Page 10 of Once Upon a Thanksgiving
I flip her beneath me, pinning her wrists above her head, my cock pressing against her slick heat. I drag the head through her folds, teasing, making her beg. “Tell me what you want, Autumn.”
“I need you inside me. Now. Please.”
That one word, please, shatters my control. I thrust into her, slow at first, then deeper, filling her, groaning at how tight and hot she is. She gasps, legs locked around my waist, heels digging into my back.
I set a rhythm, hard and deep, then slow and teasing, never letting her have exactly what she wants until she’s desperate, clawing at my shoulders, begging.
“You feel so fucking good,” I whisper, mouth against her ear. “So wet for me.”
She whimpers, nodding frantically. “Yes, only you. I want all of you, Jack.”
We move together, faster, rougher, every thrust pushing us closer to the edge. I pin her wrists, bite down on her neck, suck a bruise just below her ear, marking her as mine.
She shatters again, coming with a strangled cry, her body squeezing around me, milking me until I follow, spilling into her, groaning her name like a prayer.
We collapse, tangled and sweating, catching our breath. I brush hair from her face, kiss her slow and deep, tasting her moans, her laughter, her hope.
She pulls me closer, leg hooked over my hip, voice dreamy. “I want more. All night. No stopping.”
I grin, rolling us over, hands roaming her body, already hard again. “Anything you want, Autumn. Anything.”
I take my time the second round. It’s slow, worshipful, tasting every inch, making her come with my mouth before sliding into her again, this time with her riding me, her hair wild, her eyes locked on mine, every movement another confession.
We don’t stop until the fire burns low and dawn glows at the edges of the windows, the world outside forgotten. I hold her against my chest, both of us dazed, sated, but still wanting.
Chapter nine
Autumn
Early morning sunlight floods Jack’s bedroom, golden and soft, painting the tangled sheets in a warm haze. I stretch, muscles deliciously sore, body singing with memories of last night—his hands everywhere, his mouth, the way he said my name like a secret. I should be exhausted, but I feel wired, jittery with nerves and happiness and a little bit of panic.
Jack’s still asleep, arm heavy over my waist, one hand resting low on my hip. He looks younger in the morning with his hair messy, lashes dark against his cheeks, and lips swollen from kissing me for hours. It would be so easy to stay, to pretend the world doesn’t exist outside this bed.
But the Murphys are not known for patience.
I wriggle out from under his arm, tiptoeing around to find my clothes. I try to be quiet, but of course, Jack stirs.
He cracks one eye, voice thick with sleep. “Where are you going?”
I can’t help but smile. “If I’m not back home soon, they’ll send the National Guard. Plus, I’m pretty sure Mia tracks my phone.”
He reaches out, pulls me into the sheets, rolling me on top of him. “Let them look for you. You’re not leaving until I get a proper good morning.”
I kiss him, soft and slow, letting my body mold to his, hands exploring familiar skin. For a few heartbeats, I let myself get lost, heat building as his mouth trails down my neck, his hand sliding under my sweater.
I break away, breathless, laughing. “You’re trouble, Jack Wilson.”
He grins, eyes sleepy and wicked. “You love it.”
My stomach flips, joy and fear tangling up inside me. I do love it. I love all of this. And that scares me more than I want to admit.
Getting out of Jack’s house is a comedy of errors. I can’t find my other sock. My hair’s a mess. Jack tries to tempt me back to bed twice. When I finally slip out, the sun is already high, Main Street humming with weekend bustle.
The moment I step into the kitchen, I’m ambushed.
Mia is waiting at the counter, phone at the ready, grinning like she just won the lottery. “Good morning, sister. Want to tell your adoring fans why your phone was at Jack’s house all night?”
“Maybe I just needed legal advice,” I deadpan, but my cheeks give me away.
