Twenty-Four. Christmas Comes Early #2
He plates a few of the finished struffoli, and I reach to take the dish from him.
But he playfully swats me away. “Not done yet!” He waves a spoon dripping icing over the top so that what looked like mere puffy fried dough a few seconds ago more resembles something from a high-end restaurant. “Now you can try it.”
I take one off the plate. It’s still warm. Holding it to my lips, I say, “Mmm, this delicate, doughy orb calls to mind the testicle of Santa’s favorite elf. Is that snobby enough for you?”
“Come on, Jill,” Grant says, but he’s laughing. “Not everyone appreciates your dirty mind.” The way he says it, I know that he does.
So I take a bite. And if I have a way with words, Grant has a way with dough. Because wow. I close my eyes and moan.
When I open them, Grant is staring at me with a dazed expression. “Also, as much as I appreciate you appreciating, that noise isn’t gonna fly.”
I nod, still letting the dessert dissolve on my tongue. He’s achieved that Krispy Kreme feat where the dough is airy and light but somehow also full of flavor and sweetness. And have I achieved making Grant a little lusty with my rapturous noises?
“Well, okay, now that I’ve come back down to earth, I would say I like that these are the essence of a cookie—because, come on, you’re cheating a little here, Grant—the same way Christmas spirit is the essence of the holiday.
That hint of gingerbread, it’s kind of like that fizz you get when you pick the perfect gift for someone.
What we all really want at the holidays is that feeling—comfort and joy and love—more than we want anything tangible. This cookie is beautiful.”
Grant’s staring at me. “You’re getting all that from what’s basically a little donut?”
I point at him accusingly. “See? Told you it was cheating!”
Grant takes one of the balls and pops it in his mouth. “It’s a cookie if I say it’s a cookie. So, wordsmith, what are you working on besides mouthwatering-cookie sales pitches? You never exactly say.”
I pause. The only person in the world who knows both the full story of my breakup with Grant and my current dire career prospects is Zav.
Once, during an evening while we cataloged our romantic and professional failings, I wondered aloud what I’d say to Grant if I ever bumped into him and he asked how things were going.
“Lie!” Zav said. “You have to lie. Unless, of course, your life does a one-eighty before then. But if you step out of your shitty apartment tomorrow and he’s standing on the sidewalk next to that homeless lady who throws popcorn at passing cars, you are going to lie.
Make him think you have it all together because you WILL.
” It was a vote of confidence, delivered the way only Zav could.
Grant is right in front of me now, though, and lying doesn’t feel right at all. Maybe it’s Sweetville’s influence taking over, but I want to be honest with him. Even more honest than last time we talked, when I was only hinting at not loving my LA life.
“I just got fired from a high-end kiddie arcade,” I blurt.
My knees wobble as if putting the truth into the air is sapping me of strength.
I climb onto one of the stools lined up at the counter.
“It’s the job I took to pay my rent while I try to get something to happen with screenwriting.
” Grant’s expression is inscrutable, but his attention is all mine, and for some reason, it feels great to admit all of this.
“But it’s also the fourth lousy job I’ve had since I moved.
I’m starting to feel like I made a huge mistake.
Moving. Because I’m not writing much at all lately.
I’ve been in a total slump.” I put my head in my hands because I feel tears threatening to spill.
I feel Grant come closer before I see him.
“But you never said anything.” His hand comes to rest softly between my shoulder blades.
“We’re not those kinds of exes, Grant.” I peek up at him through my fingers.
“Do you want to talk about it?” His eyes find mine, even though mine are partly obscured. That look, like he’s able to push aside my fears and worries to see the real me that’s struggling to climb her way out of them.
“I think I just did,” I murmur. “But yeah, it’s so much harder than I thought it would be. Maybe I don’t have it. Like, I’m good at it, but I’ll never be good enough.”
Grant gently pries my hands away from my face and spins the stool around so I’m facing him. His hips are level with my knees. It would be so easy to slip my legs around his sides and squeeze him closer.
He’s still holding my hands, his thumbs feathering across my palms. Just the feeling of his fingers on my bare skin forces me to swallow, as a needy buzz throbs between my thighs.
“Jill. Of course it’s hard. But you’re really, really good.
You can’t give up. I know you and your mind, and I know that all it’s going to take is someone finally seeing you.
Once they do, they’re powerless to resist you.
I know from experience. You think I haven’t tried to stop believing in you? It’s fucking impossible not to.”
His eyes enfold me in a gaze that’s part awe and part desire. And that’s it. I slide my knees apart and clasp him between my legs, pulling his body into mine as he bends toward me and I stretch up to meet him.
The moment is so hot, there’s literally smoke in the air. No, wait.
“The oil!” I gasp. I point at the pot on the stove without loosening my thighs’ grip around Grant.
“Shit!” he yelps. But instead of removing his body from mine, he leans only his upper half away, stretching one of those rangy arms of his so that he can turn off the burner.
Then he’s back in front of me, staring at my lips with a steely determination as if he’s deciding how he wants to go about this.
“That was impressive,” I say.
“I hope this is better,” he says, gruff and stern.
He takes the back of my head in his hands and bends to put his mouth over mine.
Our kiss is slow at first. Not like the other night.
This one has layers. First, it’s all lips, mine dusting over his lightly, then pressing more firmly, his tongue opening my mouth, slipping inside.
I moan and pull him in even tighter. His hands slip down my back, half lifting me off the stool as he cups my ass.
I reach back and pull one of his hands away, guiding it up my side.
If, three years ago in Powell Park, he was always steering our relationship, now it’s me at the wheel.
Grant has no problem going along for the ride.
He reluctantly releases my lips so he can watch, transfixed, as I maneuver his fingertips along the arc of my waist and across the curve of my breast. I lean away, only slightly, as I bring his hand up along the side of my neck, then guide his fingertips along my jaw.
Finally, I take his index finger into my mouth, teasing it with my tongue.
He sucks in air, sharp and hard, and I capture his whole finger with my lips, tightening my mouth’s grip on him.
My eyes are open and fixed on his dazed expression.
I take his middle finger in my mouth. His other hand clenches my butt more tightly, and he pulls me closer to him.
He’s so hard I can’t resist grinding up against him as I loosen my mouth’s grip on his fingers, sliding my lips along them.
With a growl, he yanks my shirt up, and his free hand scrapes up my stomach, and then his fingers are inside my bra, circling my nipple with maddeningly slow strokes.
Then he pinches, causing me to yelp with pleasure. He grins.
“What would you say about this?”
“More,” I plead.
His grin grows more wicked as he releases my breast and skims his hand over my stomach, down to the button of my jeans.
He flicks it open, never taking his eyes off me as he lifts my ass off the stool and wrenches my pants down over my thighs.
I do the rest of the work, shaking them to the floor.
Scratching along the tops of my legs, his thumb presses over the surface of my underwear, finding my spot. He elicits another moan from me.
He pulls my panties to the side, lightly caressing between my legs with hummingbird fingers, fast and fluttering. Teasing me.
It occurs to me that this moment is so not a Heartfelt one.
“Grant, can we…”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
He carries me toward his room, his face buried in my neck as he steers us through the doorframe.
He tosses me onto his bed in a way I like very much and undresses quickly, pulling his T-shirt over his head with one hand as he unbuttons his jeans with the other.
His socks come off, too, until he’s in just black boxer briefs.
Coming back to the bed, where I’m taking him in like he’s the only gift I ever wanted, he pins my hands over my head.
He kneels over me as, with his other hand, he slides off my underwear, then teases me with a finger before slowly inserting first one, then two, fingers into me, teasing against the walls of me, bringing my awareness to every last nerve ending I have inside.
I rock my hips from left to right to catch all of the sensation I can, so close to the brink I could scream.
“I…” With a juddering sigh, I burst, colors dappled like Christmas lights through bleary eyes appearing in my vision.
As pleasure sweeps over me, my limbs go soft, and I’m dumb with satisfaction.
“Grant,” I breathe. Grant loosens his grip on my wrists and bends to nip my chin with his teeth. “I want… What do you want?” I murmur.
“I need to have you.”
“Wait,” I say. With all my willpower, I pull myself away from his hand and kneel on the bed, so we’re face-to-face.
I scratch my nails down his rigid chest, his taut stomach.
I don’t know if this is real, but it’s another chance to be with Grant, and I’m not about to let it slip away without making the most of it.
I grip his cock in my hand, touching the tip of it against the slick ness of me. I tremble with delight as Grant groans as deeply as if I had put him inside me. I run my palm along his shaft, drinking in the look of need he’s flashing me. “Jill, I can’t wait too much longer.”
“Then stop waiting,” I say.
He almost topples backward as he lunges to the nightstand to extract a condom from the drawer, never taking his eyes off me as he sheathes himself.
Then he gently pushes me back onto the bed, saying, “I want to see you.” He hoists my legs up on either side of him and drives into me, with my hips raised off the mattress.
He’s so hard, and so thick with want, I gasp as he fills me and pulls back, reentering with infuriatingly slow strokes.
I push up against him so he won’t be able to retreat again, and he emits a rumble of satisfaction.
He thumbs circles around the base of my clit, alternating firm then light presses with the pad of his finger.
He’s rocking hard into me, the tip of his cock tapping a new pleasure point deep inside me.
“We can’t be over. This is too good,” he says. “ We’re too good.”
“I know,” I agree. I arch higher against him and come again with his gaze fully on me. As he releases into his own pleasure, my heart screams, This this this , and for once the question of what I want is answered with no doubt whatsoever.