Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

December 25, 5:55 pm

NESSA

W hat has gotten into me? Maybe it’s the holiday spirit or the fact that we’re on day two of being snowed in. Or maybe, probably, most likely, it’s Jack.

He’s in the living room now, waiting while I go in my bedroom to get the dreidel and the chocolate gelt my mom sent, along with a couple of presents. And a few other items he isn’t expecting…

“What did you do?” Jack asks when I turn the corner, a giant grin on his face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” I hold my hands out at my side, in part because I can’t lower them.

“Were you cold?” He nods toward the extra layers I added to my outfit—two more sweaters, a scarf, and a hat.

“If anything, I’m a little warm,” I admit, sitting on the couch beside him. “But it gives me a better chance of winning.”

“Ahhh.”

“Except it really is hot in here now.” I unwrap the scarf from around my neck and then peel off one of the sweaters. “It’s what we did when we played in college. But back then, we didn’t want to lose all our clothes.”

Jack’s eyebrows shoot up at the implication. I’d usually be embarrassed by my accidental admission, but by this point, it’s not a secret that I want to pick up where we left off earlier.

But first, we have a game to play.

“Okay,” I say, laying everything on the coffee table. “Have you ever played before?”

Jack shakes his head, so I divide out the chocolate coins and teach him how to spin the dreidel, holding the tip between his thumb and middle finger and making almost a snapping movement.

“Like this?” he asks, literally snapping. The dreidel topples.

“No, like this.” I take the dreidel and spin, sending it dancing down the length of the table, where it stops and twirls like a ballerina until it falls.

Jack tries again, and again, it falls.

“You’ll get the hang of it,” I say. “And if not, it might be a quick game.”

I explain the rest of the rules, showing him how each side of the plastic dreidel has a different Hebrew letter written on it. If the dreidel lands on a Nun, nothing happens. If he gets a Gimmel, he takes all the coins in the pot. For a Hey, he gets half of the coins, and with Shin, he has to put one in.

“And where does the stripping come in?” Jack asks.

“Well, in college, we took off a piece of clothing whenever we ran out of gelt—but that might take all night with just two of us.”

His eyes glint. “I have an idea.”

“We skip the game and take off all our clothes?” My heart flutters in my chest.

“Come on, where’s the fun in that?” He pauses, smirking. “I mean, there’s plenty of fun in that—but this is Hanukkah. This night should be different than all other nights, right?”

“Wrong holiday—that’s Passover.”

Jack brushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “Well, this is my first Hanukkah, and I want to play strip dreidel.”

“Okay,” I say. “Tell me your idea.”

My face is flushed from a combination of the fire in the fireplace, the two sweaters I’m wearing, and the man beside me, his leg pressed against mine. I slip my last extra sweater off and toss it on the floor—I don’t want to add any additional barriers to getting what I think we both want tonight.

“What’s the letter where you get all the coins again?” Jack asks.

“Gimmel.”

“Okay, so when you get Gimmel, you win the coins, and the other person loses a piece of clothing.”

“And the winner gets to take it off the loser,” I add, upping the stakes. He agrees, and I’m not sure if I’m more excited about the idea of taking off his clothes or having him take off mine.

“Let the game begin,” Jack says, his eyes locking with mine. The flicker of candlelight dances between us, the fire crackles softly, casting shadows that make his face look angular. A little dangerous. He nudges the dreidel toward me. “Ladies first.”

His voice—a little raspy—scrapes something deep inside me. My first spin, I get a Gimmel and take all the coins from the pot, then look up to see Jack watching me, a speculative gleam in his eyes.

“You get to choose what I take off,” I remind him. Please pick your shirt.

He quirks an eyebrow, fingers sliding up to graze the collar of his flannel. I bite my lip, anticipation thrumming in my veins—but then he scoots back on the couch and lifts his left leg on my lap. “You can de-sock me.”

“Such a tease.” I slip my hands up the leg of his jeans, my fingers brushing his skin, calling to mind all the times I stared at his calves. Slowly, I slide my fingers under the top edge of the sock and pull it off, tossing it in the pile along with my discarded sweaters. “Your turn.”

It takes Jack three attempts to get the dreidel to spin, and when it does, it lands on Shin.

“Put a coin in,” I tell him, just a little smug.

I land on another Gimmel, take the pot, and slip off Jack’s left sock.

We hit an unlucky streak: Hey. Hey. Nun. Shin. And then Jack finally lands on a Gimmel. He looks up, smirking as he takes the coins. “What do you want me to take off?”

I could pick a sock, too. Or I could up the ante. Heart pounding, I lick my lips before saying, “My sweater.”

His eyes flash with heat. “Gladly.”

I shift my torso toward him, giving him better access. Holding my gaze, he slowly lifts the sweater up, maintaining eye contact until I disappear beneath it. His fingers brush a sliver of exposed skin near my waist, and my skin prickles into goosebumps.

When I reappear, Jack tosses my sweater on the pile, looking a tiny bit disappointed that I have a tank top underneath. His eyes linger on my neckline, drifting down my body as his lips part, and I’m about to suggest we forget the rest of the game and get moving.

Then he sits back, running his hands through his hair like he’s trying to pull himself together. “Your spin.”

We each land on Shin, throwing a coin into the pot. Then he gets a Hey, taking half the coins, before I finally land on another Gimmel.

“Well, that’s a shame.” He flashes me a devious grin. “I guess you better take this off.”

He motions to his flannel shirt. I take my time undoing each button, and now I’m the one who’s disappointed when I realize he’s wearing an undershirt. Damn these winter layers! It’s been months since I first saw him coming back from a run, and I want to see if his chest is as glorious as I remember it.

As luck would have it, my next spin is a Gimmel. “Sorry for your loss,” I say, smiling.

His eyes darken as he looks at me. “I’m not.”

I take my time, lifting his cotton undershirt inch by inch, my hands skimming his warm, soft skin as I go. He releases a shaky breath.

“Wow,” I breathe as he comes into view. He’s beautiful, broad and lean, his skin flickering as the candlelight dances across it. I bring a hand to his chest, then hesitate. He nods permission.

I exhale a sigh and lay my palm flat on his chest, running it over his smooth skin, the firm muscles of his chest and down his belly. His breathing quickens, his body tensing under my touch. Heat rushes through me, settling low between my legs. My hand has a mind of its own and drifts down to the bulge in his pants, my fingers tracing the shape of him, then reach for the fly of his jeans.

“You need a Gimmel first,” Jack says, his voice low and husky. “And it’s my spin.”

I let out a tiny growl of frustration, but nod and put my hand back in my own lap.

While Jack’s technique has improved—he can get a solid spin now—his luck has not. We go back and forth: he hits three Shins, losing almost all his gelt to the pot, while I get two Heys and, finally—a Gimmel, taking them all.

Jack doesn’t hesitate. He gets off the couch and stands in front of me. This is it , I realize as I look up at him, past the smooth contours of his chest and his incredibly broad shoulders. We’re doing this . His blue eyes are dark with desire, his brown hair mussed from running his hands through it. My own body is a tight knot of lust. I’m desperate to see what he looks like when he loses control—and to be the one responsible for it.

“Happy Hanukkah,” I whisper to myself, my fingers fumbling to unbutton his pants. I slide them down, and Jack kicks them the rest of the way until he’s standing before me in boxer briefs covered in reindeer.

I flutter my fingers over the boxers and glance up, asking for permission to reach inside, but Jack shakes his head and grumbles, “Hand me the dreidel.”

“But…” I’m prepared to give this man the blow job of his life, and he wants to finish the stupid game?

“Dreidel,” he says, almost a command.

I hand him the plastic toy, and he pretends to spin it through the air, holding onto the stem and placing it very deliberately on the table, Gimmel side up.

He doesn’t bother with the coins; just reaches down and pulls me up so I’m standing in front of him. “May I?”

I nod, and Jack reaches for my tank top. Despite the rush we’re both in, he takes his time, sliding it up and over my head.

His breath hitches when he sees me in the black lace bra I put on earlier in hopes we’d end up right here. Then, even though it’s technically my turn now, Jack picks up the dreidel and pretends to spin it on his palm before holding it up for me to see.

“Gimmel,” he says. I arch my back, drawing Jack’s eyes toward my chest. He bites his lower lip and brings his hands up, cupping my breasts, feeling their fullness before sliding his hands around to the clasp of my bra. He teases at it for an excruciatingly long moment before dropping his hands to my waist.

I let out a huff of disappointment, but then he slips his fingers under the waistband of my leggings. Heat travels up my legs, and my breath grows ragged as he lowers them carefully, like he’s unwrapping a present.

When the leggings are off, and we’re both in nothing but our underwear, Jack looks up at me, hunger in his eyes.

“Now what?” he asks.