Page 6 of Once Upon a Thanksgiving
After dinner, the house settles into a golden hush. Kids run off to play, the grown-ups sprawl in the living room, the dog snores beneath the table. I slip out onto the porch, needing air, needing space for all the wild wanting in my chest.
Jack finds me there, closing the door softly behind him. The night is cold, the sky streaked deep blue and silver, and my breath hangs in the air.
“Hell of a meal,” he says, voice low, his body close enough I can feel his heat even in the November chill.
“Survival of the fittest,” I murmur, shivering for reasons that have nothing to do with the wind.
He steps into my space, gaze fixed on my mouth. “You were incredible tonight. I couldn’t look away.”
My pulse hammers in my throat. “You weren’t exactly subtle.”
His hand finds my waist, warm and sure. He trails his fingers up my side, slow, until his palm cups my jaw. He leans in, close enough that his breath ghosts over my lips, the world shrinking to just us.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, voice rough.
“Don’t even think about it,” I breathe.
He laughs, the sound dark and hungry. His lips find mine, soft at first, searching, then urgent, claiming. His tongue teases the seam of my mouth, and I open for him, greedy, desperate, all pretense forgotten. The porch is freezing but I’m burning, every inch of my skin awake, every nerve tuned to the press of his body.
He presses me into the railing, his hips flush to mine, hands sliding down to my lower back, pulling me closer. I arch against him, my hands tangled in his hair, the heat between us hotter than any fire. He groans into my mouth, low and rough, and the sound goes straight to my core.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless. He rests his forehead against mine, his hands still framing my face, his thumbs tracing my cheekbones.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the grocery store,” he murmurs, voice ragged.
“You should’ve,” I say, my voice barely more than a gasp.
He kisses me again, quick and hard, like he can’t help himself. “I was waiting for the right moment.”
My fingers slide beneath the collar of his shirt, nails dragging lightly down his skin, and he shivers.
“Text me when you’re done with family stuff tonight. I’ll come back and meet you in the barn,” he whispers, lips brushing my ear. “I want you all to myself.”
I nod, my whole body buzzing. “I will.”
He lingers, lips brushing my jaw, my neck, before he finally steps away, just far enough that I miss his warmth instantly.
Inside, the house is full of laughter. Out here, there’s only hunger, promise, and the knowledge that this is just the beginning.
Chapter six
Jack
It’s after midnight when I get a text from Autumn telling me she’s free. I make my way up the Murphy driveway, breath curling in the sharp air, hands stuffed deep in my pockets. The farmhouse is dark except for a warm glow from the barn. For a second, I think maybe I’m too late. Then I see Autumn, wrapped in a blanket, sitting cross-legged on a battered wooden bench just inside the open barn doors.
She hears my boots crunch on straw and turns, her smile soft and secret in the shadows. The sight of her—cheeks pink, hair wild—sends a bolt of longing straight through me.
“You waited,” I say quietly.
“I told you I would,” she whispers, holding the blanket open in silent invitation.
I don’t hesitate. I drop down onto the bench beside her, and she immediately tucks herself against my side. The blanket drapes over both of us, her thigh pressed to mine, her head finding the hollow beneath my jaw. I wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, and for a while we just sit breathing together, her heartbeat thumping wild and fast in time with my own.
The barn smells of hay and pine. It’s quiet except for the faint shush of wind rattling the rafters and the distant creak of the weathered barn doors. It’s just us, tucked away in our own little world.
Neither of us speaks before I tilt her chin up and kiss her.
At first, the kiss is slow, my lips coaxing hers open, my hand tracing her jaw, her fingers tangling in my hair. She shifts, angling closer, the blanket slipping from her shoulders. The cool barn air is nothing compared to the heat rolling off her skin.
