The Firework Exploded (The Holidays #3)(35)

“Set fire to my eyes as soon as we get out back, Dad. Please, God, LIGHT MY EYES ON FIRE!” Nicholas shouts as Reggie pulls him outside and the door slams shut behind them.

I glare at a laughing Alex and stick my finger in his face just like Reggie did to me.

“If you say one word to Noel about what happened here today, I’ll tell Scheva how much you liked it when Aunt Bobbie put that red dress on you and that you’re currently wearing a pair of Scheva’s underwear,” I threaten him.

“That red dress looked stunning on me! And I can’t help it that her underwear is all silky and smooth and feels good on my balls,” he whines as I walk past him to head off Bev and the rest of the women.

With a deep breath, I round the corner of the kitchen and try my hardest not to get another hard-on when I see Noel, standing at the end of the hallway in a really short pair of jean cut-offs and a tight blue tank top with the word “America” written across her tits. If my dick gets hard again right now, there’s no way I’ll be able to stop it from taking over and wreaking havoc in the hallway, but God dammit, do I love America right now.

Maybe I can convince her that having sex one day early won’t harm anyone. If anything, we’d be doing everyone attending the wedding tomorrow a favor. My dick is so backed up that when I come, it’s going to explode out of me faster than one of Reggie’s fireworks, ruining more than just Bev’s hydrangea bush.





Chapter 14




Fat Ralph

Noel


Turning off the hose and tossing it to the ground, Aunt Bobbie and I stare at my mother’s wilted, half-burnt hydrangea bush on the side of the house that we managed to spray down with water before it lit the house on fire.

When we pulled into the driveway from lunch, we saw something smoking on the side of the house, but never expected the damn thing would go up in flames so quickly. While my mother tore through the house yelling for my father, Aunt Bobbie and I went back outside to check on it, and thank God we did. The siding had started to melt and bubble by the time we unwound the garden hose and dragged it over to the bush.

“YOU KILLED MY FAVORITE SHRUB!” my mother screeches from the middle of the backyard, her hands on her hips while she stares my father down.

“I WAS AIMING FOR TURD FERGUSON! IT’S NOT MY FAULT HE WAS STANDING BY THE DAMN BUSH AND MOVED OUT OF THE WAY!” my father fires back.

As if just speaking the cat’s name conjures him up out of nowhere, Turd Ferguson darts out from behind the shrub I just finished spraying, sopping wet and hissing as he drags his body across the yard.

“Was he under there the whole time? How in the hell isn’t he fried to a crisp?” I mutter to Aunt Bobbie as we silently watch the cat amble toward the ruckus in the middle of the yard.

“YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN AIMING AT ANYTHING! NO FIREWORKS BEFORE THE FOURTH!” my mother shouts.

“YOU HAD ONE JOB TO DO, SAM! YOU WERE TOO BUSY HUMPING THE LINOLEUM AND NOW WE CAN’T HAVE NICE THINGS!” my father yells, pointing his finger at Sam who stands guiltily behind my mother with Alex and Nicholas, everyone oblivious to the hissing, spitting, growling cat heading in their direction.

“Sam was humping the kitchen floor? What the hell did we miss while we were at lunch?” Aunt Bobbie whispers from behind me.

I’d like to say I’m too worried about the cat heading in Sam’s direction to pay any attention to her or wonder about the humping comment, but I’m too busy staring in a daze at my fiancé. He’s wearing my favorite pair of tan-colored cargo shorts that make his ass look fantastic, and the tight red t-shirt he has on hugs his muscled arms and tapered waist so perfectly that I think I feel a little bit of drool sliding down my chin.

Suddenly, deciding we shouldn’t have sex until tomorrow night seems like the dumbest idea in the world. I felt a little guilty sending Sam all of those pictures of me in new lingerie, but they didn’t seem to affect him in the slightest. He didn’t even text back any words, just thumbs-up emoji’s after each one I sent him. I mean, seriously? A thumbs-up emoji? I couldn’t even get a heart or a smiley face with its tongue sticking out? I was so irritated after I sent the sixth photo, that I stood in front of the mirror naked and sent him that photo to try and get a rise out of him. My frustration grew when he didn’t respond, not even with another stupid thumbs up, that I curled up in my old bed and I was determined to masturbate just to stick it to him. I mean, it’s not like I’d tell him I masturbated since we agreed not to do anything like that and save the good stuff for our wedding night, but just the knowledge that I did it and I could look at him with a satisfied, smug smile on my face would be enough. And maybe even give him a REAL thumb’s up just to make myself feel better.

Sadly, trying to masturbate in my parents’ home is just as exciting as trying to have sex in it was when Sam and I first started dating and I lived there. Right when I got a good fantasy going in my head, my father burst into my room, staring in a daze at nothing. He has a bad habit of sleep-walking, and seeing him standing in my doorway in a pair of baggy boxer shorts, no shirt, black dress socks and one of my mother’s pink, frilly robes draped over his shoulders, immediately killed any desire I had to diddle myself and secretly lord it over Sam.

Sam, who looks so damn good in those shorts and that tight t-shirt, that I want to rip them off his body and climb him like a mountain, thumbs up emoji be damned. He can take that thumb and stick it up my—