Meet Me Under the Mistletoe (Holiday Romance Collection #3)

9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Theo

N oelle’s hands clasp tightly on either side of my face, framing my jaw. Her fingers send jolts of electricity through every inch of my body—including straight to my dick—and I have to remember how to breathe. She yanks my face down toward her and I stop breathing altogether. Holy fuck.

Twisting my face in her hands, she turns my lips away from hers at the last second. Disappointment crashes through me and my stomach does this awful kamikaze dive that twists me all up. But at the first touch of her lips to my cheek, my heart thuds painfully in my chest. The arm still banded around her waist tightens reflexively, my hand spreading wide, spanning across her ribcage. Those lips—fuck that mouth that I’ve dreamed of kissing so many fucking times just like this, under these stupid mistletoes that my parents always insisted be strung up everywhere at Christmastime—brushes the corner of my mouth, and I’m fairly certain I black out for a heartbeat or two.

I could simply twist my head an inch and press my mouth to hers. She’s so fucking close. Her scent wraps around me, sending my head into outer space. My dick is throbbing in my pants at having her so close… It takes every last ounce of my admittedly minimal self-control to not press my hips against hers. Fuck, I want her to feel me. Want her to know what she does to me. How she’s always had this effect on me.

But then she’s pulling away, clapping her hands excitedly, her wide, green eyes bright as she stares up at me. She reaches above us, waggling her fingers expectantly. “Oh my god, Theo, you are my hero! How’d you know I forgot the mistletoe?”

Fucking of course she forgot the mistletoe. I shake my head with a grin, but lower my arm to allow her to grasp it between her fingers. “There’s never too much mistletoe at Christmastime, Noe. I’ll take any chance for Christmas kisses.”

Stepping back, she lets her eyes drift over me from head to toe and I have to pray that she doesn’t notice the erection that has to be tenting the front of the dark red velvet pants.

“You upgraded your Santa suit. Very nice,” she says appreciatively, grinning as her eyes come back to mine. Flicking the white pompom attached to the tip of the matching Santa hat with her finger, she tilts her head, narrowing her eyes on me suspiciously. Glancing around me, she makes a show of looking for something. “What? No big Santa bag for you to stuff me into? Wasn’t that your threat?”

Is she teasing me or flirting with me? Fuck, I can never tell with Noelle.

“It’s still early, Santa wants to make sure you have time with the family before taking you away,” I murmur, winking. She laughs, shaking her head, and then turns back into the house. As she shimmies her coat down her arms and toes her boots off, I ask, “Were you leaving?”

She turns to me, eyes wide, nose scrunched up, mouth twisted into a grimace. “I already told you—” she whispers, “—I forgot the mistletoe at the shop. I was headed out to go get it. But then you showed up; my knight in a velvet Santa suit.”

I roll my eyes, following her as she tiptoes on red fuzzy socks toward the living room. But then she skips through to the study on the other side of the house, and I follow. She opens the glass paned French doors and walks in. The bookshelves are strung up with white Christmas lights, and a string has been attached to the center of the ceiling. Snagging the rolling office chair from behind her dad’s desk, she wheels it to the center of the floor and then climbs up. The chair wobbles precariously, sliding several inches to the left and I lunge forward.

“Jesus, Noe,” I mutter, clasping my hands around the arms of the chair to hold it steady as she straightens into a standing position. From my slightly crouched position, my face is level with the junction of her thighs. Glancing up her body, I watch as she reaches up to tie the mistletoe to the string suspended above her, stretching slightly as she does it. The pink sweater she’s wearing —with bright red lettering reading ‘FESTIVE AF’ on the front—is loose fitting, and as she stretches, it comes away from her body, allowing my gaze to go straight up her shirt. I get a flashing glimpse of red lace at the undersides of her breasts—and something else at her waist that I don’t get a good look at—and I’m pretty sure I black out again.

My cock is hard in my pants. I can’t help it. She’s too fucking beautiful. I lower my head, taking deep, steadying breaths. She wobbles from above me and on instinct I release my hold on the arms of the chair, wrapping both of my arms around the tops of her thighs as I straighten. She squeaks in alarm, her feet kicking out reflexively, and the wheeled office chair topples over onto its side on the hardwood floor.

Her hands find purchase on my shoulders, her fingers gripping tight into the velvet of the Santa coat. My cheek is pressed between her breasts now and I inhale deeply, her floral scent intoxicating to my senses. I can’t help myself; I nuzzle my cheek against the softness of her chest, closing my eyes.

Fucking hell. Merry Christmas to me.