by V. Domino
Lips I've risked it all to taste.
Lips that are just as sweet and addictive as they look.
I spent almost seven years trying to forget the sweet nectar of her kiss. Trying to forget every single thing about her, just to end up back here. I could have turned the job down. I have more than enough money and jobs to choose from. But seeing that name on the list brought back too many memories, too many feelings. All that bitter anger came bubbling back to the surface like it never truly left, leaving a gaping hole in my chest that yearned for petty vengeance. I came storming back to this place, single-minded in my determination to enact my revenge, but all thoughts got slapped from my grasp the second she got in the way. She made me falter, made me lose my footing just like she always has.
I won't let that happen tonight.
Her long blonde hair is shining with all the decorative Christmas lights strung around the room and blinking from the tree, hanging in a loosely woven braid between the smooth skin of her exposed shoulder blades. The satin of her dress is glinting a bright white on her golden skin as she moves through the sea of other glittery red and black gowns. It's fitting that the same woman named after purity and innocence would look like a fucking angel in the crowd.
"Of course, she's in white."
I pull my eyes from the woman gliding along the floor at Brookes' grumbled words, shifting them between him and Weston. They're both staring at her like I was. Their eyes following her with the same look of silent worship I know was on mine. I hate myself for it. "Don't fuck up your job tonight. This is the only chance we'll get for a while."
"Yea, we get it, Pops." I grind my teeth at Weston's nickname for me, eyes finding that gold blonde halo of hair once more.
Brookes starts to walk away, heading toward the east side of the ballroom as he speaks over his shoulder, "I'm not sure why the fuck you think you're in charge here anyway."
"Because he's the oldest," Weston says to Brookes' back, turning his face to smirk at me. His hands untuck from his trouser pockets as he moves toward his designated side of the room. "Ain't that right, Pops?"
My jaw ticks in silent annoyance that makes him chuckle as he spins away from me. Three years. I'm three years older than his twenty-seven years, and only one year older than Brookes. I'm not fucking 'Pops'. Shaking my head, I let out a long breath, my eyes falling back over the party. There are three exits in this place, and we each have our own to cover, mine being the front entrance. Our target is currently winking over her glass of champagne at a man blushing over his dance partner's shoulder. Her hand snatches some kind of appetizer off a passing tray, popping it into her mouth with a sly smile. She makes a show of it for the man watching her, plump lips wrapping around her fingers to suck them clean. My eyes narrow on her, feet moving forward.
Alright, enough of that.
Twisting through the minglers, I keep her in my sight, heart thumping just a little harder with each step. I can already smell the spicy scent of her signature perfume; rich and musky almost like a man's cologne. It’s the perfect compliment to her spine of steel. It's also a scent I don't think even a lifetime of years could erase from my memory. It has embedded itself inside of my mind, just like everything about her has. Stepping up to her back, my skin heats with those ghost memories, toying with my heart just like the cruel woman herself. Her name passes through my lips with far too much sentiment riding its syllables, "Chastity."
Chastity
My name purrs over my skin as soft and smooth as silk, hot breath blowing along the back of my neck. I don't need to look over my shoulder to know whose lips spoke my name with such cadence, but I do anyway. His cool blues clash with mine, dark and brooding as ever. Breaking our gaze I face forward and throw back the last of my drink. A ghost from my past that isn't nearly as sweet as I remember; Merrick has always had a way of getting under my skin with that wicked mouth of his. Pretending not to notice the goose bumps prickling along my arms at just the sound of his voice, I brush my fingertips over the gloss on my lips. I take my time as I slowly turn around to face the man behind me.
"Merrick," I say in the same tone as he said mine, smiling at the tick that starts up in his jaw. He's gotten so uptight over the years but no less handsome. Dark brown hair smoothed back from his face in the same corporate billionaire-type haircut he's always had. A jaw chiseled from stone, covered in a light stubble that is always kept short and clean. Blue eyes, bridging on the edge of navy that no longer crinkle at the corners when they land on me. Taller, broader, and meaner. That’s who Merrick is now. I reach out, throwing a small smile at the passing waiter as he takes the empty glass from my hand, eyes wavering from the brooding man in front of me for only a few seconds. They fall to the dark grey of his suit, trailing over the expanse of his chest and shoulders before dragging their way back to that handsome, angry face. "Dance with me."
If it's even possible, his brows dip lower, lips pinching at the edges. The Merrick I knew years ago would never turn down a dance with me, but this one just might. The rough pads of his fingertips meet my wrist, sliding down and across my palm to grip my fingers. The touch is unexpected since I didn't see it coming, my eyes glued to his as he glowers at me. It's a wordless answer to my question. Smiling, I turn with our linked hands, lightly tugging him behind me as we walk toward the center of the ballroom where others are dancing. I can feel the heat of his gaze on the open expanse of my back as we walk, but I pretend that I don't, spinning to face him once we’re swallowed up by the people around us.
Merrick's large palm finds the base of my spine, hot through the fabric as his arm loops around my waist to tug me closer than I had anticipated him to after his initial resistance. Raising my unoccupied hand to his shoulder, I lift my face toward his as he takes the lead, guiding us into a soft sway. The sounds of people chattering and dishes clinking together can barely be heard over the orchestra's version of 'White Christmas' being played from near the giant Christmas tree in the back of the ballroom.
Despite him coming back as the shadow of a man that he's become, it's nice having him here after he was gone for so long. His face says he's hating this, but the way his thumb keeps swiping gently back and forth on my back says different. No matter how many years have passed, there is a familiarity between us that no matter of time could erase. We were friends once. And then lovers. Back then if someone were to ask if Merrick and I would ever not be together, in any capacity, I would have laughed in their face. But people change, and we don't always want the same things we thought we would. We were utterly perfect, until we weren't.
"I didn't think you'd bother to come here." His eyes are drifting around the room, but slowly make their way to my face at the sound of my voice. If he's bothered by the fact that I've been staring at him this entire time, he doesn't show it.
"I have a job." He doesn't bother to elaborate and I don't bother to ask. Even if I did, I'm sure he wouldn't tell me. Some things, apparently, never change.
I open my mouth to speak, but he quickly spins me around, breaking my touch on his shoulder as he wraps his arm around my middle. My back is pressed flush to his chest as he continues to sway to the music. His chest vibrates against my skin, a low, sweet rumbling that tickles the side of my ear as he hums the song to me. I smile toward the people around us, seeing them without really seeing. Merrick was always a sentimental fool, just as I have always been. I should have known he'd remember this was practically our song.
It doesn't snow here in Louisiana, and I'd always wanted a white Christmas growing up; Merrick took it upon himself to make sure I had one. Although he couldn't make it snow, he would rent a snow machine to cover the gazebo in glistening white and blast ‘White Christmas’ from his cell phone. Every year, until he left, it was our tradition to make Louisiana white and snowy on Christmas Eve.
"Are your Christmases white where you've been?"
Besides a slight tightening of his arm around my waist, he doesn't respond immediately. His humming chest warming u
p my back as he continues to sing to me like I never even asked the question at all. I don't push it, letting him rock us. More than I care to admit, my chest still aches for the man humming in my ear. I wouldn't change what happened, because it needed to, but that doesn't mean I don't miss what I had.
"Yes." His lips brush along my skin with the simple word, his hands turning me in his arms to face him once more as the song ends and blurs into something else. My hand finds his shoulder once more, his rough palm sliding around my waist to rest on my spine as it was before. "My Christmases are white. So is my entire winter and sometimes spring."
"If you're trying to make me jealous, it's working." The corners of his lips twitch as I smile up at him, his eyes shifting between mine as I speak, "Where have you been?"
"Minnesota, mostly." His answer surprises a laugh out of me and that smile he was trying to fight back finally breaks free with the sound, warming my chest. "Why is that funny to you?"
"I don't know. It just seems like you went from one extreme to the other." My hand leaves his shoulder, the edges of my fingertips brushing along the underside of his lips. "There it is. It's been a while." Merrick always used to smile with me. I'd almost started to think I'd never see it again based on how most of our interactions have been since he came home.
His smile slowly fades, but the lightness in his eyes doesn't. His hand leaves my back, fingers sliding up my forearm to hold onto my hand when I try to drop it between us. Instead of letting it fall, his lips just brush my fingertips in a way that has me holding my breath until he speaks, "Chastity, I..."
"Time's up. Looks like it's my turn to dance." Both of our heads turn to look at Brookes, his crooked grin aimed at me even as his eyes narrow at Merrick’s unwavering glare.
With a low breath blown from his parted lips, Merrick’s dark gaze meets mine, "Right." He lets me go in the next heartbeat, his hand dropping mine and stepping back.
Brookes stops him with a hand smacking into his chest, "The east side needs a sitter." I silently watch with a raised brow as Merrick knocks his hand to the side, grumbling something I can't make out, but has Brookes laughing in response. Two tattooed hands reach out for me, tugging me in by my waist with a grin aimed right at my scowl. "Ready to dance, Dollface?"
Her brow stays raised at my question, her delicate palms splayed flat across my chest as I keep her close enough she can't easily move them. I watch her throat work as she swallows, green eyes leaving me to follow Merrick’s retreating back. My gut involuntarily tightens as I watch her watch him; they are far more familiar than I want them to be. I slide one of my hands further up her back, my fingers digging under the soft, thick strap of her dress to smooth the skin just beneath. The touch brings her gaze back to me and I smile down at the slight dilation of her pupils. She and Merrick might be old flames, but the chemistry between the two of us is undeniable. If her last strip tease is anything to go off of, our fire is fucking blazing.
"Do we have a problem, Mr. Reed?" The question falls from her parted lips with a twisted smirk, the gloss making them shine under the lights teasing me. "Hasn't anyone ever told you that staring is rude?"
My mind has been on nothing but her over the last few weeks. Every single interaction we've ever had, stuck on a fucking loop. I haven't even been able to beat my fucking meat to any image but her in the snow white lingerie she wore exactly five weeks ago. Just the fact that I remember that is proof I'm fucking addicted to her. I'm convinced this woman is the devil reincarnated, brought back to Earth to torture any living being with a dick. My eyes leave her face, quickly flicking around the room with a chuckle for her sass question. They catch on a woman dancing near us, a pretty redhead whose cheeks flush a shade of pink to match her hair when her eyes rise from Chastity's ass to my knowing gaze.
Scratch what I thought before. She was brought back to torture everyone. "If I say we have a problem, can we work it out in a hall closet?"
Her laugh curls like smoke around us, thick and smooth like velvet. Her voice is deeper than any woman I've ever met, raspier, but it's alluring like a siren's song. I could listen to it every single day and never get tired of it. I almost want to hear her sing, see if she can carry a melody fit for that rich voice of hers. "Not in your life."
I tug her a little closer and watch a strand of gold hair fall over her cheek. Such a little liar. "Now, who's being rude?" She chuckles, a deep sultry sound that has me smiling down at her. One of my hands slips a little lower, my pinky resting on the swell of her ass, only stopping because of the brow she raises in warning. I roll my eyes, returning my palm to her spine.
"Stop pouting, Brookes. Ask nicely and I might let you spank me behind the Christmas tree." Her hands slide further up my chest, a coy little smile twisting along her plump lips as she smirks up at me. My teeth run over my lip at her suggestion, an approving hum rumbling from my chest when her fingernails lightly scratch along the skin of my neck, her hand moving to grip the hair at my nape.
"That's tempting, but I have something else planned for you tonight."
Her eyes narrow with suspicion, the light grip in my hair tightening. If she's trying to turn me on, it's fucking working. "Like a surprise?"
My tongue comes out to swipe along my lower lip, fingers pinching into the skin on her back when she tugs my hair when I take longer than she was wanting to answer. "If you don't fucking stop tugging on my hair, I'm going to fuck you behind the Christmas tree, not just spank you."
She doesn't even blink at me, that slender golden brow arching with challenge. "That offer is off the table, you already turned it down." She tugs again and my jaw ticks, "What's the surprise, Brookes?"
Chastity
One of Brookes’ hands leaves my back, fingers trailing along my skin until there's no more skin to touch. He reaches behind his head, crooked grin flashing as he pulls my fingers from his hair, trapping my hand in his. Linking our fingers, he forces me to dance at a faster pace than we were previously going. "It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, would it?"
My heels click on the tile as I keep pace with him, pursing my lips around a smile when he quickly twirls me unexpectedly. His hair looks mused and sloppy from his erratic dancing. The dark tips of his bangs sway on his forehead with each step, his smokey grey eyes reflecting the lights from the big Christmas tree when he turns to face it. He must have ditched his suit jacket and tie, if he even came with them. All he has on is his white button-up rolled to his elbows and unbuttoned at the collar, the bottom tucked loosely into navy trouser pants. The crisp white of his shirt makes his already warm skin look even more golden; the tattoos on his arms disappearing under the sleeves.
Brookes is sexy and he knows it. He has a carefree, fuck-all type of attitude that draws me in. His arrogance is more of a turn on than it should ever be to any sane person. Brookes is the type of man that will fuck a woman silly then disappear in the middle of the night and leave her on read. Unfortunately for him, he's met his match with me. It seems neither one of us has been able to shake the other off, both of us determined to get the last word in this odd relationship we've found ourselves in.
"I'm not trying to critique your dancing skills, but I don't think the foxtrot is an appropriate dance for 'Silver Bells'." He smirks a crooked grin. My breath catches in my chest when he dips me low, the wetness of his mouth trailing along the arch of my throat as he bends me backward.
Tugging me back upright, his breath blows over my parted lips, "I don't know what the fuck a foxtrot is." I laugh at his response and his smile grows. "But would you look at that! What are the chances?"
His eyes glance up and I take his silent cue, tilting my face back to look at the mistletoe hanging in the archway of the enclave above us. Dropping my face back down, a glance behind his shoulder shows me just how far he was able to dance me from the crowd without my noticing. We're at the edge of the Christmas tree, tucked into an enclave that's mostly out of view of the party. "Mistletoe? How very Christmassy of you, Mr. Reed."<
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He tugs me to him, just like he had before but less gentle. One of his rough palms finds the dip in my dress like before, fingers digging into the skin of my back as his other one grabs a handful of my ass. "It was a pain in the ass to hang to. So shut your mouth and let me kiss you, Ms. Bordeaux." Briefly closing his eyes while letting out a breath, he lets go of me, almost like he's collecting himself. His fingers reach for my face when his eyes open back up, brushing a stray piece of hair, before his lips press to mine. It's an almost too soft, too sweet kind of kiss that has my brows dipping. That was not at all what I was expecting.
What the fuck?
He stands back from me, eyes on my lips and his hands at his sides. He's also frowning, clearly having some kind of internal battle. Just as I'm about to say something about it, he shakes his head, a quiet, "Fuck it, fuck them," said right before he grabs me again.
His lips land on mine in the next breath, his hot tongue swiping over my bottom lip just as quickly. I open for him, sucking his tongue into my mouth like candy. The peppery taste of spearmint floods my senses as I breathe him in. One of my hands finds the front of his shirt, my palm pushing into the opening at the top to feel his hot skin against mine. I'm spun around, my back pressed roughly into the stone wall of the enclave, Brookes’ lips not leaving mine for even a second. The fingers of my free hand find his hair, digging into the soft strands to yank and tug. A low groan escapes his lips, traveling straight to my chest as he lifts one of my legs, draping it over his waist. Everything but him blurs into the background of my mind, the music, the lights, the party. It's just him and I, being the sleazy deviants we are.