I don’t want to ruin her… but she’s my sugarplum now.
And I’m ready to taste my Christmas treat.
Dear Reader,
Smith is growly, bearded, and in need of a little TLC.
He’s a twenty-seven-year-old virgin who’s been waiting all his life for his one and only.
For Sugar.
This filthy-sweet holiday romp is exactly how it sounds: Delicious. Enjoy!
xo, frankie
Smith
The room is dark and depressing as hell. Makes me wonder why I came down from my cabin in the first fucking place. Just the thought of spending Christmas Eve alone sounded sad as sin but turns out being in this dimly lit bar is the real heartbreaker.
“You want in?” a man asks, catching my eye. He’s looking for trouble, scouring the bar for an easy target.
Not sure what he thinks when he looks at me, considering I’ve got a sleeve of tats, a burly beard, and biceps as big as a tree trunk. Not to mention this guy is drunk off his ass. Me? I’m stone-cold sober. I just got to this seedy bar and haven’t even ordered a beer.
“What are you playing?” I ask. Jingle Bells blares through the speaker and it feels decidedly wrong to have such upbeat music on in a place like this.
“Poker, in the back room. Buy-in’s a hundred bones.”
I look around, taking in the other men playing cards tonight as they head to the back. They look like a motorcycle gang. I run a hand over my beard, wondering what they’re doing out here this time of year. The weather has been a bitch and it’s supposed to snow by morning. Of course, conditions are always a hell of a lot worse at my cabin up in the mountains than they are down here in town.
And I haven’t seen these guys before. Then again, I keep to myself. Figure I came down here to entertain myself and poker seems more interesting than the women tossing back Jägermeister at the bar.
“Sounds good,” I say, following the man back. Once in the card room, a cocktail waitress circles around us taking our orders. I ask for a whiskey neat and ignore the waitress in fishnets as she tries to catch my eye. I’m not interested in her. She’s running her hand over the chest of every man here, laughing extra loud, squeezing her plastic tits together in hopes of a better tip. No judgment — it’s honest work — but I know she’s not for me.
I’ve been celibate for my whole damn life and I made a pact with myself not to look at a woman twice unless she was the woman. My one and only. I figured I’d know her when I saw her. It worked for my parents and I suppose there’s no reason it won’t work for me too.
Then again, that plan seemed mighty fine when I was a kid, holding out for the love of my fucking life—but now I’m a twenty-seven-year-old virgin. My cock has been aching for over a decade and I want a woman to hold like nothing else on Earth.
There are four of us at the table, and the man who asked me to play introduces himself as Rizz.
The guy next to him laughs. “Yeah, but we all call him Jizz.”
“And we call you Pussy Juice,” Rizz says with a scowl. Then they bust up laughing and I realize they’re all friends. A guy affectionately named Rimmed, tells me they ride for Badlands MC and I nod, having heard of them before.
“You live here?” Rizz asks.
“Up in the mountains.”
“Alone?”
I nod.
“You running from something?” he presses.
I pull a hundred-dollar bill from my pocket and set it on the table. Enough small talk. “No, I just like the quiet.”
“Fair enough,” Rizz grunts and we all take a seat. Three women come out from the shadows, half-dressed with pleasure in their eyes. The men adjust their cocks as they come closer. It’s clear who they belong too. The motorcycle gang.
“You, come here,” Rimmed says to a brunette, pulling her to his lap. He grabs her crotch and she pouts her lips.
“Can I have a twenty?” she asks. “Please.”
Rimmed raises an eyebrow. “And what are you gonna do with that?”
“Get some dinner. I’m hungry. And bored.”
He gives her the cash then slaps her ass. “You better not get trashed. I plan on fucking you sideways tonight.”
She leans over, pushing her ass in his face, her eyes meeting mine, a smile spread wide across her face. “Okay, Daddy, I’ll give you what you want.” I look away, not interested in whatever their kink is. I don’t want that. I want a girl who is as innocent as me. Because I may look like these men but deep down, we aren’t alike at all.
I’m not riding a motorcycle every day to get away from my demons. No. I settled down, built myself a cabin, and work in my carpentry shop. I sell custom furniture. Sure, it’s not flashy, but it is a good life. A solid life. A life my parents, God rest their souls, would have been proud of.
The cards are dealt, and I sit back, playing my hand, winning a few rounds. I notice the men’s eyes rise around me, and I wonder if someone plans on calling my bluff.
I’m a fucking straight shooter even when I play cards. I know how to win; how to keep my eyes on the prize. We keep drinking, they a hell of a lot more than me. I have no intention of walking away broke at the end of the night. If these fuckers are dumb enough to invite a stranger to their game, they are dumb enough to lose all their money to me too.
By the sixth round, the men know they are in trouble. Pussy Juice and Rimmed are out of dough and the pot keeps growing. I know I have the cards to win but Rizz is scared. I see it in his bloodshot eyes. He wants to walk away with three hundred bucks. But fuck, so do I.
“Hell, I need another drink for this,” Rizz groans, whistling for a waitress. He takes another look at his hand before pushing away from the table for a breather, his cards pressed to his chest. I want to finish the hand knowing mine is good enough to win the pot, but I set my cards down in front of me, going along with Rizz because I don’t know these guys well enough to argue. When the waitress doesn’t arrive straight away, everyone starts getting irritated. Why they don’t get off their asses and get their own damn drink is beyond me.
“Where the fuck’s your sister, Rizz?” Rimmed asks. “She can get us a round.”
“Probably reading some stupid ass book in the bar, avoiding eye contact,” Rizz grunts. “Hey, Sugar,” he shouts. “Get over here. We need a drink.”
The waitress from earlier doesn’t sashay around the corner to take our orders. Instead, a different woman enters the back room. Her hair is honey blonde and long, past her curvy waist, with hips that are hugged nicely by her black pants, and her eyes are drawn to the book in her hand—which has a half-naked man on the front of it. Her nails are painted red and green — for Christmas. Her thick eyelashes flutter against her full cheekbones. When she lifts her chin, my heart fucking stops.
She’s the prettiest woman I’ve seen in my life.
I swallow. My cock is instantly hard at the sight of her and I don’t want to fuck this up.
It’s what I’ve been waiting for all these years. An angel to appear, and here she is on Christmas Eve. A goddamn miracle.
“Where the hell have you been, Sugar? I gave you one job tonight. One. I told the other girls they could have the night off.”