A Villain for Christmas (The Holyoake Christmas Series, Book 2)

Classic Pillow Talk

"Is that what sex supposed to be like?" Billie exclaimed in complete disbelief.

Dair looked at her over his shoulder. He was pulling his jumper over his bare torso. His shirt and his tee were under Billie; he'd graciously thrown them onto the sleeping bag once their clothes had started coming off. Conversely, said shoulder had a tasteful tattoo of Pegasus rearing. It was probably a reproduction of a coat of armour, or maybe a coin. Billie had never expected to appreciate any sort of ink on a person's body - but did she ever! Mostly, she had 'clawed' at his back and shoulders, figuratively speaking; so she'd like a proper investigation when she'd get a chance some time soon.

"What was it like?" he asked with a smirk and stretched on the sleeping bag next to her.

"It's outstanding!" she blurted out.

Dair guffawed and dropped his head onto her chest.

"Oh, polpetta..."

"Do you have to call me a 'meatball?'" Billie grumbled and pushed her hand into his hair, unable to resist.

It was mussed and fluffed up - and she was the one who'd done it!

"But you are a meatball," he murmured and rubbed his temple to her sternum. "You're round, and soft, and–" His massive hands lay on her sides, and he squished and fondled her with gusto. "Deliziosa."

"Any comparison to anything spherical isn't particularly flattering, you know," she pointed out in the same disgruntled tone - but benevolently allowed him to continue stroking her.

"That's silly," he said, nudged her shirt up with his nose, and placed a small tender kiss on her stomach. "You aren't a ball, but this–" He nuzzled her. "This is your shape."

"It's hard to appreciate it when your sisters are of a different, much more popular, shape," Billie muttered. "And people never fail to mention it."

Reminded of her family, Billie immediately felt significantly less lush - even after two instances of, in the words of D. H. Lawrence, 'rippling, rippling, rippling, like a flapping overlapping of soft flames, soft as feathers, running to points of brilliance, exquisite and melting her all molten inside.'

"If you don't like your body, then ch-change it," he said. Billie didn't fail to notice the return of his stammer. "L-lose weight. S-save money for plastic surgery. Or d-dress differently," he listed in a rather detached manner.

Of course, she instantly opened her mouth to tell him that he knew not what he was talking about - and then she remembered he did. She pulled her hand back; and he caught it, rose above her on the other straight arm, and kissed her knuckles.

"But d-do you really?" he asked - and it was the softness of his tone that diffused her upcoming temper tantrum.

"Do I what?" She gave him a glare.

"Dislike your body." He once again pressed his lips to the back of her hand; and then dove down and kissed her cheek, and then her clavicle. "Your dolce, grassotella, prosperosa, burrosa, formosa– What w-was I s-saying?"

Billie couldn't say either: as usual his murmurings mixed with kisses diminished her mental capacity.

"I properly need to learn Italian," she exhaled - and he grinned.

"Yes, amore, please." He carefully lowered her down and loomed over her, supporting himself on his elbows. "And all of these words were compliments to your body." He cradled her face in his massive palms. "I like your shape." His voice shook with laughter. "But I'll try to like you even if you look like your sisters."