Page 70 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
And suddenly I’m melting.
Not just relaxing—melting. Like everything tight and wired in me is loosening, bit by bit, under the steady rhythm of his touch. There’s something quiet in it. Something careful. And that quiet starts to make me feel something very close to safe.
Which is ridiculous.
Because I’m half-naked under a towel and he’s technically my landlord.
But also, he’s Jasper.
And right now, Jasper is undoing me in slow, steady increments—without saying a word, without crossing a line, without needing anything from me except permission to keep going.
It’s unnerving.
It’s addictive.
And somewhere, in the middle of all that slow release, a realisation blooms—soft and inconvenient:
I don’t just want his hands.
I want him.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck!
Chapter seventeen
Hark! The Herald Angels Blush
Jasper
My hands move in slow, deliberate strokes, when I sense her body finally fully relax beneath my touch. The soft glow of the candles casts a warm light across the room, and the scent of lemon in the air is soothing. I’m about to announce that we’re done, to tell her she can take her time getting up, when her voice breaks the silence.
“Lower,” she whispers, her tone barely audible. I pause, my hands hovering over her skin, thinking I must have misheard. But then she repeats it, her voice steady this time, leaving no room for doubt:
“Lower?” I ask, more to confirm than to question, my heart skipping a beat. She nods slightly, her blonde hair brushing against her shoulder. I take a deep breath, my fingers trembling ever so slightly as I push the sheet further down to expose the top of her bum. I start massaging, my hands gliding over the curves, my touch gentle yet firm. The room feels charged, the air thick with unspoken desire.
“Lower!” she demands with a slightly shaky voice. I should stop this because I am not convinced she is aware of what she is asking. But I don’t. I can’t.
I push the sheet completely off her and wait to see her reaction. She just sighs and slowly spreads her legs a tiny bit. It is a sign. An invitation. And nothing can stop me now.
As my fingers slide between her legs, I feel the dampness through her knickers, a warmth that surprises me. Miranda’s breath hitches, and I pause again, unsure if I should continue. But her body language is clear: she’s inviting me in. Carefully, I push the gusset of her knickers aside, my touch deliberate, as if I’m handling something fragile. Her wetness is undeniable, and I realise this isn’t just a massage anymore. It’s something more, something intimate and unspoken.
I begin an intimate massage, my fingers tracing the contours of her body, my touch slow and purposeful. Miranda lets out a soft moan, her hands gripping the edges of the table. “Jasper,” she murmurs, her voice laced with desire. I don’t respond with words; instead, I let my hands speak for me. My fingers dip lower, exploring, teasing, until I feel her tremble beneath me. Her wetness coats my fingers, and I can’t ignore the way my own body is reacting to her.
Before I know it, I’m inside her, my fingers sliding deep, responding to her unspoken invitation. Miranda arches her back, her head tilting back as a soft gasp escapes her lips. “Yes,” she breathes, her voice a mixture of pleasure and surrender. I move slowly, my touch deliberate, my fingers fucking her with a rhythm that feels natural, as if we’ve done this a thousand times before. My thumb draws circles around her clit whilst my free hand massages her shoulders.
My cock is rock hard and I am rubbing it against the edge of the massage table to get some kind of release. This is so wrong, but it all feels so right.
The room is filled with the sounds of her breathing, her moans, and the soft wetness of her body responding to my fingers.
I lean closer, my lips brushing against her ear. “Is this what you wanted?” I whisper, my voice rough with desire. She nods, her hands reaching back to grip my wrists, urging me deeper.
“Yes,” she says, her voice firm yet breathless. “Don’t stop.” And I don’t. My fingers move faster, my touch more insistent, and I feel her body tense, her muscles tightening around me. Her breath comes in short gasps, and I know she’s close.
“Jasper,” she moans, her voice pleading, her body arching off the table. I press my lips to her shoulder, my breath hot against her skin, as I feel her climax ripple through her. Her body shakes, her wetness spilling over my fingers, and I hold her there, my touch steady, until she collapses back onto the table, her breath ragged.
I stay with her for a moment longer, my hands gentling, then easing away entirely. The shift in the room is almost physical. The moment folds in on itself—still warm, still charged, but rapidly fraying at the edges.
“I’ll give you a second,” I say, voice quiet. Measured. I don’t look at her face. I don’t dare.
