We escape the giddy party by hiding in the office supply closet.
I drop my illusion, expecting him to run from my true succubus form.
Taking off his Santa hat, he turns red, revealing horns.
“I’m your secret Satan, babe!”
I kiss him. Merry. F-ing. Christmas!
Copyright © by Jason H. Abbott, All Rights Reserved.
Discover more of my Aethereal Musings.