Page 50 of Jack Frost

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At some point we must have snuggled up to sleep, because when my eyes flutter open, the room is pitch black. Jack's arm is flung across my stomach. He must have reverted to his magical form, because his skin is glowing faintly, a pale light like snow beneath the moon, and the tips of his ears are pointed again. His white hair practically sparkles. I touch a lock of it, sliding it through my fingers.

Before now, I never understood how people could want to have sex all night long. I suppose technically they don't mean non-stop sex all night long—but all night long with breaks in between? That's something I think I could do.

I wriggle closer to Jack, tracing his jawline with my fingertip. Do I dare wake him? Would that be too presumptuous, too needy? Will he think I'm greedy or slutty for wanting more?

"Jack," I whisper in the dark.

"Hmm," he mumbles. "What time is it?"

"1: 35."

"M'kay. Merry Christmas." When his eyes blink open they glow with an azure luminescence. "I have a surprise for you."

"Oh really?" My hand delves into the space between us, wandering along his stomach. Something about the smoothness of his skin and the grooves of his abs is deeply satisfying to me. Then my fingers graze the part of him I was looking for, and it stiffens under my touch. "I love my surprise."

"That's not the surprise," he growls, burying his face in one of the pillows. "You'll need an overnight bag for the surprise."

"You're taking me somewhere?"

"Yes."

"But I have plans for Christmas dinner, with Karyl and her wife, and the baby."

"Oh." He lifts his head, and I can barely make out his frown in the shadowed room.

"Did you think I would be a poor little lonesome thing on Christmas Day? That I didn't have friends?"

"Not exactly." His tone is vaguely apologetic. "But could you maybe tell them that you have plans with me?"

"I think so. They have family coming anyway, so they'll have plenty of people around the table. I suppose I can let you spirit me away. Are you taking me back to your ice castle?"

"The operative word issurprise," he says. "Which means I'm not telling you our destination. Now are you trying to start something here, or can I go back to sleep?"

"You're grouchy when you wake up."

"I thought you knew that about me. After all, you were the one who woke me up the first time we met." He rolls onto his back with a sigh.

"Fine. Go back to sleep." I flounce over in the bed, a little frustrated—but I'm smiling, too, because I'm in bed with him, and he has a Christmas surprise for me.

Oh hell—I didn't get anything for him.

Jack moves closer, his chest pressing against my back. His cool hand slides between my legs. "Too late. You already started something." He takes my earlobe between his teeth, and I shiver with delight, curving my arm up to stroke his hair.

"You sure you're not too tired?" I whisper.

"Too tired? Impossible. I've been pining for you since I first saw you." He kisses the sensitive hollow below the corner of my jaw.

"Pining, huh?"

"Yes, pining." The chill of his breath whispers across my neck while his fingers move in slow, tantalizing, mind-melting circles. "To long deeply for, to miss, to desire to the point of pain."

"I didn't know you felt that strongly."

"I held back, because you weren't ready."

"It's hard for me, giving in." My voice is barely a murmur. "To me, caring means getting hurt. It always has." My mother, my exes, so-called friends in college, my new coworkers. A question slips out, more plaintive and pitiful than I intended. "Are you going to hurt me, Jack?"

His body tenses, and he presses a kiss to my shoulder blade. "I will do everything I can to avoid it."