Under the Mistletoe (Eventually) (Patreon)

Christmas lights glow softly in the background. The bed is warm. Too warm.

Voices drop to whispers. Fingers linger just a second longer than they need to.

There’s no rush tonight—only the slow, delicious awareness of proximity.

The brush of skin.

The way anticipation hums louder than the room itself.

Some traditions are written down. Others are learned… up close.

And once you realize what kind of night this is going to be, there’s no point pretending you’re not already leaning in.

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Now, excuse me while I go hang some mistletoe in very inconvenient places. 🎄😈