Page 92 of 'Tis the season of Wicked Deeds

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“As lovely and fun as snow is, I loathe winters,” I complain to Kingston. “I can barely move my arms in this jacket. Way too many clothes.”

I look like Joey from the episode where he wore all of Chandler’s clothes inFriends. Meanwhile, Kingston—the sinful god that he is—looks sexy, broody, and rugged as hell. The ski boots look like an extension of him as he leans sideways on the pole, watching me with mirth dancing in his honey brown eyes.

“I think I know why you were picked last,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“You’re whiny.”

I gasp in mock offense. “You’re so mean,Daddy.”

His eyes flare, sending shivers down my spine. If we weren’t wearing helmets, he’d be on me, kissing the hell out of me. Instead, he threatens, “I’ll show you mean later when you’re begging me to let you come.”

I smirk playfully.

After our heavy talk, the rest of our date made up for the heaviness with how romantic and lovely it was. We steered clear of deep topics or what our future looks like and chatted about little things couples ask on dates. Our favorite colors, movies, foods. The next destination on my bucket list. The countries he’s traveled to with his best friends.

As if that wasn’t enough, Kingston had another surprise in store for me, which was booking the entire cinema lounge for us. We fully took advantage of the privacy by making out and fondling each other in the dark. I was flushed from a drugging orgasm when we exited and prayed it wasn’t obvious to the people around us.

Like a pro, Kingston skates to me and takes position behind my back.

“Your stance is all wrong,” he points out, correcting my posture. “Were you not paying attention, woman?”

Of course, I wasn’t.

I was too busy drooling over him as he showed me how to ski. He made it look so effortless, gliding through the snow.

“Try again,” he encourages. “Look toward where you’re going, not down at your skis.”

“Okay,” I answer, trying not to get distracted by his hands on my hips. Even through all the layers, I can sense their weight.

I follow his command and move forward, wobbling a little before I manage to control my limbs. I’m smiling that I’m doing it until I realize I forgot how to stop. My speed gains high momentum on the slope and I go, “Whoa. King! How do I stop?”

He’s by my side in a flash.

“Oh my God! I’m going to trip,” I yell, panicking.

“You’re doing good, darling. Just lean back and push down,” he guides calmly. “Look at me. Like this.”

I mimic him and barely save myself from an embarrassing fall as I stop.

Why couldn’t he be terrible like me too?

Lifting the blue visor of his helmet, he grins. “How was it?”

“Minus almost tripping, it was fantastic,” I reply with a laugh, adrenaline pumping hard and fast in my veins.

“Want to go again?”

I stare behind me at the uphill trek. “We have to climb on foot first?”

“Yes.” Nudging my leg with the pole, Kingston teases, “Weren’t you really excited to ski?”

“Fine.”

Yeah, I am so not a sports person.

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