Page 69 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing over the curve of my jaw, grounding me in a way that’s almost too tender for how breathless I feel. “I don’t need an excuse to kiss you,” he says, voice low.
Then he leans in again, nibbling at my lips until I melt into him, toes curling against the rug, wondering how I ever thought I’d survive a night without this.
The kiss slows, softens, until it’s nothing but lips brushing lips, the barest press of warmth and want. My hands curl into the front of his shirt, holding him close as if letting go would knock the earth off its axis.
It’s not rushed, not frantic—just him and me, breathing each other in, melting into the kind of kiss that feels like it could last forever and still not be enough. The room, the team, the whole damn world—all of it fades until there’s only the slide of his mouth and the steady thrum of my heart.
When he finally breaks away, he doesn’t go far. His forehead drops against mine, his breath fanning warm over my skin. For a moment, we just stay like that, noses brushing, hearts pounding in time.
Then his voice comes low and rough, threaded with something that feels like affection, even though he’s trying to bury it. “Now that I’ve gotten that out of my system, what Christmas movie do you have for me tonight?”
My smile breaks free before I can stop it, wide and shameless. “Ohhh, so now you’re asking me for Christmas movies? Careful, Calder—you’re gonna make me think you actually like spending time with me.”
He just shakes his head, grumbling under his breath as he digs into the pocket of his jacket. When his hand comes out, he’s holding a candy bar, the wrapper crinkling between his fingers. He presses it into my palm with a look that’s equal parts serious and soft.
“Figured you’d want something sweet to go with it,” he mutters.
The laugh bursts out of me, warm and giddy. “You do realize you’re giving off perfect boyfriend vibes right now, don’t you?”
For a split second, I expect him to scowl, to deny it, to pull away. But he doesn’t. He just shrugs, casual, like it’s nothing at all—except I feel the weight of it all the way down to my bones.
And suddenly, the candy bar feels like the most romantic gift I’ve ever been given.
Max shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it carelessly onto the empty bed. For a second, I’m distracted by queuing upThe Santa Clauseon my laptop, but then movement pulls my attention back.
He grips the hem of his shirt one-handed, tugging it up and over in one smooth motion. The fabric lands somewhere on the floor, and suddenly I’m staring. No shame, no hiding it. My gazedrinks him in—the hard lines of his chest, the cut of muscle down his stomach, the faint trail that disappears beneath his waistband.
He catches me looking, green eyes sharp, but I don’t even blink. I cross the small space between us, slow and deliberate, and press my lips to his collarbone. Then lower, brushing a kiss across the warm skin of his pec. Then up, up again, catching the side of his throat.
The sound he makes—half groan, half growl—reverberates right through me. His hands catch my waist, and the world tilts as he sweeps me off my feet, carrying me the few steps to my bed. He sets me down, not gently, but with a care that still makes my chest ache.
In the next breath, I’m straddling his lap, knees braced on either side of him, his heat burning through my clothes. His fingers tug at the hem of my shirt, rough and insistent, the scrape of his knuckles setting my skin alight.
“Lose it,” he orders, voice dark and low.
And God, the way he says it makes my whole body hum.
For once, I don’t crack a joke. My throat’s too dry, my pulse too wild. His command sits heavy in the air between us, thick and electric, and I can’t look away from his eyes—dark green, steady, waiting.
I grab the hem of my shirt and peel it upward, slow enough that I feel his gaze tracking every inch of bare skin I uncover. The fabric hits the floor, forgotten, and the chill of the room is nothing compared to the heat rolling off him.
That’s when I feel him—hard and solid beneath me, pressing through his joggers. The realization sends a jolt straight through me, my own body tightening in response, already hard and straining. I shift instinctively, and the friction pulls a groan from both of us, tangled in the thin space between our mouths.
His grip tightens on my hips, holding me flush to him as if he’s daring me to move again. My breath stutters, the sound embarrassingly loud in the quiet of the room.
And I don’t try to fill the silence with words. I justfeelit—him, us, the tension stretched so tight it’s ready to snap.
I shift again, deliberately this time, grinding down against the heat straining through his joggers. His breath hitches, and the sound makes me bold.
I curl my fingers over his shoulders, lean in, and crash my mouth to his. It’s not neat or careful—just desperate, hungry, every ounce of pent-up longing pouring out of me in that kiss.
For a heartbeat, he goes still, like I’ve surprised him. Then his fingers spear into my hair at the nape of my neck, grip tightening until it borders on rough. He drags me closer if that’s possible, our chests brushing, kissing me back with a ferocity that steals the air from my lungs.
Our teeth clash, tongues tangling, and I moan into his mouth, not even bothering to hide it. His groan answers mine, vibrating through his chest and into me, and suddenly there’s no space left between us—only heat, friction, and the sharp edge of need finally breaking loose.
One second I’m straddling him, the next I’m on my back, the world tilting as Max flips us with a strength that leaves me breathless. He braces above me, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his mouth dragging away from mine only to trail down the line of my jaw.
“Fuck, Eli,” he mutters against my skin, rough and low. His lips graze my throat, hot and open, his stubble scraping just enough to make me shiver. “You drive me insane.”
