Page 91 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
But I won’t.
I can’t.
The urgency between us is palpable, a quiet storm brewing just beneath the surface. We move together, our bodies pressing close, breaths shallow and synchronized. There’s a restraint in our actions, a careful silence as we navigate the thin line between passion and discretion.
Her lips part beneath mine, inviting me deeper, and I follow, my tongue tracing the contours of her mouth with a tenderness that belies the hunger I feel.
Her taste is already familiar, comforting, like coming home after too long away. I pull her closer, my hand at her waist sliding up to cup the curve of her shoulder, then down to the small of her back, mapping the contours of her body as if committing them to memory. She leans into me, her chest rising and falling against mine, her heartbeat a steady rhythm that mirrors my own.
“Jasper,” she whispers, her voice barely audible, a breath more than a sound. It’s a plea, a surrender, a name that feels like a secret between us. I respond without words, my lips moving to her jawline, then her neck, where I pause to press a kiss just below her ear. She shudders softly, her fingers tightening on my chest. The silence of the room amplifies every sound—the soft brush of fabric, the quiet hitch of her breath, the faint creak of the floorboards as we shift closer.
I step back just enough to pull my hoodie over my head, letting it join hers on the chair.
Her skin is warm beneath my fingertips, pale and luminous in the dim light. She’s beautiful, not in the way magazines or movies define it, but in a way that feels real, tangible, alive. Her body type is a map of lived experiences—soft curves, subtle scars, a story written in flesh and bone. I trace the line of her collarbone with my thumb, then the swell of her breast, my touch deliberate but gentle, as if I’m afraid she might disappear if I press too hard.
“Quiet,” she murmurs, her hand coming up to rest against my chest, as if to remind me of the need for discretion. But her eyes, dark and pleading, tell a different story. They beg for more, for everything, for the kind of intimacy that transcends words. I nod, a silent promise, and guide her back toward the bed. The mattress dips beneath us as we sit, then lie down, our bodies a tangle of limbs and whispered breaths.
The weight of her against me is grounding, a reminder of why we’re here, why we do this. We’re not just two bodies seeking pleasure; we’re two souls seeking connection, a fleeting moment of escape from the chaos of the world outside.
My hand drifts down her side, over the curve of her hip, then lower, to the waistband of her jeans. She lifts her hips slightly, a silent invitation, and I undo the button with careful fingers, then the zip, my touch slow and deliberate.
I slide her jeans down her legs, her breath catching as my hand brushes against her thigh. Her underwear follows, left in a pool of fabric on the floor, and I pause to take her in, to let the sight of her sink into my memory. Her body is a landscape I could spend a lifetime exploring, every curve and hollow a testament to the woman she is—strong, resilient, breathtaking.
I shed my own clothes quickly, my movements urgent but quiet, and join her on the bed. The cool duvet cover brushes against my skin as I hover above her, my weight supported by my forearms. Her hands come up to rest on my shoulders, her touch both grounding and electrifying. I press a kiss to her sternum, then lower, my lips tracing a path down her stomach, my breath warm against her skin. She arches slightly, a soft gasp escaping her lips, and I smile against her, a silent acknowledgment of the power she holds over me.
“Jasper,” she says again, her voice trembling, and I look up to meet her eyes. There’s a question in her gaze, a fear of being too much, of asking for too much.
I shake my head, my thumb brushing her cheekbone, and whisper, “You are perfect for me.”
The words hang between us, a promise heavier than any vow. I kiss her again, slow and deep, our breaths mingling, our hearts beating in unison. My hand drifts lower, between her thighs, and I pause, my fingers hovering just above her, as if seeking permission. She nods, her eyes fluttering closed, and I press my palm to her, feeling the heat of her through my fingertips. She’s already wet, her body responding to mine with a hunger that mirrors my own.
I slide a finger inside her, slow and steady, and she gasps, her hips tilting up to meet my touch. Her walls clench around me, tight and welcoming, and I add a second finger, then a third, my thumb brushing her clit in slow circles. She moans softly, her head tipping back, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. I watch her, memorising every reaction, every sound, every movement, as if this moment might be our last.
She whispers my name again, her voice thick with need, and I lean down to kiss her, to swallow her sounds, to keep them safe within the quiet of the room. Her hands grip my shoulders, her nails digging in as her body begins to tense, her muscles coiling tight. I quicken my pace, my fingers moving in time with her breaths, and she shudders, her release silent but profound. Her body trembles beneath mine, her breath hitching as she comes apart in my arms.
I pull back slightly, my lips brushing her forehead, and she opens her eyes, her gaze soft and unguarded.
“You next,” she murmurs, her hand reaching down to guide me to her. I shake my head, pressing a kiss to her lips.
“Later,” I whisper. “Right now, I just want to be here, with you.”
She rests her head against my chest, one leg slipping over mine, her fingers idly tracing along my ribs like she’s drawing a map she doesn’t quite realise she’s making.
After a few minutes, her voice comes, low. “What are you thinking?”
I don’t answer right away.
She shifts, propping her chin on my chest so she can see my face.
I meet her eyes. “Do you think there’s still a chance for you and him?”
She giggles. “Is this your very calm way of trying to get rid of me?”
I don’t smile.
The lightness in her expression fades. She exhales slowly and drops her gaze for a second before answering.
“I don’t think so,” she says, quiet. “I’m not holding out for anything. I’m not… waiting.”
