My Favorite Holidate

by Lauren Blakely

I try to ignore it, to resist it when all I can think is the better to eat you with.

That look in her eyes. So much for my restraint earlier. So much for holding back. Fuck it. Just fuck it all.

“You don’t have to say thank you for those things.” Even though I really fucking want her to.

I think I like this filthy Christmas magic. I like it more than Christmas revenge.

It can’t last. It just can’t. Except, what if it can?

Outside, snow is falling. Inside, I am.

I glance at the windows, but even the view of falling snow—one of my favorite sights in the world—has nothing on her.

“Do you know what good girls get for Christmas?” “What do they get?” “They get fucked under the tree.”

I snag some extra pillows from the bed then join her on the floor, positioning the pillows under her back so it’s comfy for my woman.

I cup her cheek, look her in the eyes, and say, “There’s nothing fake about us.”

When I look back at the man in my arms, I say, “You’re my favorite holidate.”