Today I'm promoting Victoria Blisse's new self-published book "Proving Santa Exists". I'll be downloading it to my Kindle straight away and, after reading the hot excerpt below, I hope you all will too!
When Jonathan transfers
from the U.S to the Manchester branch of Computers Inc., Jenny is the first
person to make him feel at home. Finding out about his bleak Christmases as a
boy, she makes up her mind to involve him in all her English Christmas
Passion sparks between the two as they decorate
the Christmas tree. Who would have thought such an innocent activity could
become so sexually charged? Can Jenny succeed in seducing the hot American and
also prove to him that Santa really does exist?
"How are you enjoying your Christmas so far?" I
ask, the film credits fading into the background.
"It's been amazing," Jonathan enthuses as his eyes
meet mine, then a serious shadow darkens their flame. "Christmas was never
anything special when I was a kid. We never had a tree. The home said it cost
too much and it was a fire hazard."
I tut and shake my head.
"The highlight was the Santa. We knew he wasn't real,
just a man dressed as Santa. He'd bring each of us a toy. I got a little car
one year. I still have it."
"How come you
knew it wasn't the real Father Christmas?"
"Because we knew there was no real Santa. They told us
so all the time. They told us not to get our hopes up because Santa didn't
exist and wouldn't bring us what we wanted on Christmas Eve."
“What?" I'm outraged. I feel my blood boiling with the
harsh cruelty of it. "Santa does exist."
"You don't believe that, do you?" He shakes his
head, his eyes wide.
"Yes, yes I
do." I nod my head emphatically. "Maybe not in the way a child does,
but I heartily believe in the spirit of Father Christmas. I believe in the
meaning behind the make-believe. My faith is in the giving, which is the true
centre of the festive season—the heart of it all. It's all about making life
better for other people and, through that, enhancing your own life. Santa
Suddenly, those lips are on mine again, and his arms wrap
around me. I feel his cheek against my skin. I feel moisture there: the trail
of a tear. I close my eyes and kiss back, giving. I give him the softest,
gentlest kiss I can. I want him to feel cherished. My heart throbs in pain at
the harshness he’s suffered in his life. I want to smooth over all those rough
edges; I want him to see what I mean about Father Christmas existing.
I pull him closer to
me. My arms wrap tighter around him, and I stroke his back to offer comfort.
Our lips, in contrast, are joined lustfully. With every small move, I feel my
heart beat harder and faster. I become dizzy with the speed at which the blood
is whizzing around my body, making every inch of me zing with the created
friction and heat. His body presses me back against the sofa arm, twisting my
own beneath him.
His lips leave mine and kiss a fizzing trail of pleasure
down my neck to my collar bone. His hands rise from their position on my hips
to slide under my loose-fitting red jumper and up higher to cup my breasts. The
shock of his cool hands through the thin, lacy gauze is deliciously arousing. I
groan my appreciation as his fingers dig into the cups and ease out the masses
of abundant tit-flesh beneath. Pushing the wool of my jumper up with the tops
of his wrists, his lips leave the soft flesh at the hollow of my neck.
Moments later, after my jumper is completely removed, their
warm wetness encompasses my nipple, sending even more intense ripples of
pleasure throughout my body. I feel him shift until he's on his knees in front
of me. One of my legs is still on the floor, the other is crossed in front of
my pubis. I slip a hand between our bodies, running it under his shirt, feeling
that soft, supple skin that I've only just glimpsed before. I follow the soft
trail of hair down from his belly button to the top of his jeans. I feel more
than hear the moan he emits from around my nipple as I pop open the brass
button, then slide down the zipper.
I can't believe I am
being so forward, but as he doesn't move to stop me, I yank his jeans and his
boxers down to the middle of his thighs. My action emboldens him and he moves
back, allowing me to spread my thighs around him. Jonathan strokes down to my
legs and pulls up the full length of long, billowing skirt, his mouth still
feasting on the white meat of my breasts. A hand of mine rubs through the wiry
hair trailing down to his cock. When my flesh touches his, I melt. He's hard
and hot and very willing.
Victoria Blisse is a mother, wife,
Christian, Manchester United fan and award winning erotica author. She is also
the editor of several Bigger Briefs collections, Smut by the Sea and Smut in
equally at home behind a laptop or a cooker and she loves to create stories,
poems, cakes and biscuits that make people happy. She was born near Manchester,
England and her northern English quirkiness shows through in all of her
stories.Passion, love and laughter fill her works, just as they fill her busy
And this link on Victoria's website covers both links and has a
blurb/excerpt for people too: