Page 10 of Pining for Christmas

“You like to touch yourself, Clara?” Jack’s voice drops lower. “Show me.”

And okay, I’ve even had this exact fantasy, although in my version I was sitting on Jack’s desk rather than on a booth table.But in my fantasy, I was confident. Sultry. I knew exactly what to do to drive my boss wild.

The reality is different. I’m bundled in baggy pajama pants and slipper boots; the night air is cold, so cold I wince as I lean back and peel down my waistband.

I settle back on the table, bare ass against chilled wood.

And it hits me then, the chasm between us. How Jack is experienced, and worldly, and mature, andhot, and I’m just a clueless girl less than half his age who’s never even made herself come.

He wants me to show him, but I barely even know what I’m doing.

I go still on the table, misery pulsing through me in waves.

“Clara?” Jack is alarmed. He leans forward, urges me to sit up straight, then grips my shoulders. “What is it? Did I take things too far?”

I sniffle and shake my head. Jack didn’t do anything wrong. But he still looks wrecked as he rubs my collarbone, lifting one hand to tuck my hair behind my ear.

“We can stop. We’re stopping right now, okay? Please, baby. Don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry,” I rasp. My throat is so tight, but he deserves an explanation. Because I know what Jack is like, and he’ll blame himself for this. Will hate himself, and all because my confidence drained away quicker than it came. “I just… I’ve never…” I sigh and drop my chin. Stare at the checked navy and white pattern of my pajamas, and confess in a whisper, “I don’t really know what I’m doing. It’s never worked for me.”

Silence.

It stretches on, taut and awkward.

Then Jack jerks his head from side to side, like he’s shaking himself awake. “Okay, help me out here. You’re upset because you’ve never come?”

I nod, miserable. “I know you want to watch, but I can’t get there, I never have, and I hate disappointing you—”

Jack hushes me, and there’s a relieved smile crinkling his eyes. “I’m not disappointed. It wasn’t a test, Clara. You don’t get extra points if you finish.”

I smack his shoulder, but I’m relieved too. An answering smile tugs at my mouth.

Maybe I’m being crazy. Overreacting. Maybe this…

Maybe this doesn’t have to end yet.

“Can we keep going?” I blurt. “I feel better now. A lot better. But… maybe we could do something else?”

Jack’s watching me closely. He’s tempted, but he’s not sure. And this might be my only chance with the man I’ve wanted forever, so I push forward. Say what I’m thinking for once. What I’m hoping for.

I take a deep breath, then put it out there. “Maybe you could do it for me.”

* * *

Jack is a statue in the booth. The tree lights pulse and flicker, the glow casting shadows over his face and hollowing his cheeks. With the frosted window behind him, his silhouette is broad shouldered, and when he takes a deep breath, his chest swells and falls under his gray sweater.

“Clara… you were upset a few moments ago.”

I scoot to the edge of the table. My pajama bottoms are still tangled around my legs, but it’s too late to worry about that now. I shuffle up until my slipper boots dangle against Jack’s sides, and I can wind my arms around his neck. His short beard snagsagainst my wool sleeves. I steal a quick kiss—a brush of his lips against mine.

“I know. And we don’t have to.” I bat his Santa hat pom pom. It swings around to the other shoulder. “But Idowant to. I promise. I’ve never wanted anything more.”

Jack curses under his breath, and his eyes drop between my legs. Like he’s fought it too long, but he can’t resist the weight of gravity, drawing his gaze down.

I fight the automatic impulse to close my thighs. Iwanthim to see me. To touch me.

Maybe even taste me, like I’ve read about.

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