A Festive Feud: A Holiday Romantic Comedy(28)
She tilts her head to the side and scrunches her nose up, clearly pretending to consider my request when we both know she’ll agree.
“Okay. One day.”
I can’t help the smile that lifts my lips, and I sure as hell don’t even try. I’ve got one day to make her smile, to remind her that there’s more to Christmas than just this damn party, to do the things that make her happy. Things that don’t include a to-do list. If she wants to go ice-skating, then fuck it, I guess I’m going ice-skating.
Before I can stop myself, I press a chaste kiss to her lips, then grasp her hand in mine. “One day. Let’s do this.”
“Dear God, that is absolutely hideous,” Emma says when I walk out of the dressing room, her nose scrunched in distaste. “Please tell me you are not thinking about buying that.”
“Oh baby, it’s coming home with me.” I smirk, doing a full three-sixty so she can see the back, “And you’re getting one too.”
“I’m pretty sure my mother would burn it if I walked in wearing that.” She giggles, her whole face lighting up.
Fuck, I love that sound more than I ever thought I could.
Choosing the ugliest sweater in this place to make her laugh: mission accomplished.
She’s not wrong. It truly is fucking hideous, but then again, isn’t that the point? The uglier, the better.
It’s bright red and covered in sparkly gold tinsel adorned with large green bells that jingle every time I move.
“Go try yours on. I need proof that I actually got Emma Worthington into an ugly sweater,” I say with a wink.
Emma rolls her eyes but stands from the chair across from the dressing room, taking off her suede peacoat and leaving it there. “God, I can’t believe I’m even doing this, but here we go.”
I take a seat in the chair, the bells on the sweater jingling as I do. Okay, it might be a little annoying, but it’s festive as fuck, so I’m keeping it.
Once she’s inside the dressing room, I pull out my phone and open my notifications. It’s been going off nonstop since we left, but aside from a check-in text to let my family know that I was safe after the storm, I haven’t responded.
It’s actually been kind of nice to unplug for a bit, even if it’s only for a weekend. Not something I normally am able to do with how busy my company stays.
“Crap. Jackson?” I hear from the other side of the dressing room door. “Uh, I think my hair is stuck on the tag. Can you, uh, come help me? My hair is stuck in this hideous thing.”
I stand from the chair, pocketing my phone and crossing the room in a few short strides, the fucking bells on the sweater still jingling with each step as I slip inside the dressing room and shut the door as quietly as I can.
Which isn’t very fucking quiet since I’m basically a walking, noise-making Christmas decoration.
Emma’s standing in front of the mirror, her cheeks bright red, a contrast from the green sweater she’s wearing that has a Christmas tree that’s got blinking lights and ornaments and says “GET LIT” across the front.
“Damn, Snowflake. You look hot as fuck.” Reaching up carefully, I gingerly sweep her hair off her neck and untangle the lock of hair that’s wrapped around the tag, freeing her. “Not going to lie, my dick’s getting hard just seeing you look so… festive. Really does it for me,” I tease. I’m joking, but fuck, not really. I am definitely into her like this.
She giggles. “I’ve honestly never felt more ridiculous in my life.”
“Nah. You look good enough to eat, Snowflake.” I lick my lips as my eyes rake down her body and then back up in slow appreciation.
Her gaze turns hazy at my words, and I step closer, slowly walking her backward until her back hits the mirror behind her. My fingers tease along the hem of her top, then dip beneath the fabric, brushing along her skin.
I love seeing her like this, relaxed and carefree. Having fun without worrying about a schedule or a list. Which gives me an idea…
“How about a little Christmas fun day… bet?” I continue sliding my hand up her stomach, ghosting along her rib cage to the cup of her bra, where I finger the lace.
The column of her throat bobs as she swallows, watching me through wide eyes. “W-what kind of bet?”
Instead of answering, I flip her around to face the mirror, her gaze roaming over the two of us in the reflection. Me standing behind her with my hands beneath the sweater, her cheeks flushed and her eyes heavily lidded as her chest heaves as I brush my thumb over her nipple.
My fingers on my other hand flick open the button of her jeans and dip beneath the fabric, sweeping along the lace of her panties.
“‘I’m going to make you come on my face, right here in this dressing room,” I rasp against the shell of her ear, nipping at the lobe. “And if you make a sound, then you’re wearing that sweater for the rest of the day.”
Her eyes drop shut when I hook my fingers in the waistband of her jeans and work them down along with the scrap of lace covering her pussy just enough to where her ass is exposed.
“Hands on the mirror, Emma. Eyes on me. I want you to watch me eat your perfect little pussy. And I need you to be a good girl and be quiet, or everyone on the other side of that door is going to know what I’m doing. That you’re soaking my face.”