Holiday Fantasy

by Adrianne Byrd

  She said nothing but smiled back. She had no intentions of spending the night with anyone else, either.

  Elijah fumbled with his back pants pocket and produced a condom. “And you’re crazy if you think I’m ready to leave this room.”

  Kimora took the condom from his fingers, and a couple of seconds later she glided the long latex over his steel erection and mentally prepared herself for a flight into the heavens.

  Elijah did not disappoint.

  He entered her slowly, giving her body a moment to adjust to his invasion. When she had done just that, she wiggled her hips and ground against him. Elijah moved her away from the wall and balanced her full weight in his arms while he bounced her tight body against his hips. As with all the other couples, the loud music drowned out their bodies slapping together.

  Brief glimpses of the sexual activities going on around them proved to be a heady aphrodisiac, and soon Kimora and Elijah were set on proving that they could outperform everyone in the room.

  Birdie and Coco pushed their way into the club. Neither knew what to expect but had prepared for the worst—at least they thought so, anyway. Laughter and music pierced and rattled their eardrums, while a thin layer of smoke drifted on the air.

  When both realized that it wasn’t tobacco, they glanced at each other and then slowly shook their heads.

  “Let’s split up,” Coco shouted. “I’ll look toward the back.”

  “Do you think he’s still here?” Birdie shouted back. She scanned the crowd, taking note of the pencil-thin women walking around in clothes that left little to the imagination. Self-consciously she tugged at her jacket. “Maybe he’s gone home.”

  Birdie glanced back toward her friend only to see that she had already disappeared into the crowd. She was on her own. “Great.”

  Sighing, she dropped her arms to her sides and resigned herself to search for a man she had only a vague description of. Christmas was getting worse by the moment.

  “Birdie!”

  She froze, momentarily surprised to hear her name shouted from the crowd. Finally she turned and glanced around to see if she could catch who was calling her. Then she saw him. “Stephen.”

  Kimora’s cousin pried himself from a woman’s spidery arms and made his way over to her.

  “I was beginning to think that cousin Kimmy lied to me.”

  Birdie kept her smile together. “Actually, I’m not staying. I’m here helping Coco find someone.”

  “Well, that’s the whole point of the party—singles who don’t want to be alone for the holidays.”

  Joel splashed cold water on his face to help clear his head. Moonshine. Hot damn. What was he thinking? Then again, maybe that was the problem—he wasn’t thinking. He stood before the bathroom mirror grinning to himself and enjoying his buzz.

  When he returned to the party, three women dressed in scanty red-and-white Santa’s-helper outfits—complete with matching caps—suddenly surrounded him. They also looked as if they wanted to ravish him for the evening.

  A crooked smile hooked the corner of his lips and he easily slid into his best Mac Daddy impersonation. “Well, hello, ladies.”

  “Hello, yourself,” one of the women greeted. She stepped forward, erasing the sparse distance between them, and brushed her large breasts against his chest. “Are you looking for a little three-on-one action?”

  Hell yeah! Joel’s gaze leaped to the other two women. He had never done such a thing, but he was more than willing to rise to the challenge. His eagerness must have shown in his eyes, because the sexy trio suddenly burst into giggles.

  So was it a joke, a tease or—please, God—a legitimate offer?

  Before he could give voice to the question, a stiff, cold breeze swept over him and alerted Joel that his bold Santa’s helper had unzipped his pants. He looked around, trapped among walls of party people mingling. But that wasn’t quite true, either. Off to the side, almost hidden by the bathroom door, a woman was bent over, her eyes closed, her head thrown back while her male partner thrust into her like a human jack-hammer.

  Hot damn!

  The bold woman before him knelt, and when she did, Joel caught sight of another woman wandering the club’s dance floor. When she turned her head, her eyes swept past him, and he instantly recognized his gorgeous peanut-butter beauty from Publix.

  The night was getting better by the moment. He stepped back just as he was sure that his companion was about to wrap her mouth around his stiff hard-on. He reached down and carefully pulled himself back into his pants.

  “Hey!”

  “Sorry, ladies,” he apologized and zipped up. “Change of plans.”

  Chapter 7

  Coco was beyond shocked by the various sexual behaviors of Kimora’s “guests.” This party was just as she’d always suspected—one big excuse for an orgy. The farther she traveled through the club, the darker it grew and the more outrageous and uninhibited the attendees became.

  A mysterious hand landed and squeezed her ass, and Coco whipped around, prepared to put her hours of Tae Bo to good use. Surprisingly, it wasn’t a man at all.

  “Whoa, girlfriend. I don’t roll like that,” Coco warned with a biting edge. “If you want to live to see Christmas Day, you’ll back the hell up.”

  The hand released her and the woman gave her a casual, “Your loss.”

  Coco shook her head as she watched the woman turn away. In the next second, more uninvited hands invaded her personal space, and she hopped around like a Mexican jumping bean. After a few minutes of this, she decided suddenly that this rescue mission was just not worth it and bolted from the corridor as if the devil himself snapped at her heels.

  So focused was she on her escape, Coco knocked the air from her lungs when she smacked into someone’s solid back. “Damn it!” she snapped. “Get out of my way.”

  The tall man turned and settled his striking blue eyes on her. “Ah, Ms. Brown. I’d recognize that temper anywhere,” he said with an uncharacteristicly goofy smile. “Or should I call you Coco?”

  “Are you high?” she asked, narrowing her eyes with suspicion.

  “I plead the Fifth on the grounds that my answer may incriminate me.” He chuckled and smacked his lips. “Good Lord, I’m famished.”

  She rolled her eyes and locked her hand onto his wrist. “I’m getting you out of here. You’re a district attorney, for God’s sake.”

  “Well, I feel like celebrating. Onwu is out of our hair—”

  “You heard?”

  “Heard, danced a jig and came here to celebrate.” He gave a loud whoop.

  “Like I said, I’m getting you out of here.”

  “Wait, wait.” He pulled his arm free and glanced at his watch. “They are going to be pulling keys soon.” He leaned forward, looking as if he was about to topple over. “I have a feeling I’m going to get lucky.”

  His warm breath coupled with his overpowering nearness short-circuited Coco’s alarm and suddenly she grew warm—hot, even. “Are you pulling keys tonight, Ms. Brown?”

  Her gaze followed his small, plump lips. She didn’t comprehend a word he’d said, but something had her wondering what it would be like to—

  “Ms. Brown?” he asked, frowning.

  “Y-yeah? What?” She shook her head. “Did you say something?”

  He smiled and tipped up the rest of his drink that she’d been unaware he held. When it was drained, he flashed another lopsided grin. “I know I’m going to regret this in the morning, but here goes.”

  Maybe the clouds of smoke were affecting her thinking, because they were definitely affecting her reflexes. In one quick jerk, Patrick drew her slim body against his and crash-landed his small lips against her full ones.

  A spark flared and immediately roared into an inferno. She could no more pull away than she could rip out her own heart. He tasted that damn good.

  She melted against him, gave a moan—and he swallowed it hungrily. In the back of her mind—the very back—her inner voi
ce screamed for her to snap out of whatever spell she’d fallen under and to get a grip.

  She was kissing her boss!

  Courtney fed from his lips long after her lungs had begun burning from lack of oxygen. Surprisingly she didn’t care. She didn’t care about a lot of things. When Patrick broke the kiss, it took everything she had not to snatch his head back down and feast again.

  “I knew you would taste good,” he declared triumphantly.

  She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t.

  “I wonder if other things I’ve been dreaming about are just as good.”

  His goofy smile returned and helped Courtney part the thick fog hovering above her brain. “Keep dreaming, Mr. Holloway. It’s never going to happen.”

  This time his eyes followed her lips and she doubted he’d heard a word she’d said.

  “C’mon.” She tried for his hand again. “Let’s get out of here before someone actually recognizes you—or worse, there’s a raid on this place.”

  “Raid?” He perked up at that and glanced around. And for the first time, he seemed to notice a few questionable activities. “Are they doing what I think they are doing?” Patrick asked, nodding toward a couple near the corner of the room.

  Coco followed his gaze and frowned when she spotted a hoochie mama leaning back against the wall with one leg over the shoulder of some dedicated brother’s head buried beneath her dress.

  “I’m afraid so,” she shouted back to the district attorney. “Then there’s no way I’m leaving this party.” He laughed and set his drink on a passing tray. “This is the best Christmas party I’ve ever been to. I’m not leaving until a lucky lady pulls my keys.”

  She stared at him and saw that he was serious. “Fine.” She spun on her heel, her hand still clamped around his wrist while she tugged him through the crowd. When they neared the door, she felt Patrick pull back.

  “Ms. Brown, I said I wasn’t ready to leave.”

  Without looking back, she dropped his hand and approached the crystal bowl. “You want someone to pull your keys, then fine,” she snapped and plunged her hand into the pile of keys.

  Coco didn’t know exactly what his keys looked like, but she vaguely remembered seeing a four-leaf-clover shape with green leather before, and now that was what she searched for. At long last, when she spotted the distinctive leather key chain, she pulled it out and pivoted to face him again.

  “Are you happy now? I drew your keys, now let’s go.”

  Patrick frowned. “No.”

  “No?” She blinked and then jammed her fists onto her hips. “Why not?”

  He shrugged. “You don’t exactly have the Christmas spirit. ’Tis the season to be jolly, you know.” Laughing, he turned back toward the crowd and was immediately pulled into the arms of an attractive black tramp that had considerable more junk in her trunk than Coco.

  “Talk about the luck of the Irish,” Patrick shouted to the woman and tried to keep up with the latest hip-hop rhythm blasting from the speakers.

  Coco grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing tray, downed it and reached for another.

  “Whoa. Somebody’s thirsty.” A good-looking brother stepped forward and leered in her face.

  Coco rolled her eyes. “Back off, homey. I’m not here for you.” She pushed the man out of her way, marched up and stepped into the minuscule space between Patrick and the tramp. “Excuse me, but he’s with me,” she told the woman.

  “He looks like a free agent to me,” the woman challenged and settled her hands on her hips.

  “Girlfriend, don’t try me. I’ll snatch every bit of that two-dollar weave out of your head.”

  Ms. Tramp gave Coco a thorough glance over but then cut her eyes as she walked away. “Whatever.”

  “I thought so,” Coco muttered and turned back toward Patrick. Tonight’s wine, champagne and questionable smoke clouds buzzed in her brain.

  Meanwhile, Patrick had already found another woman to lock lips with. In fact, the toothpick-thin redhead looked as though she was trying to tongue-wash his tonsils.

  “Hey!” Coco jumped into action and pulled the two apart. “Back off.”

  “Why, Ms. Brown,” Patrick said with wide-eyed amusement. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

  “I’m just thinking about your reputation.” She shrugged beneath his twinkling gaze. Damn, it was hot in this place. “Kimora definitely has her fair share of questionable friends.”

  “And yet, here you are—” he inched closer “—in that wonderful dress.”

  “I came for you.”

  His smile widened. “Did you also wear the dress for me?”

  A second alarm sounded as he lightly caressed her arm and waited for an answer. The buzzing grew louder in her head.

  “Hmm?” Patrick shifted his hand and cupped her chin. “It’s my favorite color on you. Did you know that?”

  She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she didn’t.

  Unsure whether he was getting to her, Patrick exhaled a frustrated breath. “I don’t want to be alone tonight, Ms. Brown.” He met and held her gaze. “I’m tired of being alone. Do you understand?”

  Her voice still a faded memory, Coco nodded and then slid her hands up and around his neck. When she brought his head back down to her lips, she delivered a kiss that told him she had no intentions of sending him home alone.

  “Hello, angel,” Joel said in his deepest baritone. “When did you fly in?”

  Frowning at the campy line, Birdie turned toward the jerk standing behind her. But she was thrown for a loop when she saw the young buck grinning back at her.

  “You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked.

  “Actually, I think I do,” she sassed. “Aren’t you my son’s playmate in kindergarten?”

  He laughed at the joke but eased closer. “I may be young, but all my pieces and parts work just fine.”

  He licked his lips like a starving man placed before a feast, and Birdie was surprised to feel her legs weaken. It had to be his eyes—those hazel orbs surrounded by long, feminine lashes—that hypnotized her.

  “The name is Joel. If you want to know, my key chain has a gold plate that reads 2pac.”

  She blinked in confusion.

  “You know, the greatest rapper of all time,” he added for clarification.

  “Uh-huh. Actually, I’m not going to be participating in the key drawing. I’m just looking for someone.”

  “I was, too.” He brushed the hair from her shoulder. “And now I’ve found her…again.”

  Birdie didn’t know what to make of this pretty boy. He was unnervingly confident and sinfully sexy—the perfect combination for a one-night stand.

  “Ah, there you are.” Stephen’s voice sliced like an iron gate between them. “Here’s your drink.”

  Birdie turned toward Kimora’s cousin and accepted the glass. Originally she’d sent Stephen for the drink as a way of ditching him. Now, since her body temperature had skyrocketed in Joel’s presence, she bordered on dehydration.

  “Thank you.” She grabbed the glass and tossed back the drink like a seasoned sailor.

  Joel and Stephen watched with wide-eyed fascination.

  “I think I’d like to have another,” she said, handing the glass back to Stephen.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He gave her a mock salute and scurried back to the bar.

  “You know,” Joel said, leaning so close that his warm breath rushed against her skin, “there are other ways to loosen up—some I’ll be more than happy to help you with.”

  “Have a Mrs. Robinson fetish, do you?”

  His eyes blazed with desire as he stepped forward and brushed his steel hard-on against her hip. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  Where in the hell was that drink?

  The young man grew bolder by the moment when he reached up to run his fingers along the opening of her jacket and in the process ignited a brushfire across her sensitive breasts.

&nbs
p; “I—I have to go,” she stammered and stepped back to break away from his touch. This was a dangerous game. She turned and waltzed straight into a thick cloud of smoke. She coughed and waved at the air. “Good Lord, that stuff is strong.”

  “The best out of the Caribbean,” a man with a thick Jamaican accent said.

  Birdie glanced over to the dark and handsomely chiseled man with long, ropy dreadlocks that hung past his shoulders.

  “Wanna hit?” He offered her the blunt.

  “No, thanks.” Birdie stamped out the temptation. Just because Kimora behaved like an eternal sorority girl didn’t mean that she had to.

  The carefree Jamaican shrugged, took another hit and blew another long stream of smoke into her face. “Suit yourself.”

  Joel chuckled behind her and once again moved so that she was well aware of his arousal. “Quite a party, huh?” His strong arms slid around her hips. “Care to know what I asked Santa for Christmas?”

  “A tricycle?”

  “Close—since I’ll try just about anything once.” He chuckled again.

  She laughed as well since the tension was magically seeping from her body.

  “I asked for something nice and thick to hold on to.” His hands roamed the front of her thighs while his hips continued to bump against her butt—simulating sex though they were both fully clothed. “You have the face of an angel and curves in all the right places. I bet you’re a tiger in bed.”

  He kissed the back of her head, and Birdie closed her eyes and fought for control, though she knew full well her mutinous body would win the war.

  “Aren’t you curious about what it would be like?” Joel asked, his hand now moving toward her crotch.

  What the hell am I doing? Her eyes flew open in wild wonderment. “Don’t.” Her hand shot down to stop his from dipping between her legs.

  He stopped his gyrating hips and his warm nuzzling, and Birdie immediately wanted to issue a countercommand. More smoke swirled, and she had to admit she was beginning to feel pretty damn good.