Page 12 of Mistletoe Kisses

The corner of his mouth is raised in an attempt at a smile, almost like he’s presenting a joke.This is not a joke.

I have two options. I can laugh this off and brush him aside so I can finish these decorations so I can enjoy a hot bath whileregretting missing out on an opportunity of a lifetime. Or, I can wrap my fingers around the opportunity and see how far I can go, possibly fulfilling a fantasy of mine.

One option causes a little bit of heartache. The other risks making everything uncomfortable if I’m reading the signs all wrong.

All my life, I’ve jumped at opportunities because of my eagerness. Normally, they always bite me back with signs of failure showing straight from the beginning. My excitement always makes me blind.

This time isn’t going to be any different. Despite the flashing warnings telling how bad of an idea this is, I’m jumping head first. Even if it’s some joke, or something written off as a misunderstanding of some sort, I don’t care.

Breathing in slowly, my fingers curl at my sides. My poor heart is working overtime, thumping heavily against my ribcage.

“I can’t start breaking traditions now, can I?” My mouth twitches into a small smile, the hints of nerves slipping through. “I think a quick one counts.”

A kiss on the forehead, the cheek, or the nose could work. I’m not going to be picky. I’ll take whatever I can get. Anything to feel those warm lips brush against my skin, and that beard of his tickles my skin.

Chewing on my lips, he tilts his head. He has to know how handsome he is, how hauntingly attractive I find him. That’s why he teases me by doing nothing but standing close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. He’s warm enough to make the fire jealous.

“A quick one?” Repeating my words, he cocks a brow. Geez, is he going to make me spell it out? Does he enjoy making me squirm?

With the threat of a heart attack on the horizon, I nod. “Or a long one, I guess. Whatever works. Depends where it’s at.” Ishrug one shoulder, hoping it covers my nerves. My eyes fall as I look to the ground.

I don’t want to point out that my parents might not enjoy seeing us fulfill this tradition. Mylo isn’t stupid, but he doesn’t laugh this off like he should. Doesn’t tell me that he’s just kidding, either.

Doesn’t point out the glaring fact that he shouldn’t kiss a woman half his age.

Instead, he gives me what I want. He catches my chin with those callused fingers and tilts my face so I can look at the amusement resting on his face. That haunting smile is the last thing I see before he kisses me.

Not like one would to his best friend’s daughter. No, he kisses me like a man lost in the desert with the desperation of consuming a single drop of water. This is no peck, either. He’s taking the long option without any further discussion.

As his tongue slides past my lips, I can feel the need radiating off him. The way his hands cradle my cheeks, the tenderness and caution behind his touch. He makes me feel like a glass doll, one that can easily break if not careful enough.

This isn’t some attempt at humoring a joke. No, this man is throwing gasoline on a fire and we’re both burning hotter the longer we stay connected.

All because of some plastic fake plant missing a few white orbs.

There’s a sizzle, a popping happening in my brain as my thoughts explode.Fireworks.

His fingers slide from my cheeks, moving lower. Cradling my jaw, he tilts my head back to taste me deeper. Soon, I feel those thick fingers around my throat. He’s holding me in place, making sure not even the lightest brush of air in the room will steal me away. His teeth graze my lower lip and the heat pooling around in my stomach seeps lower.

One kiss turns to two and I’m surprised I can count. At the moment, my brain feels like complete mush. I can’t even think, can’t make a proper thought.

However, there is one thing I know for sure.I want more.

There’s the sound of his name being called, my mother beckoning his assistance with getting the countless amount of cookies out of the stove to avoid burning them. I guess my father can only provide my mother with so much help.

He pulls away, releasing his hold on me. The grip around my heart feels even tighter as he takes in my flushed state for only a passing second. Leaving me with the quick and tantalizing swipe of his tongue against his lips, he turns and makes his way to the kitchen. Left speechless and trembling, there’s the sound of his laugh at my father’s curse when I hear a pan hit the counter.

He’s okay. I am not.

The world feels like it’s spun its way off its axis and my first step away from the archway is unbalanced. I grip the wall in an attempt to rebalance myself.

My stomach is clenching, my toes are curling. I don’t even want to acknowledge the heat crawling up my legs, manifesting between my thighs.

This is wrong. It has to be.

If that’s the case, why do I want to do it again?

7

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