Page 45 of Missiletoe
I put my drink down on the bench and straddled Paris without asking. Paris didn’t seem to mind though. He shifted me until my butt was in his hands to take the strain off my thighs.
I was giving them one hell of a stretch trying to accommodate his thick thighs. His were way more Vix-friendly than Gareth's were. With a little bit of yoga, I bet they’d be perfect for me. But before I got down to some sex-enhancing yoga, I’d have to scootch up to the narrowest part of Paris’s hips in order to be the one in control when I rode him, Otherwise, I’d be his little toy, helpless to do anything other than just take what he wanted to give me…
“Where did you go, bunny?” Paris asked, booping my nose with his. “It seemed like a nice place.”
It was a very good place, but I didn’t think I was ready to show all my cards yet. Perma-horny Vix was going to need to be a slow reveal.
Hmm…the number of things I have on my slow reveal list were piling up, weren’t they? I know, I know. I had issues, but I feel like I deserved a little slack for them.
So instead of ‘fessing up about my inability to think of anything but getting Paris inside me so he could send me to ass-Disneyland, I kissed him.
Paris kisses were the best. Both times we’d kissed so far, he melted into it, giving me one hundred percent of his attention. It was like he didn’t have anywhere else better to be and no one else he’d rather think about. He was simply there with me.
And I was there with him. I didn’t have ideas for gadgets and gizmos crowding into my head, and there was no lingering sleepiness. It was just me and Paris and an intense, burning need to get as close to him as I could.
I quickly stripped off my mittens so I could get more of my skin on his. I framed his face with my hands, feeling the roughness of his five o’clock shadow. I couldn’t get one of those if I tried, so it was a delicious sensation for me. I rubbed my cheek against his and reveled in it.
Paris made a low growl of approval, and he used his grip on my ass to press me closer to him.
A sweet, pixieish voice popped our little love bubble by saying, “See, Briar? I told you your sculpture would be inspirational. This place is going to be gay Mecca in no time.”
There was a beat before the same voice said, “Okay then, let’s go somewhere more private.” Then there was another beat before I heard laughter as pretty as a tinkling bell. Then the voice said, “No, more private than that, you pervert.”
I broke away from Paris to see Pixie Boy (the human one, not the statue.) grinning up at the bear-like man who’d been mauling him moments before. He locked eyes with me and gave me a wink before he was dragged away by his bear man.
I pressed my forehead against Paris’s and said, “I think this whole town is a gay Mecca.”
Paris squeezed me and kissed me again in response. It made me forget all about gay Mecca, pixie boys, and bear men. Like I said, Paris kisses were the best.
Eventually, we reached the point where either some dicks needed to make an appearance, or we needed to stop. And since I didn’t want frostbite to make an appearance on my dick, I patted Paris’s chest and gave him a little push. His eyes seemed to burn into mine when I tried to move away, and for a moment, I didn’t think he was going to let me go.
“You’re too beautiful to share,” I announced. “And it’s too cold for naked times so- eep!” I didn’t get a chance to ask Paris if he had a better place for me to try and get him naked because Paris stood up and walked off with me, leaving our hot cocoa behind.
I could have told him we were littering, but I didn’t because the hottest man in the world was carrying me away caveman-style, and I wasn’t stupid. No one had ever done that to me before, and I was going to enjoy every minute of it. The environment was going to have to suck it up.
See? I totally fit in with my evil family, right?
I let Paris carry me all the way to his truck and buckle me into the middle seat. That was when I realized something kind of important.
“Where is Trixie? Paris, we lost her!”
“It’s okay, bunny. We didn’t lose her. She’s her own dog. I think she was just giving us some privacy. She’ll be back when she wants to be.” Then Paris muttered something that sounded like, “It had better not be until tomorrow.”
And while I agreed in theory, in principle, I couldn’t let it go. “I don’t think that's how dogs work, Paris. They aren't people.” That was when I remembered the magic mouse army Paris commanded and the fact that Trixie had done some pretty impressive magic stuff, so I backpedaled, “Unless she’s a magic dog. She’s a magic dog, isn’t she?”
“She’s her own dog,” Paris repeated, and I realized that was Paris’s way of agreeing with me.
I was starting to understand that Paris had a unique way of looking at the world, and that the things he said made perfect sense if you just took the time to listen to him. And since I’d been told I was unique about a bazillion times, I was pretty sure it meant Paris and I were soulmates.
Then Paris, my soulmate, said the most unsoulmatey thing ever. “Can I take you home?”
“You want to give me back?” What did I do? Was I too horny? Was I too clingy? Was I too me?
Goddammit, it had to be the last one. With the exception of Baz, eventually, I was always too much me for people.
My eyes didn’t get a little teary, they got alotteary. Suddenly, there was a waterfall running down my face, and I was crying my heart out at the idea of Paris giving me back.
I knew the whole thing had been too good to be true.
