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She blushes when she meets my eyes again and looks away.
“Do that again,” I tell her.
Instead of being coy, my Ivy makes eye contact again and does a very obvious survey of me, head to toe, pausing for a while at the length that throbs in her direction.
“You are no longer angry with me for kidnapping you, then, human?”
Her raspy little laugh makes me want to lunge at her, but I keep still. Watching. Waiting for the mating ritual to begin. Or has it already begun?
“Just because I’m mad and confused and silently freaking out at you doesn’t mean I don’t want you to kiss me,” she says.
“Silently?” I ask. “Hardly.”
She smirks. “You’re not getting any closer to that kiss, mister.”
Just like that, everything in me freezes up.
I did not know Ivy would want me to kiss her.
I’ve seen reindeer lick each other’s faces. Santa is private with his Clara, but I’ve heard that they kiss often and for long periods of time.
“It’s best if we skip that, if it’s all the same to you."
ChapterSeven
Ivy
It’s not all the same to me, and I’m super confused.
“Sorry,” I say, shrinking back against the headboard. “I thought you were interested in me. Like, sexually.”
“I thought it obvious with the way my body reacts to you.”
Geez, could he be a little bit more robotic, I think sarcastically. I hold it in, because I don’t want to confuse him any more than I already have.
“The thing about me, Cyran, is I need kissing first. What’s a Christmas romance without a little kissing?” I ask, giving him a teasing look.
He thinks about this for a moment. “May I sit down?”
I nod. Cyran sits on the bed and faces the wall, bending over to rest his elbows on his knees. The posture is endearingly human, even though it does nothing to make him seem less intimidatingly tall. He lets out a sigh.
“I’m not familiar with kissing, and I worry it will not please you.”
“We’ll never know if you don’t try.”
“Very well.” Cyran pivots his torso toward me and leans in. I suck in a breath, ready for whatever magic elves deliver with their kind of kissing. I close my eyes and purse my lips, meeting him in the middle. And then I feel something large and wet dragging over my mouth, chin and cheek.
I gasp and open my eyes. “Did you just lick me?” I shriek.
“Is that incorrect?”
Although it was bizarre and a little disgusting, I’m not mad about it. “It’s not traditional to humans,” I say, wondering why I’m being so careful not to hurt my captor’s feelings.
“Do elves often lick when they court each other?” I ask, chuckling and wiping the saliva off my cheek.
“Elves are private with each other, and the mating rituals are few and far between. So I haven’t seen how it is done.”
“And you don’t have, like, media? Entertainment?”
