Page 8 of Pining for Christmas

“Yes.” Clara leans in again, tracing the cold tip of her nose along my cheek, and I screw my eyes shut. The scent of her coconut shampoo is everywhere, invading my senses. Addling my overworked brain.

“You want me like—like that?” I clear my throat. Shit, this is awkward. “Intimately?”

She nods. “Uh-huh.”

“Now, wait. Wait a minute.” I jiggle her on my knee. Clara squeals and laughs, clutching at my shoulders to hold on, and it’s so distracting I can barely force the words out. “Do you want me as Jack? Or as Santa?”

Look, I’m not one to judge. It takes all sorts, and if Clara has some kind of Santa fetish, I won’t tease her too badly for it. But Ineed to know if this is something bigger, if it’s the thing I’ve been dreaming of for a year, or if it’s all because I put on this stupid hat.

Would I tell her no, if she only wanted the role play?

Probably not. I’m weak when it comes to Clara.

She snorts, and tugs on my pom pom. “Both. I’ve never liked Santa that way before, but when it’s you…”

Hell yeah. I’ll take that answer. And now my chest is swelling, and I’m sitting up straighter, and the string lights seem to glow brighter as I rearrange Clara in my lap, turning her to face forward and bracketing her waist with my hands.

She wants me? She’ll get me. I’m done feeling guilty about my feelings. Maybe it looks wrong from the outside, but there’s nothing bad about the way I love Clara. I want only good things for her. I want her to be happy.Satisfied.

“Tell me.” My command is rough. “Tell me how good you’ve been, baby.”

She trembles on my thigh. Lets out a tiny, relieved sigh. Then Clara melts back against my chest, her head resting on my shoulder, and begins to speak.

* * *

“I work hard in the bar.”

I squeeze her waist in a gentle pulse. “You sure do.”

Clara hums and thinks for a second, then adds: “I keep my room tidy.”

My thumbs rub back and forth over her ribs. Back and forth. She’s wearing a thick wool sweater and her pajamas underneath, but I can still feel the shape of her. She’s soft and curvy. Made to fill my big hands. She’sperfect. “That’s good.”

“And I…” Clara trails off, but there’s no way that’s the whole list. I wait patiently, pressing my face against her head so I can smell her hair. Whatever brand shampoo she uses, I need to buy a bottle. Keep it by my bedside, so I can sniff her anytime.

“I’m a good friend to Gina,” she says at last. “I listen to her problems. Text her things she’ll find funny.”

My chest rumbles in approval. My hands trace higher up her sides, until my fingers brush the sides of her breasts. “You’re a sweet girl, Clara.”

She snorts. “I’m not.”

That’s bullshit. Anyone who ever met Clara knows she’s sweet, but I don’t argue. I give her a chance to explain. And while she’s chewing over her words, her fingers plucking absentmindedly at my sleeves, I duck my head. Drag my lips along the heated skin of her neck.

Yeah, she blushed like crazy earlier. Blushed so hot, her burning cheeks practically warmed up the whole bar. She’sstillblushing, the red tinge warming her skin.

Guess now I know why. Little Clara was busted. Caught wanting something she thought she shouldn’t.

“Oh,” Clara mumbles, her head turning to give me better access. I work my way up her throat, pressing hot, whiskery kisses, sucking and nibbling at her soft skin. “I can’t—can’t think when you do that.”

Me neither. My hands slide around her body, palming her soft tits. Weighing them in my palms, squeezing them,kneadingthem, and all the while I keep kissing.

“Jack,” Clara breathes. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

I pull my head up. Clear my throat, sitting back, but I keep my hands on her tits. Can’t help myself.

“You want to stop?” My thumbs find her hard nipples, even through her layers. As I pinch, she sucks in a sharp breath, wriggling against my leg.

“No.Oh my god. Don’t you dare.”

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