Kaitlyn

When Jake said Let’s get it in the freezer, I didn’t realize he meant his freezer.

Or that his place was so close by.

Or that it would be fully decorated, with greenery around every doorframe, a massive tree taking up almost a quarter of the living room, and three stockings hanging over the mantle. “Three stockings?” I ask. “Ohmygod, does your mother live here too?”

“One’s for Zoe’s dolls.”

Heart.

Melted.

I should go home. But I feel home.

For the first time in seven years, I feel like I’m home.

Jake carries in a mug of spiced cider and sits next to me on the leather couch, which has been angled not for the television, but for the tree and fireplace. The walls are exposed brick, the floors scarred wood, the built-in bookshelves overflowing, the furniture warm and homey.

He even has Christmas throws in a sparkly gold basket beside the couch.

“You really embraced Christmas,” I say softly.

“Zoe’s favorite holiday.” He cocks his head. “No, that’s not true. Any holiday that gives us an excuse to decorate and make cookies is Zoe’s favorite. This just happens to be the biggest. And it’s my favorite.”

There are photos of the two of them all over the room. At the top of the Empire State Building. In matching Santa hats in front of a tree. In matching sunglasses at the Statue of Liberty. Some with homemade frames, some in elegant frames that suggest his mother had a hand in the decorating.

Jake made a family for himself. A good life.

“I miss Christmas,” I confess.

He wraps an arm around me and pulls me close. “It’s still in there.”

I don’t know if it’s nostalgia, or if he’s what’s been missing just as much as my parents the last seven years, but I can feel Christmas beating in my heart. That old joy. The old carefree merriment. The belief.

“I’ve missed you,” I whisper.

God, I’ve missed him. You’re fearlessly you, he’d said on our second date. It’s beautiful.

I’ve never forgotten, because who could ever forget being told that being fearlessly you was beautiful? Usually, I was too loud. Too cheerful. Too off-season.

But I’d felt right. He made me right.

He tips my chin up. His beautiful hazel eyes are serious as he studies my face. Heat springs to life in my cheeks and decidedly lower too. My pulse tingles, and I bite my lower lip, because if I don’t, I’m going to kiss him.

“I’ve missed you too,” he says.

Fuck it.

I’m kissing this man.

I wrap my arms around him, and when our lips touch, it’s like I’m coming home. Cinnamon and chocolate and peppermint flood my senses. Heat funnels from my chest to my core. His firm hand cradles my head, and I let my fingers rake over the solid expanse of his chest while our mouths get reacquainted, licking and tasting and touching. I readjust to get a better angle, and the leather groans beneath us. The faint sound of holiday music filters into my ears. Is that Kenny G? Never mind—ohmygod I forgot Jake’s tongue.

His magic tongue sliding into my mouth, touching my tongue, sending jolts of lust and desire and more everywhere.

Just everywhere.

My skin. My breasts. My pussy.

I remember what he used to do with his tongue to my pussy.

He breaks free, his breath coming in quick bursts. “I didn’t mean—”

“You don’t want to?”

“God, yes, I want to—”

“Me too.” I hook my hand behind his head and pull his mouth back to mine, and suddenly I’m sprawled on my back, his hips cradled between my legs, his hard length rubbing at my clit and waking other long-dormant parts of me.

I thrust up against his cock and kiss him harder, because I don’t know if this is for one night or for forever, but I know I’m not going to miss the only opportunity I might ever have to be with Jake again. His cheeks are like sandpaper, his hair deceptively soft, his body hard in all the right places, and ohmygod he’s licking my neck and my nerves are lighting up like a Christmas tree. “More,” I pant.

“You taste so fucking good.”

“You feel so fucking good.” I’m rubbing my pussy all over his cock like an overworked, sex-crazed elf, and if I don’t get him out of his pants soon, I’m going to die, because I need to feel him.

Inside me.

Now.

He rubs a hand over my breast, then stops and lifts his head, one eye crinkling. “Uh, Kaitlyn…?”

Fucking elastic medical bandage. I lean up, wrench my sweater off, and toss it somewhere behind the couch. “Unwrap me,” I order.

Had to keep the girls tied down tight to play Santa, because the belly would only hide so much. A slow grin spreads over Jake’s granite features. “Unwrap you, hm? I wonder what could be hiding inside this lovely ribbon.”

His fingers dip under the top of the band, and I gasp at his touch on the sensitive skin between my breasts. “Please unwrap me,” I whimper. My hips are jerking into his, and I swear to Santa Claus, his cock’s getting thicker and harder.

He finds the end of the bandage and unhooks the metal clips holding it in place. “This is a crime against your breasts.” His fingers trail over my skin around the bandage as he unwraps it, pressing kisses to the exposed flesh as he goes.

“Ah, I’ve missed this freckle,” he murmurs to the birthmark at the swell of my right breast. He licks it, stars explode in my vision, and I almost come off the couch. My pussy is hot and wet and aching, and I love the way he’s worshipping my breasts and shoulders, but god, I want him to touch me between my legs too.

The bandage falls off, and he lowers his head to suck one nipple into his mouth, hard and deep and unrelenting, and a jolt of desperate, heady need rockets to my core. “Ohmygod,” I chant, over and over, while I rock myself against his thick length and he pinches my other nipple and—

And ohmygod, the stars and the moon and the sun all explode deep in my belly, soaking my pussy as my inner walls clench and spasm. “Yes, more, YES,” I cry while my hips buck wildly and the world goes dark save for the twinkling Christmas lights strung from the ceiling.

“That’s my girl,” Jake whispers, his breath tickling my skin. “God, I’ve missed you.”

I can barely catch my breath before he’s sitting up and pulling off his own god-awful Christmas sweater, a green number with the leg lamp from A Christmas Story knitted into it.

But his sweater is forgotten when the broad expanse of his bare chest is exposed. He’s lean, ripped, and— “You have a tattoo,” I breathe.

It’s simple—the word Joy scripted over his left pec, with two holly leaves and a bunch of three berries. I touch it while he settles back between my legs.

“I have a few.” He winks. “Bet you can’t find them all.”

I’m so going to find them all. And only partly because it’s easier than asking Why Joy? Which I’m honestly almost afraid to know the answer to. I grab his cheeks and crush my mouth against his. His tongue slides against mine, his hands grip my ribs, and he rubs his hips against mine.

This man?

I should’ve never let him go.