Clara
“ H ey!” I spin around on Jack’s lap, embarrassment forgotten, and pin him with a glare. “Doing—doing that isn’t bad. It’s perfectly natural.”
He grins, his beard shifting in the moonlight. “I know, baby. I’m just checking you know, too.”
I huff, but okay. He got me. I was never really ashamed of touching myself, only of… what Jack might think. If he knew he starred in my nightly fantasies. If he’d be horrified by it.
But I guess I got that answer too. Because when I spun in his lap, my thigh pressed against the front of jeans, and I felt it. The rock hard length of him, jutting against his fly.
He waits, but I don’t move my leg away.
“,” Jack warns in his gravelly voice.
I wet my bottom lip. Then squirm a little closer. “Uh-huh?”
My movements draw a groan out of him. Dredge it from somewhere deep in his chest. And then he’s moving, lightning fast, scooping me out of his lap and depositing me on the booth table next to him. Jack spins on the bench, Santa hat swinging against his shoulder, and then I’m sprawled in front of him like a meal.
“You like to touch yourself, ?” Jack’s voice drops lower. “Show me.”
And okay, I’ve even had this exact fantasy, although in my version I was sitting on Jack’s desk rather than on a booth table. But in my fantasy, I was confident. Sultry. I knew exactly what to do to drive my boss wild.
The reality is different. I’m bundled in baggy pajama pants and slipper boots; the night air is cold, so cold I wince as I lean back and peel down my waistband.
I settle back on the table, bare ass against chilled wood.
And it hits me then, the chasm between us. How Jack is experienced, and worldly, and mature, and hot , and I’m just a clueless girl less than half his age who’s never even made herself come.
He wants me to show him, but I barely even know what I’m doing.
I go still on the table, misery pulsing through me in waves.
“?” Jack is alarmed. He leans forward, urges me to sit up straight, then grips my shoulders. “What is it? Did I take things too far?”
I sniffle and shake my head. Jack didn’t do anything wrong. But he still looks wrecked as he rubs my collarbone, lifting one hand to tuck my hair behind my ear.
“We can stop. We’re stopping right now, okay? Please, baby. Don’t cry.”
“I’m sorry,” I rasp. My throat is so tight, but he deserves an explanation. Because I know what Jack is like, and he’ll blame himself for this. Will hate himself, and all because my confidence drained away quicker than it came. “I just… I’ve never…” I sigh and drop my chin. Stare at the checked navy and white pattern of my pajamas, and confess in a whisper, “I don’t really know what I’m doing. It’s never worked for me.”
Silence.
It stretches on, taut and awkward.
Then Jack jerks his head from side to side, like he’s shaking himself awake. “Okay, help me out here. You’re upset because you’ve never come?”
I nod, miserable. “I know you want to watch, but I can’t get there, I never have, and I hate disappointing you—”
Jack hushes me, and there’s a relieved smile crinkling his eyes. “I’m not disappointed. It wasn’t a test, . You don’t get extra points if you finish.”
I smack his shoulder, but I’m relieved too. An answering smile tugs at my mouth.
Maybe I’m being crazy. Overreacting. Maybe this…
Maybe this doesn’t have to end yet.
“Can we keep going?” I blurt. “I feel better now. A lot better. But… maybe we could do something else?”
Jack’s watching me closely. He’s tempted, but he’s not sure. And this might be my only chance with the man I’ve wanted forever, so I push forward. Say what I’m thinking for once. What I’m hoping for.
I take a deep breath, then put it out there. “Maybe you could do it for me.”
* * *
Jack is a statue in the booth. The tree lights pulse and flicker, the glow casting shadows over his face and hollowing his cheeks. With the frosted window behind him, his silhouette is broad shouldered, and when he takes a deep breath, his chest swells and falls under his gray sweater.
“… you were upset a few moments ago.”
I scoot to the edge of the table. My pajama bottoms are still tangled around my legs, but it’s too late to worry about that now. I shuffle up until my slipper boots dangle against Jack’s sides, and I can wind my arms around his neck. His short beard snags against my wool sleeves. I steal a quick kiss—a brush of his lips against mine.
“I know. And we don’t have to.” I bat his Santa hat pom pom. It swings around to the other shoulder. “But I do want to. I promise. I’ve never wanted anything more.”
Jack curses under his breath, and his eyes drop between my legs. Like he’s fought it too long, but he can’t resist the weight of gravity, drawing his gaze down.
I fight the automatic impulse to close my thighs. I want him to see me. To touch me.
Maybe even taste me, like I’ve read about.
And as I watch, hunger sharpens his gaze. Jack clears his throat, a nerve leaping in his jaw. “You’re sure? You want me to touch you, ?”
I nod, so fast it makes me dizzy. “I do. I want whatever you’ll give me. I want all of it when it comes from you.”
It’s a raw confession, and I’m saying way too much, laying myself bare, but it doesn’t scare him off. If anything, it sharpens his resolve. Jack grips my thighs, squeezing once before running his palms up and down my legs, up and down, and when he gets to the tangle of my pajama pants, he tugs them down to my knees, my calves, my ankles.
“Lie back,” he says once he’s done. There’s a hard set to his jaw.
I bite my lip and obey.
It’s a small mercy, I think, when Jack tugs the Santa hat off and tosses it onto the table beside me, the fabric landing with a soft thump . This night is going to ruin me enough for all other men—I don’t need a visual of Santa Claus licking between my thighs. I’m a therapist’s worst nightmare as it is.
“I’m going to make you come, .”
I splutter a laugh, grinning at the dark ceiling. “You can sure try.”
Jack makes a rumbly noise. Like there’s no doubt about it, none at all. “Consider it another Christmas Eve gift.”
His hands land on my thighs again, his warm, dry palms against my bare skin.
I shiver. I’ve always loved gifts.
The table is cool and hard beneath my back, the air in the bar so cold, my breath practically fogs above me in little clouds. I pant and gasp and twitch as Jack nudges my legs wider apart, grips my ass in both hands, and tugs me towards him, burying his face in my bare pussy.
I don’t know what I expected. Something slower, maybe, more teasing, more careful, careful like Jack is every damn day, but I guess I’ve been driving him wilder than I realized. Because the second Jack’s restraint snaps, he’s hungry, starving for me, groaning loudly as he licks a broad stripe up my seam. He works me over until his jaw cracks, his beard tickling my inner thighs, slickness spreading over my pussy, my lower stomach, my legs.
Jack eats me like a man possessed. Like I’m his last meal. No—like I’m the plate of cookies left out for Santa Claus.
And me? I love it. I love every lick, every stroke of his hot, broad tongue. I bury my hands in his silver-tinted hair, and I cling on for dear life, grinding my hips up against him.
“Jack! Oh my god. That—that feels—” I break off, panting. I don’t have words for how it feels, only strangled moans. It’s so much hotter and wetter, so much more intense than I could ever have imagined.
“Fuck, baby.” His words vibrate against my pussy, tingling in my clit. “You taste so fucking sweet.” He licks me again, sucking my folds into his mouth then letting them go with a smack. “Like icing sugar.”
His hands squeeze my ass cheeks, his grip pulsing around me once, and then he’s drawing one hand away. Snaking it between us.
His fingertip prods gently at my entrance. Swirls in tiny circles, gathering wetness. Then Jack’s pressing forward, pressing into me up to the first knuckle, and he’s lapping at my clit, and I’m pulling his hair. It’s all so much and not enough, and moisture brims in my eyes as his chest rumbles, and he slides his finger deeper.
“So fucking tight.” He crooks his finger, rubbing at my walls. “We’d have our work cut out for us if you ever wanted my cock.”
“I do,” I gasp, staring glassy-eyed at the ceiling. My spine bows. “I do. I already want it.”
Jack chuckles darkly, then slides his finger all the way in, pumping slowly in and out of me. The friction drives me insane—it’s like being tickled, but a million times better.
When his lips close over my clit, I curse loudly at the empty room. And when he crooks his finger inside me, tongue dancing and breath hot…
I shatter.
That’s what it feels like. There’s no other way to describe it. Like I’m a priceless vase, trembling on the edge of a high shelf, and Jack nudges me forward. Sends me spinning through the air to shatter into a thousand pieces. My shards fly in all directions, and my mind is blank, my blood is racing, and I’m clamping down on his finger like I’m trying to break it off.
A hundred years pass before I float back down to my body. I lie on the table, panting and boneless.
“Told you you’d come.”
I kick at Jack’s sides, eyes still closed. He laughs, then pulls my pajama pants back up my legs. I lie there like a doll and let him dress me again, putting me right and tugging me to sit up, where he smooths down my hair.
His kiss is so sweet. I part my lips on a sigh, and then our tongues slide together, and I can taste myself in his mouth.
Icing sugar ? If he says so. I taste kind of salty to me, but hey—I’m not going to complain if he likes it.
“Come on.” Jack kisses my nose, then eases me down off the table. “It’s late. Good girls should be asleep.”