shuhaige
Chapter 13
Shoveling snow, hot chocolate, and now walking beneath the snowflakes of New York. How much more Hallmark movie can you get?
Oh and Jack. He’s a freaking fireman for Christ’s sake.
I shake my head, laughing at the absurdity of it all. Jack catches my eye and grins, his perfect teeth gleaming against the Christmas light-lit sidewalks.
“What’s so funny?” he asks. “Care to share?”
“Nothing,” I reply, trying to suppress my smile. “Just thinking about how perfectly Christmas-y this is. And I’m not exactly the most in the spirit person. I’m two steps away from being a Scrooge.”
Jack chuckles, his breath visible in the frosty air. “Well, we can’t have that, can we? I’ll make it my personal mission to turn you into a regular Cindy Lou Who by Christmas Eve.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help the warmth spreading through my chest. “Good luck with that, Fireman Jack. I’m a tough nut to crack.”
“I love a challenge,” he says, winking at me. “Besides, I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”
As if on cue, I slip on a patch of ice and Jack reaches out and catches me by the arm. I legit slipped, but you couldn’t ask for a better set up.
I steady myself, my hand lingering on Jack’s arm a moment longer than necessary. “Smooth move,” I mutter, both to myself and him. “Is this one of your tricks?”
Jack’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Nah, that was all you. But I’ll take credit for the save.” He takes hold of my hand. “But I will keep a hold of this. Just in case.”
“Just in case,” I parrot as our fingers lace together.
We continue walking, our footsteps stomping in the fresh snow. The city feels quieter than usual, muffled by the blanket of white.
“So, Ms. Scrooge,” Jack says, breaking the comfortable silence. “What’s your usual Christmas tradition? Sitting alone in a dark room, plotting against holiday cheer?”
I snort. “Close. It usually involves a bottle of wine, Chinese takeout, and binge-watching true crime documentaries.”
Jack’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wow, you weren’t kidding about the Scrooge thing. That’s . . . intense.”
I shrug. “Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Nothing says Happy Holidays like learning about serial killers while stuffing your face with lo mein.”
Jack laughs, squeezing my hand. “All right, all right. No judgment here. But maybe you can find a middle ground between murder docs and Miracle on 34th Street?”
I groan dramatically. “Next thing you know, you’ll be asking me to hang stockings and sing carols.”
“Don’t tempt me.” He grins. “I’ve got a great singing voice. I could serenade you with ‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside’ right here on the street.”
“Please don’t,” I laugh, bumping his shoulder with mine. “I’d hate for you to become the next victim of one of my true crimes.”
Jack feigns a hurt expression. “Ouch. And here I thought I was making progress with you.”
I roll my eyes again but can’t help smiling. “You’re doing all right, I guess. But don’t push your luck.”
We round a corner, and suddenly we’re face-to-face with a massive Christmas tree in the center of a small park. It’s decked out in thousands of holiday lights, ornaments of all sizes, and a giant star on top. The sight is breathtaking, even to my Grinch-like heart.Property belongs to Nôvel(D)r/ama.Org.
“Wow,” I breathe, unable to hide my awe. “I haven’t seen this lit up before. I’m not usually out at night much.”
Jack’s grin widens. “See? Even the toughest nut can crack a little.”
I try to scowl at him but fail miserably. “Fine, it’s pretty. Happy now?”
“Ecstatic,” he replies, tugging me closer to the tree. “Come on, let’s get a closer look.”
As we approach, I notice a small group of carolers gathered near the base of the tree. Their harmonies float through the crisp air, and I find myself humming along despite my best efforts not to.
Jack notices, of course. “Is that ‘Silent Night’ I hear you humming?”
“Absolutely not,” I deny quickly. “I was just . . . clearing my throat.”
“Right,” he says, clearly not buying it. “Well, since you’re ‘clearing your throat,’ why don’t we join them?”
I shoot him a look of mock horror. “Join the carolers? Me? I thought you were trying to spread Christmas cheer, not traumatize innocent bystanders.”
Jack laughs, the sound warm and rich. “Come on, it’ll be fun. And I promise to sing extra loud to cover up any, uh, throat clearing you might do.”
Before I can protest further, he’s leading me toward the group. They welcome us with bright smiles and nods, barely missing a beat in their rendition of “Deck the Halls.” Jack jumps right in, his voice surprisingly melodic. I stand there awkwardly for a moment, mouth firmly shut.
But then Jack gives my hand a gentle squeeze, his eyes encouraging. And something in me softens. Maybe it’s the magical lights, or the infectious joy of the carolers, or just Jack’s unwavering enthusiasm. Whatever it is, I find myself opening my mouth and joining in, quietly at first, then with growing confidence.
We stay with the carolers for a few more songs, and I hate to admit it, but it’s . . . nice. There’s something magical about our voices blending together in the cold night air, with the magnificent tree towering above us.
As we finish “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” Jack leans in close, his breath warm against my ear. “See? I knew you had it in you, Cindy Lou.”
I elbow him playfully. “Don’t get cocky, Fireman Jack. This doesn’t mean I’m going to start watching Hallmark movies or anything.”
“Baby steps.” He gives me a toothy grin. “But I’d say this is definitely progress.”
We bid farewell to the carolers and continue our walk toward my home, our joined hands swinging between us. The neighborhood seems different now, softer somehow. Or maybe it’s me that’s softening.
“So,” Jack says after a while. “Chinese food and true crime, huh? You know, that doesn’t sound half bad. Maybe we could do that together sometime before Christmas to get us in the spirit. It might be a better date than ice skating and more Christmas cheer in Bryant Park. What do you think?”
I nearly trip over my own feet at his suggestion. He used the word date. A date? With Jack? The idea sends a flutter through my stomach that I’m not entirely sure how to interpret.
“A date?” I echo, trying to keep my voice casual. “I thought your mission was to make me more festive, not corrupt you with my Grinch-like ways.”
Jack shrugs, a lopsided grin on his face. “Who says we can’t do both? We’ll eat Chinese food, watch true crime, and then follow it up with It’s a Wonderful Life. Best of both worlds.”
I laugh at the image. “That sounds . . . surprisingly appealing, actually.” I pretend to consider it for a moment, tapping my chin thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose I could pencil you in. But fair warning: my commentary during true crime docs can get pretty dark.”
“Wanna know a secret? I happen to like dark,” he says, his eyes connecting with mine.
Jesus. I swallow hard, trying to ignore the sudden spark of electricity between us. “Dark, huh? Be careful what you wish for, Jack.”
He holds my gaze, his expression turning serious. “I’m not afraid of the dark. Or of you.”
My thoughts return to my video on Dark Secrets and how close I came to revealing my true self. The intensity of the moment catches me off guard. I look away, focusing on the snow-covered sidewalk. “Maybe you should be,” I mutter, more to myself than to him.
Jack’s hand tightens around mine, but he doesn’t say anything. We walk in silence for a few moments. I’m not sure why I said that, why I let that little hint of darkness slip out. Maybe it’s the magic of the night getting to me, making me feel more open than usual.
Jack clears his throat. “You know . . . I’m not all rescuing kittens from trees and running into burning buildings.”
I glance at him, surprised by the seriousness in his tone. “Oh? Secrets too?”
Jack’s expression is unreadable in the dim light. “More than I’d like to admit.”
We’ve stopped walking now as we reach my front porch, standing in a pool of light from the nearby Christmas colors on my hedge. Snowflakes dance around us, but I barely notice them. I’m captivated by this new, mysterious side of Jack.
I study Jack’s face, trying to decipher the meaning behind his words. “Care to elaborate on that, Fireman Jack?
He steps closer, his eyes intense. “I’m not sure you’re ready for that side of me.”
My heart races at his proximity. “And here I thought you were a walking Hallmark movie,” I tease, but my voice comes out breathier than I intended.
Jack’s lips quirk into a half-smile. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet. Just like I’m sure there’s a lot I don’t know about you.”
“Careful,” I warn, but I’m not sure if I’m talking to him or myself. “You might not like what you find out.”
“Try me,” he challenges, his voice low.
We stand there, the tension between us suffocating. I’m acutely aware of how close we are, how easy it would be to close the distance between us. Part of me wants to run, to retreat back into my safe, cynical world. But another part, a part that’s growing stronger by the second, wants to take the risk.
Kiss me, Jack.
Come on . . . do it.
Kiss me.
Nothing . . . damn it.
“Maybe . . .” I start, then pause, gathering my courage. “Maybe we could start with that date. Chinese food, true crime, and all the dark commentary you can handle.”
Jack’s face breaks into a genuine smile. “I’d like that. A lot.”
He leans in, and for a moment I think he’s going to finally kiss me. Instead, he brushes a snowflake from my cheek, his touch sending a jolt of heat straight to my pussy.
“Goodnight, Ms. Scrooge,” he murmurs. “Sweet dreams of sugarplums and serial killers.”
I laugh softly, trying to ignore the disappointment at the lack of a kiss. “Goodnight, Fireman Jack. Try not to save too many kittens before our date.”
As I watch him walk away, his broad shoulders dusted with snow, I try to suppress the little schoolgirl inside of me that wants to squeal. Jack is charming, handsome, and surprisingly intriguing. But I have dated enough vanilla men to know how this ends. And Jack may be sexy as fuck, but no way is he the type of man that would pull my hair, choke me out, and fuck me as I plead for mercy.
I unlock my front door, still feeling the ghost of Jack’s touch on my cheek. As I step inside, I’m hit with the silence of my empty house. The contrast between the magical night outside and the stark reality of my solitary life is jarring.
Shrugging off my coat, I head straight for the kitchen and pour myself a generous glass of wine. I need to clear my head, to shake off this ridiculous Hallmark movie feeling that’s threatening to overtake me.
I settle onto my couch, laptop open, ready to dive back into editing my latest video. But my mind keeps wandering back to Jack. His smile, his laugh, the way his hand felt in mine . . .
“Get it together,” I mutter to myself, taking a long sip of wine. “He’s just a guy. A hot, charming guy who probably has no idea what he’s getting himself in to.”
I try to focus on my work, but the words on the screen blur together. Instead, I find myself imagining what our date might be like. Would Jack be shocked by my dark humor? Would he be disgusted if he knew the things I think about, the things I crave?
My hand unconsciously drifts to my neck, fantasizing about the feeling of being choked, controlled. God, I crave that in someone . . . someone like Jack. The thrill, the danger, the exquisite balance of pain and pleasure.
I shake my head, trying to dispel the thoughts. There’s no way Jack, with his boy-next-door charm and heroic job, would be into anything like that. He’d probably run screaming if he knew the truth about me. But then I remember the intensity in his eyes when he said he wasn’t afraid of the dark. The way his voice dropped when he hinted at his own secrets.
I close my laptop, giving up on getting any work done tonight. My mind is too full of Jack and possibilities. I lean back on the couch, letting my imagination run wild.
I picture his strong firefighter’s hands gripping my throat, his eyes dark with desire. In my mind, he pins me against the wall, his body hard against mine. “Is this what you want?” fantasy Jack growls in my ear. “Is this dark enough for you?”
My breath quickens as the fantasy takes hold. I slip a hand beneath my waistband, finding myself already wet. As I touch myself, I imagine it’s Jack’s fingers, rough and demanding. In my mind, he takes control, pushing me to my knees, fisting his hand in my hair.
“Oh, God,” I moan softly, my fingers working faster. The fantasy is so vivid I can almost feel Jack’s presence, smell his scent—a mix of smoke and pine and pure masculinity.
I circle my clit with my fingers, imagining it his thumb. I pulse harder, the sensation intensifying, my body responding to the fantasy with a growing urgency.
In my mind, he speaks again, his voice low and demanding. “Do you want it rough, or sweet? Do you want to submit or take control?”
And I choose both. I imagine him tying me up, restraining me, forcing me to be vulnerable and powerless. In the same breath, I also envision his tender touch, his lips tracing delicate patterns on my skin, whispering promises of pleasure and pain intertwined.
My hips buck involuntarily as the fantasy intensifies. I’m so close now, teetering on the edge of release. In my mind, Jack’s hands roam my body, alternating between gentle caresses and forceful grips. His mouth claims mine in a searing kiss, then travels down my neck, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
“Please,” I whimper, both to the Jack in my mind and to the empty room around me.
Fantasy Jack smirks, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Please what? Use your words.”
I arch my back, my fingers working faster, mimicking what I imagine his touch would feel like. “Please . . . I need . . .”
“What do you need?” His voice is a low growl that sends shivers down my spine.
“You,” I gasp. “I need you. All of you. The darkness, the light, everything.”
In my mind, he rewards my honesty with a bruising kiss, his hands everywhere at once. I’m lost in the sensations, real and imagined blurring together. The tension builds, a coiling spring ready to snap.
“Come for me,” fantasy Jack commands.
I’m close to the edge when suddenly, my phone buzzes. I jump, startled out of my reverie. It’s a text from Jack.
Sweet dreams, it reads. Looking forward to our date. P.S. I like my lo mein extra spicy. Hope you can handle the heat.
I stare at the message, my heart racing. Is he flirting? Or am I reading too much into it, seeing innuendo where there is none?
I type out several responses, deleting each one. Finally, I settle on, I can handle more heat than you’d expect, Fireman Jack. Sweet dreams to you too.
As I hit send, I wonder if I’ve said too much, revealed too much of my true self. But then I remember the look in Jack’s eyes, the hint of something deeper, darker. Maybe, just maybe, there’s more to Jack than meets the eye.
And maybe, just maybe, I’m ready to find out.