Stoke My Fire: A Sexy Bad Boy Holiday Novel (The Parker's 12 Days of Christmas Book 7)

by Blythe Reid

  Stacia moved up next to me as Mitchell talked to Sarah about his favorite advertisements. She leaned closer to me, her hair tickling my arm.

  “You know, if you get tired of her, I’ll take her for the rest of the night,” she said.

  “I don’t think Maggie would like that,” I said. Stacia laughed, returning to her girlfriend, who was the only person pulling off a green dress in the room. Maggie was a semi-professional tennis player, so she looked strong enough to do some damage, but she would never hurt anyone. At least, as far as I knew.

  Sarah turned back to me as Mitchell wandered back to the alcohol.

  “Is he lonely too?” I asked. She smiled.

  “No, but he loves Christmas a lot. He was born on Christmas Day, so he and his mother would celebrate his birthday on the twenty-sixth, and they’d spend the whole day together. It was nice for him because he was one of six kids.”

  “I had no idea about any of that. Did you figure that all out in the five minutes you were talking to him?”

  She shrugged. “He was a little tipsy, so he might have been more talkative than usual.”

  She turned away from me, distracted by the noise at the beer pong table. There was a tiny confetti snowflake on her clavicle, so I brushed it away. She startled, taking a step back as she looked over at me. Something about the way her hair fell over her shoulder—the stark contrast of her dark hair and her pale skin—and that slow recognition in her eyes as she realized I wasn’t a threat, made my heart beat a little faster. I offered my hand.

  “Should we dance?” I asked. Silent Night was playing, and a few couples have started dancing close to each other, including Stacia and Maggie.

  “I'd like that,” she said. I pulled her close, and we began to sway. She had a lot better rhythm than I did. I would have been a bit jealous if she hadn’t made me look better by being a better dancer.

  “Can I ask you something?” I said.

  “Sure,” she said, but she glanced away from me.

  “Why did you become an escort?”

  “Pass.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She looked back at me. “I said you could ask a question, not that I’d answer it.”

  “Fair enough,” I said, but I felt the sharp affliction of knowing she didn't trust me.

  More people started to dance. It began to feel crowded. Sarah moved closer to me, her knees bumping against my knees. I could smell her perfume or lotion, something like vanilla and cinnamon but with a bit more spiciness. I moved my hands down to her hips, reveling in her curves and the way her body seemed to become a metronome with the music.

  I had never seen the appeal of Christmas before, but I felt something that reminded me of being a kid on Christmas Day, and I really, really wanted to open my Christmas present because she looked so beautiful.

  Chapter 4

  Sarah

  I used to love Christmas. Not because of the presents—there rarely was any or any sense of family love—but I’d loved watching towns put in the extra effort with their red ribbons, wreaths, and Christmas lights. I loved watching people looking all over stores to find the perfect present for their loved ones. I loved the red and greens, the scent of pine, and all the charities. Now, all I saw was a façade, a month when everyone pretended to care about other people, but as soon as everyone woke up on New Year’s Day, the kindness ended.

  But tonight, with Chris, the kindness felt a little more real. It was a little more real, but it was also a little more complex, and I didn't know how I felt about that.

  He whipped a few cocktails up for me as I tried to figure out which one I preferred. I’d drank a lot of different kinds of cheap beers but could rarely afford any kind of liquor, much less the other ingredients required for cocktails. I’d found the butterball to be my favorite one, and it was tasty enough that it was easy to forget I was drinking liquor.

  He took the glass from me as I sat down next to the cardboard cutout of a Christmas tree.

  “You look a little tipsy,” he said.

  “I’m getting there.”

  His friend Stacia extracted herself from her girlfriend, her steps less stable than they had been before. She leaned against Chris’s shoulder and winked at me.

  “How is Chris treating you? Because if he’s being a jerk, we can send him out to get us some caramel-coated popcorn and continue our party elsewhere.”

  “That is a very specific request,” Chris said.

  “The only food around here sucks,” she said. “There are two vegetable trays. We didn’t need one vegetable tray, much less two.”

  “It’s a very kind offer,” I said. “But I think Chris and I still have about half an hour to spend time together.”

  “Right. You’re on the clock.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me. “Next time.”

  She waltzed over to her girlfriend. Chris leaned closer to me, his lips brushing against my cheek. This was dangerous territory we were in. Kissing was permitted for this kind of situation—it would be difficult for us to pass as a couple if there wasn’t any physical affection between us—but this feels more intimate than a faux kiss. I shivered, though I felt too warm, and he draped his arm around me. I could smell the alcohol on his breath, and I knew this was all just alcohol-fueled escapism.

  “Do you want to go?” he asked.

  “You still have a half hour.”

  “Yeah, but Cheryl has barely talked to me all night, and you put on such a dazzling performance, everyone believes we’re together. I’ll call a taxi.”

  As he called on the cell phone, I watched him. Everything about him seemed more beautiful, the messiness of his light brown hair, the way his eyes had several different shades of blue in them, making it look like they contained ocean waves, and the way I could see his muscles flex under his shirt.

  When he slid his phone into his pocket, I was distracted by a shiny mark of an old burn on his hand.

  “What’s that from?” I asked.

  “Oh, it’s nothing. Oven accident,” he said. My mother was a nurse before she got fired for stealing opioids. That scarring seemed a little too deep for a simple oven accident, but he clearly didn’t want to talk about it. “We should go downstairs. The company said a taxi should be here soon.”

  I followed him to the elevator. As we rode it down to the first floor, I found myself continuously looking over at him. I could blame my desire on the alcohol or just wanting to get out of these clothes that felt a bit warm in this office, but honestly, the more time I spent looking at Chris, the more I wanted to see.

  As we stepped off the elevator, I nearly tripped. He grabbed my arm to steady me. I tucked my arm around his as we stepped out to the sidewalk.

  “We could pretend to have a huge argument here,” he said. “It might help to explain to everyone why they won’t see you again.”

  “Yes, but if they knew we had this horrible break-up, wouldn’t Cheryl see a prime opportunity to lick your wounds and heal your broken heart?”

  “I’d rather not think of Cheryl licking anything.”

  I laughed, the alcohol making everything a lot funnier than it was.

  There was a faint layer of snow all over the sidewalk. Usually, the snow was mixed with dirt from being plowed, but the plow must not have come through yet because everything looked as good as it should be. There was a faint wind, snapping the building’s American flag. It was a little bit cold, but the alcohol in my system had warmed me up.

  “You still have confetti on you,” he said, flicking it off. I leaned against him, enjoying the heat of his body more than I should. He rubbed my arms trying to get me warm, and it felt good. Too good.

  A taxi pulled up right next to us. Chris opened the door for me. I stared at the seat, slightly torn with some stuffing coming out, and then back at him.

  “Why don’t we share this taxi?”

  “I thought we met here because you didn’t want your clients to know where you lived.”

  “The taxi can drop you
off first. Do you have a car?”

  “In Chicago?” he laughed. “No. No, I don’t."

  "So, come with me. I'd like a few more minutes with you."

  He paused. "Okay. Sure. I’ll join you.”

  I ducked into the taxi, scooting across the seat to the other side. Chris clambered in. He told the taxi driver where to go, and I was surprised to hear it was in a neighborhood that barely passed as middle class. I would have expected he lived in a better neighborhood from working at Synthesis Spirits and being able to afford me.

  "I thought you would have, uh, earned more money," I said as the taxi driver began to pull back into traffic.

  "What makes you think I don't?" he asked.

  "You don't live in the best place in Chicago."

  "I like to spend my money on better things than a place I spend less than half my day at."

  "Like what?"

  He gestured toward me. I rubbed my legs, looking away from him to hide my reddening cheeks.

  “Are you still cold?” Chris asked.

  “A little bit,” I lied. His hand rested on my thigh for a half-second before he began to rub it. When I leaned closer to him, his hand moved up the tiniest bit. I kissed him.

  I shouldn’t have kissed him for a million reasons, but my body wanted something, and any precaution seemed to fade away.

  He kissed me back, his mouth switching from hard to soft, his hand on my cheek, then down on my shoulder, and then on my waistline. I should have cared what the driver thought. I should have told him that if I slept with him, Linc would be pissed for not getting an extra payment. I should have told him I wasn't that kind of girl, but my mouth only seemed capable of feeling his lips now. My body seemed to buzz with excitement. I wasn’t a virgin, but this felt too new to not consider virginal. This felt like something different.

  By the time the taxi stopped, I was nearly ready to jump on top of him. He rubbed his thumb against the edge of my mouth—getting rid of some lip gloss that had smeared. He helped me out of the taxi, and we hustled up to his apartment.

  When we stumbled inside, he locked his door, and I pulled off my shirt. Frantic need took over like we were hormonal teenagers. He jerked toward me, his mouth crashing against mine, and his hands on my hips, jerking down my skirt. It pooled at my feet, and I nearly tripped over it, but his grip was too tight around me to let me fall.

  “We can’t have sex in your foyer,” I mumbled.

  “We could,” he said. His need was contagious, or maybe it was my need that was driving us both crazy. I unclasped my bra as he undid the two hundred buttons on his suit. I began to help him. As I pulled down his pants, his hands moved over my back, and I could feel his fingers on my spine. It sent another shiver through me, but as I saw his arousal through his boxer briefs, the only sensation I seemed capable of feeling was the pulse between my legs.

  This was the moment I absolutely believed that humans were made to be connected, and I wanted him so, so badly, that I knew if I couldn’t have him, I might do something drastic.

  He pulled off his boxer briefs while I pulled off my panties. I hadn’t even stepped out of them when he grabbed me, spinning me around. The alcohol made me less steady, and I fell onto my hands and knees. He dropped to his knees behind me. I could feel the heat of his cock near my entrance. I pushed against him, wanting it more than I’ve ever wanted anything. First, I felt his hands on my hips, then his calves brushing against my calves, and then the slightest brush of his cock against the lips of my pussy.

  It was such a tease.

  I turned to look at him. He looked so hot, even in the shadows of his apartment. As I reached back, touching myself, he thrust into me.

  At any other point, it would have hurt. It was fast and hard, and I felt the whole of him fill me up. But I was already so wet and so filled with need, it only fed something in me that was so hungry for him. He kept moving inside me with so much fervor, it reminded me of a wildfire. I kept my hand over my clit as his motion made my body sway against my fingers.

  Heaven is the foyer of a middle-class apartment.

  In my past experiences, I never understood why people made noises during sex, but now, I couldn’t help the breathy moans and the soft squeaks that came out of my mouth. If his movements hadn’t knocked the breath out of me, I would have said a lot more. I would have said things that would shame every mother on earth.

  His hands moved down from my hips to my thighs, curving inward toward my pussy. He pushed my hand away with his left hand, one of his fingers rolling right over my clit. It was fire. If I thought it felt good before, the roughness and size of his hands made it a thousand times better.

  I felt the peak coming like I was on a train with tracks that ran off a cliff. He must have known from the sounds I was making because his movements sped up, his thighs rubbing against my thighs. When it came—when I came—it felt like nothing I had ever experienced before. Other times, it felt like itching a scratch, but now pleasure struck through me like lightning, electrifying every single one of my nerves.

  As my pussy clamped onto his cock, I felt his cock jerk inside me and the warmth of his seed flood in me. I collapsed onto the carpet as he pulled out of me. He crumpled beside me.

  His hand rested on my shoulder, maybe a sign of gratitude, maybe in congratulations for a job well done. As the warmth of the moment began to fade, I realized I couldn’t stay around. If anybody saw me walking out of this building in the morning, especially Linc or one of his other girls, there would be hell to pay, and I could not afford that kind of debt.

  I waited until I could hear Chris's breathing slow down. I waited several more minutes, watching him, memorizing the sight of this titan of a man. When I was certain he was asleep, I slowly pulled my clothes back on. I almost hoped he would wake back up, ask me to stay, but he was deep asleep.

  When I left his apartment, I felt like the holiday season was mocking me. While everyone celebrated family and faith for Christmas with the hope of new beginnings for New Year’s, I had nothing, and it would always be that way.

  Chapter 5

  Christopher

  My feet pounded against the sidewalk as I took my morning run. The sun was starting to rise, the cold air felt good on my face, and I felt a begrudging love for Chicago. It wasn't flawless, but it grit its teeth and fought for its place as one of the great cities of the US.

  But I couldn't delay my thoughts for long. Every few steps, I could swear there was a whiff of cinnamon and vanilla. Every block, I saw a woman with dark hair and compared her to Sarah. Sarah had left my apartment before I woke up, but I know she felt something between us. I couldn't have had amazing sex like that without the experience being as good for her.

  At the very least, I should be able to convince her to hook up with me again. Maybe that would get her out of my system and maybe it would help me figure out a little more about her.

  I sped up my pace. All I had was her first name, and my only way to contact her was through the escort business. I wasn't going to go through Linc again. I didn't like the idea of Linc, and I didn't like the idea of another man knowing about the time I spent with Sarah. I'd have to find another way to get ahold of her.

  The longer I ran, the more confident I was that I would find her. Certainly, Chicago was massive, but she had to be on this side of Chicago—somewhere near Linc Platinum Company. And, if I got desperate, I could ask around at coffeehouses. Everyone drank coffee, and I'd assume someone who went on dates for a job would frequently visit coffeehouses.

  On the run back to my apartment, my mind started to stagger over thoughts of Sarah. Sarah on her hands and knees. Sarah and the little noises that came out of her mouth. The feeling of her flesh. The high of coming and the calm of lying down beside her, listening to her breathing slow down.

  It was the best night of my life and that's taking into consideration that I spent two and a half hours with my coworkers. The only thing that would have made it better is if we had done it over and
over, caffeinated by the sight of each other, knowing each other better than we know ourselves.

  But I didn’t know about her. At all.

  I tried to keep my heart rate up, trying to get back that feeling I had last night, but nothing would suffice.

  By the time I got back to my apartment, my brain felt clearer. The sex had been amazing, but I couldn’t let the thought of her consume me. All addictions were bad, and she seemed to be my perfect drug.

  I got into my shower, but I kept the water cold. The image of Sarah’s ass kept snuggling back into my brain, and the sound of her breathing sifted through my ears. I ran my fingers through my hair, letting the water seep into it. She was worse than cocaine.

  I looked down. Oh. Of course. I wanted to forget her, so all my blood ran straight to my other head.

  I ran my hand over my cock, remembering her flesh, how smooth it felt as I thrust into her.

  I concentrated on the ridge of my cock. I remembered the feeling of her clit, the way her body pressed down against my hand, the heat of her and the way she relied on me to make her come. I thought about her laugh, her scent, the way her hands were cold until I kissed her. I remembered the hitch of her breath, the rush of adrenaline when I knew she was going to come, and the way her body surrendered to the pleasure.

  Water continually splashed in front of me from the force of my hand moving back and forth over my cock. I leaned my forehead against the shower wall, closing my eyes to perfectly imagine Sarah in front of me. I imagined her naked, her breasts perfectly shaped, the curve of her hips. I imagined her saying my name, over and over until she was screaming it in pleasure.

  My cock spasmed in my hand, my seed circling the drain before disappearing.

  The pleasure dissipated a lot faster than it had the night before. I could find another woman, pretend she was Sarah, and fuck to my heart’s delight, but I knew it wouldn’t even compare to what Sarah and I did. It felt like I was chasing the sun, completely disillusioned into thinking I could grab it and knowing I was disillusioned, but I had to keep trying. The only thing worse than not finding the sun again was watching it slowly fade away.