Bryn tugs on the ash log and brings it in the house. December 21st, already… and she’s just now bringing in the Yule log. Her mother would have been ashamed. May the great Mother take care of her Spirit. She thinks as she places the log with the care it deserves in the fire pit next to the piece left behind from last year’s log. With hasty fingers, she decorates the beautiful wood with her mother’s favorite evergreens, douses it with cider and dusts it with flour as tradition calls. It’s ready. It’s time. So why can’t she strike the match and set it ablaze? And when did the tears start she wonders?

“Here, let me.”

“Oh Shit. Finn, where did you come from?” She asks with her hand clutching her chest as if it would stop her galloping heart. “The front door,” he ignores her melodrama and pries the match out of her tight fist. He strikes its head against the rough edge of the brick fireplace. The acrid smell of its ignition, hits their nostrils. Finn bends down and sets the log ablaze. “There,” he says, “all set.”

The tears quietly coursing down Bryn’s cheeks keeps pouring out of her as the flame brighten. This time Finn doesn’t ignore her dramatics and pulls her to him. “It had to be lit, Bryn. That’s why I took charge like that. Otherwise, you would’ve sat here all night… staring at a cold fireplace and a colder Yule log.”

“I know.” She hiccups. “It’s just Mom always…” her throat constricts in pain. She knew the first Yule without her would be difficult. But, upholding the traditions is cruel somehow. Especially, since she’s not feeling the Winter Solstice spirit in her heart. “Do you want to talk about it?” Finn asks gently. “No.” A shiver runs down her spine and not solely at the thought of reminiscing. “Ok then, tell me what I can do to make you feel better, Bryn?” His eyes swim with sincerity. “Make me forget, please Finn.”

His thumb gently scoops away the tears. He presses his forehead to hers. His hot breath mixes in with hers. She knows what Finn is doing and it won’t work. She won’t back down from this. She won’t say no. Or stop. She’s given him his green light. Bryn patiently waits for him to take it; time to create new traditions.

When he sees this is for real his mouth crashes down on hers and devours. She opens for him like a flower welcoming the light once more. His tongue is hungry. No time for sweet caress, it rolls with savage intent. Taking all she has to offer. His teeth nip and bite. His hands make quick work of her clothes, his clothes. They are everywhere on her body at once, or so it seems. His long fingers leave a trail of liquid fire everywhere they touch her skin. Her mind is in complete bliss—just what she ordered.

A small whimper bubbles out of her when he wrenches his lips away from hers. “I’ve got you,” he purrs and moves his searing lips down her body to lick and nip her pussy. In one violent torrent she comes on his tongue. “That’s my girl.” He circles her clit gently and glides his tongue back up her body flicking it across her nipples before reclaiming her mouth in another bruising kiss. She loves tasting herself there. Loves it so much she can feel that ball of white fire building again in the pit of her belly. Finn’s large cock head teasing her slit. Up and down. Slow and steady. Not penetrating her. It drives her insane. “Say you’re my girl.” Finn commands. Is this what he needs to take me? “I am yours, Finn.”

Magic words spoken, next to her brightly burning Yule log, he takes her hard and fast and she continues to ride the bliss he offers. Her faith in Winter Solstice forever restored.

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