by Sarah Spade
Looking for an ugly sweater party. Found a Christmas masquerade.
All right, then. Time to go.
Right as I’m turning to leave, I feel this tiny prick of pain on the side of my neck. My hand flies up to cover the spot as I swivel my head, looking for the culprit. I don’t know, it feels like I’ve been stabbed with a needle or snapped by a rubber band. There’s no blood, and the pain is already subsiding by the time I’m glaring over my shoulder, but still.
Who did that?
There might be close to fifty people in this room already but, from what I can tell, no one is looking at me. I’m standing by myself, too. Whoever took a shot at me had to have some pretty good aim or it was simply an accident. Either way, it’s enough to tick me off.
I’m still searching, because I know I didn’t imagine the annoying pain, when I see her standing across the dance floor.
Just like that, I forget all about the sting.
I don’t know what it is about this one woman out of the plenty others at this party that snags my attention—and, frankly, I don’t care. As my flight this morning proved, I haven’t felt a punch of attraction like this since me and Dani split up. I might have given the pretty blonde on my flight a second look before declining her unspoken offer but that was just my dick talking.
Right now, it’s got even more to say. Starting with: Go get her. Now.
Long golden brown hair. Caramel-colored skin. Curves in all the right places, with cleavage I can lose myself in.
She’s standing beside an empty table, watching the crowd with an interested expression that even her metallic half mask can’t hide. A smile flirts with her pale pink lips. Even from here, I can see that they’re thick and lush and I’d give anything to feel those beauties wrapped around my aching cock.
When was the last time I fantasized about a woman and she wasn’t my best friend’s sister?
My lust is immediate, my control gone. I don’t know this woman, but I want to. I really, really do.
Without even thinking about it, I immediately go over and approach her. Shit, I couldn’t stop myself if I tried.
And, trust me, I don’t.
3
Lindy
The half mask gives me a sense of confidence that would’ve been missing if this party wasn’t some kind of fancy masquerade ball. True, I’m probably not supposed to be here, but with this silver mask on, no one actually knows that.
I stay away from the buffet and the booze being handed out like it’s water since, well, I do know. I might be able to pretend like I belong, but that doesn’t mean that I’m going to take anything but the mask Sheila gave me.
I’m okay with that. Just because I’m not drinking the spiked eggnog or any of the Christmas cocktails, it doesn’t mean the other guests aren’t. I’m having fun watching them toss their drinks back, then head out onto the dance floor to bop along to the upbeat Christmas tunes being pumped out through the loudspeaker.
I don’t know exactly what kind of people these are at this Christmas masquerade, but they’re very… I guess free is the best way to describe them. On more than one occasion, I notice that some of the dancing between a few of the guests crosses the decency line. I just saw two women who were basically fucking in one corner, and I’m pretty sure the guy in the shiny emerald green mask is getting a handjob from the dainty blonde in the mauve mask. Either that, or she’s only feeling him up some, because her hand’s been in the front of his slacks since the song began and he doesn’t look like he’s finished yet.
More power to them, and if I’m being a bit of a voyeur, so what? Ever since Karl moved out a couple of months ago, I haven’t felt the pop of release a good orgasm could bring and damn if I don’t miss it. Strange, since a good time for him was a two-minute lay and a quick nut before he rolled off me and I had to take care of business myself. I guess I just haven’t been in the mood.
Watching a few of these couples getting it on? I’m feeling a little frisky myself.
And that’s when I see him.
How did I miss this guy? He’s tall and buff and the gold mask he’s wearing sets off his tanned skin super nicely. His hair is a much darker shade, cut short in the back, though the front is flopping forward, covering his forehead. He’s wearing a plain, dark suit that is obviously tailored to fit him perfectly. Though it’s nowhere near as fancy as some of the other get-ups here, I’m not fooled. I can tell it’s expensive.
Considering how the slacks mold lovingly to the muscles in his thighs, and the suit jacket kisses his wrist, I’d say it was money well spent.
And, holy crap, he’s heading straight for me.
Up close, the edge of his jaw is so sharp that it looks like it could cut through anything. There’s an intense look in his dark brown eyes that has me daring a quick glance behind me. What is he looking at?
There’s no one there. I… I think he’s looking at me.
“Hi. I hope you don’t think I’m too forward, but I saw you standing alone over here and thought you’d might like some company.”
His voice. God, his voice. It goes right to my loins. Unfortunately.
Whoa.
I cross my left leg behind my right, squeezing my thighs together. I can feel my panties go damp already. Oh, boy. I know I was hard up before, but this is nuts. One peek at the way he owns that suit, plus his deep, gravelly voice, has me ready to spontaneously come on the spot.
Clearing my throat, hoping that I don’t sound to eager, I murmur, “That would be nice.”
He grins and, I don’t know how, but the smile makes him appear even more intense. “Or maybe a dance. It’s Christmas Eve, and this is a ball, and I’d really like to dance.”
He holds out his arms as, amazingly, the music slows down for the first time since I’ve been at the party. I take it for the sign it is and basically throw myself at him.
I can feel the rumble of laughter deep in his chest as our bodies line up together. Because he’s so much taller than me, my boobs hit his middle and they vibrate a little as he laughs. And, God, it feels so good. Almost as good as the pull on my arms as I stretch to reach around his neck and hold him close.
His hands go right to my waist, giving me a quick squeeze as he starts to sway in time to the music. He’s a perfect stranger who’s giving me a serious case of butterflies, but it’s crazy how… how right this feels.
And then he lowers his chin to my shoulder so that he can speak into my ear. “I’m—”
A burst of panic has me disentangling my arms from around his neck, reaching in front and pressing one of my pointer fingers against his lips. If he gives me his name, then he’ll want mine, and what if he figures out that I crashed this party?
“Later,” I whisper.
To my surprise, he nods. Behind my finger, his lips curve slightly. “Okay.”
Over the next couple of hours, I do everything I can to make sure that later becomes never. Or, at least, until I can figure out a way to learn everything about this man without him realizing that I’m not actually supposed to be here.
I feel like Cinderella, a fraud in a borrowed dress who owes her appearance at this, well, Christmas Eve ball to the prompting of her fairy godmother. If it wasn’t for Sheila, I wouldn’t be here—and I wouldn’t be spending the night with the most gorgeous, most interesting man I’ve ever met.
We don’t share our names, but we talk for hours—when we’re not dancing again. My mystery man leads me to a secluded table away from the speakers when the music gets too loud, then it’s back to the dance floor whenever a ballad begins and he can hold me close again.
I don’t mind. As the night goes on, I feel the insistent poke of an ever-growing erection and I’m having all kinds of naughty thoughts about his junk and what he can do with it when this party is over.
I don’t tell him much about me, because of course not, but I learn that he’s originally from California and he’s in Salem to spend Christmas with his friends. I worry that I’m monopolizing
all of his time, but he assures me that they love parties and they’re having fun on their own. Besides, he’s spending Christmas with them.
Christmas Eve, he promises in a sultry voice, is ours.
Unfortunately for me, that’s as much of a move as he makes. He seems content to take his time, even if some of our slow dances give me a hint of what he’d be like in the sack. He might want to spend all of Christmas Eve with me, and I’m okay with that. I’d happily take it a little further, though.
Just when I’m beginning to think that this is all wishful thinking, that this gorgeous man is only after a little company after all, he leads me back onto the dance floor again. Not the center, where we did most of our dancing, but the edge nearer to the tables.
I’m not sure why, until he spins me to an exact spot and, with an intent gleam in his dark eyes, he murmurs, “Mistletoe.”
Huh?
He refuses to release my waist. I feel his fingers like a brand on my hips, even through the countless layers of my tulle skirt. Ever since he first approached me, my mystery man has been unable to keep his hands off of me. We’re always touching in some way. He’s got to be feeling the insane attraction between us, right?
God, I hope so.
“Look up, beautiful,” he murmurs, and my toes curl inside of my shoes as the way he calls me beautiful. “Mistletoe.”
A quick peek up at the high ceiling reveals the various sprigs of mistletoe that float in the air like their weightless. I kind of see the invisible fishing line that’s keeping them aloft, but the effect is magical.
What the small green and white plant means is even more so.
Looking away from the mistletoe, I meet his eyes. He’s searching for something in my own gaze and I guess he finds it because, the next instant, his head is angling to the side as he claims my mouth in a fierce kiss. The slight tilt makes it easier for him to enter my mouth without the metal of our masks clanging together; as his tongue strokes sweetly against mine before he begins to devour me, I decide this is the deepest kiss I’ve ever experienced.
Then I lose myself in the passion of his kiss. Even when I start to feel light-headed—either from lack of air, or the strong, masculine taste of him overtaking all of my senses—I moan my disappointment when he reluctantly pulls away.
Hey, we’re still underneath the mistletoe. Who says it has to end?
I really hope this is only the beginning.
I’m about to reach up on my tiptoes, offer him my lips again or maybe simply steal a kiss of my own right back, when the feedback from a microphone splits through the air, followed by someone calling out, “Testing, testing,” and I fall back on my heels.
Someone else turns the speakers down. The music goes from a loud thumping to a gentle hum as a tanned man in a silvery suit steps forward from the back of the room. He’s got a microphone in his hand and he’s waving to get the crowd’s attention.
You can hardly miss him. He’s tall and slim and, as he moves, the spotlights hit his suit and he friggin’ glitters. He’s got pale hair almost the same color as the metallic suit, and it’s slick all the way back.
He walks through the crowd, moving until he’s standing in the center of the dance floor. As if his sudden appearance is a signal of some kind, the conversations are muted and the guests all flock toward him, forming a semi-circle around him.
Reluctantly, I pull away from my mystery man and turn my attention to the man decked out in silver. To be honest, it’s kind of hard to ignore him.
“I want to thank you all for coming to my annual Christmas masquerade ball. To old friends, it’s great to see you again. To those who are new: welcome! I hope you all had a grand time, and as the party winds down, I’m giddy to announce that we’ve come to my favorite part.”
As if on cue, the partygoers all start to clap. I do, too. I’m not entirely sure why, but at the very least, I’m grateful for this evening. If this guy is responsible for throwing a party like this, then fine. He deserves some applause in my opinion.
And then he says, “At the count of twelve, when the clock strikes midnight, we’ll all takes off our masks.”
Wait—
What?
No. No, no, no.
All of my confidence disappears in the wake of that announcement. My hands stop mid-clap. As soon as I take my mask off, it’ll be obvious to everyone here that I don’t belong. And as bad as it would be to be caught party crashing, I think of Sheila. This gig was a big deal for her and Madison. Wouldn’t she get in trouble for sneaking me into it?
She might.
I can’t risk it.
I feel bad about ditching my mystery man since I really, really would’ve liked to get to know him better, but suddenly I’ve got no choice. I’ll have to settle for that sweet kiss we shared since that’s all I’m going to be getting now.
Without even saying goodbye, I start to sneak away. I should’ve known better to think my escape would be that easy, though. I hadn’t even taken three steps away from the dance floor when his head whips around to follow me.
“Wait.” He grabs my wristlet as it swings past him. “Where are you going?”
“I, uh—” What do I say? What can I say? I tug on my wristlet, hoping he’ll let go. “I… I’ve got to go. Sorry. It’s, um, it’s been nice.”
“Nice? That’s all you can say?”
“You don’t understand—”
“Then make me understand.”
His grip tightens on the stupid thing. He hasn’t grabbed me yet but I can see that it’s coming. There’s a set to his hard jaw, a look of determination in his dark eyes. If I give him the chance, he’s gonna grab me and I just can’t have that.
Making a mental note to replace Sheila’s wristlet, I slip my wrist out of the strap and dart away before he realizes what it is that I’ve done.
“I can’t,” I mutter to myself as I push through the crowd. Ever since the silver man made his announcement, all of the guests surged toward the dance floor, surrounding him. It works to my advantage, at least. As soon as I make it past the worst of the crowd, I manage to sneak out of the ballroom.
My mystery man has a harder time of it. That physique I admired is something to look at, definitely, but unless he wants to steamroll the people standing around him, he’s gotta be more careful in how he pushes his way through the crowd.
That gives me an edge. Without a second glance behind me, I dash straight for the kitchen. Sheila is still there, sharing a post-catering gig shot with Madison. She gets one look at me, at the crooked way my mask lays over my nose and how frantically I burst into the wide room, and just shakes her head.
Midnight strikes, the spell is over, and I need to get the hell out of here.
4
Lindy
I might not have had a sip of alcohol at the party last night, but tell that to the hangover I wake up with on Christmas morning.
A good part of my brain recognizes the tired eyes, the headache, the body pains as the result of a long, stressful holiday season finally drawing to a close. The other part knows it has something to do with the lack of sleep I got the night before. Aside from feeling like I had an itch I just couldn’t scratch, I spent half the night dreaming of the man I had to leave behind.
I felt that monster dick pressed up against me for most of the night. So maybe my neighbors all slept soundly with visions of sugar plums in their head. Me? I thought of my mystery man’s body and what he could’ve done with mine if I hadn’t chosen to run away.
A cup of black coffee and the knowledge that I’m going to spend the rest of the day blissfully alone—instead of at my aunt and uncle’s with all of my crazy aunts, uncles, grandparents and cousins—makes me feel better as the morning wears on. Moping about that one kiss is just as pointless as wishing Karl would come back.
Even worse? I know it’s not just about that one kiss. It was the promise of that whole evening, of what could’ve been, of what we were working our way up to. Sheila was right. I nee
ded a good lay to get over my funk, and then maybe I could start the new year by putting all the shit that happened behind me.
I try not to think about the big feast my Aunt Carolina is probably setting up at her house. This year, it’s up to Aunt Carolina and Uncle Benjie to host the Walsh family extravaganza. Grandma had it at her house for Thanksgiving—I stupidly agreed to go to that one—so I know that it’s Aunt Carolina’s turn. Since that’s Sheila’s mom, and my cousin learned all of her most delicious recipes from her mother, I’m a little jealous that all I have to look forward to is some leftover lasagna that Sheila brought for me yesterday before she shanghaied me and dragged me to Colonial Hall.
Though I have no intention of leaving my house—since nothing’s open and I refuse to face my family and their well-intentioned meddling in my life—I take a shower and put on a comfy Christmas outfit. I tug on a pair of black leggings and shove my worn and faded Christmas tee over my head. It’s soft and red and has a picture of a fluffy kitten wearing a Santa hat that says “Meowy Christmas” on it. I usually wear it every year on Christmas Eve but since I was forced into that dress yesterday, I decide to put on my favorite old t-shirt.
Besides, it’s not as if anyone is going to see how I’m dressed for the holiday.
I’ve barely let that thought cross my mind when I hear someone knock at my door. I immediately recognize the taps.
It’s Sheila. No matter what, she always knocks. Probably because Karl made a point to tell her to use the doorbell the first time she came over after we moved into this house. Sheila is a sweetheart, but she can hold a grudge like no one’s business. Karl’s been gone for months, but damn if she doesn’t still knock.