“Why?”
“Because you’ll have decorated, and you like that stuff.”
“Or we could take some of my spare decorations to yours and make your apartment festive together.”
“You havesparedecorations?” Damon sounds slightly horrified.
I laugh. “Yes! One of my Christmas traditions is browsing the shops when they get their stock of decorations in. I always see something new, shiny, and pretty to buy. Sometimes the new thing fits the decorations I already have, sometimes it doesn’t, but I really want to put it up, so then I have to go back to the shop and buy more stuff to match.”
“Wow. I don’t haveanydecorations.”
“Not even mistletoe?”
“No. Although I’d have to buy that every year.”
“You can buy plastic stuff, but it’s not as good, obviously. I’d have thought mistletoe would be the perfect decoration for you.”
Damon chuckles. “I don’t need any excuses for kissing.”
“Oh, really?”
“No.” He kisses me as if to prove it, and damn, is it a good kiss. “We’ll go to yours,” he says decisively.
“Yes, Daddy.” I don’t care where we spend Christmas, as long as I’m with him. “I have to warn you, though, my decorations are very cheerful.”
“I’ll cope. For you.”
I sigh happily. “This is going to be an amazing Christmas.”
“Now I feel under pressure.”
“You shouldn’t. Just be you. You’re wonderful, caring, and sexy, everything a boy could want in a Daddy.”
“And now you’re going to give me a big head.”
“I haven’t said anything that isn’t true.” Besides, it’s no more than the praise he heaped on me earlier, which left my face burning like a beacon.
“I hope I can live up to all your expectations.”
“I know you will. I have no doubts about that at all.”
“No more talking,” he whispers. “Just kissing.” He taps his lips.
I hum. “I can get on board with that.” I kiss him, although he quickly takes over control of it.
I end up on my back, him over me, kissing me over and over, showing me with every press of his lips how much he wants to be with me.
13
DAMON
By the time we’re ready to leave the hotel on Christmas Eve, the roads are clear, the pavements are covered in slush, and the verges and fields are still blanketed in snow, albeit melting now. It’s a sunny, clear day, which makes the snow glisten almost painfully. I sit in the front of the car, shielding my eyes from the glare. Rowan wears sunglasses, which were tucked in the glove compartment. He navigates the winding roads carefully but confidently, driving us ever closer to London.
“Would you mind if we went to yours via Elevated?” I ask.
“Elevated? That’s one heck of a detour, especially on Christmas Eve. Traffic in London will be awful.”
“Worse than normal?”
