Rekindling Christmas

by Hines, Yvette

  “Oh, sweetie. Let’s not ruin the moment. I don’t think I could go another round right now with a firecracker like you.” Phillip placed light kisses on the corners of the woman’s mouth as he walked her backwards.

  “Let’s try,” Blondie whined with a fake pout.

  “Let’s just hope this week lends another moment for us. If not, we had fun, right?” Phillip pulled the door open.

  Fingering her disheveled hair behind her ear, the woman smiled through red, swollen lips. Carson could only imagine what Phillip had the woman doing with her mouth. “Okay.” Giggle again, with a hip twist for good measure.

  “Bye-bye.” Phillip quickly closed the door, leaving the giggling nymph on the other side of it. “Damn.” Phillip did some crotch adjusting and buttoned his jeans as he moved deeper into the front room. “That girl was wild.”

  Carson shook his head and crossed to the couch with the two tequila shots. “Do I want to ask where you picked her up?”

  Taking one of the glasses, Phillip plopped down on the couch as Carson sat in the single chair near the fireplace.

  “The ice machine.” Holding his shot up, as was the custom, to toast another lay, Phillip waited for Carson to raise his, then tossed his drink back.

  Carson emptied his glass and set it on the table. Waiting for the burn to move past his throat, he cleared it then spoke. “Don’t you think you want to be a little more choosy in the women you lay? Last thing you want is to end up with some psycho chick you can’t get rid of.”

  Slamming his glass down, Phillip leaned back on the couch with his arms widespread and a grin just as wide. “Hell, no. That’s what this trip is for. I make sure I don’t give them any thoughts of happily ever after. Matter of fact, that woman thinks my name is Steve.”

  “What?” Carson chuckled. “How did she come up with that?”

  Phillip shrugged a shoulder. “After I came in her mouth, she swallowed like a good girl then asked me what my name was. I said, ‘Call me Steve.’”

  “You ass.” Carson laughed harder. “You have the morals of an alley cat.”

  “Yes, I do.” Phillip held his hands up. “I can’t help it if the women like my strut and want a taste. I feel it is my civic duty to give it to them. Jealous of my nine to your zip?”

  “Hell, no. And it’s crass to keep score. We’re all set for the slopes tomorrow on Dragon’s Mount.”

  “Great. Give me a sec to shower and I’ll be ready to head out to dinner.”

  Carson stood and moved toward his room. “I’ll see you in fifteen.”

  Shoving off the couch, Phillip went to the open door on the other side of the seating area. “Got it.”

  In his room, Carson shut the door and pondered his reason for coming on this trip. He could have convinced Phillip to go to another resort that wasn’t catering to singles playing room-hop for a week. He needed sex. Plain and simple. Since he broke it off with Ashley, or rather she dumped him, he’d been in a dating slump, and therefore in a sex slump as well. So why he wasn’t taking up the offers that were being tossed his way, he had no clue. Except he liked a little more familiarity with his sex partner and he definitely didn’t want to bed some chick that was okay with calling him Steve after he shot his load down her throat.

  Letting out a frustrated sigh, Carson opened his closet to get ready for the evening’s events.

  Chapter Three

  “Greets, Ms. McCall, and welcome to the Village Resort.” An Asian woman in a red jacket, gray shirt, and black pants greeted her at the door.

  “Hi,” Ryanne said and watched as one of the bellboys in a varied combination of the woman’s uniform—gray jacket, red shirt, and black pants—took her suitcase from the resort’s shuttle driver and walked past her to the reception counter and waited.

  “I hope your transfer from the airport was nice. It can be a little hard to see the beauty of the mountains at night.” The woman smiled and escorted her toward the check-in desk.

  “It was only thirty minutes, so that wasn’t bad, and the roads were clear. I was expecting a slippery ride.”

  “Oh, the city does a fantastic job of keeping our roads clear.” The woman, whose name tag said Natia, rounded the desk and began tapping away on a computer.

  “They should work for my city. I tell you, one flurry lands in Charlotte and everything comes to a halt and traffic accidents start piling up.” Ryanne loved the friendliness of the staff at the ski resort. She pulled out her credit card and handed it to the clerk.

  Tap. Tap. Tap. “Okay, I have you all checked in.” Natia slipped her a small envelope holding her room key across the desk and passed Ryanne back her credit card. “Will you need more than one key?” The woman’s smile did not even waver.

  Frowning, Ryanne wondered who else Natia thought would be joining her. It may be a singles trip, and she may consider a little bump and grind if the mood hit her, but she was definitely not going to be passing around an extra key to her room. “One will do, thank you.”

  “Great.” Natia laid a brochure, a map, and other informational flyers before Ryanne. “Here is your information packet with the schedule of different events, social gatherings and such. Dinner is already over and most people are in the lounge. However, if you would like something to eat, room service is available twenty-four hours. And there are hors d’oeuvres being served at the evening mixer.”

  “Thank you.” Ryanne collected the packet from the counter.

  “In case you need it, our Winter Rags clothing store is located in the west area on the first floor.”

  Grateful for the woman’s keen eye, Ryanne smiled. With her card key in hand, Ryanne walked with the bellman to the elevator. A few men exited as she and the bellman got on.

  She couldn’t miss the hot glances or the complimentary comments they made as they passed by her. It normally was not in her nature to get excited by overt appraisal, but this was a different time for her. She was meant to let go of the stress and worry of her daily life and have fun here.

  As they rode the car up, she silently admitted to herself that she was a little excited about the week. Nervous, too, but the possibility of meeting a nice guy or two had her pulse racing a little. She wished Karri, her best friend from high school, wasn’t already married with three kids; Ryanne would have loved having her along on this adventure. It would have been like college all over again.

  Walking down the corridor to her suite, she groaned with that thought. Am I being foolish? She wondered.

  If hanging out with guys, partying, and being adventurous was parallel to her college vacation experiences, then shouldn’t she be past all of this already?

  Stepping into the single suite and seeing the modern, stylish setup of the room, she knew she was in the right place. This holiday excursion wasn’t for a bunch of college kids out trying to find themselves. No, it was for adults with careers and people actively fulfilling their goals who were game for a little snowbound excitement. And Ryanne was game.

  Tipping the bellman after he deposited her suitcase and carry-on beside her bed in the room, she was impressed that the suite was exactly like the brochure depicted. She’d feared that maybe the e-mail picture that was going around was too good to be true.

  Taking off her shoes, she checked out all the amenities in the suite. A small kitchenette with mini alcohol bottles in the refrigerator. Two place settings of dishes in the single cabinet above the microwave. This room was set up for the normal couple vacationing in Colorado. Entering through the archway that led into the bedroom and shower area, she tossed her shoes in the closet, pulled off her trench coat, and lifted her suitcase onto the bed.

  She wasn’t going to meet anyone sitting around in her suite. On a mission, she unzipped and opened her case, deciding it didn’t make much sense to unpack more than her pajamas and underclothing, since she would need to get more appropriate apparel tomorrow. She pulled out an outfit that was the least businesslike thing she had: slacks and a cashmere sweater. It wasn�
�t alluring or remotely sexy, but it was the best she could do at this hour.

  After a quick shower, she dressed and swept the back of her hair up in a haphazard roll. She allowed her bang, too long to hang center forehead, to fall along the side of her face. Adding a few curls at the ends of her loose strands, she quickly reapplied her makeup, adding chic smoky-eye colors and plum-raisin lip gloss. She was hoping to keep the attention toward her face so no one would notice her nine-to-five apparel. The only saving grace of her outfit was the fact her sweater had a deep V-neckline. Normally when she wore it, she paired it with a camisole. But without the modesty piece, it gave a sexy visual of the curves and dip between her breasts without being slutty.

  Heels completed her outfit. As a tall woman, it was important for her to keep heels in her fashion arsenal. As her friend Karri, who was also statuesque, would say, “You have to be at least six-one to ride this ride.”

  Shaking her head at the memory of her witty friend’s words, Ryanne exited her suite in search of a drink and good conversation.

  * * *

  “Ladies, you have impressed us greatly.” Phillip whacked Carson on the back. “Isn’t that right?”

  Carson assumed he wasn’t cheering enough over the three girlfriends standing before them who had just completed their three cum shot drinks one after the other. When the women together had slammed down the last set of empty glasses on the table as white cream trickled out of the corners of their mouths, Carson hadn’t said a word. Watching women get hammered for the entertainment of men had never been an enjoyment for him.

  “Yeah, amazed.” Carson attempted to add a little cheer to his voice.

  One of the women—Brandi? Bunny?Bella? he couldn’t recall—sashayed closer to him as she used her thumb to catch the droplet on her chin. Holding her thumb out to him, she teased, “I’d love to share my cum with you.”

  Horny much? Carson looked from the mixture of salt, peach schnapps, Bailey’s, and whipped cream in a cloudy bead on the pad of her thumb then back into the face of the bleached blonde with way too many layers of makeup and red lipstick. Neither she nor either of her two friends who’d converged on him and Phillip as soon as they entered the large room even sparked an interest for him. Whatever happened to the women that enjoyed being chased? He wasn’t a prude or old fashioned by any definition; he just found it hard to get aroused by women that gave it up so easily to total strangers.

  “I’ll pass. I’m not into seconds.” Carson wanted to step back away from the woman with her cloying floral perfume, but he was trying to stay on the light side of rudeness.

  Brandi…Bunny…Bella…something giggled, not understanding his meaning at all.

  “I’ll take it.” One of the guys that had gravitated toward them, as the women had been picking up their drinks one after another and downing them, grabbed the blonde’s thumb and shoved it into his mouth and made a lot of groaning noises.

  Carson didn’t even attempt to hold back the frown on his face as he watched the man grab Brandi…Bunny…Bella…something around the waist.

  “I love a woman who loves her cum. What’s your name, beautiful?”

  Come on. Carson wanted to beat his head against the wall. Most of the guys at the resort this week were just as amped up as the women. Looking for any warm spot to stick their cock.

  “Tiffany.”

  Tiffany. Now Carson recalled.

  The guy whispered something in Tiffany’s ear and more giggling ensued.

  “Man, what are you doing?” Phillip nudged him. “You’re messing up the quintuple orgy letting that one get away.”

  Carson shook his head. “I think you better gear up to land them on your own, especially since even your ménage looks like it is dropping to a couplet.” He nodded, indicating the brunette, one of Tiffany’s two friends, being kissed by a Hispanic man.

  “Shit,” Phillip snapped. “You look for us two more while I keep Lola from getting away.” Turning, Phillip grabbed Lola, the last woman of the drinking trio, and pulled her into his arms.

  Sighing, Carson moved closer to the bar and signaled one of the bar attendants for a drink. Paying for a whiskey, he sipped at his drink and stared around the room, attempting to ignore the crowd of eager women and sex-ready men around him. The music in the room was loud, in what Carson believed was an attempt to be heard over all the boisterous conversation. With drink in hand, he started to head back to his friend, allowing his gaze to skip around the room from one woman to another. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to get in some sex while he was here. He was just a little more discriminating than Phillip. And apparently every other male in this place.

  Almost back to his group, someone caught his gaze—a woman sitting at a table with three other women. However, there was something about the one lady that drew him. She had bangs, showcasing her thick jet-black hair that cascaded down the sides of her face like an obsidian river, obstructing his view. The rest of her hair was pulled up in some kind of stylish fashion that left her neck bare, a tantalizingly long neck that gave him images of running his tongue along it to locate a sensitive spot. His eyes were drawn again to her face as that dark stream of hair fell forward as she leaned in to take a bite of food from an overflowing appetizer plate before her. How much food she had gave him slight pause; dinner had been served only a couple of hours ago, so he was amazed she still had room to eat. However, it wasn’t something that bothered him; he liked women who had a healthy appetite for food…and other things.

  As she talked and ate, he could make out a small pug-shaped nose, a rounded chin, and a set of full plump lips, accentuated by gloss. That purplish shine just made them more captivating; he had the urge to taste them, suck them, and have them part so he could kiss between those lips fully. Swallowing down the saliva that was pooling in his mouth, he stifled a groan.

  Damn, how could just a small glimpse of a woman draw him in that completely, that quickly, and make him hard as stone? Because the spike pressing along the back of his zipper was proof of that. It shocked him. Even the other beautiful women he’d had thrust upon him, ones that he could actually see all their charms fully, didn’t cause this strong of a reaction. The woman beside her, African-American as well, pretty with a medium-brown complexion, blocked his mystery woman’s body. The other woman didn’t look as if she were going to get up anytime soon so he could take in more of the beguiling package he wanted to see.

  Leaving him with just one wish: Come on, finger your hair back so I can see your face. It was a simple gesture that women did to be coy and cute around guys. So why wasn’t this golden-brown beauty doing it?

  The woman beside her leaned back, allowing him to see his “eye-candy’s” upper body, her full breasts contained in a sweater that conformed to her curves like his hands were itching to do. He could see that the sweater dropped into a vee, but the end of that long, tortuous ebony lock flowed down the opening, concealing any view of the skin of her breasts.

  His body nudged at him to cross the room to her, but on some level he was enjoying the teasing act, as if it was foreplay of getting to know her, even though the golden-toned goddess didn’t know she was playing.

  Pushing her plate away, she wiped her long, elegant fingers, burgundy polish coating her nails. Once that was done she did something that turned him inside out and almost had him choking on the smooth whiskey in his glass: she claimed the lock of hair at the cleavage of her breasts and twirled the end of it around her finger. Hypnotically, the ebony strand danced in between two fingers.

  There was something about that small act—the simplicity of the movement that was neither coy nor cute, but something that shouted I’m nervous—that punched him in the gut and almost brought him to his knees.

  There was only one other black woman, or girl at that time, he knew who did the same action when she was in a crowd of people. Could it be…? Or was his mind now playing tricks on him? With a purposeful step he started across the room, only to have his arm snagged in a stro
ng, unexpected grip.

  Snapping around, he faced Phillip.

  “Carson, what are you doing, man? I’ve been calling you for ten minutes.” Phillip waved his other hand, holding a glass of vodka on the rocks toward their small group of resort acquaintances. A few had left and others had joined. He leaned in, giving Carson a stage whisper. “A woman wants to meet you. She’s Hispanic.”

  Phillip did some strange eyebrow wiggle thing that Carson was sure had some sexual connotation behind it about Hispanic women, but Carson didn’t feel like going through his mental arsenal of Phillip-isms on all the sexual proclivities of different races of women. His friend had one for each race.

  “I just need a second, Phil…” Carson glanced back over his shoulder to the woman at the table, but she was no longer there. The other three women were, but his tease wasn’t. Before he could scan the room to discover her whereabouts, Phillip was pulling him along. Shit.

  “Not this time, my friend. Come get your hot tamale. You’re getting pussy tonight if I have to sit her on your face.”

  Discouraged that the woman had slipped him, Carson followed his friend. Already his mind worked on ways to get him out of the sexual situation Phillip was trying to throw him in, even though his body, still hard from the mystery woman, was roaring to relieve itself anywhere.

  * * *

  “Oh, my goodness, that bar is a madhouse. You’d swear some of these people had never seen alcohol before.” Ryanne slipped into her seat and took a sip of her amaretto sour as she pushed Courtney her beer across the table.

  Courtney, a white woman with short hair that she had bleached and dyed into the trendy gray fashion, thanked Ryanne, then she took a healthy swig from the bottle.

  “It’s like some welfare line up there. Reason I’m staying away.” Sage, a medium-brown-skinned black woman with black hair with dark gold highlights, long but cut in a fashion-forward gradient style, raised her glass of red wine that she’d been nursing slowly since Ryanne arrived thirty minutes ago.