Page 38 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
Eli presses down, grinding just enough that my breath hitches. Snow is everywhere—soaking into my jacket and hoodie, numbing my back, biting at my skin—but I can’t bring myself to care. Not when his mouth is hot and insistent, not when he’s clutching fistfuls of my coat as if I might vanish if he lets go.
“Max,” he murmurs against my jaw, lips brushing lower until his teeth scrape just beneath my ear. It sends a jolt through me, sharp enough that my fingers dig into his sides, dragging him closer, needing more. It doesn’t feel cold anymore. No, we are melting the snow around us with our heat.
We’re both panting now, the air fogging between us as the kiss deepens into something that feels impulsive, desperate. His gloved hand drags up my cheek before threading into my hair, tugging just enough to make me groan again.
And God, the way he swallows that sound, kissing me as though the cold doesn’t exist, like the world doesn’t exist—it’s dangerous. Addictive. And everything I’ve ever wanted.
When we finally break apart, foreheads pressed together, both of us are breathless, snow melting fast around the heat we’re throwing off. He’s smiling again—smug, radiant, impossible—and I know I’m in more trouble than I’ve ever been in before.
By the timewe stumble back into his room, we’re half-frozen, melted snow clinging to our hair and soaking through every layer. The Christmas lights blink weakly with the remaining battery power, but the glow is still enough to spill color across the space.
Eli tosses me a pair of joggers and a shirt from his dresser. “Here. Unless you wanna catch hypothermia and ruin my cozy aesthetic.”
I shoot him a look, but peel off my wet coat and hoodie anyway. His shirt is soft, worn thin in places—and tight across my shoulders. The hem rides up when I tug it down, clinging to my chest like it was made to show me off. Eli’s eyes linger a beat too long before he quickly turns, pretending to fuss with his own clothes.
Once we’re changed, he climbs into bed first, burrowing under the heap of blankets. He pats the spot beside him, shivering. “Hurry up before I die of frostbite.”
I roll my eyes but slide in, the chill clinging to us both until I tug the blankets higher. He’s still trembling, small shivers that run through his frame. Without thinking, I wrap an arm around him, dragging him flush against me.
“Better?” I mutter.
He hums, already pressing his cold nose into my throat. “Warmer. You’re like a human furnace.”
“Lucky you,” I say dryly, though my hand stays splayed across his back, rubbing slow circles through the thin cotton. “How’s the groin?”
He groans. “Depends on what part you’re asking about… Are you asking as the Grinch or as Max?”
“What’s the difference?” I ask with curiosity.
“Obviously the Grinch is only concerned about my injury, which is fine by the way, both of them. Shoulder and groin.While Max might be interested in how warm he’s making me, uh, in that area.”
I snort and tug him closer. He’s impossible.
But the longer I hold him, the less it feels like we’re just sharing warmth. His shivers soften into something else—little sparks that race between us, igniting all over again. He tilts his head, lips brushing my jaw, tentative at first. Then bolder when I don’t stop him. He sucks my earlobe into his mouth, dragging his teeth along it as he releases it.
Fuck that feels good. I angle my head, giving him more access, as I drag him half on top of me.
“You’re still cold,” I murmur, voice rough.
“Then keep warming me up,” he breathes, kissing me full on the mouth this time.
The blankets trap our heat, our breaths turning heavy and fast as his hands wander under the hem of the shirt that’s definitely too tight. His touch drags over my ribs, my stomach, making goosebumps erupt along my skin in a way that has nothing to do with the cold.
When I roll him beneath me, the movement’s instinctive, the kiss already heated and desperate. His surprised laughter is muffled against my mouth.
His laugh melts into a sigh when I press him down into the mattress, our noses bumping before our mouths meet again, slower, deeper. No snow, no biting cold between us now—just heat coiling low in my stomach as he moves beneath me. I harden against him, the tantalizing feel of him hard enough to make me rub our hips together, drawing groans from both of us.
His fingers flow back down my body to toy with the hem of the shirt that barely fits me, slipping underneath to drag over my skin, and up my chest to remove it. Not frantic like last night. Exploring. Mapping me out.
“You really do look better in my clothes, but we’re going to have to take them off again,” Eli whispers, his lips brushing along my jaw. “It’s not fair that you’re so hot, Calder.”
I huff a laugh against his throat and nip at the warm skin there, just enough to make him shiver. “Stop talking.”
“Make me.”
So I do. I cover his mouth with mine, devouring every smug curve of his smile until it dissolves into soft, breathless sounds. He arches into me, arms looped tight around my neck, dragging me closer.
God, he tastes sweet—like chocolate and peppermint and sugar—and I groan into his mouth, already addicted. A problem I’ll deal with when the storm ends. For now, I let myself drown in his little winter-wonderland of a room, kissing him senseless, determined to wring my name from his lips again.
