his gaze never leaving hers. She feels exposed, vulnerable under his stare, but there's something about the way he looks at her that makes her pulse race with anticipation.

His lips pressing against her, kissing her in a way that sends a jolt of pleasure straight through her. His tongue slides along her folds, teasing, tasting, with slow, deliberate strokes. Her hands fly to his hair, her fingers gripping it desperately as she moans softly, the sensation of his mouth on her making her forget everything but the feeling of him.

She shudders at his words, heat pooling low in her stomach. "Oh God..." she breathes, voice already shaky, unable to form anything more coherent as she looks down at him.

No sound escapes her as he kisses her, the pleasure overtaking any coherent thought as she feels his lips and tongue worship her, his hands keeping her still as she trembles above him. The sensation is overwhelming, his every touch leaving her wanting more, her body arching in response.

Her hips instinctively grinding down against him as her body betrays her. The heat between them builds quickly, her breath shallow as he continues to kiss and suck on her clit. His tongue working in ways that make her head spin.

His grip on her hips tightens, guiding her movements as he draws her closer, pulling her deeper into the kiss, never letting her escape the sensation of him. "That’s it," he murmurs against her, his voice low, sending shivers down her spine. "Y’taste so fuckin’ good."

She can barely breathe as his mouth works over her, each stroke of his tongue sending waves of pleasure crashing over her. She’s already trembling, her body on the edge as she fights to keep herself steady.

"Joe… please," she breathes, her voice shaky, needy. He growls, muffled against her as he takes his time, savoring every inch of her, "Mhm."

The pressure inside her builds steadily, each flick of his tongue pushing her closer and closer to the brink. She can’t hold back anymore; the pleasure is overwhelming, and before she even realizes it, she’s coming undone above him, her body trembling as the wave crashes over her.

“Joe… oh my God!” she cries out, her hips jerking forward as she shudders, her body giving in to the pleasure he’s drawn out of her.

But Joe isn’t done. His hunger doesn’t fade; if anything, it intensifies. He keeps his grip tight on her thighs, holding her still as he continues to move with her, his mouth never leaving her. He licks, sucks, and kisses her through every tremor, savoring the taste of her. A low hum rumbles in his chest, the sound vibrating against her skin as he helps her ride out her climax.

Her body is still trembling, but Joe isn’t satisfied. His desire for her taste—her essence—has only grown stronger, and he continues his relentless assault on her clit. She gasps, too sensitive now, her breath hitching as the overstimulation builds, the pleasure sharp and almost too much.

"Please... too much," she whimpers, her voice soft and desperate, her body trying to squirm away from the overwhelming sensation. "Joe, I can't—"

She finally manages to crawl off him, her body sore from the intensity of her release. She flops onto the bed, panting, exhausted, her body tingling from the aftershocks. But Joe, his eyes dark with an insatiable hunger, isn’t finished. He moves with purpose, shuffling over to her as if he’s starving, determined to have more of her.

With a swift, practiced motion, he lays on his stomach, grabs her legs, forces them apart with a mix of possessiveness and hunger. She yelps in surprise, the sensitivity from her orgasm earlier making her skin crawl as his mouth returns to her clit. His tongue flicks against her, and her body shudders violently.

She squirms, feeling both pleasure and frustration build in equal measure, "Joe!" she moans louder this time, her hips involuntarily bucking against him. "Oh God, don’t stop... but it’s too much..."

He chuckles at her contradictory words, enjoying how she doesnt know what she wants.

She gasps as he moves even closer, the heat of his mouth sending a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over her, but the sensitivity is almost unbearable.

"I—,Shit!" Her words come out breathless, the pleasure making her speech falter. "You—you're... God—too much."

Her body trembles under the weight of Joe's relentless attention, and as she gasps his name again, she can feel his fingers shift, moving from her thighs to her slick heat. His thumb presses against her clit as his tongue continues its torturous pace, teasing her just enough to keep her on edge. But then, without warning, Joe adds his fingers, sliding one, then two inside her, stretching her open as his mouth never leaves her.

"Joe..." she moans, her voice breaking as the sudden fullness sends waves of pleasure crashing through her. She feels stretched, filled in a way that makes her lose control. Her hands grasp at the sheets, digging her fingers into the fabric as she tries to hold herself steady, but it’s nearly impossible. Every movement of his fingers inside her is matched by the rhythmic strokes of his tongue, pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

"Thas’ it," Joe murmurs darkly against her, his voice low and full of satisfaction. "So fuckin’ good." His fingers curl inside her, finding the perfect spot, and she can’t help but cry out at the overwhelming sensation, her body spasming in pleasure.

She can feel her own pulse quicken, her hips grinding down against him involuntarily as she tries to chase that growing heat deep within her. "Joe, I—oh God, I can't... so good... I—" Her words fall apart, unable to form coherent thoughts as he keeps moving, his fingers scissoring inside her, stretching her, while his mouth never slows.

"Come on, doll," Joe taunts, his breath hot against her skin. "You’ve got one more in y’. Know ya do."

Her body is already trembling with the intensity of the pleasure he’s drawing from her, but when he adds a third finger, her breath hitches, her body jerking as the feeling overwhelms her. "So close—please," she whimpers, unable to fully form words as she feels herself teetering on the edge. Her entire body is wound tight, like a spring ready to snap.

Joe's grip on her tightens, unrelenting, as he growls, “Need t’ taste more of ya, doll. Please.” His fingers pick up speed, pushing deeper, harder, coaxing more from her than she thought possible. His voice is a low, raspy demand as he continues, "Come for me again, doll. Come on.”

The pressure builds again, her body trembling in response as she fights to keep her composure. But his words, his touch—it's too much. Every stroke, every flick of his tongue sends her closer to the edge, and this time, she can't hold back.

And with that, her body finally gives in. The orgasm crashes through her like a tidal wave, her back arching off the bed as she shouts his name in a broken, desperate cry. Joe keeps his fingers moving through her, pulling every last ounce of pleasure from her as she shudders and trembles above him, unable to escape the onslaught of sensations he’s drawn from her.

She’s left breathless, her body limp and trembling as he slowly withdraws his fingers, pressing one last kiss to her sensitive clit before pulling away. His eyes are dark with satisfaction, a smirk curling on his lips as he watches her struggle to regain her breath, utterly overwhelmed by what he’s just done.

Joe smirks, his eyes still dark with satisfaction as he looks at her, his fingers tracing along the waistband of her mistletoe-embellished panties. “Next time, skip the corny Christmas shit,” he murmurs with a grin. She raises an eyebrow, still breathless, her lips curling into a playful smirk despite the lingering sensitivity.

"Let’s stick to this tradition," he says, wiping his glistening chin with the back of his hand, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

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