A Perfect Man for Christmas
An erotic serial in 12 parts
10th Day of Christmas
by Patricia W. Fischer
It worked. No matter how long she lived, Wynter knew she’d never be able to wipe the smile from her face when remembering this moment.
“What the fuck?” Michael stood nose to nose with her.
“You don’t like it?” she purred, running her hand up his chest.
His jaw clenched as his eyes bored into her. “Wynter, what are you doing?”
“You said to find a perfect guy. I’m trying.”
“Trying my patience.”
She couldn’t help but bask in the glory of her power over him--the lust in his eyes when he watched her move across the stage--the powerlessness of his rational mind.
Just like Morgan said…Out of the corner of her eye, Wynter watched the redheaded siren glide across the floor and to the bar. A wicked smile spread across the woman’s face. The very same smile she’d given Wynter as she explained to her how to attract the perfect man for the gathering.
“He’ll be the first one to jump onto the stage with you. To claim you,” the melodious Irish brogue danced in Wynter’s ears. “And all you have to do is turn him over to me.”
The wall of muscle in front of her growled, “Wynter, answer me. What the fuck are you doing up here?”
Her eyebrows hit her hairline as dread slammed her in the gut. Oh shit. Morgan’s not letting him out of his debt. She’s burying him in it.
The redhead raised her glass as if to toast Wynter on her perfectly played betrayal.
Her heart clenched. She wouldn’t let it happen this way. She wouldn’t let Michael down again.
Sliding up against him, she whispered, “Just do what I say.”
“What?” He started to step away, but she grabbed the front of his shirt and writhed against him. “Stop it. Get off the stage.”
“No way! Leave her up there.”
“Hey, get off the stage!”
“Let her finish!”
“I haven’t seen her tits yet.”
The scarf-grabbing observers began to express their displeasure at the show’s interruption and Michael’s personal stage show in front of the increasingly frenzied crowd.
Wynter backed Michael into the pole and slithered up and down his body. “Listen to me. We’ve been set up.”
A tug on one of the three remaining scarves distracted her. She glanced down to see a wide-eyed, plump man yanking on her clothes. She stretched her leg and let him yank the material free. He jumped around as he held the cloth above his head. The half a dozen others who held parts of her costume followed suit.
“What the hell are you talking about, Wynter?” His fingers wrapped around her arms, but she twisted out of his grip as she moved around him. “I owe Morgan, why would she--”
“Michael, trust me. Morgan set us up. I don’t know why.” The beat of the music increased and the men’s jumping followed suit. Wynter counted three more strips of material left on her outfit before she stood only in a jeweled string bikini. She continued to move about the stage, taunting, teasing the onlookers, but staying a safe distance from them.
“Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!” the men chanted as they leapt around, waving the strips of her clothing gripped tightly in their grungy hands.
The air sat thick with the smell of heavy cologne and cigarettes. One lunged for her, only coming back with another scarf.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” Michael growled. “I knew she was up to something.”
Morgan’s smile changed. Her eyes narrowed while she watched the performance.
Brightly-colored material from her costume caught Wynter’s eye.
She counted. Eight. Remaining? Two more pieces.
For a total of ten.
Joyously, the men jumped, danced, and…leapt.
Ten Lords a Leaping.
“Where’s the back door?” Wynter leaned over as she coaxed a man to rip a strip away.
“I’m looking at it.”
As she turned around, she glared at Michael. Despite his frustration, the corner of his mouth curled up. “The backdoor to the building, shithead.”
His eyes went wide and he nodded. “I know how to get there, but Morgan’s got her goons all over the place. How are we going to get out?”
A slow smile spread across her face. “Jump in the crowd and follow me.”
Without pause, she spun to the end of the stage, offering the last of her scarves to the tallest man of the group. As soon as Michael stepped off the stage, she leaned forward and asked the man to help her to the floor.
Morgan began to move forward with her bodyguards in tow.
Panic grabbed Wynter by the throat as she watched Michael make his way to the back of the building. He glanced back at her and pointed.
She started to move forward but knew one of the body guards would cut her off.
Morgan’s abilities far exceeded her own. Magic wouldn’t save her in here.
Looking around at the chaos of men leaping with her scarves, she tried to figure out a way to work them up even more. No cloth napkins, no jackets, no…nothing but the clothes she had on.
“Wynter!” Michael’s shout penetrated through the crowd as Morgan quickly got closer.
Her heart ached for him. “Run!”
She unhooked her top and spun it over her head. “Join me, boys!”
Shirts, belts, and scarves went flying as all the onlookers spun their clothes in all directions. No one could see where anything was.
In the chaos, Wynter rushed towards the back of the club. Michael was nowhere in sight. As she reached the curtains, a heavy hand grabbed her and slammed her against the wall.
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