Though my typical route is out the back door and through the backyard, I use the front door instead to avoid alerting my pint-sized shadows. I love Sean and Carlee something fierce, but sometimes a girl just needs alone time with her boyfriend.
After the epic snowball showdown the other day, most of the powdery white stuff has since melted, but there’s enough of it for tomorrow to still be considered a white Christmas.
The hinge on the vinyl gate squeaks louder thanks to the chilly temperatures, and I hunch deeper into my hoodie, my hands both going back inside the front pouch as soon possible.
A few paces in and my steps come to a stop at the breathtaking sight in front of me. The entire backyard has been transformed into a winter wonderland. White twinkle lights are strung along the lattice of the patio’s overhang, the evergreens around the perimeter are now decorated with lights, and small colorful paper lanterns are scattered amongst the bare branches of the tall red oaks.
Jack Frost nipping at my nose breaks me from my stupor, and when I step onto the shoveled stone patio, I see the hammock Jake and I spent the summer and fall lounging in is back in its place, two tall stand heaters now bookending it.
My breath catches in my lungs, not because it’s cold enough that I can see it with each exhale, but from the sight of my sinfully sexy boyfriend. It’s probably a good thing the temperature is low enough to freeze liquid; otherwise Jake would be able to see the drool I have to work to swallow down.
If only the BTU Titans put out a calendar for their hockey team, because they would sell out in minutes if this is a preview of what December would look like: Santa hat sitting jauntily to the left, black skintight ColdGear Under Armour shirt, the material molding to every bump and ridge of his muscles and doing nothing to hide them before coming to a stop above the wide band of his low-slung gray sweatpants.
Guess I was a good girl this year if I’m being treated to gray sweatpants.
“Hey, baby.” Jake’s green eyes sparkle, his dimples flashing.
“What’s all this?” I wave a hand around the yard while my feet take me to him of their own accord. I did mention his dimples are out, right? Damn magnets, I swear.
“Figured we’d take advantage of this little pocket of downtime to revisit our roots.” He reaches for me as soon as I’m close enough, pulling me into him until I’m pressed against his hard chest.
With both of us being Division 1 athletes—hockey for him, swimming for me—free time, especially some that coincides with the other’s, is complicated to coordinate.
“Is this your way of telling me you want to stuff my stocking, Jakey?” I loop my arms around his neck, pushing up onto my toes, and twirl a finger around the short hairs at the base of his skull.
“Jesus.” He snorts, leaning down until his forehead rests on mine. “I don’t know what to address first…” His minty-fresh breath blows across my skin as he speaks, helping to chase away some of the chill. Against my back, I feel his fingers unfurl and stretch down to cup my butt.
“What do you mean?” I snuggle into him harder to take advantage of the could-serve-as-a-third-patio-heater warmth radiating off of him.
“Well, there’s the fact that you called me Jakey when you’ve never once done so.” This is true. The puck bunnies love to cheer the cringe-worthy nickname during their desperate attempts to garner his attention. I straight-up refuse to use it. “And then there’s that terrible pun you dropped.”
I shrug. That one is not my fault. I can put the blame for that fully on Maddey’s shoulders with all the rom-coms she’s been having us read lately.
He guides us over to the hammock and we kick off our boots before climbing onto the thin mattress top. Jake stretches out, tucking his socked feet under the thick puffy white down comforter and tugging me down to cuddle against his side.
One of his arms slips into the space under my neck, curling around to hold me at the ribs, his other bending to prop up his head.
My head finds that sweet spot made for me where his arm and shoulder connect to his chest as I drape my arm around his middle, my leg hooking over one of his thighs and my knee resting in the space between his legs.
Other than soft sounds of contentment, neither of us say a word, though the night isn’t silent. There’s that soft quiet you only get to experience when it’s about to snow again, the easy, almost living-in-a-snow-globe type magic that hangs in the air. It’s enough to still feel it over the Christmas carols playing low.
Soap and ice fill my senses as I simply breathe him in, the tip of my nose brushing along the curve of his neck.
“Oh, shit.” Jake does a little wiggle-jerk. “Your nose is cold, babe.”
“Sorry.” I smile and place a kiss on the vein that’s now pulsing faster.
His hold on me tightens, fingertips kneading their way down the length of my back, a hand cupping and squeezing a butt cheek before slipping under the hem of my sweatshirt. It’s my turn to wiggle-jerk at an icy touch, but I settle back as the calloused skin of Jake’s fingers sets off a round of tingles when he traces a figure-eight pattern on my hipbone.
One of my favorite things about our relationship is how we can just be, that there’s no pressure to be on or live up to whatever “it” couple most people assume we should be.
“Fuck I can’t wait for summer.” Jake pulls the comforter up high enough that I would look like a floating head to anyone with an aerial view of us. “It’s a lot easier to hang like this when I don’t have to worry about my balls freezing off.”
I giggle and slip a hand inside his pants, cupping his junk—which is already at half-mast—to double-check that something that dramatic didn’t happen. It didn’t.
“Jordan,” he growls. Ooo, he must be serious if he’s calling me by my name.
Gently, I fondle him, rolling his sack inside my hand and pulling a chorus of groans and curses from deep in his throat. He’s now fully hard, his tip leaking precum, leaving a trail of it on my forearm as I rotate my wrist.
I grip him at the base, but before I get a chance to travel up his length, I’m shifted, my back flat to the mattress, a forearm braced next to my face as Jake moves to hover over me. A curtain of fluffy white falls around us, shutting out the world and keeping the heat we’re generating trapped.
I never stop the movement of my hand in his pants, doing my best to wrap my fingers around him but, as always, never quite getting them to touch as I work him from root to tip.
The wicked sparkle that enters Jake’s bright green gaze is my only warning that the tables are about to turn.
From one blink to the next, his hand is under my hoodie and shirt, the flat of his calloused palm pressed to the skin below my navel then disappearing under the band of my BTU sweatpants and Joe Boxer candy cane boy shorts.
His long middle finger slides right into my slit, the wetness already there making it easy for him to glide across my clit in sure circles.
My back arches, shoulders blades pressing into the hammock, causing it to sway more, the muscles of my core straining as I try to follow his confident touch.
There’s no tease. He continues his southern trajectory, two fingers plunging inside me and scissoring, the heel of his palm pressing down on my clit.
Spiky hair tickles my cheek as Jake buries his face into the crook of my neck, lips placing a trail of kisses down the length.