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“Are you a model, too?”
She shakes her head. “The bartender, he’s my friend, he heard you telling someone you’re a model. I want to be one too.”
Ten minutes later, I’m sitting at the bar with Marina, jotting down phone numbers for her on the back of a bottle-cap-shaped coaster.
I’m still there when someone taps my shoulder. I turn, my stomach taking flight, hitting my throat, but it’s just Jamie.
“Let’s go! Do you want to? I spilled beer on myself and I want to go back home before it gets more cold and gross. Nic is coming too,” she says in an excited whisper. “Problems at his house, so works out perfectly for me.” She wiggles her eyebrows, and I glance around the bar.
I don’t see my guy.
“I’ve got this scarf…”
“Stylish,” Marina interjects.
I give her a smile. “It isn’t mine. If I tell you what this guy looks like, will you give it back to him for me?”
“You got it from a guy?” Jamie’s mouth is hanging open.
“Never mind,” I tell Marina. I sigh. “If I don’t see him as we walk to the door, I’ll give it to Nic. Does Nic know the guy who was sitting at our table while we danced? Dark, curly hair?”
“The hot as sin one?”
I smirk. “Yep.”
“It figures he’d have eyes for you.” She pokes me with her finer and then turns to our new friend. “This girl is honey to the boys.”
“They’re bears or bees.” I look from Jamie to Marina, finding that the girl is smiling.
“Are you a model, too?” she asks Jamie.
Jam is still gloating over that—in her teasing way, of course—as we walk toward the car. I didn’t see the guy again. Barrett, Nic said his name is. I’m still wearing his warm, wool scarf as I get into the Range Rover.
* * *
Gwenna
December 25, 2015
“Ho, ho, ho,” I murmur, nipping at Bear’s earlobe as I reach into his boxer-briefs and wrap my hand around his sleepy cock.
He makes a hoarse sound, and I feel him swell in my grasp.
“Pig?” His eyelids flutter. His hips shift. I pull his underwear down with my free hand, hooking the fabric underneath his heavy balls.
Bear groans. “Jesus…”
“It’s his birthday,” I say, laughing.
I scoot up a little on his strong thighs, rubbing his head against my wetness, framed by holiday red crotchless panties.
His eyes open… They rove down me, dark and dazed…
I feel his cock twitch. It’s so fucking hot. I rub my fingertip along the rim, then let the tip of him part my lips, skating through my slickness. He loves that—and I love his desperate moans. His eyes are half shut, but I smile down at him, causing my Santa hat to flop down by my cheek.
“Let me in,” he rumbles.
“Soon.” I giggle.
