Page 127 of My Favorite Holidate
With a quick thanks, he’s practically off and running.
I take the glasses, bring them inside and leave them in the sink, then head down the hall, the day playing on a loop in my head, from the tense morning phone call that threw me for a loop, to making seven-layer bars with my daughter, to decorating a tree with Fable and Mac in anafternoon that was lovelier than any afternoon had a right to be.
That afternoon is making me rethink if I might be wrong. If something that started with a lie could actually turn into something good.
Even in spite of all the evidence I’ve seen. Even in spite of my mother’s happiness without romance. Of my father’s self-destructive ways. Of my own track record that has sent me here today. I’m nearly forty, and I’m not sure if I’ve ever been in love.
Except…I think I might be now. The way my heart thunders around Fable scares the hell out of me, but I also can’t stay away from her. When I reach the door, I stop then spin around and return to the kitchen. My Fable likes to have fun in bed. She likes to play. And she loves mint so I swing open the refrigerator door and grab a fresh canister of peppermint whipped cream. When I’ve returned to the suite I rap once on the door. Sultry music plays, its own telltale sign.
“Come in,” she calls out.
When I swing it open, I hiss out a breath. She’s spread out on the bed like the most gorgeous gift. “Merry fucking Christmas to me,” I say awed at the sight.
She smiles, the kind that says she’s pulled this off. She fucking did. “I thought we could have our own Christmas-tree-decorating contest. Do I look like a tree?”
“The sexiest tree I’ve ever seen,” I say as my gaze travels up and down my naughty Christmas elf. She’s wrapped a string of Christmas lights around her shoulders, across her breasts, over her stomach, and then around her hips. Red, purple, pink, green, and blue lights flash on and off against her pale flesh in the soft lighting of the room. Outside, snow is falling.
Inside, I am.
I advance toward her, mesmerized by the soft haze of lights dancing on her skin. Lucky lights. “Do you know that the pinks and the purples and the blues reflect on your skin?”
Fable glances down at the light show on the canvas of her body. “I do like to find new ways to use things,” she says, reminding me of something else I adore about her—her mind, the way she sees the world, and how she creates new ways of using things.
“Your mind is a beautifully filthy and creative place, and I fucking love it,” I say and I’m one step closer to uttering words I can’t take back. Words I’m not sure I should say. But words that pound in my head and heart.
When I reach her, though, I swallow those emotions and focus on the practical—her pleasure. I set the peppermint whipped cream canister on the foot of the bed and run my hands from her ankles up to her knees.
She arches her hips ever so subtly as she glances at the canister. “I see you’re into Christmas kink too, Mr. Blaine.”
Those two words—Mr. Blaine—crank me up. Maybe I do enjoy power games…or perhaps I simply enjoy everything with her. “I’m intoyou.” That’s a small start, and her eyes brighten at those two words. Then I add, “You like mint and I like to give you everything you want.”
“You’re very good at it,” she says as I draw circles with my thumb along the outside of her knee.
“What exactly are your plans for that mint?”
I gaze at the sensual light show playing on her body. “Who knows anymore? Your lights trump my mint,” I say, running one hand farther up her thigh.
She gasps, then shudders.
My god, it’s such an unparalleled thrill to watch herreaction. To witness her getting turned on as she’s wrapped up in lights. With each move I make she parts her legs a little wider.
“You’re an overachiever, Mr. Blaine. Pretty sure we could do both,” she says.
That’s clear. She wants the mint and what Fable wants she gets—because I like to give it to her. “We can do everything,” I say.
For a long time. For well past the holidays. Do you want that too?
But I don’t ask that yet. That’s far too vulnerable. And besides, she’s shifting gears quickly, nodding to the big arched window with a view of the mountains—a view that’s starting to turn white. “It’s snowing.”
I glance at the windows, but even the view of falling snow—one of my favorite sights in the world—has nothing on her. “It is,” I say, touching her thighs, then running a finger along a pink light that’s perilously close to her perfect pussy.
“The first time we went to dinner, I’m betting you were already imagining fucking me while it snowed.”
A laugh bursts from me. “Am I that transparent?”
She bobs a naked shoulder, a pleased smile curving her lips. “Maybe.”
“Guilty as charged then,” I say, dropping my face to kiss her thighs. What did I ever do to deserve even a brief romance with this naughty angel? She ignites something carnal in me. Something greedy. My voice comes out in a low rumble as I rise up and reach for the end of the strand of lights resting on her hips. “Fable, I need to take these lights off you. I need to kiss every inch of your skin. I need to make you come countless times. Because this”—I nod toward the window and the whiteflakes floating down—“is a fantasy, butyouare my real fantasy.”