Page 19 of The Santa Situation
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 donotwant 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 asif 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? Regretme?”
