Pawliday Love

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

ISADORA

A tlas Buchanan is checking me out. I can’t believe what my eyes are seeing as I peek over my shoulder at him. I try to block him out and pretend he’s not here, making me uncomfortable with the reformed asshole act he has going on. Sure, owning a puppy rescue gets him on the redeemable list, but does he actually think I could ever be interested in him? It would be so much easier to hate him if he wasn’t completely fuckable and hot. How long has it been? I roll my eyes, disgusted at my body for even acknowledging the things that man is making me think about.

Except I can’t shut it off. My body is definitely attracted to him. He’s everything I’m looking for…in anyone but him. I scrunch my nose up, blanching with disgust. Why is he being so nice to me? I can’t get over the things he did to me when I was—Goddamnit. I’m holding grudges against him for things he did before he was an adult. So he laughed at me alongside his friends, but now that I think about it, I don’t recall him ever actually calling me any names to my face. Either way, he still snickered with them. His friends loved to torment me and he never stopped them. I really don’t have time for this impending mental breakdown right now, nor do I feel like I have enough mental capacity to fully explore all its fun mind-fucks. Ignoring the conversation taking place in my crumbling brain, I focus on setting up.

Soon I’m melting the chocolate on a hotplate and I’ve all but forgotten about the way Atlas made something inside of my body stir. I haven’t felt an actual attraction to a man in well, embarrassingly enough, I can’t remember the last time I felt this way about a man. Fuck. Why does it have to be him, though? It feels like my body is betraying me. How can I crave someone I hate so much? I shake my head and pour the melted chocolate in with the half and half milk mixture in the tall beverage canister. I use a large whisk to blend everything together. Once the cocoa has a smooth, creamy consistency, I lock the lid in place and clean up. I have three containers full, and it won’t take long to make a second batch.

Atlas catches me by surprise as I turn around to grab a canister of whipped cream. He’s causally filling up a cup of cocoa when I clear my throat.

“I’ll trade you cute puppy cuddles for a cup. And if you won’t agree, technically I paid for all of it, so it’s not like you can actually be mad at me for enjoying the cocoa.”

Fuck, he’s not wrong. He paid for everything, which means he can have as much as he wants. But it doesn’t mean I’m going to turn down his offer of puppy cuddles.

“That’s nice. Thank you for reminding me you’re paying for me to be here and not just my normal rates—triple—because my presence means that much to you on Christmas Eve. Lonely much, Atlas?” I round the table, sauntering to pour myself a cup, fully aware of how he doesn’t even bother trying to hide the way he’s watching. I shouldn’t enjoy feeling wanted by him, but I do. Continuing my performance, I fill a cup, melting around the warmth and savoring the sweet, rich, chocolaty goodness as it slides down my throat. A small satisfactory moan slips out of my lips and I smirk.

“Fuck.” He groans. “That was hot.”

“It’s not for you. I just love that first sip of cocoa on Christmas Eve. There’s something about it. Only a Christmas fan would understand.”

“It’s perfectly fine with me if you’re some kind of Christmas nut. I wouldn’t be here on Christmas Eve trying to find all these adorable puppies a home for the holidays if I wasn’t a little bit of a Christmas freak myself.” He winks at me.

“That reminds me. I believe you said I could trade puppy cuddles for a cup of cocoa,” I tease, biting my lip nervously as I wait for his reaction.

Shit, what am I doing? Not you too, mouth. Stop flirting with him. Do not flirt with him again. As if he can hear the turmoil of my internal thoughts, a raspy chuckle escapes him as his lips pull up into a neatly trimmed beard. I hadn’t really noticed it before. Fuck, he’s a gorgeous man. The beard is really doing things for me. All I can think about is how badly I want to fucking ride his face. Suddenly, he’s speaking to me and I’m struggling to focus on what he’s saying.

“Do you want to meet the puppies? Maybe if you get me a second cup, I’ll even let you help me name them.” He tosses the cup back, finishing it, then hands it to me.

“Does this pick-up line where you let girls name the puppies usually work?” I ask with a scoff.

“Truthfully?” He asks.

“Yeah, truthfully.”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Is it working?”

He looks me up and down, running his hand along the sides of his bearded jaw.

I like the way he desires me. As much as I want to hate him, I can’t deny my attraction. My pussy clenches and I know if he keeps looking at me—mentally undressing me and imagining all kinds of filthy things—my panties are going to be soaked in no time. A man has never stared at me the way Atlas is right now. He’s not ashamed of admiring me like he wants to devour my soul. He simply consumes every bit of it without asking for consent.

I hand him my cup. Not because I intended for him to drink it, but because I was going to refill his. I am not prepared for the feelings awakening inside of me as I watch him turn it around, intentionally pressing his mouth onto my faint lipgloss stain. Atlas closes his eyes and takes a long, slow drink. I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.

Shit. I’m pretty sure he just made me come. Holy hotness . I’m completely lost in the haze of my sudden, intense attraction to him. Pulling myself together, I pour fresh cocoa into his cup and take a swig.

“Since we’re trading, I guess the fresh cup is mine now.” I raise a brow, challenging him to dispute my claim.

He shrugs. “Maybe I like yours better, greedy little Christmas elf.”

I laugh. Genuinely laugh. But the moment I realize it, I stop.

Atlas holds out his hand. “Do you want to meet my puppies, Isadora?”

Surprising myself, I accept his offer. I fucking take his hand. I don’t know what the hell I’m thinking as our palms slide together. His hands are warm and much softer than I imagined they would be. It makes my heartbeat quicken, but I refuse to allow the walls to come down.

“Izzy.” I remind him, but he ignores me, leading us to the back kennel where an adorable Saint Bernard presses its tiny black nose against the glass window.

A squeal escapes my lips, and he laughs. “They’re so cute. Will you really let me name them?” I ask.

“What else would you be willing to do if I let you name them?” He teases.

Is Atlas flirting with me? I take a minute to reply. “Nothing. Hot cocoa and spending the day with a lonely man and his puppies are where I draw the line.” I grin when he tosses his head back and laughs.

“I’ll tell you what—you drive a hard bargain. If you help me get all these guys into their pens in the next,” he checks the time on his watch, swallowing a gulp of cocoa, “ten minutes, I’ll let you name every single one. They need to be ready for adoption in case people are waiting in the parking lot.”

“Deal,” I say, cutting him off, then clarifying his offer. “I help you move the puppies and then I can name them?”

“That’s what I’m offering,” he replies.