The Blackmail
- 2 years ago
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“You know, I generally expect my Christmas presents to be wrapped, Dodson.”
“Wha... ?” I was articulate, even eloquent, at times, I swear – but not when being disturbed by that voice that should not, under any circumstances, have been waking me up.
I rolled, with every intention of sitting up and delivering a blistering rejoinder – once I’d dealt with the small matter of the dried drool on my cheek, and my eyes which I couldn’t seem to quite crack open – but that voice which shouldn’t have been anywhere near me when I wasn’t alert suddenly jumped about three octaves up, volume also rising in alarm. “No! Shit, don’t do that! Just hold still.”
“Fuck you, Staves.” My response was automatic; he prodded, and I pushed back. “What the fuck?” It was my turn to screech, as something ripped at my hair and scratched the side of my face.
“I told you,” that voice came from much closer now, accompanied by the welcome relief of my hair being freed from whatever yanked it, “to hold still, potty mouth.” There was some more rustling, and then I was unceremoniously flipped onto my back, and a hand laid in the centre of my chest. “Maybe this time you’ll listen: don’t. sit. up. I mean it.”
The sudden movement had my head swirling in dismay, and sitting up was the very last thing I had in mind. The warm skin in contact with my – apparently – bare chest had a different effect, though equally disorienting: a sudden rush of memories swept over me, of buttons popping and fabric tearing and desperate, violent kisses and bare skin touching mine – and that voice, the one that was so aggravating me at the moment, whispering dirty things in my ear while I completely fell apart.
I cracked one eye open, hoping against hope that I was wrong – that I’d had some sort of psychotic break, and the memories were actually hallucinations. Bright light stabbed at my brain, limiting how much visual information I was able to take in before I had to slam my lids shut again for self-preservation, but in that brief moment, it appeared I was bound to be disappointed. I was ass-naked, in an unfamiliar room, and the owner of that voice was hovering over me, looking ludicrously handsome despite the wan, blue light.
I was momentarily mortified – me, bare in front of anyone was rare enough that I wasn’t entirely comfortable – but if he’d had any problem with my body as it was, he hadn’t said anything the night before ... and fucked if I was going to let it affect my confidence any.
Wait – blue light?
I opened both eyes this time, though still for a mere nanosecond, and swore as I confirmed my first impression. The light was blue, because the only source of illumination in the room was an enormous, beautiful, blue-themed Christmas tree – and I was currently lying underneath it, my long hair tangled in the lowest branches.
More memories assaulted me: being ass up and face down in front of the tree as the owner of that voice plowed into me from behind, both of us scrabbling as we jolted forward into an uncontrolled, passionate heap and then passed out ... underneath said beautiful tree.
Apparently he’d been awake for a while before me, because while I was still ... heaped ... he was sporting a festive green and red bathrobe, shower-wet, perfectly styled hair, and a pair of house slippers. And I was naked, I’d drooled on the expensive wool throw I was lying on, and there were Christmas tree branches weaved into my hair.
Fantastic.
I wanted to blame him; I had a full rant ready to go, but it was just vaguely possible the real culprit was the entire pitcher of sangria I’d finished off at the party the night before, and I was pretty sure my aching head was not going to tolerate even my own yelling anyway.
“As I was saying,” that voice started up again, and I groaned as my head pounded harder, “I usually expect my Christmas presents wrapped. But I think in this case I might be willing to make an exception.”
“Fuck you, Staves.” I’m nothing if not original.
“I think we already covered that, Dodson. Several times, if memory serves.”
I knew I was blushing, and I could only hope the strange blue light wasn’t making me look distinctly purple. My memory was serving just as well as his, despite the alcohol I’d imbibed, and he wasn’t wrong.
“Would you like out from under there any time soon?” That voice was so smug I could hear the goddamned smirk, and only my desire to get out from under the tree without a bald patch kept me from slapping it off his arrogant face.
Well, that and the fact that I still wasn’t sure I could open my eyes. Aim, and all that.
“Yes, please.” I wasn’t above begging when it involved serious risk to life and ... coiffure.
I felt his hand leave my chest – and chose not to examine exactly how chilled I felt without it there – and then some gentle tugging on my mane. It brought back more memories of him being far less gentle with my hair, his hands weaving through it as he positioned my head the way he wanted while he kissed me, or held me to him as our hips slapped together urgently while he whispered words of love that had seared themselves onto my mind – and though I knew, I knew they weren’t real and were just the result of too much booze and a guy who was disappointed and horny, I’d never forget how I felt when he uttered them, and how tightly he gripped me.
“There.” That voice chuckled. “It’ll be easier if you can see, but I can just drag you out from under there, if you’d prefer.”
I stifled the urge to F-bomb him again, and instead lifted one leg and waggled my foot. “Drag away.”
Before I knew what was happening, I was free of the infernal tree, my hair relatively intact, and I could feel the warmth radiating from the body of the man kneeling next to me. I shivered involuntarily – it wasn’t cold, exactly, but it wasn’t warm either and the heat rolling off of him just made the temperature difference more obvious – and suddenly warm, naked skin pressed against my own from shoulder to hip, and the soft fabric of his robe fluttered down to shield us both from the room.
I finally got my eyes open for more than a moment, and rolled them in his direction to see him examining my hair, rubbing a lock between his thumb and fingers, his usual harsh frown replaced with a calm, almost serene smile. “What are you doing, Staves?”
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