Deck the Palace (A Duched Series Holiday Novella), page 7
“Barely,” Father replies, hopefully not noticing the gloss I’m also being slipped. “Nonetheless, we should get going in case we need to swap seats with Fredrick or Kristopher. I would prefer us to sit next to the Lawsons.” She turns to completely face him and nonchalantly tosses a Lifesavers mint over her shoulder. “They never complain when those around them get a bit handsy because they typically are.”
“Why am I not surprised where your mind is?” Paislee teasingly inquires during her strut over.
“I imagine it is because you caught at least a glimpse of your reflection this evening.”
“You are simply looking for a snogging,” she flirtatiously scolds upon linking their hands together.
“No,” Father quietly corrects, “however, I will always appreciate one…”
The sound of the door shutting becomes the flickering lights of my situation.
Cliff will be up here in a matter of moments to say hi, so I need to not only work fast, I need my ovaries and tubes and whatever else is down there auditioning to be a Hamilton dancer to please cooperate with me.
Quickly grabbing the brush is followed by using it to pull my hair into a floppy, messy knot at the very top of my head and checking my pits for an odor.
Thankfully – due to me not bearing any – I can swiftly move onto sucking the mint, using my phone to hurriedly put on mascara, and cover my lips in slightly sparkling lip gloss.
Stage left?
I am utterly grateful.
Paislee swooping in like a wardrobe manager two minutes before curtain is wonderful.
I never pictured myself having someone around like that.
I wanted it.
Then again, I wanted many things.
Parents who gave a shite.
Less torso.
Bigger tits.
Stubborn hair not to reveal itself at an awkward time.
None of the others came to be, so why would I deduce the former would?
However, it did.
And I again, adore it to the Tony’th degree.
Stage right?
Tad odd wearing the same gloss I know she snogs my father with.
Two tiny raps can barely be heard preceding a gentle calling of my nickname, “Kay?”
Despite the excoriating misery swimming around, delight joins it.
How could it not?
The one guy I am totally into – regardless of the fact he is not into me – is here.
To say hi.
To get a glimpse of my face.
Let me get a peek at his.
Sure, we’ve Snapped and DMed and texted; however, it is not the same.
It is not the same as looking him directly in his sparkling hazel eyes and knowing that he sees me.
Really sees me.
I swear he’s the only person aside from my roommate Criselle Yates – who went home to Highland in the states for winter holiday – that even bothers to.
Sometimes I wonder if perhaps that’s why I find myself drawn to things behind the stage rather than on it.
I am already quite accustomed to being invisible.
And I rather like it.
“May I come in?” Cliff asks, reminding me that I didn’t actually respond when he first spoke.
“Of course!” I enthusiastically reply. “Come in! Come in!”
The door cracks the tiniest bit to reveal a playful expression. “Are you sure?” Waggling his light eyebrows gets me giggling like it always does. “I can bugger off. Take this tropical smoothie I made down to the twins instead. It is quite entertaining to watch them devour cold items.”
More light laughs escape me prior to an awe. “You made me a tropical smoothie?”
“I would have stopped and got you one of the Thunder Tropic Popsicles you prefer had we not already been running behind,” he explains during his entry. “I know it is not exactly the same; however, I did my best with what was available in the kitchen.” Cliff uses the edge of his foot to shut the door behind him. “Full disclosure? Annaliese did not approve of my using her dragon fruit and Aaron is quite touchy about his blender.”
“Why does that not surprise me?”
“Because this is not your first royal holiday.”
Additional chuckles reverberate around the room only stopping when he arrives at my bedside.
“We are skipping the ballet,” he begins alongside his descent onto the edge of the mattress. “I imagine the pain is somewhere closer to a ten than a four?”
Gah.
Why does he have to keep proving how incredible he is?!
Does he not know I am already fully aware?!
Everyone is.
And ohmycabaret, why did he have to wear my favorite cologne tonight?!
The night I do not get to be beside him to fully enjoy it.
I force myself to shyly nod. “About an eight.”
“Creeping to a nine?”
A second bobbing of my head is executed.
“My apologies for that, Kay. I hate how miserable you are,” Cliff sweetly comforts and offers me the Christmas cup. “Drink this.” He places down a beautifully wrapped box. “Do not open that.” He wiggles around a small couple of unfamiliar packages I couldn’t see him holding before near my face. “And get prepared for these.”
“And what exactly are those?”
“Hot pads!”
Bafflement is accompanied by me transferring the drink to my possession. “Pardon?”
“They are break and go warming pads.” The demonstration on how to activate one is damn near instant. “Coach recommends them for older injuries or muscle pains that just will not seem to chill.” He offers the cracked object. “It may help relax your lady muscles or at the very least provide a bit of comfort.” A small attempt to smile is made. “If we were back on campus, I would simply pull out my Kay Kit-”
“Shutup,” I snicker in tandem with placing the heat on my lower abdomen in spite of my belief it won’t do much. “You do not have a Kay Kit.”
“Are you serious right now?” He teases back. “You think I keep Thunder Tropic Pops, bars of dark raspberry chocolate, microwavable packs, and a fuzzy, full sized Flounder blanket on hand for Chen?” Redness heats my face pushing him to adoringly tease, “No, sweets. That shite I do for you. And only you.”
See.
Totally swoon worthy!
How can anyone not be head over heels, make me the leading lady in your life, in love with him?
I would honestly be interested to know their secret.
“Thank you,” bashfully escapes between sips of the drink. “For everything.”
“Always.”
For just a brief moment we allow ourselves to become completely lost in one another’s presence.
We’ve been apart for ages.
And the only agony that comes close to touching it is the one in my lady bits.
It is wild how being apart – even for just a few days – is far too many.
I have no idea what I am going to do when he goes pro someday.
Part of me selfishly hopes he never does.
“Do you need to um…” leaning over to place the glass on the nightstand is taken over by Cliff, “be heading out for the show?” I let my fingers fidget in my lap to aid in hiding my sadness. “Will you be so kind as to take me photos? I know it is not ‘allowed’ however-”
“I am not going,” Cliff declares as he turns his frame to completely face mine.
“What?”
“You are not going; therefore, I am not going.”
My jaw isn’t allotted the opportunity to even twitch.
“We will do what we always do when your condition flares to extreme lengths. I will hold you – if you are in the mood to be held – and watch an old movie.” His smile melts every bone in my body. “I am thinking The Nutcracker to continue the spirit of Christmas my mum is trying to capture from her life in the states.”
Unsure what to say or even how to say it considering the way I suddenly feel incapable of speaking, I cheerfully nod.
Scoot over to create space.
Avoid touching the box like instructed.
His blue jeans and designer flannel cloaked figure slowly slips beside mine, wasting no time warmly tugging me into him.
Once my head is resting on his chest, he drapes one arm around me and retrieves the remote. “I searched in the car for where to stream it – after breaking up the twin’s car seat brawl – so I know precisely where to go.”
“You know my egg donor auditioned for a role in a film adaption before I was born.” My eyes lift to find his in tandem with his lowering to connect to mine. “At least according to an interview, I read online.”
Her addiction to stage lights is the only reason I know anything about her.
It honestly is not Father’s fault.
He did not exactly know much about her when they got together.
Nor after they parted.
And getting to know her still wasn’t on his list even after she revealed she was pregnant with me.
Me who was supposed to be impossible.
A miracle she did not want.
Which tracks.
No one ever wants me.
Likely as to why being invisible feels so bloody comfortable.
Cliff gingerly investigates the new information, “Did you learn anything else from it?”
“She lost the role to an American actress, which according to her only ‘further proves that the states have an unfair monopolization of the industry and that her distaste for the country is warranted’.” An eye roll is thoughtlessly executed. “Of course, she chose to completely disregard her acting capabilities are comparable to that of a middle school student being cast in her first Disney role on television.”
“Shade,” chuckles the male whose arms I adore being in, “and family tea?” He waits until I join him in the sniggering to teasingly add, “How bloody unusual for you, Kay.”
“This from the chap wearing something clearly out of the Paul Bunyan Christmas collection?”
“And a drive by?!” His theatrical gasp increases my giggling. “Not the Christmas gift I was expecting, yet the one I am accepting.”
Another round of airy snickers seeps free on a headshake. “You staying here with me to watch what is most likely a crummy film instead of going to the actual show is the Christmas gift I was not expecting, yet the one I am gratefully accepting.”
He lets the corners of his lips curl towards the ceiling. “Does that mean you do not want the actual gift in that box?”
Thrill and mirth dash through my expression. “Did I say that?”
More laughs bounce between us before he gently bumps into me on a soft, “Go on. Open it.”
Reluctance to sit completely up and retrieve it is nonexistent; however, taking my time to carefully peel off the paper can’t be helped.
What can I say?
I am not one for huge messes.
I prefer even my trash piles to be tidy.
Per usual, Cliff tenses during the process but doesn’t rush me.
Where I am tidy and organized and a bit anal, he is messy and spontaneous and a little manic.
It all makes sense considering how we were respectively raised.
Although, I will admit.
I adore that we are not simply opposites, but opposites who grant one another permission to be who they are in spite of how mad it periodically drives us.
Post placing the folded paper on the nightstand beside my smoothie, I remove the lid only to be instantly gob smacked by the sight inside.
“I want to start by apologizing,” begins my mate – who I wish was more – at the same time he rearranges his sitting position to match mine. “I have an entirely new appreciation for what you do in your spare time.”
Giggling isn’t stopped.
Or discouraged.
In fact, his beaming tells me it’s welcomed.
And cherished.
“Crocheting is the bloody devil and learning the difference in needles and the right needle and the twisty,” his wrists flail around, “whirly,” they continue, “weird,” he drops them in his lap, “hand things oddly hurt?” Perplexity pierces his glare causing even more laughter to escape. “I swear, the work I put into making that hurt more than practice somedays.”
My shoulders mindlessly melt towards the mattress.
“I know it may be hard to decipher what it is-”
“A crescent moon.”
At that, Cliff momentarily stumbles over the words he had prepared.
Gives the collar of his shirt a small tug – his tell that he’s nervous.
Uncomfortable.
“Crescent moons – according to what I learned from Professor Higgins in Religious Studies – are a symbol of many things such as guidance, luck, protection and hope.” He struggles not to let his anxious, hazel glare wander elsewhere. “Which are all the ways I feel about you, Kay.”
Dropping my jaw in speechlessness can’t be avoided.
“You,” his body slightly shifts to face me better, “you…are…the moon in my world. You are where I go for help – whether it’s class or cooking. My good luck charm I always need in the stands. My mate that always has my back. And most importantly, my light that always shines just bright enough to keep me from getting lost in the darkness that never fails to come for me.”
His confession is met by a squeaky croak.
Which is not what I intended!
“And it is uh…yellow…” once more, he fidgets with the lapel of his shirt, “because um…I know yellow is your favorite color.”
This time instead of meeting his sentimental words with my own something worse happens.
Much. Much. Worse.
Overwhelmed with emotion, pushes tears to helplessly begin rolling down my cheeks resulting in faint black streaks being left in their wake courtesy of the mascara – I now regret borrowing and not letting properly dry.
“Oh, Kay,” Cliff cringes, clearly unsure of how to proceed. “I know it is awful! You do not have say it! It is why I bought you another gift; however, it unfortunately has been met by a shipping delay, so I…I…I uh…gave this one to you in the meantime. You do not have to keep it. You-”
“Shutup,” leaves my lips between attempts to catch my breath, “you,” more efforts, “romanticidiot.”
Mirth immediately floods his tone. “Did you just call me an idiot?”
“I did!” Sniffles are accompanied by me pulling the stuffed object out of the container. “And I should call you other names for being so bloody sweet when I am hormoning!”
“Hormoning or not,” Cliff chuckles during the gentle brushing away of the droplets, “the words I said still remain true.”
More tears rush to the brims of my eyes increasing my embarrassment.
“I…” his fingers give one last pull to his collar, “I am in love you with Kay Kenningston.” He wipes away the newest batch to fall. “I have always been in love with you.” Shyly grinning is attached to a small shrug. “And…I have this gut feeling that I will always be in love with you. And honestly?” The expression softens. “I want that.”
Clutching the meaningful creation closer to my chest occurs out of the desperate need for something stable to latch onto.
Something real I can hold that lets me know that this is real.
That this is happening.
That a moment I have dreamt about so many times is not just a dream but a reality.
“I am in love with you too, Cliff.” Offering him a similar bashful beam is effortlessly done. “And…I have this gut feeling that I too will always be in love you. And honestly?”
Excitement leads to his face immediately leaning in closer.
“I want that.” Both hands cup my cheeks, clearly prepared to pull me in for a kiss – a kiss I have been waiting years for – when I self-consciously mumble, “This is so not the face I wanted you to kiss.”
“I want to kiss any face as long as it’s your face, Kay.”
Any opportunity for further objection or dwelling is annihilated.
He crashes his mouth into mine sending every worry regarding my imperfections stage left for exiting and inviting every flicker of anything that might be remotely special to enter from stage right. Our lips linger together for only a mere moment before they part open, granting our tongues the first taste of what my soul undoubtedly knows is forever.
Best in Snow
(Starring Kristopher Kenningston & Sophia Kenningston )
Sophia
Have I mentioned how much I love not having to be in charge of the holiday itinerary?
Or how wonderful it is to have a palace full of people eager and excited to play with our children allowing me to properly play with my husband?
I toss my head back on an airy moan of praise, wet, dark locks dancing across my golden beige shaded shoulder blade. “Mygod, Kris…” His tongue wildly whips around my taut back hole while his hands possessively continue to spread my toned cheeks apart. “How are you even better at this now?”
Arrogant chuckles add delicious vibrations that get my mind swimming, yet it’s the soft spank to my left arse cheek that prompts me to drop my face forward, roughly grab his dick, and spit on the slit.
Not all men – or people to be more inclusive – enjoy spit play.
My husband certainly does.
Much like he lives to feast between my thighs.
Seriously.
The man eats pussy as though it is a royal decree that’s punishable by ancient methods of torture like keelhauling or being boiled to death.
Although, I am not complaining.
I am well aware of women who have spouses that won’t even consider putting their faces where mine currently has his.
I am also well aware that many couples no longer consider sixty-nining a part of foreplay post the initial nuptial bliss and especially not on menu once they’ve had a child – let alone children.
And that is quite alright.
Body’s constantly go through changes.
Particularly women’s.
Whether it is from aging or childrearing or simply the stress that seems to never end, what we enjoy and how we enjoy it varies.
