Page 5 of Dirty Little Christmas

He makes me want things I'm not even sure make sense. I've always been fiercely independent, but I want to curl up on his lap and let him hold me so badly! Between college and modeling, my world is chaos sometimes. I've never wanted anyone to restore order to it as desperately as I want him to do it.

When I touch myself at night, I say things I shouldn't. Imagine things I shouldn't. He's not just Blaze in my mind. He'smycaretaker and protector, my wicked knight. He's…my daddy. He keeps me safe by day and teaches me all manner of wicked things by night.

Is that normal? Probably not.

But I've tried a thousand times since meeting him to talk myself out of wanting him like I do. It's useless. So I'm not trying anymore. Before my time here is up next week, I'm going to let this man know exactly how I feel about him. If he doesn't feel the same, it will crush me. But at least I'll know, right?

Right.

Which is exactly why I'm in the situation I'm in now. He all but dared me to play his elf today and I couldn't say no. I'm pretty sure he could ask me to walk naked across hot coals and I'd do it. Honestly, I think the coals would be better than this elf costume. There's no way it was made for a curvy girl like me. My boobs are too big for the top and if I bend over, the entire party is going to see my ass. The skirt is tiny.

Long story short, I do not look like an innocent Christmas elf.

I look like the naughty version they sell to couples in search of a little roleplay.

This wouldn't be a problem if Blaze were the only one to see me in it. I'll be his naughty little elf any day. But hundreds of people will be at this party tonight…and it's far too late to back out now. Fashion designers work miracles, this is true. But not even God himself could sew fast enough to make me a new costume. The party started fifteen minutes ago.

"This is a disaster," I say, shaking my head.

"This is fine," Sariah says, her normally soft voice a high-pitched squeak as she looks me over, her blue eyes narrowed in assessment. "We can make this work."

I gape at my friend in the mirror, certain she's joking. She's not.

"Jill, go raid the stockroom," she says, turning to look at Jill over her shoulder. "We need a pair of boy shorts under this skirt, or her vagina is going to feel the breeze every time the air kicks on."

Jill jumps to obey, scurrying across the marble floor in a sprint. The dressing room door cracks open, allowing cool air from the design room to swirl in.

Sariah was right. My vagina does feel the breeze.

I tip my head back, taking a deep breath. The recessed lighting glints off the marble ceiling, momentarily blinding me. The dressing rooms in this place are incredible. Everything is classy and elegant, like it's a high-end boutique instead of a sewing room. Racks of clothes are neatly arranged in closets. Flowers bloom in vases all over the lavishly appointed room. The sofa puts the bed in my dorm to shame.

A lot of people still see plus-size models and plus-size clothing as a necessary evil forced upon them by the body positivity movement. Not Daphne Parrish & Co. Blaze and Alaric treat uslike queens. My contract is more than generous, especially with it being my first big job.

I love spending time here, and not just because of Blaze.

The fashion industry is full of predatory men and mean girls. But they don't tolerate that kind of behavior here. I look forward to coming here for fittings because no one ever has a negative thing to say about me, my body, or any part of it. If something doesn't work, they would never dream of insinuating that it would be fine if only I were smaller.

Trinity blacklists companies who treat us like that, but it's harder to nix working with designers. She doesn't always have a say in what designers work for which companies. Which means we've all dealt with nightmare designers who hate our bodies a time or two. Especially those of us just starting out.

This job has been a dream. I'm still a little surprised they picked me over everyone else,especiallysince I'm new. But the last two months have flown by. My final shoot is three days after Christmas. After that, all I have left to do is walk a couple shows and attend the launch party in mid-January. My time here will be up, and I'll be on to the next job.

Which means I'm out of time to make Blaze notice me. It's now or never.

"You can back out," Sariah reminds me, no judgment in her voice.

She's right. If I backed out, Blaze wouldn't be angry at all. But I'm a model, for God's sake. I've worn far less than this for the entire world to see—like the lingerie line. Every piece is more daring than the last, and it'll be in magazines and billboards around the world. But I was on a closed set with half a dozen people for the shoots. I wasn't parading around a party with Blaze at my side.

Will he even let me go out there in this outfit?

I've seen the way he looks at me. It's almost like he's unable to see anythingbutme sometimes. He gets grumpy when I talk to anyone with a penis. He's attracted to me; I know that much. I think he thinks I'm too young for him, though. In his eyes, I'm just the curvy young model who likes to give him a hard time. I'm not a woman. Not really.

I've been pushing his buttons for two months, trying to get underneath his skin, trying to make him see how badly I want him. I don't even know why I keep doing it! But he looks at me and Iwantto be bad, just to see how he'll react. I want him to make me behave. Maybe that makes me weird, I don't know. But I can't help it.

He looks at me, and I want him to feel the things I do, to want the things I do. I'm tired of feeling them by myself, of trying to make sense of them on my own. Ineedhim to help me do it before I burst out of my skin. The way I feel about him is overwhelming, like it's too big to be contained. And yet I don't have the first clue how to make it less overwhelming. My body aches constantly, and nothing helps.

I need him to teach me how to fix it because I'm pretty certain no one else on earth is capable of doing it for me. It has to be him. My daddy.

If this outfit doesn't change his mind about me, nothing ever will. And the clock is ticking.

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