Christmas Tales - Brandon Witt Page 0,6
worry.”
“Now, why doesn’t that surprise me? Mr. Boy Scout.”
I could swear there was a huskiness in his tone at the use of the nickname. I’d never not hated being called a Boy Scout before.
“Are you a teacher? The job would be a lot easier if I were as planned out as you. I tend to fly by the seat of my pants.”
“No. I make candles. I have a shop in part of my house.”
“Seriously? You make candles? That actually pays something?”
“Well, I live in a mountain town. It gives the tourists something to buy besides T-shirts.” I was always somewhat defensive about my career choice. “And they’re great candles. Each hand poured, smokeless, environmentally friendly, they glow more than any candle you’ll buy anywhere else—”
Logan put a hand on my chest, cutting me off. “Whoa, Paxton. I wasn’t judging. Just surprised. I like the different sides of you. All anal retentive and a dirty elf-loving artisan. Good stuff.”
It was the first time he’d said my name, and it sounded even better than the nickname. I glanced down at his large hand, warm on my chest. Surely he felt my heart begin to speed to a pounding tempo. His breath was warm on my cheek, and I looked back at his face, so much closer now. Close enough to see red mixed in to the blond of his stubble.
“This okay?”
His whisper negated any attempt the five layers over my lap had to hide his effect on me. I nodded.
Logan closed what little distance there was and pressed his partly open lips on mine.
A groan escaped, causing me to accidently breathe into his mouth.
Instead of pulling back, Logan increased the pressure. His body shifted a little, the curve of his heavy chest muscles pressing against my arm. His lips were soft and warm, and pleasantly dry. His tongue darted into my mouth, slightly touching my own before he pulled back once more.
“Still okay, Paxton? I know you’re a planner. Don’t wanna freak you out.” There was definitely teasing behind his voice, but also genuine care, which made it so much better.
I nodded, unable to speak. I never would have planned on this in a million years. It wasn’t possible, and it, for certain, meant I was freezing to death buried under a foot of snow and having the best dream of my life as I faded away.
And there would be no complaining from me.
Then a thought hit me, and I let out a nearly agonized groan.
Logan pulled further back, looking wary. “What? I’m sorry if I misread—”
“No. It’s not that.” There was definitely a whine in my tone. I motioned toward my backpack that had been shoved down toward our feet. “I’m not as prepared as you think. I didn’t dream of this happening. I’m not exactly equipped to do this safely.”
It took him a second to understand my meaning, then his grin returned, and he leaned back in, his voice all heat and sex. “That’s okay. There’s plenty of other things I’d like to do to you, and if we stall out, we can always channel the spirit of your Horny Elf gifts.” He leaned down and kissed me again.
Maybe I was afraid Logan would come to his senses or that I’d freeze to death out in the snow before this delusion came to an end, but whatever it was, I pushed him away lightly.
Hurt crossed his face.
I moved to a seated position before he could respond. “Sorry, I’ve been dying to do this all night.” I reached out and undid the three buttons at the top of his waffle shirt. “Please take that off.”
His smile returned, but was blocked from view as he pulled the shirt over his head.
Again I groaned. Pathetic or not. “Holy shit.”
I was dying. No doubt. Buried under the snow by the recently fallen spruce. And it was the best thing that had ever happened to me.
I reached out and smoothed my fingers over the rust-hued chest hair that covered the rock-solid planes of his chest and stomach.
“You do sit-ups, huh?”
He laughed, then pushed his lips on mine once more, his hands moving expertly at the fastenings of my layers of clothes.
* * *
Who knows how much time passed before either of us spoke again. At some point, Logan looked up from where he’d been repaying my anatomy for being restrained for so long. His lips were glistening and swollen in the cliché porn star way. And his voice made me groan again. “Merry Christmas, Paxton.”
*