A girl could get used to this.
For a long while, it’s enough to rest here on the intricate quilts topping the bed in our exquisite room at the Inn. I’m trying to process the surprising surge of emotion that swept over me when Jasper endorsed my writerly dreams without hesitation.
No one’s ever done that.
Not Tansy, even though she thinks it’s awesome that I try.
Not my parents, who are wonderful.
Not even Ms. Enderly, my eleventh grade English Lit teacher who told me I had a real talent for the written word. I confided in her that, lifelong bookworm that I am, I hoped to make my living off of writing fiction. She cautioned me to not get too carried away.
So I’ve done that. I haven’t gotten too carried away. And both my day job career and my writing aspirations don’t seem to be any better for it.
What if I believed in myself the way Jasper seems to believe in me?
With faith like his, anything could happen.
It’s a lot for me to take in.
So I let him hold me, and it’s perfection.
Until, minutes or hours later, it’s not.
I need more.
I need all of him.
Turning, I position my body on the bed so I can take his face in my hands. He opens his eyes, gaze curious but not demanding.
With gentle fingers, I explore his face. I massage his cheekbones, discover his jaw, stroke the soft but muscular expanse of his cheeks. His eyes flutter closed as he takes in my touch.
Between my legs, my slit starts to pulse and heat. But I take my time, stroking his forehead, burying my fingers in his blonde curls.
And then, slowly, every nerve quivering in anticipation of this moment, I taste him.
His lips are soft, pliable. His tongue responds to mine with the slightest of encouragement.
I should take my time.
I want to take my time.
But my need to have Jasper in every sense of the word overtakes me.
My touch is everywhere — his neck, his chest, his cock, his belly.
I am hungry for him. I ache to be touched by him, filled by him, loved by him.
I cradle his turgid length in my eager palm. He groans as I fondle him, giving attention to every inch of his manhood.
It’s not long before his fingers burrow into the down covering my mound in search of my most sensitive place.
When he finds my clit, my entire body spasms with arousal, with ecstasy.
It feels so good, his fingers swirling and spiraling over my clit. I never want it to end.
And in the same moment, I ache for more.
I long to be filled.
As I run my hands along his fiery shaft, my cavern grows wetter, more ready.
I am his for the plundering.
Rolling my body so I’m open to his invasion, I splay my legs wide and beg, “Take me. I am yours.”
“You are mine,” he rasps, jaw clenching as he hovers above me.
Then he is inside me, spearing me with his length, urging me to new heights.
I wrap my arms around him and hold on for dear life. He rocks me again and again and again with each fresh thrust stoking the fire in my belly.
We are one, Jasper and I. It was clear from our texts. But now? Any doubt I have is swept away in the furious current of our connection.
He is mine and I am is.
Our joining is a revelation. An affirmation. An inevitable confirmation.
We are meant to be.
My back arches and I find myself uttering my ecstasy in sharp, guttural bursts as my insides clamp around Jasper’s length in ecstasy.
It’s the first orgasm he’s gifted me.
I have no doubt that it won’t be the last.
Wielding what weight I have, I roll us, his hardness still buried inside me, until I’m straddling Jasper.
He’s staring up at me half in surprise and half in adoration. I am his Christmas queen and I intend to do right by him.
I rock my pelvis front and back, riding his cock. We both spiral higher. My gyrations become more insistent, fervent, desperate.
This is what I’ve been craving — a joining with Jasper, the man that spoke to my heart via text.
For a short while, he was a mystery. But now that I’ve discovered his identity, I wouldn’t wish to share this moment with anyone else.
With a loud cry, I fall to pieces around him.
And this time, he fractures with me.
With a herculean effort, he hoists me off his shaft and, setting me on the bed at his side, spurts his thick, ropey release over my heaving belly.
I clutch Jasper to me, our sweat mingling, panting breaths swirling together.
“That was perfection,” I gasp, pussy still pulsing with the aftershocks of my climax.
“You’re perfection,” he growls. And, placing his mouth on mine and clasping me to his chest, Jasper devours me anew.
I press my body against his and will us to become one flesh all over again.
This is what I want, I realize. This is my Christmas miracle — finding love with an impeccably caring, deep-hearted, and fucking wonderful man.
He’s not the man I thought I wanted. He’s the man I need.
I’ve never been so happy to be wrong.
Tightening my legs around Jasper’s waist, with a strangled cry of pleasure I guide his re-hardened log home once more.
Epilogue
Bethany
Four Years Later
Jasper, I text my husband, can you please keep the kids occupied? They’re bouncing off the walls of my office.
That sounds right, he messages back. I’ll be there in a sec.
Yes, we are texting each other from within our home.
But that’s how we roll these days. And it works for us.
I’m the provider, making ends meet with words. Through writerly blood, tears, and lots of sweat, I’m earning a living with my books. More than four years in, I’ve got twenty titles to my name, some of them bestsellers.
And yeah, you didn’t read that wrong. I really have put out five new sexy-sweet novels a year. I guess that’s what happens when you have the time to write and a guy in your corner that believes in you more than anything.
That’s on top of having the triplets.
The night I went to the Interlake Inn hoping against hope that my mystery man would meet me there, I never imagined that just four short years later I’d have a thriving family and romance writing career.
I chalk it up to a shit ton of hard work — and a husband who loves us something fierce.
As a writer and guest lecturer at our local community college, I mostly work from home. Jasper makes that possible by being the best damned stay-at-home dad a woman could ask for.
Have I mentioned that four years, three kids, and one overly-stretched perineum later, I find him sexier than ever?
Yeah, a selfless, dedicated househusband will do that.
Except to hear Jasper tell it, he doesn’t see it as a sacrifice to stay home with our three girls. He says he’s living the dream society taught him, a man, to never entertain.
I know what you’re thinking — Jasper is amazing, a rare specimen, and a damned dream come true. You won’t hear any argument from me.
Life with Hope, Honor, and Haven, our triplet girls conceived by surprised a few months into our relationship, has been an incredible experience.
Although right at this moment, it’s an incredibly irritating experience.
The triple threat three-year-olds have invaded my office, each armed with an armful of baby dolls and their accoutrements. At first, they played quietly, so I’d kept on with my editing.