Underneath The Tree: A Buckingham Nicks Christmas

You're Here Where You Should Be

Santa Monica, California
Christmas Eve
Saturday, December 24, 2022
(5:30 pm)
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"My God...how are you still so delicious, sweet girl?"

Lindsey felt like he was walking through Candy Land, lying beside his beautiful wife and winding strands of golden curls around his fingers as he placed little butterfly kisses along her neck and down to the exposed curve of her breast. They lay against the pillows side by side, Lindsey's sneakers and leather jacket long gone as Stevie's slippers, and she was running a flirtatious big toe with red nail polish on it for the holidays, foot pointed perfectly like the ballerina she'd been in her youth, along the side of his denim-covered leg, her leg curled around it. She made a little whimpering sound as he left damp, hot kisses in a trail along her skin, and he responded by nibbling a bit before his mouth returned to hers. Stevie kissed back eagerly, holding his face in her hands. He loved that she touched his face when they kissed; it let him know he was all hers and she wanted no one else's mouth on hers but his.

"So soft...so sweet..." he murmured into her skin, his mouth attached to her neck again, his hand running along the cashmere side of her body and lifting the decades-old gray sweater over her head to reveal a black bra with a little pink bow in the center. He groaned with need as his mouth returned to one breast, his hand cupping the other as a promise that he'd get there next.

As he kissed the delicate skin and reached around to unhook her bra, Lindsey thought of his wife's breasts and how he'd watched them change over time. He'd cupped her small, perfectly-rounded breasts for the first time fifty-two years before, he'd adjusted some years later when she'd used her money from the first Fleetwood Mac tour to have them enlarged. He'd watched in awe and a few tears of overwhelming love as she'd sat in an old-fashioned Bentwood rocking chair as the sun rose in the window behind her as she'd breastfed their daughter Amber. He'd given her Tylenol and watched her curl up in his lap and fall asleep in her forties when she'd had to go to outpatient procedures to have the silicone drained from her broken implants. He'd cradled her new, smaller but healthier breasts in his hands when the process was over, kissing each one repeatedly and telling her she was beautiful no matter what size they were and he couldn't imagine not wanting to touch them because they - and she - were perfect.

"Baby..." Stevie was already completely washed away with desire, arching into him to meet every touch, but she breathed, "We have to start getting ready to go, and..." But just then her bra came off and Lindsey sucked a nipple into his mouth, and she cried out.

"They'll wait," he hissed, his breath hot and damp against her skin. "I need to open my present, Stephanie...I've been a good boy this year..." His hands were traveling along her sides. "Oh God you are so beautiful...my sweet girl..." He was using his lips and his tongue to slowly but passionately devour her, moving down from her breasts to her stomach, and she gasped and writhed beneath him. She knew they shouldn't be taking things this far, that they should be getting up, getting dressed and heading over to the house for their annual Christmas family gathering. But he was covering her belly with little kisses, just as he had for over fifty years no matter what her size, including the four times she'd been carrying their baby there, and she was so overcome with love in that moment that she didn't protest any further. He was back up at her neck, sucking at her skin and working his way up to the spot just behind her ear he knew was her weakness.

"No marks, baby," she managed to get out, her breathing getting quicker and more audible. "They'll know why we're late." But she had to remind her own self of that same thing a moment later, when her arms circled in around his neck and her fingernails dug into his hair and she began suckling and nibbling, tasting the salt of his skin and the same aftershave he'd worn since 1979 and marveled at how excited but how safe she could feel at the same time, how the overwhelming sense of home could be such a turn-on. Lindsey was hovering over her then, propped up on his hands.