Her Mistletoe Minotaur: A BWWM Paranormal Holiday Romance (A Very Alpha Christmas Book 1)

by Erin St. Charles

  "Petunia." His voice, clipped in anger, rumbled low and deep out of his barrel chest. She startled, and the mug of hot chocolate slipped from her fingers and landed on the tile floor, shattering into a million pieces and spilling its contents. She hopped back to keep from being splashed.

  The liquid looked wrong. Like hot chocolate mixed with cottage cheese. Something had obviously gone awry with her attempt at hot chocolate.

  She looked distressed at the mess, but quickly bounced back with a radiant smile on her face, her cute little body gravitating toward him. She scooted around the mess on the floor to reach up and wind the garland around his neck. If he didn't know better, he'd think she was happy.

  Happy to see him.

  He pushed that confusing thought out of his mind, remembering he was mad at her.

  "What did you do?" he demanded. Her face fell, and he felt a pang at her surprised expression. This was why he didn't let people get too close.

  In two long strides, he crossed the tile floor, reached out a meaty hand, and grabbed her by the elbow.

  "Who told you to go into my attic, go pawing through my things, and—and—"

  He was beside himself with anger. He realized he had grabbed her without thinking, and he dropped her arm. He ran a hand through his hair and scratched his scalp. He needed to get a hold of himself. She had a curious look on her face. He expected her to be frightened, but she wasn't. She looked at him like he was a puzzle to solve.

  "Never mind," he said, clenching and unclenching his hands into fists. "Just... take it down. Take everything down."

  He would hide in his home office until she took everything down. He could disappear and ignore the fact that she'd altered his living space. He thought about leaving the house again, but he had just gotten back from a run for stranded motorists, and he had no interest in going out in the terrible weather again. He would be fine in his office. Maybe get some exercise, he thought. Exercise and a shower. A cold, cold shower.

  He turned to leave her then, trying not to think about the red sweater she was wearing, which exposed cleavage a bit darker than her skin. Because if he thought about the red sweater, his fantasies would inevitably veer toward straddling her chest and fucking those tits. His cock would look beautiful against the contrast of her deep complexion. Also, her tits were large and would fit neatly in his huge hands.

  "Take it down?" she echoed, looking puzzled, and snapping him out of his reverie.

  "You had no way of knowing I didn't want you in the attic," he said tightly. Even though he was angry with her, he found he didn't want to reveal his feelings to her. He didn't want to hurt her because although he was an asshole, he wasn't a complete asshole. He paused and turned to look at her. Did he really need to spell everything out for her? She still had that quizzical look on her face. Why wasn't she simply agreeing to put everything back?

  "Why wouldn't you want me in the attic?" she asked.

  He blinked at her. Because seriously, wasn't this his house? Wasn't it his attic? He didn't owe her an explanation.

  "The fact is, you went into my attic without permission," he said. He ignored the part of her question that went to his motivation for keeping her out. The simple fact was she invaded his privacy, and she invaded his life, and he didn't like it. But her face held not a shred of contrition.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. "And that bothered you?"

  Something in the tone of her voice poked his beast. He rubbed his temples, feeling a tension headache coming on—or perhaps his horns about to sprout.

  "Just… take everything down, put it back where you found it, and we can forget this happened."

  She gave him a thoughtful nod. "No."

  "No?"

  "No," she said, tilting her head to one side. "I don't think so."

  Her tone was light but firm. He looked at her, befuddled. She maintained firm eye contact as she crossed the room and sat on one of the oversized couches, rubbing her elbow. Had he bruised her?

  "This is the most you've said to me since you brought me here," she told him, recrossing her arms and giving him a saucy look. "I want to know why."

  "Why?" he asked her.

  "Yes, why?" she asked. Now she looked a little smug, which raised his hackles some. But also befuddled him more. Who did she think she was? Words didn't come easy to Mitch—not since his transition—and at the moment, he had no words whatsoever.

  "Also, why, when you're obviously attracted to me, do you keep pushing me away? Why don't you celebrate the holidays when your attic is," she waved a hand dramatically as if to conjure the right words, "stuffed with Christmas stuff."

  Why? Because she was too sweet (their current disagreement notwithstanding), too young, too cute for a grumpy dude like him. Also, she got him, she understood him in a way he didn't dare let excite him because their fundamentals were still all wrong. She pushed too much. Knew too much, and Mitch didn't like it. Not one bit.

  Again, he had nothing to say. As if sensing his reticence, she went on.

  "We're friends," she said. "Friends help each other do things like put up Christmas decorations. Plus, this house has eight bedrooms that I counted. Why did you put me so close to the attic if you didn't want me going in?

  Was she for real?

  "We are not friends," he said. She was really pissing him off now.

  "Whether you like it or not, we have gotten to know each other," she went on. "You've probably said more to me than anyone outside of your family, haven't you? Certainly, more than anyone in town, am I right?"

  He looked at her like she was a demon.

  "You put me in that room because you wanted me to go poking around your attic," she said. "Didn't you?"

  How. How could she know him so well? And why wouldn't she shut the hell up?

  Mitch refused to be brought into this conversation. "Fine," he grumped petulantly. "I'll take everything down myself. And throw it away, so this kind of shit doesn't happen again."

  Her eyes went wide. She jumped up from the couch and hurried to where he was about to tear down the snowball garlands she'd draped over the fireplace. She threw herself in front of him dramatically, like she was throwing herself in front of a speeding bullet.

  "Don't do it," she warned. Instead of the challenge he'd seen in her eyes earlier, now she seemed compassionate. She reached up to touch his cheek. He flinched away from her, but if she was hurt by this, she gave no indication. She just kept that same direct gaze he was starting to see as uniquely hers. His blood began to boil. He glared at her.

  He grabbed the wrist still outstretched to touch him and encircled it in his large palm. Something about her touch felt like a brand, and he realized his mistake. This was the opposite of what he had planned to do.

  Suddenly, before he realized what had happened, he had her pinned against the gray stones of the fireplace. He kept his eyes on her the whole time, registering her surprise with some satisfaction. He was sure her fear would be next.

  Instead, the crazy woman smirked at him, her lips twisting into a slow satisfied smile.

  "You’re turned on, aren't you?" She gave him a knowing look that infuriated him.

  How the fuck would she know that?

  She still had one hand free. She used it to place a hand over his heart. Her face turned serious.

  "I can feel your heart beating." Her words were an intimate whisper. "I know how excited you are. Why are you denying yourself?"

  Because I won't be able to walk away from you after. Because I don't want someone disrupting my life. Because the minotaur's Kiss apparently also works before you even kiss your fated mate...

  "You should be afraid of me," he bit out between clenched teeth.

  Her slow smile returned. "But I'm not."

  Frustrated, his blood on fire, he lifted her so she was eye level with him, but still held her firmly against the fireplace stones. If she was uncomfortable, she gave no sign.

  His resolve to resist her began to slip. His head h
urt. He needed to say something to her, but he couldn't look at her when he did. So, he buried his head in the crook of her neck and sucked her scent deep into his lungs. It would be the last time he ever touched her this way.

  "If I fuck you, then I'll start to depend on you. I'll start to care about you," he whispered harshly, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. But what he said was a lie, because he already cared about her. He went on, "I'll start to need you. Then you'll go away. Because you're too beautiful, and too sweet, and too young, and I'm wrong for you. I can't afford to lose control."

  A moan reverberated in her chest, against his heart.

  "Lose control with me, Mitch," Her eyes pleaded with him. “I want you."

  Mitch held her backed against the fireplace for long moments. His entire body tense, pulled tight like an overstretched rubber band. He considered letting his control snap, giving himself to her, and demanding she give herself to him. Taking her. Possessing her. And maybe even loving her.

  Before he could take a moment to think, to consider the ramifications of what he was doing, his mouth crashed down on hers with such force he tasted blood.

  "Mmmph..." Her sound of passion vibrated against his lips as she opened her mouth to him so he could taste her. She tasted like chocolate and peaches, almost the same way she smelled. He licked inside her mouth, enjoying the feel of the smooth moisture of her lips.

  A moan rumbled in his chest and erupted against her hand, which she still had on his chest. He planted kisses all over her face, her nose, her eyelids, and her chin before kissing a path along her jawline and down her neck.

  She bucked against him, and he restrained her with his body. "Ohhh..." she mumbled as he began to nip the skin of her neck, raising goosebumps and moans in equal measure. He wondered about the sensation of his beard on her skin, wondered if it might be a turn off, but when she turned her head to one side, offering her neck to him, he had his answer.

  His cock throbbed against the fabric of his jeans, rubbing the denim and making him long for a different kind of friction there. Now that he'd tasted her, every part of him wanted to consume her, to dominate her, to fuck her. His body like a freight train barreling down a track to its destination.

  Tu undulated her hips against him as she, too, sought the friction that would give her release.

  "Mitch!" she keened when he bit, licked, then blew on a sensitive patch of skin on her neck. "Oh my God, please, Mitch!"

  "Please take me! Please make me yours," she panted and squirmed against him. He ground his crotch into hers, but it was only a tease for him. He needed more. So much more.

  "Keep doing that! Fuck, it feels so good. Your dick against my pussy is so good..."

  She had an impressive repertoire of filthy talk. Mitch knew this woman was made for him.

  "So beautiful," he panted next to her ear. He could feel her orgasm building, about to peak, and he felt a soul-stirring satisfaction at the effect he had on her.

  His hips rolled against her crotch in a tortuous rhythm, and she gasped and keened again. It was almost painful to keep going this way, but he could sense her climbing, building, until.

  "I'm coming!" she wailed. Her scream vibrated against his ear, and he struggled to maintain his control. He leaned back and watched as ecstasy rolled over her face.

  She was so gorgeous, her face soft, beautiful, satisfied. Her head drooped to one side, and a small smile ghosted her lips. He had made her come just from kissing her, holding her, dry humping her. He was still on edge, his body fully aroused and straining against her. Her body was soft and yielding against his, almost limp from her release.

  He put this look on her face. He made her body go soft and loose. He wanted to be even closer to her, he wanted to be inside her. It would be so easy right now. Undo his belt, let his pants hit the floor, rip off her jeans, toss her on the couch and feed his body into hers. Her scent drifted to his nostrils, sweet and musky. He could almost feel her pussy around him, a wet, velvet glove around his dick. Her body would yield to his deliciously.

  The sound she'd made when she came... he wanted to hear it again and again. He wanted her hoarse from screaming his name. He wanted to wake with her in the mornings, her eyes heavy with sleep, her lips bruised from his kisses.

  He wanted her. Having had a chance to catch his breath, his lust fog lifted, and he realized what he was doing. Then he realized he needed to stop.

  "I'm...sorry..." His voice was gruff when he lowered her until her feet touched the floor.

  She looked stricken. Confused.

  "Mitch—"

  Being that out of control was the last thing he should do. The snow would stop, and she would go on with her life, and where would he be?

  The only thing to do was to get away from her. Far, far away. So, for the second time that day, Mitch stormed out of the cabin, heading for the sanctuary of his wrecker.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Oh, the Weather Outside is Frightful...

  Petunia Greene was as mad as a hatter, Mitch was sure. Why was she interested in him? Why wouldn't she leave him alone? Mitch's gut clenched when he thought about the look in her eyes when he had her pinned to the fireplace. She had been calm. Excited. And she was right—she made him so fucking hot...

  Mitch had nowhere in particular to go. He had been so focused on getting away from her, he hadn't given a thought to a destination.

  Not that it mattered. He was horny and agitated enough that roaming aimlessly until he got his libido under control seemed like a good idea. His mentor, the man his parents had hired to help him through his minotaur transition, had advised him to do so whenever a situation got to be too much for him.

  He decided to give his mentor a call. Not to talk about what was going on, necessarily, but he realized he was overdue for a call to him. Technically, he was supposed to check in with him once a month. He hadn't talked to him since just after Halloween.

  "Blue." His mentor, Alan Blue, bit out his curt greeting when he picked up on his end. He sounded impatient, but then, he always did. Typical people-avoiding minotaur.

  "It's Mitch," he greeted the older man. He kept his voice nice and even. He didn't want the guy to find anything to probe him on.

  "Mitch," said Blue. He heard his mentor setting something down in the background. "It's been a minute."

  Mitch pictured Blue in his wood shop, taking a break to answer his smartphone. Most minotaurs were calmer when they had some kind of physical outlet. Blue made wood carvings. Mitch had an auto shop as a physical outlet, as well as a creative outlet.

  "Yep," said Mitch. "Checking in."

  Blue cut right to the chase. "It's been a dog's age. What's wrong?"

  "Nothing's wrong," Mitch lied. "I'm checking in, like I said."

  Blue sighed. "You never call when you're supposed to, unless something is wrong."

  "Well, this time, nothing is wrong," Mitch told Blue, feeling irritated all over again. Snow was starting to fall, along with raindrops that bounced off his windshield.

  Sleet. Great.

  "What are you doing, Mitch?"

  "Driving. What are you doing, Blue?"

  "Don't get cute," Blue said. "I was in the middle of something. I don't have time to play twenty questions with you. If nothing is wrong with you, why don't you just tell me what's new with you?"

  When Mitch got to the highway, he decided to stay on the service road, rather than the highway proper. No reason to expose himself to these numbskull Texas drivers. He frowned at the phone, and by extension, Alan Blue, who could sometimes be obnoxious.

  "Well?" Blue prompted. "Out with it. I don't have all night."

  Reluctantly, Mitch told Blue about the annoying woman he'd rescued a couple of days earlier, who was so nosy that she'd broken into the attic to rifle through his mother's things and force holiday cheer on him.

  Blue ignored everything about Tu, instead homing in on the revelation that Mitch still had his mother's Christmas decorations packed away years af
ter she'd passed away.

  "Barbara loved Christmas," Blue barked. "You think she collected all that stuff for you to lock it in the attic? What's wrong with you?"

  Mitch felt an ache in his chest that felt like indigestion.

  "Where's your dad? Did ya chase him off to Houston again?"

  "He's spending the holidays with my sisters," Mitch said carefully, bristling at the "chase him off" part of Blue's remarks. "He goes to Houston every year for the holidays."

  "Yeah," Blue scoffed. "More like, you make an ass of yourself until he leaves town for several weeks."

  It was true, the holidays made him unhappy. For Mitch, without his mother there to maintain their traditions, it just wasn't Christmas.

  "I thought I'd be spending the holidays alone," Mitch griped. The more he thought about it, the more annoying it was that a woman half his size and too damned young for him had crashed into his life and started messing with his space. And messing with him.

  "You do realize that most people don't hope to spend the holidays alone, don't you?" Blue said.

  "That was my plan, anyway," Mitch grumbled, ignoring Blue's last remark. "As soon as it warms up and the roads clear, she's going to her sister's house. Without further delay."

  "If only you could boss people around, and expect them to comply," Blue said drolly.

  "Well, I'm thinking the same thing," Mitch said. "Who sleeps under someone's roof, burns their food, then refuses to fix what they have messed up. Now I'm going to have to make sure my mother's things are put away properly."

  The highway was all but deserted, most people having decided, sensibly, to stay off the roads.

  "What kind of host ignores a houseguest for two days, then gets mad when they find ways to entertain themselves?" Blue countered. "And what if you left the decorations up? You do know you're capable of having the holidays without your mother, don't you?"

  Mitch wasn't hearing it.

  "Anyway, that's what's new," Mitch ground out. "I'm hanging up now."