Christmas In The City (Imperfect Match 1.50)

That seems to do the trick. His gaze darkens as I unclasp his belt buckle, pop the button, and drag the zipper down. He exhales sharply when I shove his pants and boxer briefs over his hips. It’s like the unveiling of a brand new exhibit at the Louvre. And honestly, even more impressive than I had hoped.

“Oh, thank fucking God.”

Horace cocks a brow, so, of course, I feel compelled to explain.

“It would be such a terrible karmic fate to look as perfect as you and have a less than impressive cock. If you think about it, the laws of nature are fully against you. No one human being should be this stunning and also get to have a fabulously gorgeous penis, too.”

“Thank you, I think?” He narrows one eye, turning the statement into a question. “Feel free to touch at your leisure.”

“Right. Yes. Of course.” I run my fingertips along the silky base, following a thick vein to the head.

Like the rest of him, Horace’s penis and surrounding area are pleasantly groomed. Even his balls are nice, and generally they’re just weird, and wrinkly and dangling awkwardly. I curl my fingers around the shaft and stroke up the length, twisting at the head, thumb smoothing over the tip before I drag it back down.

Ho groans, and then his fingers slide into the hair at the nape of my neck, twisting through the strands. He tips my head back and our mouths collide in a furious kiss that feels very much like we are most certainly gearing up for a round in the ring.

His other hand skims heavily down my side and he follows the waistband of my jeans, flicking open the button. For a moment I panic, because prior to changing, I wore a pair of polyester pants for eight hours today, while rushing around a busy restaurant serving tables. Polyester is the most horrible, non-breathable fabric in the history of the world.

“Let’s get in the shower,” I mumble around his tongue.

“Mmm, yes, let’s.” Ho reaches out and hits a button on the wall beside us. And then he hits several more.

The patter of running water sounds like a musical interlude with each button he presses. It’s almost as if “Prayers for Rain” is playing in the background. And unless I’m having some kind of odd hallucination . . . “Is that The Cure?”

“It is.” Horace shoves my pants and underwear down my thighs, and I helpfully kick them off.

“You’re my music soulmate. Disintegration is my favorite album.”

“Mine too.”

“Of all time.”

“Me as well.”

Obviously, his loony tunes sister and the crackpot fortune teller were on to something. Maybe we are destined for each other.

I koala-style jump him, wrapping my arms and legs around his ridiculously fit body. And because he’s perfect, he catches me without faltering. As soon as he steps into the massive shower, we’re assaulted by water from all sides. A fine, hot spray dances along my arms and legs, the rain showerhead above soaking us.

I untangle my limbs from his, glancing around the space, trying to figure out a way to implement my plan. Which is to make sure his hands don’t go below

my navel until I’ve had a chance to wash my naughty bits.

Because I’m intelligent and resourceful, and also randy as all hell, I drag him over to the bench and force him down by his shoulders. It puts him at eye level with my chest, which is good. I need him sufficiently distracted by the girls.

While he nuzzles and sucks and groans and nibbles, I grab the removable showerhead from the wall and flick the lever. Ho’s hands are on the move, easing down my sides, one moving to cup my backside and the other clearly on a mission to get between my legs.

I circumvent him by dropping to my knees. I brace a hand on his thigh and get as comfortable as I possibly can while kneeling on a tile floor. Gripping his erection in my fist, I meet his hot, feral gaze. I smile and lick my lips as I lean in and cover the head, tonguing the crown and sucking gently.

“Fuck yes, Reggie.” Ho brushes wet strands of hair gently from my cheek, then wraps it around his fist, groaning. “Show me what that pretty mouth can do.”

And while I suck his ridiculously beautiful cock, I jam the showerhead between my thighs and wash away eight damn hours of polyester pants pussy.

It’s almost your turn, I internally promise my holy triangle, while the water washes away today’s many ordeals, including dog pee, food stains, and general work sweat. Just hang in there, sister.

4

Horace

After coming in Reggie’s mouth—she did indicate that I could. Quite enthusiastically, even, with hand gestures more fitting for an airplane marshal—I dried both of us off with a towel and cracked open another bottle of champagne.