Page 45 of Christmas With the Jerk

I curl my fingers inside her, pressing against that spongy patch of skin while my tongue flicks over her clit. Her muscles tighten around me, her thighs clamping around my head as she cries out, her orgasm rolling through her in waves.

I ride it out with her, drawing out her pleasure until she's limp and breathless beneath me. But I'm far from done.

Then I kiss my way back up her body, pulling her legs up and hooking them over my shoulders as I position myself at her entrance. Her eyes are hazy with satisfaction, but there's a spark there, a hunger for more. I push into her slowly, inch by inch, watching her face as she stretches to accommodate me.

The position is intimate, almost overwhelmingly so. We're as close as two people can be, our bodies locked together, moving as one. Her eyes never leave mine as I start to thrust, our rhythm building, the friction exquisite.

"Thorne," she breathes, her voice a desperate whisper, and it's both a plea and a benediction.

I feel every shiver and tremor that runs through her, feel her tighten around me as I drive deeper, harder. The ecstasy is intense, a fiery, all-consuming sensation that threatens to sweep me away.

"God, Woodley, you feel so damn good," I groan, my voice hoarse with need.

Her hands are everywhere, clutching at my back, my arms, her nails leaving trails of heat in their wake. I can feel her climbing again, her body tensing, her cries growing louder.

And when we come this time, it's together, a tangle of limbs and gasps and shuddering releases, a connection so profound it steals the breath from my lungs. It's more than just sex. It's a merging of souls, a testament to everything we've shared, everything we've come to mean to each other.

As we lie there in the aftermath, our hearts pounding in unison, I know without a doubt that this—this is what I've been missing all along.

SEVENTEEN

Woodley

Through the years, we all will be together / If the fates allow. Hang a shining star upon the highest bough / And have yourself a merry little Christmas now.

9:36 am

The warmthof the sheets is like a comfortable cocoon. The last few hours have been full of surprises. I didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect any of it. Thorne and I have been through so many extremes together in just a few days—hate, frustration, irritation, rage, and now something that feels a lot like affection.

"I'm going to jump in the shower. Is that okay?" I ask him as I run my hands over his chiseled abs. I could get dressed and walk over to my place, but something about being here with him feels more appropriate. I just want to rinse off after all of our extracurricular activity, and then I can climb back in bed.

My body is humming from what we just shared. I've never connected in bed with someone like I do him. Thorne Chilton, of all people

"Sure. I'll jump in after you. There is a robe right there if you want it. I'm happy to go next door and grab you some clothes if you like."

"Who needs clothes?" I smile at him as I say it and trace the line of his stubbled chin. “Such a gentleman, though, thanks for the offer.”

I slide out of bed, his body relaxed, his breathing steady. There’s a peacefulness in the way he looks right now, like the layers he hides behind have finally fallen away, revealing the kind person underneath.

And, I have to admit, he’s incredible in bed too. I realize I’d judged him too quickly—assuming he was just like my father before I even gave myself a chance to really know him. He’s nothing like what I’ve thought all these weeks we’ve worked together getting ready for this pitch.

It's still true, he shouldn't have been able to walk into this job at the level he did and get to work on this campaign. But I also know I wasn't fair to him.

He didn't choose to be born into the family he was born into, just like I wasn't. But he is making the most of his place and working to have something on his own. I know now he cares about his job and how he comes across. He isn’t nearly as flippant and smug as I thought.

I grab his robe from the chair and head into the bathroom, turning on the shower. The steam fills the room quickly, awelcome escape from the cold air in the room. The contrast is nice.

As I step under the stream of hot water, letting it cascade over me, for the first time in what feels like years, I feel light. Like I’ve let go of something I didn’t realize I’d been holding onto but that has been weighing me down.

As the water pours down, I replay the last few hours in my mind: our conversation, our connection, the way we finally opened up to each other. And the intimacy that followed. It started out as purely physical, a release from the insanity that seemed to start the moment we I walked into the gate in Chattanooga and saw him smugly sitting there. But in a short time, which at moments along the way feels like infinitely longer, has transitioned into so much more.

I close my eyes, letting the water wash over my face. This feeling of warmth and comfort, this connection with someone who sees me for who I really am. I don't think I've ever felt anything like this, completely unguarded and with someone who accepts me just as I am. Unexpectedly, this is the best Christmas I’ve had in years, if ever.

The sound of the shower door opening makes me turn around. Thorne steps in, his eyes warm but still a little sleepy. He doesn’t say anything, just joins me under the water, his movements slow and easy. There’s no rush, no urgency, only closeness.

I smile at him, brushing my wet hair away from my face. “I thought you were going back to sleep.”

He shrugs, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Figured I’d join you instead. You know, conserve water and all.”

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