Mistletoe Kisses

Biting back a smile, I roll my eyes. “I wouldn’t ask you to. The bed is plenty big enough for both of us.”

I try to sound casual despite the way my heart is racing. The bed is big enough, but the mere thought of it makes my head spin. Lying inches away from my teacher, from his hard cock, from the body that caged mine beneath it just last night... how am I going to be able to resist the temptation that is Callan McLaren?

"There are robes in the bathroom. I'm going to get changed," I tell him, motioning to the hallway. "Feel free to get comfortable."

“Wait,” he says and I turn back to him. “I thought you were hungry? Maybe we should go eat before you change?”

As much as I’d like to have dinner with him, I know I wouldn’t be able to eat a thing right now. My stomach is too knotted up with nerves and anticipation, my mind too firmly fixed on the fact that we’re sharing a bed tonight.

“I think I’m more tired than hungry,” I tell him. “If it’s all the same to you, I can wait for breakfast.”

At the mention of breakfast, my mind drifts back to the crazy reality that I’ll be spending the night with him tonight and my cheeks warm.

“All right,” he says, watching me with his intense gaze. “Whatever you want.”

For some reason, that makes my cheeks burn even hotter.

I turn and make my way down the long hall again, but I’m so aware of him in the adjoining room this time. There are sliding wooden doors to separate the room from the bathroom, but I feel awkward as I pull them closed, as if the action suggests Cal would peek in at me otherwise.

I try to distract myself as I strip off my school uniform and change into the robe, but the thought of lying next to my gorgeous teacher all night in nothing but this bathrobe and a pair of panties is enough to raise goosebumps all over my skin. The belt could come untied, I could roll out of it while I sleep…

He could take it off me before it even comes to that.

When I get back to the room, the lights have been turned off except for the Christmas tree and the lamps on the nightstands on either side of the bed.

Cal is already in bed.

My heart races at the sight of him. The covers are settled around his waist so I can see his bare chest and strong shoulders. For a moment, I have doubts that I even possess the physical ability to walk over there and join him in that bed.

“You coming?”

His low baritone spurs me into action and I cross the room, absently tightening the belt on my bathrobe. I pull back the blankets on my side of the bed and climb in, doing my best not to look at him, but it’s so hard.

I burrow into the bed, the sheets cool against my skin. I shiver a little before pulling the covers up all the way to my neck.

Cal looks over at me. “Are you cold?”

“A little bit.” Trying to lighten up since I feel so awkward and nervous, I joke, “Wanna warm me up?”

I expect him to maybe roll his eyes at me or pick an excuse off the long list of reasons he can’t do that, but instead he extends his right arm, inviting me to curl up against him. My heart slams forward in my chest, my whole body suffused with a sudden wave of heat. I scoot across the bed despite that, too enticed by the prospect of cuddling with Mr. McLaren.

I don’t know where to put my arms and hands, and he must like watching me flail in discomfort because he doesn’t guide me, merely watches with a smirk while I figure it out. I finally settle with one arm tucked beneath me and the other tentatively resting over his muscled abdomen.

I’m on fire now. He probably thinks I was lying about being cold just to get close to him, but the flush of embarrassment has done the job. My humiliation deepens when I shift around to get comfortable and end up dropping my hand low enough that I feel the waistband of his underwear.

“Sorry,” I say quickly, darting a look up at him.

If he was affected, I can’t tell. He’s on his phone, using his thumb to scroll, as if he can’t be bothered by the teenager snuggling him.

Jerk.

Then Mr. Jerkface further mortifies me. “How sorry? Drop your hand a little lower and show me.”

I can tell by his tone—and the fact that he’s still on his phone—that he’s only joking, but his words still do something to me. My mind follows the path he sent me down, imagining reaching under the blanket and feeling around for the outline of his cock. Rubbing him through his underwear until he has such a hard-on, he can’t focus on his stupid phone anymore.

Holy fuck, I'm not going to survive tonight, am I?

Seeing how embarrassed I am, he grins wickedly, then goes back to ignoring me.