Page 23 of The Santa Situation
A small, knowing smile curved her lips as I continued to stare. “You good?”
The words caught in my throat. “So damn good,” I managed, crossing the space between us in just three steps.
Jemma’s smile deepened and her eyes darkened as she eased herself onto the bed, moving backward until her head touched the pillows.
I let the towel fall away and followed her, feeling the mattress give beneath my weight. When I reached her, I dipped my head to taste the hollow where her neck met her shoulder. The sound she made—something between a sigh and a gasp—sent heat spiraling through me.
Her fingertips found my chest, exploring with tentative curiosity that made me shiver as I traced the flutter of her pulse with my lips, memorizing her heartbeat.
I hooked my finger beneath her bra strap, then paused. The last time I’d touched Jemma like this, we were seniors in high school. Two-plus decades had passed. We were different people now, with different bodies, potentially different desires.
“Go ahead,” she whispered, the slight tremor in her voice matching the shake of my hand.
My fingers traced the edge of the black lace, following the curve where fabric met skin. I circled the outer swell of her breast, careful not to touch where her nipples had tightened into tight little points against the delicate material.
“God, Jem,” I murmured, brushing my lips against her lightly freckled shoulder. “I feel like a kid on Christmas morning. I can’tdecide if I want to savor every second of unwrapping you or just tear into my present.”
“Rip the wrapping off, Charlie,” she said with a light chuckle, her eyes sparkling.
“Are you sure?”
“If you don’t get this bra off me in the next twenty seconds, I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
With a deftness born of long-buried muscle memory, I slid one arm beneath her, finding the clasp. A quick twist of my wrist, and the hooks released. She arched slightly, just enough for me to slide the straps down her shoulders, freeing her as the lace fell away.
I couldn't look away. Twenty-five years had transformed the girl I’d known into the woman before me. The small curves I remembered had become fuller, more generous swells that rose and fell with each breath she took. Her nipples had darkened to the color of ripened plums, and I found myself swallowing hard, desperate to taste what time had perfected.
I traced my fingertips around the outer edge of her breast, circling closer and closer to the center with each pass. When I finally brushed the pad of my thumb over her areola, Jemma arched beneath me, a soft gasp escaping her lips.
“More,” she whispered when I kept my touch feather-light. “Please.”
I cupped her breast fully in my palm, testing its weight before gently rolling her nipple between my thumb and forefinger.
“Like this?” I asked, giving it the slightest twist as I watched her face to catalog her reaction.
She shivered, her eyes fluttering closed. “God, yes. Just like that.”
I shifted my attention to her other breast, giving it the same attention. Jemma’s breathing quickened, her spine archingupward, silently begging for more contact. I lowered my head, letting my breath ghost over her skin for just a moment before finally sucking her nipple into my mouth. I swirled my tongue around it, savoring her soft moan, before catching it between my teeth and tugging.
“Charlie,” she gasped, and I released her with a soft pop.
“Remember that time,” I murmured against her damp, flushed skin. “When I made you come just like this?”
The memory of that night surfaced, vivid and electric—her trembling above me in the cramped back seat of my Civic, both of us wide-eyed with discovery. For days after, I’d walked around feeling like a king.
“Could you still …” I asked, watching her face.
She shook her head. “Not since then. Not since you.”
I hummed against her skin, savoring the way tiny little goosebumps bloomed over her, the way she bowed into my touch, desperate and needy and wanting more.
“Part of me is tempted to try,” I whispered, flicking my tongue across one tightened peak. “But I’ve got other plans.”
My lips traced a path down the gentle slope of her stomach, pausing to explore the dip of her navel, the soft curve below, feeling the muscles tense beneath my lips as I moved lower. When I reached the strip of black lace between her thighs, I pressed my mouth against the fabric, inhaling deeply, pulling the scent of her arousal deep into my lungs.
I hooked my fingers beneath the waistband of her underwear, looking up to find her watching me with heavy-lidded eyes. She lifted her hips in silent permission, and I slowly drew the lace down her thighs, past her knees, over her ankles. When I tossed them aside, she parted her legs, revealing herself to me completely.
