Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Jacob
Not now. Not today.
Why her?
Why me?
Seriously, it’s like she’s everywhere . Noelle—the holiday-obsessed, sometimes walking disaster from next door— is standing by the mailboxes, her purse dangling precariously off one shoulder, clearly distracted, as usual. She’s juggling something, probably trying to do a thousand things at once, and of course, half of them are bound to end in disaster.
Although to be fair, talking to herself wouldn’t be anything new for Noelle. She chats with everyone, everything . . . and sometimes, no one at all.
There was that one time I asked her who she was talking to, and she said, deadpan, “I’m having a meeting with myself.” I’m still not entirely sure if she was messing with me, but I told her there’s this thing called an inner voice , and maybe she should keep all future conversations and meetings private. She laughed. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t joking, but it’s hard to get that woman to take me seriously.
Today, as usual, she’s sorting through her mail, talking out loud like she’s narrating her life for an audience. I hang back, waiting for my turn to check my mailbox, hoping I can avoid any interaction. Let’s be honest—there’s no chance of a pleasant exchange. The second I open my mouth, I’ll probably end up telling her that Frosty the Snowman and every other holiday tune should be banned until at least December twenty-fourth or at least shouldn’t be sung before nine in the morning or after six when I’m back from the office.
By then, I’ll be in Boston, blissfully far away from her and her incessant cheer. Maybe, by the time I get back, the building will finally be rid of her over-the-top holiday decorations. If I’m lucky, the only remnants will be a few streamers clinging to the walls for New Year’s. That’s if she hasn’t turned the whole hallway into a winter wonderland while I’m gone. Fuck me.
I watch her leave without even noticing the keys hanging there. She’s already halfway to the stairs, completely unaware. She’s all over the place, always moving too fast for her own good.
Typical.
I try to get her attention, but she’s too wrapped up in her conversation—or whatever’s going on in her head—to notice me. I roll my eyes, tempted to just leave her keys there for someone to grab. I mean, I could teach her a lesson about being a little less scatter-brained, right?
But no, I was raised by a mother who drilled the basics of decency into me. “Be kind to others, even when they’re a hot mess,” she’d say. And honestly, Mom would probably love Noelle if she saw the holiday display she has going on or all the others she’s created since she arrived. I can almost hear her gushing about how festive it is.
Fine, I grumble to myself, resigned to doing my good deed for the day. I’ll grab her damn keys, drop them off, and make a quick escape to my apartment. With any luck, she won’t be blasting Jingle Bells on repeat. I’ve got meetings lined up, and I have exactly zero patience for holiday jingles today. If I hear Frosty the Snowman one more time, I might actually lose my shit.
I sigh, muttering a string of curses under my breath as I yank her keys from the mailbox. Clutching them tightly, I start up the stairs, keeping a few steps behind her. Of course, she’s on the phone—talking way too loud, as usual. Doesn’t she realize everyone in a five-mile radius can hear her life story? Apparently, she’s talking to someone named Val, and—wait— asking random guys to kiss her?
“I’ll add that to my dating profile: looking for a good tongue, only respond if you know how to use it,” she says, her voice echoing through the stairwell. I can’t help but smirk. This is too fucking good to ignore. Should I say something? I volunteer as tribute. It’s been a while since I last put my tongue to good use, and I sure as hell know how to use it.
“. . . fuck my mouth—since I’ve never done that either.”
I almost stumble at the words. Did she seriously just say that?
By the time I catch up with her, she’s dropped to her knees, her purse spilling out like she’s on a treasure hunt. And fuck me, she’s on her knees. Right there, in front of me.
My mind goes straight to the dirtiest places. All I can think about is her on her knees for a completely different reason, her mouth wrapped around my cock. I’d grab her by the hair, just tight enough to guide her without being rough. I want her lips on me, slow at first, teasing the tip, those soft lips grazing me until I can’t fucking take it anymore. And then I’d make her take it deeper—until she’s choking on it, her throat tightening around me.
I’d want her to suck me hard, her mouth working like she’s starving for it, her tongue swirling as she takes me deeper, inch by inch, until she has no choice but to gag. I can already hear the gasps, the wet sounds of her sucking me down, her lips swollen, her eyes locked on mine as I fuck her mouth. She’d look so fucking good like that—completely at my mercy, desperate for more.
And fuck, I’d let her. I’d guide her rhythm, pushing her just enough so she knows she’s in for it. I want her moaning around my cock, her throat vibrating, her hands clutching my thighs for support as she tries to take all of me. And when she looks up at me with those wide, innocent eyes? Fuck, I’d lose it. I’d lose every ounce of control, pushing deeper, hearing her choke, watching her try to catch her breath just before I give her a chance to swallow me down again. It would be everything—her lips, her mouth, her desperate gasps.
But then I catch myself.
It’s so damn hard to stop thinking about it, to stop picturing her on her knees. But then I find her strangely . . . adorable. She’s so damn trusting, like she expects the world to be as sweet and kind as she is. Clueless, in the most endearing way possible. I mean, who leaves their keys in the fucking mailbox? Yet, she does things like that, and I can’t help but be charmed by the chaos she creates around her.
And now, hearing her talk about kissing random guys, rating their techniques . . . how the hell has her ex been the only one she’s ever kissed? And never letting her fuck his face? That’s a crime. An actual fucking crime. It’s the kind of thing that makes me want to fix it—make it right. Should I be the one to show her what she’s been missing? Would that be my next good deed?
My mind drifts before I can stop it, and it’s too easy to imagine—too easy. Pulling her close, kissing her hard and deep, showing her what it’s supposed to feel like. Hell, I wouldn’t stop there. I’d take my time with her, exploring every inch of that sweet pussy, watching her fall apart beneath me. I bet she’d taste amazing, and the idea of making her come undone with nothing but my mouth? Fuck, that’s a “good deed” I wouldn’t mind turning into a regular habit.
But I shove the thought aside. Not the time, Jacob. Not the fucking time.
She’s still on the phone, babbling away, completely unaware I’m standing right behind her. I clear my throat, snapping her back to reality, holding out her keys with a smirk. “Is this what you’re looking for?”
Her eyes snap up to meet mine, and the second our gazes lock, it feels like the air between us tightens. There’s a pause, a moment where the whole world narrows down to just us. She stares at me like she can’t believe I caught her mid-disaster, lips parted, cheeks flushing slightly. And fuck, now all I can think about is kissing her. Right here, right now.
The tension between us is thick, almost unbearable. She’s still on her knees, keys dangling from my fingers, and all I want is to pull her up, press her against the wall, and kiss her like I’ve been dying to for weeks. I swear, if I lean in just a little . . . but no. Not the time, Jacob.
I manage a grin, watching her fumble for the keys. My pulse is racing, every part of me screaming to take this further, but I hold back. Just barely.
But now? It’s only a matter of time.
She freezes mid-sentence and looks up at me, her wide eyes locking onto mine. There’s that deer-in-headlights look again, like she can’t believe I caught her in this exact moment. She’s so embarrassed it’s fucking adorable.
I can’t help but smirk, because she knows I heard her—every single word about her little “scientific experiment.”
“Umm, thank you,” she stammers, immediately trying to shove the contents of her purse back inside. Of course, it’s a disaster. Lipstick rolling away, receipts flying, and she’s flustered, her cheeks turning a soft shade of pink.
She glances down at her phone. “The guy next door. Yep, that one . . . No, Val, I’m not going to ask him for that kind of help.”
I crouch down next to her, grabbing a stray lipstick and a few coins that have scattered across the floor. She’s an adorable mess—the kind that makes me want to stick around just to see what kind of chaos she’ll create next. I hold out her things, giving her the most innocent grin I can muster.
“But I’d be very happy to help. I’m pretty sure I could even get an honorary mention for my performance—summa cum laude, valedictorian, and all that shit, thanks to one very big, satisfying orgasm.” I lean in slightly, lowering my voice. “And believe me, my tongue? It could make you see stars, sweetheart. I’d have you begging for more in no time.”
Her face turns an even deeper shade of pink as she snatches the items from my hand, looking like she’s about to combust. Honestly? It’s hilarious—and a little too satisfying to watch her squirm.