Page 119 of Mistletoe All the Way

“Yeah?”

“Better than your favorite chocolate orange candy. Better than hot cocoa. Better than—”

I press my mouth to the damp panel of her panties.

I groan. She moans.

Her thighs shake, and she rolls her hips closer to my mouth.

I flick my tongue along the wet material of her panties, kissing her through the lace, teasing her, driving both of us fucking mad.

Till she’s rocking faster, gripping harder, begging.

I really shouldn’t rip these off with my teeth. Truly, I shouldn’t. But patience drains out of me, and I yank them off in one swift move, then bury my face in the paradise between her thighs.

Eating, licking, sucking on her till she’s thrusting, crying, and falling apart as I worship her on my knees.

Like she deserves.

Later, we’re cleaning up the dishes and straightening the kitchen when she tells me she landed a contract doing social media and PR for the tree farm, starting in the New Year.

“Coretta emailed me earlier today with an offer. I didn’t think I’d hear from her already, but she said she wanted to snap me up. They have festivals and fun events planned even during the off-season, so I’ll have a lot to do. And oh!” She grins. “I talked to Ahsha at the Mistletoe Emporium, and she thinks she wants me to run their social too.”

Pride surges through me. “You’re making it happen.”

She turns off the faucet and dries her hands, her eyes locking with mine. “And you’ll be busy in the New Year as well.”

It’s said like a reminder. An acknowledgment that we’re on the same page. That responsibilities are pulling us in different directions. I can picture how it might go, with us barely seeing each other. How do you start something when you can’t be something?

“I will be,” I say soberly. “Alonzo’s stepping back. I’ll be taking on more. I’ll be busy. Like you.” I hang up the towel, exhaling.

Maybe there aren’t exceptions to be made when the responsibilities are this big. But at least there’s tonight. And tomorrow. And Christmas Eve, when she’ll come with me to my grandparents’ as I make my case for the farm, and I’ll go to dinner at her parents’ place with her. We talked about that earlier today and figured we could make both work. And that we wanted to.

“Let’s watch a Christmas movie,” I say, because my woman loves those. “You pick this time.”

She pumps a fist. “I am the queen of Christmas movies.”

She changes into fuzzy pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, but I shake my head and hold out my Colorado State sweatshirt. “Wear this.”

Her smile is so satisfied. “I was hoping you’d have this. For me.”

“The first time you wore it, I couldn’t look away,” I say, but that’s only the half of it. The truth is all I could think was how right she looked in it even then. “Keep it.”

She tugs it on, inhales the fabric, then looks at me with the softest, most wistful expression. “Thank you.”

I pull on sweatpants and a T-shirt, then we curl up on the couch with my dog next to her—of course—while she puts on Booked for the Holidays, some movie about a snowstorm and an inn.

It’s cheesy. Ridiculous, even. But it does something strange to me—softens me further as Eloise slides closer, tucking herself against my side.

Maybe now isn’t our time.

But what if…?

The thought that’s been nagging at me since earlier this evening finally takes shape as the movie plays, draped in tinsel and bad dialogue. The answer has been right in front of me all along. The answer is in the Perry Como song. The answer is in all of Eloise’s favorite things.

“Eloise,” I whisper.

“Mmm?” Her voice is soft, sleepy.