In a Christmas kitchen he beckons me into the dark, and pulls me to him with a sense of entitlement, a sense of juvenile urgency, a seriousness you possess only before your heart has felt the lashings of the world, when exploration is still the only destination, as if it was his sole duty to seduce me.
With red and white confections still crushed between his teeth, he seeks out my lips and parts them smoothly with his cool peppermint tongue.
He feels like menthol velvet as we meet like high tide to the sand. Slowly I melt into his mouth, matching the movements of these lapping waves of youth, tasting the ecstatic new found sweetness of his candy cane kisses.
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