Chapter 6
six
. . .
Jemma
I couldn’t believe this was happening. I was straddling Charlie Emerson, my wool skirt hiked up around my waist, his Santa costume bunched between us.
“Is this okay?” he asked, his stubble rough against my neck as he kissed me there.
“God, yes.” The words escaped before I could second-guess them—before I could remember all the reasons this was complicated.
Charlie’s hands slid up from my waist until his palms found my cheeks. His thumbs brushed over my skin—once, twice—while his eyes flicked between mine, searching.
“Hi,” he whispered quietly.
“Hi,” I echoed, feeling my lips curve into a soft smile.
It was our ritual from back then. Seventeen and breathless in the back of his dad’s station wagon, parked in this very field, our hearts racing with the thrill of discovery and forbidden touches.
The car seemed to shrink around us as he leaned in then, his lips parting slightly before pressing against mine with a hunger that made my toes curl inside my boots.
His hands knew where to go—one sliding to my lower back, guiding my hips in circles that made me forget we were making out in a snowy cornfield.
The other found that spot behind my ear, and the fact that he remembered after all these years made my chest ache almost as much as the heat building between my thighs.
As our tongues slid together, my hips circled against him. Slow at first, then faster, muscle memory kicking in. When I shifted slightly to the left, a jolt shot through me, and my fingers dug into his shoulders.
“More,” I moaned against his mouth.
The leather seat creaked beneath us as his body arched upward, an “oh” coming out as a puff of warm air against my face.
“Charlie.” His name escaped my lips in a breath that felt pulled from somewhere deep inside me. The years between us dissolved as his mouth claimed mine again, hungrier this time, the faint taste of peppermint cocoa from the boat still lingering on his tongue.
The car windows blurred with condensation, and I briefly caught my reflection in them—cheeks flushed, lips parted—before Charlie guided my face back to his to see his pupils dilated until only a thin ring of dark blue remained.
His chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, a groan escaping when I shifted my weight forward, his hands curving around my ass, fingers digging in as I moved more insistently against him, chasing a feeling I hadn’t felt in years—alive, desired, and present in my body.
“Do you remember when—” I began, but the words dissolved on my lips as Charlie’s mouth found the sensitive hollow where my neck met my collarbone.
His teeth grazed the skin there, tugging with just enough pressure to send shivers racing down my spine before his tongue soothed the ache. The stubble on his chin scraped deliciously against me, leaving a trail of pleasant burning that made me tilt my head back in offering.
His voice dropped to a husky whisper against my ear. “I remember everything,” he answered, his breath hot. “Like how you went wild when I did this …”
One of his hands slid between us, the heel of his palm pressing firmly against the front of my leggings where I was throbbing with need. Even through the layers of fabric, he somehow found the exact right spot, grinding in slow, deliberate circles that made me whimper.
Of course he did. He always had.
His eyes held mine in the dim light. “Tell me what you want, Jem.”
The request made something twist in my chest. Tell me what you want. Always about me. What I needed, what I felt. But what about him?
My hand slid down his chest, fumbling between us toward the hard length straining against his red velvet pants. “What about—”
Charlie caught my wrist before I could reach him, his grip firm but gentle. For a heartbeat, I froze, afraid I’d misread the situation. But then he brought my wrist to his mouth, pressing his lips to the delicate skin there, his eyes never leaving mine.
“You,” he murmured. “Just like this. That’s what I want.”
Heat flooded through me—not just arousal, but something deeper. Something that was dangerously close to being cherished.
I felt the rigid heat of him pressed between my thighs, saw how his pupils had swallowed nearly all the blue of his irises, the way his chest rose and fell with barely controlled breaths.
He wanted me. God, he wanted me. Whatever that gentle redirect had been about, it hadn’t been about disinterest. It was Charlie’s need to give, rather than take. To center my pleasure over his own.
Suddenly, a thought hit me: maybe my pleasure was his pleasure.
“Touch me,” I whispered, adding a breathy, desperate “please” that made his jaw clench visibly.
Charlie always had liked it best when I begged.
His fingers slid beneath the elastic of my underwear, and when he found how ready I was—how much I wanted this, wanted him—we both gasped. The pad of his middle finger traced my entrance with agonizing gentleness before dipping inside, my hips rocking forward as it glided between my folds.
I dropped my forehead to his shoulder. His scent—woodsmoke and sweet oranges and something uniquely him—filled my lungs as I pressed my mouth to his neck, feeling his pulse flutter wildly beneath my lips.
“More,” I begged, the word disappearing into his skin.
His wrist twisted, and suddenly the pressure changed.
A second finger joined the first, filling and stretching me.
My hips stuttered, then rocked forward to meet his hand.
He worked me slowly at first, letting me adjust to the thick intrusion, until his fingers curled forward to move in determined strokes that made my vision blur at the edges.
That telltale pressure coiled tight—the one I chased alone at night with the silicone toy I kept hidden in the back of my nightstand drawer.
“Like this?” he asked, his breath stuttering against my temple.
I could only nod at first, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps that matched the rhythm of his fingers. “Don’t … don’t you dare stop.”
Charlie’s free hand moved up my body to tangle in the hair at the nape of my neck, and he tugged—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to feather across my scalp, radiating down to where his other hand worked between my thighs.
A high, desperate sound escaped me, one that I barely recognized as my own voice.
“Charlie, I’m—” My thighs started to tremble as everything inside me wound impossibly tighter, like standing at the edge of a cliff the moment before you jump.
Heat pooled low in my belly, spreading outward in waves.
The muscles in my abdomen clenched, my breath catching with each expert stroke of his fingers.
“Let go, Jem.”
My orgasm hit like a door slamming open to a room I’d forgotten existed. God, when had I last felt anything this sharp, this real?
“That’s it,” he whispered, his breath ragged against my ear as the last wave receded. “You’re so goddamn beautiful like this.”
His words came out strangled, and I felt the exact moment my body’s release triggered his own—the way his breath caught, his grip on my hip suddenly tightening. His hips jerked upward once, twice, his movements turning desperate and uncontrolled beneath me.
“Jem—” His voice broke on my name, his fingers digging into my hip hard enough to bruise, his whole body going rigid before a shudder tore through him.
Our breathing gradually slowed in the quiet aftermath until a laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep in my throat. I pulled back just enough to see Charlie’s flushed face, the sweat beading at temples dusted with silver.
“Oh my god.” My fingers traced the white faux fur trim at his collar. “I just humped Santa Claus.”
Charlie’s laughter joined mine, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yeah, and I just came in my Santa suit.” He shifted with a wince, presumably at the sticky mess in his underwear. “I do not want to explain that to the dry cleaners.”
With another low chuckle, I kissed him again, softer now. “Burn it. I’ll buy you a new one.”
We exchanged a few more unhurried kisses until the clock on the dashboard caught my eye.
Outside, snowflakes danced against the barren field, accumulating on the windshield faster than before.
With a reluctant sigh, I climbed back into the passenger seat, as—with trembling hands—I tugged my clothes back into place over thighs that burned with exertion.
Wordlessly, Charlie started the car, and we pulled back out onto the road.
Three minutes passed, silence continuing to stretch between us.
Charlie’s eyes stayed fixed on the road like he was navigating something far more treacherous than snow.
I counted the yellow dashes of the center line. Twenty. Forty. Sixty.
And still he hadn’t spoken or looked at me.
My stomach twisted, and I picked at a loose thread on my sweater, unraveling it further with each passing mile.
My heartbeat, which only moments ago had been racing with pleasure, now pounded with dread. The Charlie I thought I knew should be reaching for my hand across the console, but the man beside me felt like a stranger wearing Charlie’s face.
Did I misread everything? Did I push him into doing something he didn’t want?
Twenty-five years of solid friendship, and I might’ve blown it for twenty minutes of pleasure.
Snowflakes blurred through tears that I refused to let fall as I stared out the window.
My arms tightened around my middle as if trying to physically hold myself together, my stomach twisting with shame.
The wipers thudded a steady rhythm, clearing half the snow before it melted again.
I counted each pass, willing him to say something.
“Charlie?” My voice sounded small, even to my own ears. “Did I … did I just make a huge mistake?”
He glanced over, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “If that was a mistake, it was the best one I’ve made in decades.” His eyes returned to the road, but his knuckles stayed white on the steering wheel.
“Then why won’t you look at me?” I twisted in my seat, facing him fully. “You’ve barely said a word since we started driving.”
“Because I’m scared, Jem. Okay?”
He was breathing hard now, color high on his cheeks, his voice sounding a little wild. One hand dragged through his hair, leaving it standing in damp, silver-tipped spikes; the other gripping the wheel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
“We just crossed a line we can’t un-cross. What if I ruined the most important relationship in my life for a quick—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. The muscle in his jaw jumped as he tried to steady his breathing. “What if you wake up tomorrow and regret it? Regret me?”
My pulse kicked hard. I’d always thought of Charlie as steady, unshakeable, the one person I could depend on to keep his cool. Seeing him coming apart like this made something inside me fracture and reform all at once.
The truth hit me so hard my eyes stung. I wanted to tell him he couldn’t lose me, not ever, but words felt too small for the moment. So instead, I reached across the console, my hand finding his thigh, needing him to feel that unspoken connection we’d always had.
“No, Charlie,” I said softly. “Never.”
With a quick yank of the wheel, the car swerved suddenly onto the shoulder, snow crunching beneath the tires as he threw it into park. He dragged both of his hands down his face. “You said yourself you didn’t know if you wanted more than physical.”
The dashboard light carved shadows across his face, making him look worn down in a way I’d never seen before. It hit me then that this wasn’t coming from out of nowhere. This felt like something that’d been weighing on his mind, and he was only just now sharing it.
“But I do know,” he continued. “I’ve always known, I think.” He pressed his thumb against the bridge of his nose between his eyebrows. “Yesterday, the girls asked why I never pursued you after our divorces, and I realized …”
He let out a raw sound, halfway between a laugh and a groan, and dropped his head back against the seat.
“What did you realize, Charlie?”
The air felt heavier suddenly, like the truth between us had been waiting for years to be spoken. I already sensed where this was headed. I just needed to hear him say it out loud.
“I realized I was terrified you’d reject me.
That you don’t want what I want.” He swallowed hard, and his eyes met mine again.
“The truth is, I don’t want stolen moments like this.
I want to fall asleep with you every night and wake up to your face every morning until we’re both too old to remember why we waited so long. ”
His shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him as he looked over at me. “I want forever with you, Jemma Price. And if that’s not what you want, then I can’t do … whatever it was that we just did. Only getting stolen pieces of you would destroy me.”
My mouth opened, but no words came out. Charlie wanted forever? With me? Not with the version of me I’d carefully curated—the good friend, the safe harbor, the woman who never asked for more than he could give. He wanted the messy, complicated, middle-aged truth of me.
The woman who was so damn tired of pretending she was fine.
God help me, I wanted that too. Wanted him to see every ugly, unpolished part and stay anyway.
Something clicked into place inside me, a key turning in a lock I hadn’t known existed. The truth rose to the surface, undeniable and overwhelming.
“I want that too,” I whispered. “All of it. The mornings, the nights, the forever part.” My hands found his, and I squeezed his fingers. “I think I’ve always wanted that, but was too scared to admit it—even to myself.”
His eyes widened slightly, the crow’s feet at their corners deepening as hope broke across his face like sunrise. “You mean that?”
I nodded. “Take me home, Charlie.”