Page 12 of Sugar Dusted Dad Bod

I aim for airy, but my voice sounds way too fake when I say, “Oh, you know. The standard loner’s Christmas. A takeout burrito and trashy rom coms on my sofa.”

Jasper tilts his head, watching me closely. I stuff a giant forkful of pie in my mouth to hide from that knowing gaze, then nearly melt with how crumbly and buttery and sweet it is.

This man is a legendary baker for a reason. Holy hell.

“No friends in the area?” Jasper asks.

I shrug, chewing slowly so I don’t have to answer. The truth is: yes, I have friends from book club, but they all have holiday traditions with their families. And sure, I could ask to join and they’d all probably say yes, but who wants to be the tragic tag-along for Christmas? Not me.

Besides, I have my own holiday tradition: working the late shifts at Sugar Dusted bakery right up until Christmas Eve, then collapsing in my apartment on Christmas to eat junk food and moon over my absent boss. It’s a treasured appointment, and I always keep it.

“You could come to my place,” Jasper says, then winces right away. Like the words escaped without permission. He pushes on, though. “Not that—I wouldn’t make you eat pizza and watch the sports channel. I’d cook for you. A proper meal.”

And give up his lazy recovery day after a month of double shifts? I bite my lip against a smile.

“I don’t have a tree, though.” Jasper sighs and knuckles his forehead, like this is a serious problem we need to solve, and not the sweetest offer I’ve ever received. “So I could either go out and get one early—assuming the city’s power is back on by then—or I could come and cook at your place instead. Cady?”

My knees thump against the break room floor, and Jasper stares down at me, bemused. “Did you drop something?”

Uh-huh. Sure, I dropped something.

I’ve dropped any pretense that I don’t love this man. I’ve snapped. I’m toast.

And it’s not a fond, lukewarm love either. It’s not a platonic, friendly love. I am head over heels, bursting full of butterflies, up to my neck in L-O-V-E love with my gorgeous boss. If I don’t tell him now, when will I?

“Cady?”

Jasper startles when I duck beneath the table and touch his knees. The metal chair creaks, and he’s already breathing hard when I say, “Move back.”

My boss says nothing, but he shifts his chair back so I can crawl all the way beneath the small table and out the other side, popping up between his legs. Jasper stares down at me, blue eyes so intense in the candlelight.

His chest rises and falls beneath his baker’s tunic. He’s gripping the armrests so hard his knuckles turn white. My knees dig into the floor, and it’s not the comfiest, but I’m not stopping this now. No way in hell.

Not so long as Jasper gazes down at me like that, hungry and hopeful, like he’s scared this is all a dream. Like he might wake up drooling on his couch any minute.

“Is this okay?” I ask, stroking up his strong thighs. Jasper’s muscles tense and shudder beneath my touch, and he inhales sharply before nodding once.

“Yeah, I—yeah.” He shifts his weight in the creaky chair again as I untuck his tunic then reach for his belt. “Fuck.Cady. Yeah. I’m okay with this if you are.”

His belt buckle clinks, and his zipper scratches down, then Jasper grunts as I draw his cock out into the candlelight.

Theory confirmed: Jasper O’Reilly is huge all over.

“I should—I should take care of you first.” Jasper watches, wide-eyed, as I wrap my hand around him and give an experimental pump. He grunts, hips twitching forward. “We’re doing this all backward.”

“I don’t care.”

I really, really don’t. Because Jasper has worked so freaking hard all December and he deserves to unwind, damn it. He takes care of me constantly, bringing that tree to my apartment and checking in on me when I’m sick. He’s not just a boss to me.

He’s the best man I’ve ever known.

And the only man I’ve ever touched like this. He’s sogirthy.Am I doing this right?

“Grip a little tighter,” Jasper mutters when I ask, wrapping his big hand around my own to demonstrate. The heat of his palm feels so good against my bare skin, and there’s something unbearably sexy about the way his arm muscles flex as he jerks himself using my hand. “Oh shit, Cady. Yeah, like that.”

His shaft is hot and thick and long, with a prominent vein running up the side. When Jasper lets go and grips the armrests again, I run the pad of my thumb over the head, spreading a bead of moisture gathering at the slit. It’s a little sticky.

Jasper makes a breathless grunt, leaning forward another inch.

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