Page 38 of Vixen's Guide to Christmas
guide to christmas (and love) rule #34
Hot tubs are the perfect addition for a snowed-in staycation. Unless they’re with the man you can’t have.
12
kat
Fucking.Nailed. It.
Don’t get me wrong—I’m usually confident when I leave presentations. I can get a pretty good read on a room and have a gut intuition if in a few days I’m going to get the “thanks for coming” email or the celebratory phone call.
And I’d bet my vinyl collection that I’m getting that phone call sometime between Christmas and New Year’s.
I tap my key card to the door and slowly open it, not sure if Grayson is still in the room. I hope he isn’t. It’ll make my getaway all that much easier.
I also hope he is.
I don’t know when I’m going to see him again. Maybe we’ll pass each other in a business office, one coming to and one going from a meeting. Maybe we’ll randomly run into each other at a coffee shop. But if we do, it won’t be the same. It’ll be an awkward wave followed by the knowledge that something that could’ve been great had to end before it started.
Because it does. It’s better this way. Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.
When I walk into the room, it’s dead silent. Which is good. I’m going to quickly change, pack, and get the hell out of herebefore the snow really hits, and tomorrow I’ll be waking up in St. Lucia.
As I drop my tote on the bed and slide off my heels, I hear the vibration come from my cell phone.
Logan
I’m so sorry.
Um…that’s ominous.
Kat
For what?
I just got a call from the pilot. They’re shutting down the airports.
They’re what?!
I take four quick steps to the window and throw open the curtains. Oh, hell…it’s really coming down. I didn’t look much outside today, but I swear it wasn’t coming down like this earlier.
Apparently the storm was supposed to hit overnight, but made it to your neck of the woods about ten hours early. I’ll keep you posted, but it looks like you’re stuck at the Timberline for a few days.
I don’t even bother to answer. Instead I let out a scream that might get security called for a welfare check.
How is this happening? Not only am I not going to the beach, but I’m going to be stuck in this room with the man who is the definition of temptation?
I drop to the bed and bury my head in my hands as I come to terms with the situation. I mean, best case scenario, is that we’redelayed a day and the snow will stop and everything will open up again by Christmas Eve.
Worst case scenario, I die in this room from sexual frustration and the unfairness of life.
Something in the middle will probably be what happens, but I like to know the ends of my spectrum.
I look up, and I swear the cot is staring at me. I wonder if the hotel has any rooms open? People had to have left ahead of the storm, right? Maybe I’ll go ask. But if they don’t, I should be nice and sleep on it tonight. The poor man suffered last night, and even though I can’t date him, and I want to get this account because I’m competitive to my core, I don’t want the man to suffer. Consider it my last-ditch effort to get put on the nice list. Because if Santa can read a person’s mind, then he knows that in the last week, there’s been a whole lot of naughty rolling through it.
Let’s also call it what it is—my way of saying that I’m sorry that whatever we have between us can’t go anywhere. So the least I can do is let you sleep in the bed.
I let myself fall back into the mattress and close my eyes. Yes, I might be laying down now, but I don’t even have to concentrate that hard to feel him behind me like he was today in front of the mirror. I can feel his breath on my neck. His cock against my ass. Does he have any idea how bad I wanted to say to hell with my rules? That I wanted him to bend me over the counter and fuck me until I couldn’t walk? I didn’t care what time it was or what I had to do at that moment. All I wanted was him.
