A Perfect Man for Christmas
An erotic serial in 12 parts
Blog HOP
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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Sounds great I only read half of it but I will come back
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