Chapter 15
Holly
Ididn’t know when I first saw Jack that he’d be a dirty talker in bed. Never once suspected it, with all the grunts and short conversations we started with.
Never did I know I would get off on dirty talk, either. Milk me harder, just the encouragement I didn’t know I needed or wanted. It’s like my body has a mind of its own, and its prime directive is to do whatever Jack says.
“Right there,” I whisper, hoping my few words make sense to him. That he continues pumping into me. Continues thumbing my clit with utter devotion.
“Oh,” the word leaves my mouth as my orgasm hits hard, as he fills me up, rolling over me.
Pleasure hits me over the head. I bite my lip to stay silent, muffling my moans with the pillow.
It’s an intensity I’ve never experienced before.
The challenge of staying quiet keeps me tense, and that tension seems to stretch out my orgasm.
When I can’t hold myself up any longer—arms like jelly—I collapse onto the bed, Jack on top of me.
I don’t suppress the laugh, and he joins in with me. His chuckle earlier was just a precursor for his deep, gravelly laugh. It delights me. The absence of his weight makes me crave more. Rolling over, I pull him to me, and he happily wraps his body around mine.
“That was glorious,” I say, leaving little kisses along his scruffy jawline.
“You are glorious,” he answers.
We stay like that, intertwined, for a long time. I know I need to clean up, but the thought of tiptoeing through the cold cabin does not motivate me. Just a little longer. Jack shifts, then disappears from my arms and legs. Head too heavy to look for him.
When he comes back to bed, body chilled, I savor the feel of his skin against mine. He smells of wood smoke. Leaves a trail of featherlight kisses along my jaw.
Next thing I know, lights and sounds come blaring at me. I sit straight up in bed, thwacking Jack across the face as I do. “What the fuck?” I ask, probably yelling. It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust to the noise and light, but once they do, I see Jack in his boxers, running out of the room.
The power is back on. That’s the hazy thought that finally finds its way into my brain. The shot of adrenaline, followed by kids’ voices, has me scrambling to find my panties and clothes. The bedroom door is still open, but no one seems to be coming this way.
Teeth brushed, face washed, pep-talk in the mirror pepped—you look like you didn’t sleep.
You slept with the mountain man who happens to own the freaking mountain, and you saw your comet.
Go you. Don’t freak out—clothes on, I step out into the living area of the cabin and get bowled over by Cliff, who attacks me at sprinting speed.
“It’s a Christmas comet miracle! We have power! And Dad says Uncle Hans is clearing the road for us so we can go home!”
“I like the sound of a Christmas comet miracle. You know what sounds miraculous to me right now? Coffee,” I say, smiling at him, trying to peel him off me.
Thankfully, Jack is there in the kitchen, flipping pancakes, mug of coffee in hand.
You know how there’s that old-fashioned phrase of seeing one’s woman barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen?
Yeah. Well, seeing my man half-naked, barefoot, and cooking in the kitchen sends a thrill from the top of my head down to my toes. Wowzers. “Hi,” I say rather shyly, hating that feeling, as I step closer to the kitchen and the magical elixir of life.
Oh yeah. Not only does Jack hand me coffee and grant me one of his rare smiles, but he is wearing those damned Wranglers low on his hips, and he looks like he just walked right out of a calendar. “Good morning, beautiful. Pancake?”
And just like that, the four of us sit down for coffee, cocoa, and pancakes. Part of me wonders how much of the boys’ body composition is made up of hot cocoa at this moment, but really, they are happy and that’s all that matters.
The boys have a funny holiday playlist on, and it’s nice to hear music not sung by us. They chat, including me in their silly conversation of “Would you rather, Holiday edition,” and Jack plays footsie with me under the table.
When we’re done, I insist on washing the dishes, as the boys have been so helpful. They plop right down on the sofa and start playing video games, now that their precious Switch is charging. Jack whispers something to them, and pretty soon all three are bundled up and outside.
I savor the quiet moment, the soap suds and hot water, and the second cup of coffee. If Cliff is right that we can leave the cabin today, that means I have to get back to my car in Jack’s driveway, unbury it, hope it starts, and drive back to the city. Back to my quiet, lonely apartment by campus.
That thought makes me dread the rest of the day.
By the time the trio returns inside, I’ve finished the dishes and wiped down the table, taken a quick hot shower, and packed my things except for my laptop. I’m sitting on the sofa enjoying the fire and trying to write that damned article, except my brain keeps reminding me of Jack’s kisses.
They’re covered in snow, loud, laughing, and red-faced.
Stomping like a herd of elephants, both boys talk at once as they remove their layers and hang them up.
Jack, of course, is silent. When his eyes catch mine, he gives me that intense look from last night, the one that says he wants to devour me.
I hope my eyes tell him that I want him to devour me.
“What do we need to do in order to leave?” I ask from the sofa once they’ve settled down—the boys tromped upstairs to grab their things.
“Nothing. Just grab your things, we’ll put the fire out, and go.
Anna and I will come back up to put things to rights in a day or two.
It’s all good.” Jack comes to stand behind the sofa and puts his hands on my shoulders, rubbing out the newly formed knots.
Biting my lip, I don’t tell him I don’t want to leave; don’t want to burst this idyllic bubble we’re in.
His hands are still on me when the boys appear downstairs again. I know they see us, but I can’t see their faces. I try to move away from Jack, but he holds me steady, startling me a little when his voice is quiet near my ear. “It’s okay. I talked to them. They know.”
At that, I whip around, my hair flying in his face. “They know?” I whisper with menace. What the actual hell did this man tell his children?
“They know we like each other. And that we might be seeing more of you in the future.”
More of me. This is somehow calming and unsettling to me.
That idyllic bubble we’re in doesn’t have to ponder the logistics of my job, my life, my research.
Or the kids and their emotional well-being, their school schedule, his work.
But as we head for the truck, already running and trying to warm up, the reality of how popped my bubble is hits me.