Page 52 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas

However badly he wants to prolong this, his body can’t help but answer mine. He begins to move again. Long, sensual strokes, like he’s savoring each one. I’ve never felt this bare, this alive. This vulnerable and this powerful at the same time.

“I need more, Jake. Please. Just—”

Jake drops his forehead to mine in assent. His exhale blazes across the side of my face, and he spreads his knees wider, bracing for leverage. He slips an arm under my back, clutching me against his chest like I’m the only thing keeping him from spinning into orbit.

He’s panting with an open mouth now, crashing into me like a tide hitting its shore. I slide my hands to the taut cheeks of his ass, feeling each pump of muscle, the force and ricochet of his thrusts. He presses his lips to the curve of bone just behind my ear, his every gratified moan resonating into my body. I feel teeth graze my jaw, his lips and tongue and explosive breath hot on my neck.

Jake raises his head to watch me. Lips swollen, face flushed, his gaze glassy and frantic. Wavy locks of hair fall into his eyes and dance along his forehead, jerking in the same cadence as his hips between my thighs. Over and over, I churn against him, riding him from beneath. I’ve lost all language except for whimpering vowels and stuttering breath.

“I can’t—” Jake grinds out. “Can’t stop—”

Friction is a struck match on a short fuse, and we’re the dynamite.

Jake covers my mouth with his and says against my lips, “Come with me.”

He’s not saying come with me.

He’s saying come with me.

Again, Jake lowers his full weight against my body, clasping me to him with shuddering arms. Our bellies are slick with sweat, heaving together with every desperate gasp for air. His feet slip against the sheets, his arms buckle, his mouth trembles against mine.

Moans hitch in my throat. The eager ache between my thighs builds and builds to the point of agony, too huge and too heavy to contain. Tears squeeze free from the outer corners of my eyes, painting my face with salt.

Jake is feral. Demanding, pounding, his hips possessed by an erratic rhythm as he starts to come. Now, his angsty little whimpers and breathy grunts are no more—now, he’s loud as he unravels inside me.

My second orgasm erupts a second later, wet and white-hot, roaring out of the deepest, hungriest places inside me. Wave after shuddering wave of pleasure breaks against me until my legs slip loose, collapsing boneless on the bed as we plummet together over the edge.

* * *

After.

My head rests on Jake’s outflung arm. His thigh lies heavy on top of mine, but it doesn’t make me feel trapped. It makes me feel anchored. I’m not sure how long we lie there. But we don’t move until our breathing slows.

Jake slides his arm out from under me to prop up on his elbow. He trails a fingertip across my neck, down to my collarbone. “I’ve marked you. I’m sorry.”

I smile, running a finger of my own along the love bite I left on his bicep. “Looks like I did the same. I’m sorry.”

Jake drops a tender kiss against my tangled hair. Then he gets up and walks completely nude to the kitchen. I watch him go, taking in the firm planes of his shoulders and his back. Even his legs are beautiful. He grabs two champagne flutes in one hand, filling them with water so cold it frosts the outside of the glass. He hands one to me and sets the other on the bedside table. “Be right back,” he says.

From the bathroom, I hear running water. Jake is back after a moment wearing a towel around his waist. He carries a damp washcloth and another one of his enormous plush towels. He climbs onto the bed again, inching towards me on his knees. Then he looks me in the eyes and crooks a finger in a “come here” gesture. I set my water aside and sit forward, and he bundles me into the big towel. It’s lusciously warm from the heated rack in the bathroom.

Jake sits beside me, tracing the warm washcloth along my neck, my collarbones. He gently pushes me back against the pillows again, and he somehow manages to make the ritual sensual, letting the cloth drift between my breasts, down the center of my belly, across my hipbones. It’s chilled from the air by the time he tenderly uses it on my inner thighs, making me shudder. Jake chuckles. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” My voice is shaky. This feels distinctly more intimate than the sex we just had, and I’m having a hard time making sense of it. I do know, though—this thing with Jake has gone way beyond attraction for me. This is attachment.

I am falling in love with this man.

When he finishes, he pulls me upright between his legs to begin working on my braid. “This OK?” he says, easing the strands apart. My head lolls to the side. It feels better than OK. It’s hypnotic.

Jake manages my tangles faster than I’ve ever been able to myself. Once my hair is loose, he draws me against his chest and we lie back, watching lights from the city flicker and shift on the wall across from the window. It’s so quiet, I can hear Jake’s heartbeat against my ear. I’ve never felt so held, and it goes far deeper than his arms around me.

We’re quiet for a long time. Jake makes tiny, languid swirls against my shoulder with the tips of his fingers. After a while, he says, “When’s your birthday?”

I chuckle and prop my chin on my hand against his chest. “Why? Are you going to consult the zodiac?”

He looks down at me through lowered lashes. “What if I say yes?”

“You don’t strike me as the type.”