The cabin looked no different than it had for the rest of the year; it has always been her who had put up all the decorations. He couldn’t face Christmas alone and had decided he would simply stay at the cabin and treat himself to a long weekend.

The plan wasn’t working as well as he’d hoped. Everywhere he looked he found memories of her. When he’d arrived at the cabin he’d headed to the bedroom and almost immediately spotted scraps of red and white wrapping paper lying on the floor. Had it really been a year?

He could see her now sitting up in the bed on Christmas morning. Her long, dark hair hung in tangled tendrils over the white babydoll she’d been wearing when she’d climbed on top of him the night before. She’d teased him that he wasn’t allowed to unwrap his present but he could give it a good feel.

Artor smiled at the memory, he was conflicted. It hurt that he missed her but the memory was both sweet and arousing. She’d been true to her word; he hadn’t been allowed to unwrap her but they had let foreplay see them through dusk and into the hour when sleigh-bells were eagerly anticipated. He’d waited for the grandfather clock in the hall to announce the new day and he had planned to pounce and demand his gift at the last stroke; he’d fallen asleep with minutes more to wait.

It was hard to accept a year had passed so soon. A year since he’d been happy, a year since they’d last been together; a year since they’d driven away through the snow and he’d ploughed into the tree.

He’d sat trapped between the steering wheel and the seat for three hours as he’d watched her die. The car had no passenger airbag and he tried to take a small comfort that she had been knocked unconscious as she’d slammed face first into dashboard. After his initial panic, Artor had realised that though she was silent, she was breathing. It was another five minutes before he saw the blood.

He’d reached across to take her hand and had called to her repeatedly. His fingers caressed the engagement ring he’d slipped on her finger the morning before; a Christmas present she’d said she’d wear always.


Wiping his eyes, the Spaniard moved to the living area again and cast his eyes around the room. The cabin was vast and had been the first thing they had bought together, The aspiration was that they would rent in the city for however long it took his dancing career to take off and she would continue to freelance with her photography. The intention had always been that they would claim the cabin this home at the first opportunity.

Artor sank down into the heavily padded settee and stared at the photograph above the fireplace. He loved the simple black and white image. There had been a minor argument about the picture; he had thought it vanity to have a picture of himself in such a dominant place but she had insisted. Now it made him smile. The image was taken with his face in profile as he’d performed a tour en l’air and she’d taken the photo with him frozen in the air. Naked above the waist, his muscles showed how well toned he was he could clearly see the finger marks on the glass where she used to constantly stroke his abdomen and chest.

Clenching his teeth together, Artor’s jaw began to ache. He closed his eyes and bit at his lip as he tried to separate himself from his memories. With a deep breath, he tried to cleanse his pained soul. Guilt at having caused the accident wasn’t lessened by knowing his instinctive yank of the wheel had saved a deer. He rose off the settee once more and running his hands through his short dark hair, he stepped to the mantle above the fireplace. Sitting below the monochrome image of himself was a small, silver framed triptych with three pictures of her under the glass.

Just as she used to run her fingers over the glass covered image of him, he did the same to hers. The two pictures either side were of her dressed casually and caught as impromptu snaps but the middle photograph she had taken herself; it was a traditional portrait shot and she was looking out of the image at an angle. The way her head was turned with her long tresses brushed over the shoulder exposed the neck he had kissed so many times. He sighed, grasping the mantle with both hands and lowered his gaze to the made but unlit fire in front of his feet.

Artor remained lost a reverie of his own making for over an hour and shook himself back to his reality to note the room was growing dark. The window that faced out onto the lake front showed the sun disappearing behind the tree-line on the far side of the lake and he crossed to the door to flick the lights on. When he turned back to the settee he froze.

“Come sit beside me” his fiancé said.

Stumbling back a step with his mouth agape, Artor grasped at the door frame and fell against it, his legs shook and he clutched the wooden jamb with both hands as he gasped and stared at her.

“Em?” Artor asked. “Emma? How…?” Shaken to his core, the bronzed man struggled upright and hesitantly stepped closer.

She was dressed in her nightwear from the previous year. Over the white babydoll negligee she wore a long dressing gown of white silk that they’d bought on a trip out together. She’d worried at the expense and said she’d never get to wear it and yet, she had dressed in often.

Patting the cushioned seating beside her she smiled up at the ballet dancer. “I’ve been so cold; cuddle me.”

Wordlessly, Artor slipped onto the settee beside her and cautiously, he reached out to her face. As his fingers stretched out to her cheek, he halted, terrified she would vanish at his touch or that he would find his reality was twisted and that he was simply imagining her presence. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

Emma raised her arm and grasped his wrist in one hand, then she brought her other palm up to stroke the back of his fingers. A single tear ran down his cheek as he felt the contact. She brought his hand to her cheek herself and rubbed her face against his palm as she smiled.

Artor grinned at the touch. Habits returned in moments and he ran his fingertips down her cheek to her neck and shifted her hair over her shoulder to drape down her back. Moving closer, he delicately kissed her earlobe, then her neck. As he nuzzled against her he could smell the gentle hint of jasmine. She always smelt of jasmine; it was the oil she dropped into her bath water rather than a perfume but it was both rich and delicate at the same time. He placed his other hand on her thigh over the soft silk and gently squeezed.

The young woman turned her head to face him, causing him to break away from kissing her neck and she put her hand to the back of his head and stroked his cropped hair. Emma grasped his head gently and pulled him forward; he needed no urging and he closed on her to meet her lips with his own. Their lips opened and tongues tasted memories a year absent. As the kisses grew more fervent as passion was roused, Artor felt her part her thighs and he slid his hand from resting on the silk to lightly brush against the flesh that she had exposed.

Emma moaned into his mouth at Artor’s touch, then slowly, she pulled away and squeezed her thighs back together, trapping his hand between her knees and her own lust.

Concern showed on his face and the pain of denial was clear but his lover grinned and quietly whispered for him to take her to the bedroom. With his pain and anguish set aside, the man retrieved his hand and slid it beneath her knees as he hugged her close and rose with her in his arms. She clasped her hands behind his head and rested her cheek on his shoulder as he moved with the grace of the dancer toward the door at the rear of the room.

In the bedroom, he ignored the light switch and in the dim twilight gently marking obstacles in his way, Artor laid Emma gently on the bed. As she smiled, he took his time and lit the few candles around the room, carefully placing glass covers over the naked flame that magnified the gentle light.

Returning to the bed, he shed his shirt and slid beside her. Emma rolled to face him, pulling at the sash belt that secured her delicate robe and pushed him firmly but gently onto his back. Raising her leg, she shifted so as to sit upon his lap. Even through his jeans she could feel his attraction for her and she laid down lengthways across his body.

With the delicate smell of jasmine replaced with the scent of strawberry from her shampoo, Artor ran his fingers through her hair and drew her face to his own and kissed her softly. Brown eyes bored into his and he smiled up at her.

Drawing her knees up, Emma leant back and slowly began to grind her hips against the fold of his fly, the rough denim pressing hard through the thin lace of her panties where the silk gown had parted. She placed her hands flat on his chest and with her knees drawn up to his thighs, she rocked herself against him.

Artor delighted in her expression as her eyes closed and her breathing deepened, he rose his groin from the bed by clenching his buttocks and lifting his arse from the bed. Emma wobbled momentarily but the increase in pressure caused her to gasp. Using his strength, the dancer sat up and turned in one swift movement. As his fiancé tumbled, he reached his hand to the small of her back and rolled with her. They came to rest with Emma on her back and Artor between her thighs and leaning over her. For a moment, he rocked himself to cause his jeans to rub against her and she whimpered softly in pleasure.

Slowly, he retreated. He sank lower, shifting himself toward the foot of the bed as he trailed kisses over the air-thin material of the virginal babydoll. He reached the top of her panties and softly licked around the edge of the material, lightly teasing, careful not to stimulate her directly, not yet. While Emma closed her eyes in anticipation, he shifted his hands to himself and unfastened the buttons of his jeans, sliding the denim and his underwear down his legs. The trousers caught at his ankles; bringing both hands back, Artor pushed his arms under Emma’s bent knees and slid his hands under her buttocks.

Artor quietly used his feet to push his jeans off his legs completely while he sucked delicately at his love’s most sensitive areas through the lace of her lingerie. No longer did he smell strawberry or jasmine, now he could smell her, the sweet, heady scent of her arousal. Pushing his tongue against the fabric he probed hard, forcing the delicate, cotton pattern into the cleft of her sex, inside her, between her wet lips. He licked the length of her pussy, teasing her as he nudged her panties in, then drew them back out by delicately nipping the fabric and raising his head.

Feeling fingers try and fail to grasp his short hair he grinned to himself. His teasing resistance was short lived as Emma just locked her fingers together behind his head and held him in place as she raised and bucked her hips, trying to grind her clitoris against him. He conceded and brushing the bridge of his nose against her delicate bud, he slid his face forward; as her clitoral hood shifted with his motion, her thighs tensed and she released her grip. Artor didn’t relent, as he raised his eyes to gaze at her breasts and saw her bring her palms to them, fingers pinching at the nipples that created peaks of the babydoll.

Artor circled her clit with his tongue, delicately flicking in alternating directions. He brought his knees up to his body and rose up to look down on her. Emma looked up into his face and still mauling her breasts, she mouthed silently ‘Fuck me!’

Artor had always been a gentle, unselfish lover. It was Emma that was the dominant one in their relationship. Many times he had been held down as she rode hard on his face while she tugged at his penis, bringing him close to ejaculation, then denying him. She would shift her position and impale herself on him and buck against him, slamming her arse down hard on his thighs as he would thrust into her at her command. Tonight was different. Tonight he had a year of longing to meet and her coarse words were enough.

Their love-making usually lasted hours as he teased and she writhed but now he was at the edge of his own self control. The gentle man reached out and grasped the neckline of the negligee she wore with both hands and ripped the material apart, tearing it open to spill her breasts out to his sight. He lowered himself fast and hungrily, his face pushing her hands away as he took her nipple between his lips. He sucked and let his teeth scratch lightly at the swollen bud. Arching her back, she pushed herself against his hungry mouth and he slid a hand between them both. He pulled her knickers aside and grasping his length, he put the tip of his cock against the slick opening at the fork of her legs.

A single thrust and he was inside her, her pussy lips bulging aside to accept him. She reached down and grabbed a buttock in each hand. “Fuck me” she whispered, “fuck me hard.”

Artor drew back, then with his knees as purchase, he thrust forward, forcing every inch of himself deep into her and he repeated it. Again and again he pounded into her; his lips shifted from her breast and he lay upon her. Emma released his arse cheeks and grasping her knees from underneath, she managed to raise her legs so her nipples almost touched her knees. She urged him on, begging him to go deeper, faster and harder.

Spurred on, he lost himself. Hammering home with every stroke, he rose off of his knees, just his palms and feet touching the bedding, his pubic bone slapped against hers, the impact jarring her but making repeated contact against her clitoris. Emma began to wail and grunt as her breath was forced from her and she let her legs go to clutch at his back, digging her nails into his flesh.

Artor called her name and broke free, withdrawing from inside her warm, wet folds and leaning back on his knees, he took his cock in his hand and began to masturbate. He was going to cum on her pussy. Emma had other ideas and hurriedly, she wriggled free of him and turned to kneel before him. She pushed him on his back but instead of climbing onto him, she grasped his hard, stiff cock in her hands and with her mouth open and her eyes staring into his, she wanked him hard. One hand cupped his balls and the other frantically stroked his length. Her tongue flicked over the head of the sticky penis and she adjusted her grip to grasp him lower, covering the glans of his meat with her mouth.

As he tensed, he told her he was going to cum and all Emma did was to raise her lips from him and open her mouth wide. It was the one desire she’d never met; she’d never taken his seed in her mouth. The sight of her as he looked down his body was burned eternally into his mind.   Holding his gaze, she made him cum. His ejaculate shot out in fury and he screamed ‘Yes’ as some painted a lace pattern on her cheek but she worried to waste him and hurriedly took him back in her mouth as she continued to pump his cock, forcing the remaining cum in between her lips.

Emma released him as he slowly relaxed. She clambered over his body, positioning herself over his lap and letting her arousal warm his cock as it decided if it was done. She lay upon him and brought her mouth to his. As he moved to kiss her, she grasped his jaw and forced his mouth open and dribbled his cum from her mouth into his. With a gleam in her eye, Artor wouldn’t have resisted even had she permitted it. For all she had just done, it was a small penalty.

“Your turn!” Artor grinned, his own lips sticky with his seed.

Emma shook her head and her doe eyes looked sad. “Not here my love. Not now.” She lay down on him and whispered quietly “You have to come with me.”

Confused, Artor let her lay her head on his chest and brush his nipples with her palm as he asked what she meant.

“One day a year. I can have form for one day a year.” She raised her head and stared at him. “Every Christmas we can be here but between those days, we have to leave”

“I don’t want to leave, I want you here with me forever.” Artor’s pain bit back hard as he remembered anew the sense of loss when she had died. Though sad, Emma smiled. “You don’t understand. My love, we are to be together forever but… not here, you have to come with me this time.”

Emma drew back from him and clambered off the bed. She walked around the bed to stand near his head and as she held her hand out to him, a light grew behind her. The light was bright and brilliant, it shone with unnatural urgency and seem to be drawing closer.

“Come with me my Artor, be with me.”

Understanding dawned and the man let the tears that he wanted to keep away run down his cheeks. “I can’t go with you. I… I didn’t die!” The last words came out in a rush as he gulped air and his last restraint broke as he sobbed hard. Emma reached out one more time and her fingers brushed a tear away. She smiled at him.

“Oh my love, you did. We both did.” Artor frowned as Emma continued “You have been dead this past year. I have waited for you but you were not ready to leave; now is the time to leave. This Christmas is our forever.”

Again she reached out her hand and though still uncertain, Artor took her hand in his. He felt her love in that touch and he understood. He smiled and they left together.

2014 © C.J Heath