Page 32 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
For a moment, the only sound is our breathing, rough and uneven, the world narrowed to the slick press of our bodies, the hammer of my pulse, the snowstorm howling muted on the other side of the glass.
And then his weight settles against me, heavy and solid, his arm wrapping tight around my waist, anchoring us both in the moment.
I close my eyes, chest still heaving, and let myself sink into it—the heat of him, the smell of his cologne mixed with sex, the steady thump of his heart against mine.
I’ve wanted him for months. Now I’ve had him. And all I can think is—God help me, I want more. This isn’t a one and done. A conquest to conqueror. I’m addicted.
Max pulls out slowly, carefully, and the shift makes me shiver. He doesn’t move right away, though. He lingers, one hand brushing damp hair off my forehead, the other steady on my hip, holding me together. His touch is so gentle, it makes my chest ache.
“You okay?” His voice is low, roughened from everything we just did, but there’s real worry laced in it.
I laugh, breathless, still trying to catch myself. “Pretty sure I’m better than okay.”
He huffs, not quite a laugh, then reaches for the tissues on my nightstand. He cleans me up first—gentle, methodical, like it matters that he gets every trace. Like he owes me that. I bite down on my lip just to keep from blurting something stupid, something about how no one’s ever done this for me before.
When he finishes, he leans back on his knees, tugging his hoodie over his head with a muttered curse. There’s a streak across the front, proof of how desperate we both were. He grimaces, grabs another tissue, and starts blotting at it as though he can erase what we just did from the fabric.
“Guess that’s ruined,” I say, my grin lopsided, still wrecked.
He cuts me a look, cheeks faintly red even in the dim light. “Shut up.” But there’s no bite in it—just embarrassment or shyness. And something else, something warm flickering under the surface.
He tosses the hoodie aside, then drops onto his side next to me, and drags the blanket up over both of us. For a second, we’re just staring at each other, his eyes searching mine like he’s waiting for me to crack a joke or push him away.
Instead, I reach out and tug him closer.
And he lets me.
TWELVE
MAX
The room isquiet except for Eli’s breathing, the faint creak of the building settling in the cold. The storm must still be going strong outside; the window rattles when the wind hits just right. But in here, with him curled against me, the rest of the world doesn’t exist.
I shouldn’t feel this good. Not after what we just did, which was irresponsible, fast, too much too soon. But I can’t stop my arm from sliding around him, pulling him closer until his head fits just under my chin. His hair tickles my jaw, the faint scent of his shampoo—something clean and citrusy—mixing with the last traces of my cologne. It’s warm and cozy, and it makes my body feel heavy and relaxed.
He murmurs something half-asleep, shifting closer, and instinctively, I tuck the blanket tighter around us. ‘To keep warm,’ I tell myself, even though the heat radiating off him is already enough to make me sweat. The truth is, I just want him closer.
I stare at the ceiling, trying to convince myself this was a mistake, that I can pull back tomorrow and everything will settle into neat lines again. But with Eli’s breath ghosting over mychest, the weight of him heavy and solid against me, it’s hard to believe a word of it.
I brush my thumb along his shoulder, gentle, the kind of touch I don’t let myself give anyone. He makes a soft sound—content and trusting—and it goes straight through me. God. I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t wanthim.
But I do. I want every bit of sunshine he’ll give me.
The laptop is still open at the end of the bed, screen gone black, movie forgotten. Christmas lights glow dimly with their battery power, little bursts of color against the dark. The whole room feels magical and surreal, as though we aren’t part of reality.
My eyes start to close before I can stop them. His warmth, the steady rhythm of his breathing—it’s too much, too easy. I press my nose into his hair, inhaling slowly like it might keep me awake, it might keep me from giving in completely.
It doesn’t.
Sleep takes me anyway, Eli’s weight in my arms, his body fitting into mine as if it’s always belonged there.
I waketo weight and warmth.
For a second, I don’t remember where I am, the chill of the room pulling me half out of sleep. Then Eli shifts against me, his nose nudging my chest, his hair brushing my jaw. His whole body is sprawled on top of mine, a blanket tangled around us like we tried to wrestle it in our sleep.
The power’s still out. I can tell by the way the silence presses, the lack of the low hum from the heater. The air is colder now, my breath almost visible, but Eli—he’s a furnace. His cheek is warm against my shirt, his legs tangle with mine.
And yeah, I’ve got morning wood. Of course I do. I’m a guy with a gorgeous boy sprawled across me, and last night was…Christ. Reckless. Intense. Better than it had any right to be.
