Sasha-Christmas Eve

 

The crisp December air bit at your cheeks as you and Sasha trudged through the snow-dusted Christmas tree farm, the scent of pine and frost filling your lungs. Sasha, your 20-year-old girlfriend, looked radiant even in the cold, her long, silky blonde hair cascading over her puffy coat. Her small, slanted black eyes sparkled with excitement, accentuated by bold eyeliner and glossy lips that caught the late afternoon sun. Her fair skin flushed naturally, a soft blush blooming across her marked jawline as she scanned the rows of evergreens.

“Thiss one,” she declared, pointing at a lush, green tree, its branches full and fragrant. She was still sober then, her Australian accent crisp as she tugged your arm toward her choice. You smiled, charmed by her enthusiasm, and nodded to the farmhand to cut it down. As you waited, Sasha pulled a small flask from her coat pocket, the silver glinting mischievously. “Whiskey,” she whispered, winking as she took a sip, her lips curling around the rim.

You shook your head, nodding your approval. She giggled, taking another swig, her cheeks growing pinker as the warmth of the drink settled in.

With the tree selected, the farmhand offered a horse-drawn sled to haul it back to your car, and Sasha’s eyes lit up. You both climbed aboard, the wooden sled creaking as it glided over the snow, the jingle of the horse’s bells mingling with the crunch of packed powder. Sasha snuggled close, her body warm against yours under a shared wool blanket. From her bag, she produced a thermos and poured a steaming cup of hot cocoa, the rich chocolate scent rising in the chilly air. She grinned, splashing a generous dose of whiskey from her flask into the cup. “Spiked coco, mate,” she said, her accent thickening as she took a sip, her glossy lips leaving a faint smudge on the rim.

She offered you the cup, but you declined with a chuckle, content to watch her. The whiskey’s warmth spread through her, her giggles growing louder as the sled rocked gently. “S’like Christmas already,” she slurred, leaning her head on your shoulder, her blonde hair tickling your neck. Her free hand found yours under the blanket, her fingers intertwining as she sipped again, the cocoa leaving a faint chocolatey sheen on her lips. The farm’s lights twinkled in the distance, and you pulled her closer, her tipsy warmth a perfect contrast to the crisp air.

As the sled neared the parking lot, Sasha’s giggles turned into a soft hum of “Jingle Bells,” her voice slightly off-key but endearing. She set the empty cup down, her fingers brushing against your thigh as she adjusted the blanket. “Y’know,” she murmured, her breath warm against your ear, “this tree’s gonna look bloody gorgeous in our place.” Her eyes, though a bit hazy, held a playful glint as she leaned in, pressing a quick, cocoa-sweet kiss to your jaw. You laughed, steadying her as the sled came to a stop, her balance wobbling as she climbed down, nearly tripping into the snow.

By the time the tree was strapped to your car, Sasha’s steps were a little looser, her laughter louder, her accent thicker as she leaned into you, her breath sweet with whiskey and chocolate. She clung to your arm, her puffy coat rustling as she swayed, pointing at the starry sky. “Look at ‘em, all sparkly like our tree’s gonna be,” she said, her voice dreamy. You guided her to the car, her warmth lingering in your hand as you helped her into the passenger seat.

Back at your small house, the luxurious living room next door glowed with warmth. A fireplace crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the walls. You set up the green Christmas tree in the corner, its branches begging for decoration. Sasha, now tipsy and shedding her coat, revealed a tight red mini dress with white polka dots, clinging to her curves like a second skin. A white headband held back her blonde hair, framing her face as she swayed slightly, humming a carol, her glossy lips catching the firelight.

You wore a red sweater and loose black jeans, standing behind her as she hung a red ornament on the tree, her fingers fumbling just a bit. You wrapped your arms around her waist, your chest pressed to her back, the heat of the fire warming you both. “Looks good,” you murmured, kissing the curve of her neck. She sighed, leaning into you, her body soft and pliant, the scent of her perfume mingling with the pine.

The evening deepened, and Sasha’s flask was long empty. She’d moved on to a bottle of cheap but potent red wine, pouring herself generous glasses as she decorated. Her movements grew clumsier, her laughter slurring into giggles. She draped red laces over the branches, the delicate red LED lights twinkling like embers around them. A red star gleamed at the treetop, catching the firelight as she stepped back to admire her work. “Therre, perfeckt, donnya thing,” she slurred, adjusting the red garland after placing the last red ornament. She turned to you, her glossy lips parting in a lazy smile, her eyes glassy but bright.

“Yes, just like you,” you said, kissing her flushed cheek and pulling her closer. Your hand slid up the smooth jersey cotton of her mini dress, tracing the taut line of her stomach to the curve of her firm breasts. The fabric was thin, her nipple hardening under your touch.

“Oh, yess,” she moaned, her voice low and breathy, her head tipping back as you teased her through the dress. Her long thighs pressed together, the hem of her dress riding up as she shifted against you, her skin warm and inviting.

You guided her gently to the plush sofa, the firelight casting a warm glow over her pale skin. Sitting, you watched the hem of her dress inch higher, revealing more of her toned legs. You poured her another glass of wine, the deep red liquid catching the light as you handed it to her. Picking up your own glass of coke, you raised it with a smile. “Merry Christmas, babe.”

She clinked her glass against yours, spilling a little wine on her dress, laughing as she brushed it off. “Merry Chrissmas,” she mumbled, her accent thick and her eyes heavy-lidded. She leaned into you, her lips finding yours in a slow, sloppy kiss, tasting of wine and sweetness. The tree glowed behind you, its red lights and ornaments a festive backdrop to the heat building between you.

Her hands tugged at your sweater, her fingers clumsy but eager. You pulled back to set your glass down, then slid your hands under her dress, feeling the warmth of her skin. She arched into you, her breaths coming faster, the fireplace crackling as the room filled with the scent of pine and her perfume.

Sasha set her glass down, nearly missing the table, and climbed onto your lap, straddling you. Her dress rode up further, exposing the tops of her thighs as she pressed herself closer, her hands tangling in your hair. “You’re too good to me,” she whispered, her words slurring but sincere, her lips brushing against yours. The firelight danced across her face, highlighting the gloss on her lips and the flush on her cheeks. You cupped her face, your thumbs tracing her jawline, and kissed her deeply, her moans soft against your mouth.

The room felt smaller, the world narrowing to the heat of her body, the glow of the tree, and the crackle of the fire. She shifted, her hips grinding lightly against you, her breaths hitching as your hands roamed her back, slipping under the hem of her dress to feel the curve of her hips. “Babe,” she murmured, her voice a mix of need and intoxication, “this is the best Christmas.”

You smiled, pulling her closer, your lips trailing along her collarbone. The red star atop the tree seemed to wink in approval, the room a cocoon of warmth and desire. The night was young, the tree was perfect, and Sasha, tipsy and glowing, was yours.