Page 136 of Plays Well With Others

The bartender in the Santa hat calls out from behind the bar, “Time for a mistletoe moment for charity. If you want to raise money for rescue animals, be sure to look up and see if there’s a mistletoe near you, and if there is, feel free to have a kiss for the pets.”

A mischievous smile curves her lips as the bartender turns toward us, then lifts a red bucket on the counter. On the side of the bucket, words in white say:Singles for Kisses.

Carter’s gaze drifts up. There’s a sprig of mistletoe above us.

My breath catches.

How did I miss it? The mistletoe? Maybe because I was so caught up in talking to him. Not that I need an excuse to kiss my guy, but I will take it. Oh yes, I will.

With the phone recording, Carter says to the camera, “Now listen, I’ve maybe, possibly, kissed her a few times, but this is a reminder to all of you. At Christmas time, mistletoe is your best friend. It’s a better lubricant than alcohol. So use it.”

The other patrons chant: “Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her.”

He doesn’t need their incentive, but I can tell he loves it because I do. I love his declarations. He makes them over and over for me. In private, yes, but in public, too, at games and in moments like this. Letting the world know I’m taken.

By him.Onlyby him.

He leans closer, taking his time. My heart speeds up. My skin tingles. I’ve kissed him a million times, and every time I want more.

He reaches me, brushes his lips to mine. His are lush, full, and I want to taste them deeply. But this is a kiss for the camera. It’s chaste. Borderline sweet. A whisper of a kiss, and still, I don’t want it to end. Even as the crowd claps and cheers, their voices barely register.

I’m too swept up in this kiss and what it might lead to later.

When Carter breaks it, he turns off the camera. “You know, Rachel, I’d like to know if you’ve been naughty or nice this season.”

“Which one do you want me to be?” I ask, breathless, turned on, andsoready.

“A good boyfriend would show you rather than tell you,” he says with a glint in his eyes.

We’re out of there faster than Santa’s sleigh.

Carter

In no time, we’re in her home, hastily shutting the door. I tug off that knit cap, then hold her face. “That hat is almost better than lingerie,” I admit in a husky voice.

“But you haven’t seen what lingerie I’m wearing tonight,” she says coyly.

“Doesn’t matter. You have been turning me on ever since we met at the bar,” I say. I press my body against hers so she can feel the truth of my words and my desire. I love showing her how much I want her. Ineverwant her to doubt my desire or my love. Both are boundless.

When I drop my lips onto hers, I kiss her in a way I wouldn’t on camera. It’s hot and deep. It thrums through me everywhere, buzzing under my skin, racing through my veins, settling deep into my bones. But most of all, I feel it in the beating of my heart. Strong, passionate. And all for her. Every night.

We kiss for several minutes in a consuming, hungry way, with hands and bodies, sighs and groans.

Her fingers travel up my chest, exploring me, pinching my nipples. Fuck, she has my number.

But I have hers too. I know what she likes. I hoist her up, toss her over my shoulder, and carry her to the bed. “Gonna spread you out on the bed and taste you till you’re coming on my lips. Then I’ll fuck you good and hard.”

She lets out a long, happy sigh, chased with a purr. “Merry Christmas to me.”

* * *

Stretched out on her big bed, Rachel looks like a holiday angel, all long legs and smooth skin. And the best part of all is—she wears lacy panties and a see-through bra.

Red and white. Like a Christmas treat for this guy.

“Mmm. You win,” I tell her as I unhook that bra, freeing her tits. “Better than the hat.”

“Told you so,” she says.

---