Page 11 of Pining for Christmas

And as I watch, hunger sharpens his gaze. Jack clears his throat, a nerve leaping in his jaw. “You’re sure? You want me to touch you, Clara?”

I nod, so fast it makes me dizzy. “I do. I want whatever you’ll give me. I want all of it when it comes from you.”

It’s a raw confession, and I’m saying way too much, laying myself bare, but it doesn’t scare him off. If anything, it sharpens his resolve. Jack grips my thighs, squeezing once before running his palms up and down my legs, up and down, and when he gets to the tangle of my pajama pants, he tugs them down to my knees, my calves, my ankles.

“Lie back,” he says once he’s done. There’s a hard set to his jaw.

I bite my lip and obey.

It’s a small mercy, I think, when Jack tugs the Santa hat off and tosses it onto the table beside me, the fabric landing with a softthump. This night is going to ruin me enough for all other men—I don’t need a visual of Santa Claus licking between my thighs. I’m a therapist’s worst nightmare as it is.

“I’m going to make you come, Clara.”

I splutter a laugh, grinning at the dark ceiling. “You can sure try.”

Jack makes a rumbly noise. Like there’s no doubt about it, none at all. “Consider it another Christmas Eve gift.”

His hands land on my thighs again, his warm, dry palms against my bare skin.

I shiver. I’ve always loved gifts.

The table is cool and hard beneath my back, the air in the bar so cold, my breath practically fogs above me in little clouds. I pant and gasp and twitch as Jack nudges my legs wider apart, grips my ass in both hands, and tugs me towards him, burying his face in my bare pussy.

I don’t know what I expected. Something slower, maybe, more teasing, more careful, careful like Jack is every damn day, but I guess I’ve been driving him wilder than I realized. Because the second Jack’s restraint snaps, he’s hungry,starvingfor me, groaning loudly as he licks a broad stripe up my seam. He works me over until his jaw cracks, his beard tickling my inner thighs, slickness spreading over my pussy, my lower stomach, my legs.

Jack eats me like a man possessed. Like I’m his last meal. No—like I’m the plate of cookies left out for Santa Claus.

And me? Iloveit. I love every lick, every stroke of his hot, broad tongue. I bury my hands in his silver-tinted hair, and I cling on for dear life, grinding my hips up against him.

“Jack! Oh my god. That—that feels—” I break off, panting. I don’t have words for how it feels, only strangled moans. It’s so much hotter and wetter, so much moreintensethan I could ever have imagined.

“Fuck, baby.” His words vibrate against my pussy, tingling in my clit. “You taste so fucking sweet.” He licks me again, sucking my folds into his mouth then letting them go with asmack.“Like icing sugar.”

His hands squeeze my ass cheeks, his grip pulsing around me once, and then he’s drawing one hand away. Snaking it between us.

His fingertip prods gently at my entrance. Swirls in tiny circles, gathering wetness. Then Jack’s pressing forward, pressing into me up to the first knuckle, and he’s lapping at my clit, and I’m pulling his hair. It’s all so much and not enough, and moisture brims in my eyes as his chest rumbles, and he slides his finger deeper.

“So fucking tight.” He crooks his finger, rubbing at my walls. “We’d have our work cut out for us if you ever wanted my cock.”

“I do,” I gasp, staring glassy-eyed at the ceiling. My spine bows. “I do. I already want it.”

Jack chuckles darkly, then slides his finger all the way in, pumping slowly in and out of me. The friction drives me insane—it’s like being tickled, but a million times better.

When his lips close over my clit, I curse loudly at the empty room. And when he crooks his finger inside me, tongue dancing and breath hot…

I shatter.

That’s what it feels like. There’s no other way to describe it. Like I’m a priceless vase, trembling on the edge of a high shelf, and Jack nudges me forward. Sends me spinning through the air to shatter into a thousand pieces. My shards fly in all directions, and my mind is blank, my blood is racing, and I’m clamping down on his finger like I’m trying to break it off.

A hundred years pass before I float back down to my body. I lie on the table, panting and boneless.

“Told you you’d come.”

I kick at Jack’s sides, eyes still closed. He laughs, then pulls my pajama pants back up my legs. I lie there like a doll and let him dress me again, putting me right and tugging me to sit up, where he smooths down my hair.

His kiss is so sweet. I part my lips on a sigh, and then our tongues slide together, and I can taste myself in his mouth.

Icing sugar? If he says so. I taste kind of salty to me, but hey—I’m not going to complain if he likes it.

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