Hunted for Christmas

by Des Sweet

I’m ready to fall in love, but I refuse to be anything less than his entire world. I want to be adored. I want to wake up every day and know that he’s thinking of me because he’s just as in love with me as I am with him. I want my happily ever after, goddamn it.

I’m not above admitting that I secretly hope to find myself in one of those ooey-gooey, mushy holiday romances where the main characters meet and fall in love by Christmas. I may have even planned my entire holiday escape around this delusional fantasy.

All that matters is that she’s here. Hazel is really fucking here—on my mountain, with me. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s all mine. Her body, her heart, maybe even her soul.

My body trembles with desire just thinking about running my hands over her supple skin. Well, Kane, I think you just proved every woman who has ever said shoulders aren’t sexy wrong. Men just sexualize a woman’s body, right? I roll my eyes at myself. I sure can’t wait to study Hazel and sexualize her body.

This is the good snow. It’s perfect for snowballs, snowmen, building igloos, sledding—thank you density—and of course, snow ice cream. Yeah, I know that the last one is kind of a cheat, because all snow is good for snow ice cream. Great, now I’m just standing out here in the freezing cold thinking about ice cream. Earth to Kane, time to focus. We’ve got stalking to do.

With stage one complete, it’s only a matter of time until I’m balls-deep inside of her, making Hazel take every inch of me. A moan escapes my mouth, rolling across my lips, vibrating them in a satisfying release of tension. I’m more than turned on. I’m starved for Hazel. She’s the temptation pulsing through my veins, begging me to turn this ATV around and go flying back to her place. Focus.