Chapter 14
jonas
It’s been twenty-four hours since I’ve spoken to Miles, so I’m not surprised when I opened my computer this morning to find I’ve been bombarded by emails from him.
I’m not one to show up without new information, and I don’t plan on telling him that my only plan of action at this point is to stage a run-in at the wedding Diego is supposedly attending.
My phone buzzes again, rattling against the wooden table but I ignore it, eyes fixated on Stella. Satin clings to her body in shades of purple, and the hem of her matching shorts barely brushes the tops of her thighs.
“So, no run today?” she asks, reaching for my coffee cup.
“Stella, darling, I’ve already run, showered, and had my coffee this morning.”
“You do too much.” She rolls her eyes and playfully kicks my leg with her bare foot.
I catch it between my hands and press my thumb to her arch. Her head lolls back, and her eyes threaten to close.
“What’s on the Clarke family Christmas vacation agenda today?”
“It’s a couple’s day.” A teasing smile pulls at her lips.
“Ahhh.” I drag my hand over her ankle and up her calf. “And what does a couple’s day look like, Mrs. Jonas?”
“Well… I know you came here for work.” She shifts slightly in her chair, and I massage her leg, encouraging her to continue. “Do you have stuff you need to get done?”
I should be planning a better course of action than crashing a wedding, or at the very least, I should be responding to my boss.
But when I look at Stella sitting across from me, and see the smile starting to pull at her lips, I don’t want to be anywhere else.
Without taking my eyes off her, I reach out and shut my laptop. “I’m all yours.”
Her eyes light up, and she sets her other foot in my lap. “Good! Because I have a surprise for you.”
When Stella told me she planned a surprise, an in-room couples massage might have been one of the last things I would have guessed.
The towels they have us wearing are somehow thicker than the ones in our suite, and I’m grateful for it now as I watch Stella lie on the table bed with her eyes closed, and only a sheet covering the plump swell of her ass.
Her masseuse pours a liquid into her hands, and our private patio fills with the faint scent of lavender before her dainty hands begin rubbing Stella’s back.
“Ohhh,” Stella begins to moan, and my cock that was stirring only a moment ago has fully awakened now.
“Oh, god. That’s so good.” Her already raspy voice turns into a deep, husky whisper, and her moaning intensifies with each stroke of pressure her masseuse applies.
“Mmm, yeah.”
“Stella!” I cut her off, and her eyes open, staring at me. “You can’t keep making those noises.”
Her masseuse looks at me, but I adjust my robe and avert my eyes back to Stella. “People are going to think something else is going on here.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” the woman rubbing Stella’s back whispers.
I open my mouth, but I’m interrupted by the sliding door and, who I’m assuming is my masseuse, stomps outside. She’s different from Stella’s masseuse. Much taller, far broader, and no smile in sight.
“Hello.” I dip my head, attempting to speak softly.
“Lay.”
Okay. Not one for small talk. That’s fine with me.
Thankful I’ve forgotten about the sounds of pleasure Stella was making, I’m now able to lie face down. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, only to tense immediately at the sudden slap of two large, rough hands on my shoulders.
“Oh, hey. Hello.”
I lift my head, but those same rough hands shove my face back down to the bed. I catch a quiet snicker beside me, but before I can say anything, Ms. Trunchabult is at my back, karate chopping the piss out of me.
“Relax!” she yells.
“Yeah. I’m trying.”
At least the moaning has stopped. I’m not even sure I could get hard with the way this lady is attempting to tenderize my back.
There’s finally a pause in the beating, and I take what feels like a baby’s first breath. The air in my lungs is short-lived, though, when my masseuse climbs up on the table, presses her bowling ball-sized knee into my back, and yanks my arms behind me until I’m bowing like the front of a canoe.
“Aghh!”
Stella has lost her battle of wills and has no shame in the roaring laugh she’s now letting out.
Back arched—and possibly broken—I’m able to catch the way the table is shaking beneath her.
On the other hand, her masseuse just continues rubbing gentle circles across her back, as if this were any other day.
Seconds before I’m positive I’m about to snap a vertebra, I’m lowered back down to the table.
I prop up onto my elbows, rubbing my wrist from where the jaws of life back there had her strong hold on me, and while I can’t prove it, I’m pretty sure she mutters ‘baby’ while sticking her hands in a bowl of something.
Being careful not to move too abruptly, I lie back down, turning my head to face Stella. “Thank you for this couple’s day, Stell. It’s been so relaxing.”
“I’m sorry,” she mouths, looking anything but sorry.
Her eyes are locked on mine, soft and playful. I’m about to reach out to her, but her lips part, fighting off a laugh when I jolt and my eyes bulge out of my head because those god damn ham hands clamp around the back of my thighs and begin kneading me.
“Ooo. Tight glutes.” Her rough hands glide under my towel, and that’s enough for me.
I swing my legs over the edge. “Thank you,” I say, sitting upright. “Thank you, but I’m done.”
“Done?”
“Yes. Done. I’m all relaxed now. No more.”
Her face never moves, only continues to scowl at me, and I nod, holding my hand to the door, encouraging her to leave. Thankfully, she grabs her bag and heads to leave. “I’ll come clean up when Mrs. Jonas is done.”
My cheeks fill with air before I deflate them and look back over to Stella, who is now sitting up.
It takes less than three seconds for her to fold over, and tears begin spilling out of her eyes.
STELLA
The table is set, the carols are playing, and now I just need my fuzzy socks.
I make my way to the closet and begin digging through my suitcase that I’ve been living out of for three days, when the bathroom door opens.
Jonas stands in the doorframe in nothing but a towel that hangs so low, his thick V cut is like a beacon for my eyes.
“Hi,” I say stupidly.
“Stella.” His voice is like gravel, and everything twists inside me when he says my name.
“I, uh…I set up a gingerbread decorating station for us,” I say, holding my hands out like Vanna White.
He follows behind me while throwing on another graphic T-shirt.
This one is an oversized white shirt with Japanese writing down the back, and just from looking at it, I can tell it’s thick, which is not surprising.
I’ve learned Jonas is a man who likes nice things, so nice that even his T-shirts are high quality.
After pulling his briefs on under his towel, he lets it drop, and I try to avert my eyes, but his leg, covered in some of the most beautiful art I’ve ever seen, draws my attention right back.
Intricate dragon scales, tropical flowers, leaves, and an unbelievably technical mandala cover the entirety of his leg.
He covers the top half of his sleeve when he steps into some shorts, and it’s enough for me to give a sharp shake of my head and focus back on the table in front of me.
“What do we have?” he asks, sitting down beside me.
I pick up one of the gingerbread men, look at Jonas, and now I know I’m in deep because fuck, even the way he sits is turning me on.
Just casually bending forward with his elbows on his knees, but it’s giving a clear view of how broad his shoulders actually are, and I start to imagine him holding himself above me, while my fingers rake down the long planes of muscles along his back.
“Stell?”
“Sorry.” My voice cracks, and I clear it. “Okay, so this one is for you,” I say, handing the cookie to him. “I’m going to do this guy here, and we’re going to make each other in gingerbread form. You’ve got your frosting, your candies, and when we’re done, we’ll see who made the other the best.”
Jonas reaches for the red frosting first, with a look of determination on his face. I turn up the volume on the remote, letting Wonderful Chritmastime play through the room and get to work.
When I’m done, I lean back, not looking at Jonas’s work.
I pick at the M&Ms on the table as the minutes pass, and when Jonas says he’s almost done, I realize fifteen minutes have passed, and neither of us has said anything.
It hasn’t been an awkward silence, but rather a comforting one.
I’ve noticed that whether it’s quiet glances, silent touches, or just being beside one another, being with Jonas is easy.
I never feel like I need to explain myself or fill the void with unnecessary chatter.
“I might have to add professional cookie decorator to my resume.” Jonas beams, dusting glitter sprinkles from his hands. “You ready?”
I bite my top lip, suppressing the giggle I want to let out over his excitement, and hold my hands out.
A little brown gingerbread girl, wearing a red bikini, sits in my hand. Pieces of black licorice hang from her head, and tiny yellow candies cover her hands and neck. “Oh my god, you even got my jewelry right.” I cover my gaping mouth in awe.
“Alright, let’s see mine.”
I tentatively hand him the cookie, and he barks out a laugh. “Why am I only wearing underwear?”
“Those are your shorts!”
He falls back onto the couch, clutching his stomach.
“But look at your smile.” I point to the wide cartoon-like grin, but he doesn’t stop laughing for a full minute.
After digging through my suitcase, I finally find my socks and make my way over to the bed. Jonas pats the spot next to him, reminiscent of how he did on our first night together, and I climb up beside him.
“Nice socks.”
I look down at my feet and rub them together before grabbing the remote. “It’s to set the vibe.”
“I might have to get myself a pair of those.”
I look at him and he smiles as he adds, “You know, for the vibe and all.”
“You weren’t a fuzzy sock family?”
He rubs the back of his neck, and I know I’ve unintentionally hit an uncomfortable subject for him. “I’m sorry, Jonas,” I start, but he’s already shaking his head.
“My parents always tried to make sure they were home for Christmas, but by no means did we have your perfect movie Christmas. They’re good people, they just let work take priority in their lives.
” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but I’ve never met anyone more confident or sure with themselves than Jonas, so I know, based on his body language alone, that it probably means more to him than he wants to admit.
“Anyway, our traditions now are simple. My mom will probably send a GIF. Not the present kind, the text kind. She likes those glittery trees with Merry Christmas sparkling over top of it.” His fingers wiggle for effect, but my heart aches for the boy who never got the Christmas of his dreams.
I bend over and rest my head on his lap, hoping to provide some comfort, the same way he has done for me this week.
I don’t know if he’s aware of how, every time we’re at dinner, he puts his hand on my thigh, grounding me, but when his fingers begin to stroke through my hair, I think it’s his way of grounding himself.
The movie starts, and I think snuggled up with Jonas, in my fuzzy socks, is my new favorite Christmas activity.
Even without the snow.