Page 30 of Christmas With the Jerk

Thorne, with all his overt swagger and inflated ego, managed to stay level-headed when I was pushing too hard. He found the balance, and now, here we are, on the verge of sealing the deal. I glance over at him, watching as he scrolls through his phone, already focused on whatever we need to do next.

He looks... good. Better than good. The way he’s handled this, the way he stepped up, it’s a turn-on, and I can’t shake the heat that was ignited that night in Virginia at the motel and has continued to smolder ever since.

I shift in my seat, the excitement of the morning mixing with something else, something I’ve been trying to lock away. But now, with everything going right, it’s hard to keep it buried. Thorne glances up, catching my eye, and there’s something in his gaze that tells me he’s feeling it too.

“Hey,” he says, his voice lower, more relaxed. “We’ve got a few hours to kill…”

I can hear the unspoken suggestion in his tone, and I know we are on the same page. My heart speeds up, but this time it’s not just from the excitement of making this presentation happen today, it’s from him.

The way he’s looking at me now, the same way he looked at me last night, like we’ve crossed a line that neither of us is in a hurry to step back over. And this time, there is no alcohol to cloud my judgement. This time, I'm stepping over that line with my eyes wide open.

I stand up, crossing the room toward him. “Yeah,” I murmur, “we do.”

The air between us feels charged, the buzz of the morning shifting into something more. Before I can second-guess it, before I can let myself overthink what’s happening, I’m standing right in front of him. His eyes darken, and without another word, he reaches for me, pulling me toward him.

The heat of his body next to mine, the way his hands slide over my waist, it all feels electric. I lean in, and before I know it, our lips are connected, the intensity of it matching the rush we’re both feeling from the morning’s success. It’s not just about the presentation—it’s about us. About how we’ve been navigating this storm, both literally and figuratively.

And right now, nothing else matters.

The rush from our potential win is still coursing through my veins when I find myself in Thorne's arms, the arms of the man I've been at odds with since day one. Yet here we still are, fueled by adrenaline. And by an undeniable attraction that's been simmering beneath the surface, now boiling over with reckless abandon.

I start with his white work shirt, fingers fumbling with each button in a mix of impatience and excitement. I can feel his eyes on me, heavy with anticipation as I push the fabric off his shoulders, revealing the toned chest beneath.

My hands explore the contours of his chest before moving lower, my fingers deftly undoing his belt and pants, which I then push down, revealing the proof of his desire for me.

He doesn't waste any time, tugging my shirt over my head, his hands immediately seeking out the clasp of my bra. The moment it's unhooked, he cups my breasts, his thumbs teasingmy nipples into hard peaks, sending waves of pleasure straight to my core.

I moan spontaneously, my body responding to his touch with an eagerness that surprises me. I’ve never felt more in sync with someone else as I do with him righ tnow.

With a groan, he reaches down, his fingers finding the slick heat between my legs. I'm already so turned on, the evidence of my arousal coating his fingers as he strokes me expertly, his touch both gentle and demanding.

I wrap my hand around his length, feeling him pulse in my grip. I stroke him, loving the way his head tilts back, his eyes closing in ecstasy as I work him.

His breathing becomes ragged, and I can feel him growing impossibly harder in my hand. Until finally, with a low growl, he comes undone, his release spilling over my fingers.

The sight of him, lost in pleasure because of me, sends a fresh wave of wetness between my thighs.

He guides me to the bed, his hands on my hips as he positions me exactly where he wants me. With his eyes fixed on mine, he kneels before me and slowly enters me, deepening the connection between us to new heights.

I gasp as he fills me, stretching me in the most delicious way. He feels incredible inside of me, the warmth of his body melding with mine as he moves, each thrust hitting just the right spot.

We find a rhythm, our bodies syncing in a dance as old as time. It's wild and uninhibited, the urgency of our movements echoing the storm of emotions we've been through.

But it's not just physical—there's a tenderness underlying our passion, a shared understanding that we're in this together, for better or worse.

Our conversation during the sex is a mix of playful banter and urgent moans. I tease him about his control issues, and he promises to make it worth my while.

And, God, does he ever.

I call out his name, my nails raking down his back as he drives into me, harder and faster, until I'm clinging to him, my legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

The sensations build, each wave of pleasure cresting higher than the last until I'm teetering on the edge, every nerve in my body screaming for release.

And then, with a final thrust, we fall over the edge together, our cries of ecstasy filling the room as we ride out the storm.

As we lay there, tangled in each other's arms, I can't help but marvel at how far we've come. From adversaries to allies, and now... something more.

But as the afterglow begins to fade, the reality of our situation starts to sink in. There's a meeting to prepare for, a win that's within our grasp if we can stay focused.

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