What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve? -A Short Story-
I was exhausted. I’d spent the day Christmas shopping, the first half shared with my mother up until we stopped for lunch. Then after we parted ways, I continued my hunt for the perfect gifts, checking off my list one by one. By six o’clock, I’d called it a day, pushing my door open with my shoulder as I struggled with enough bags to completely cover the foyer. I set them down with a sigh, shutting the door behind me and tip-toeing around the bags to get to my kitchen where I dropped my purse and keys. I took a gander back at the mess in the hallway, my eyelids heavy with fatigue. Making my way over, I grabbed only one of the bags, leaving the rest to be put away later.
Once in my room, I laid the bag on the bed, removing the dress I’d purchased for myself. It was a pretty deep crimson shade with a simple A-line hem, and it cost almost as much as all the gifts I’d bought put together, but it was totally worth it.
Harry was having a Christmas party.
Harry Styles and I had gone out a handful times. I wasn’t really sure if you could say we were “dating”. How many dates constitutes dating? One? Five? Seventeen? I never really knew the answer to that. He’d taken me to dinner a few times and to a party another, and we had a good time, at least I thought so. I just felt like it was too soon to tell how he felt about me. But I liked him. I liked him a lot.
This wasn’t really a date though. This was a party he was throwing for all his friends and other people he knew. I would just be one of many to attend. Nevertheless, I was excited to be going, and this little red number I hoped would make an impression.
I hung up the dress on the hook that hung on the closet door, pressing my hand along the soft, silky fabric. I smiled to myself as I thought of Harry, the way his green eyes twinkled when he smiled and the way his soft lips felt against mine when he’d kissed me goodnight. I sincerely hoped he would kiss me again. Maybe even under the mistletoe? I chuckled to myself as I made my way back out into the hall, grabbing the rest of my bags and bringing them into the bedroom. Too tired to sort through them at the moment, I left them lined up at the foot of the bed and returned to the kitchen to get a bottle of water. That’s when I heard my cell phone going off in my purse. I smiled when I saw Harry’s name on the screen.
A Maria Gallenga stencilled persimmon velvet medieval inspired gown, 1920s
Un-labelled, printed with repeat gingko leaf shaped repeats in silver and gold, the fagotted shoulder seams inset with wide coral glass beads, the long sleeves with pointed cuffs adorned with gold crochet bauble buttons, curved lightly gathered waist side seams, trained hem, lined in matching crêpe, with matching draw-string purse
You straightened the belt accentuating your waist and pulled a fuzzy Santa hat over your head, turning in the mirror to see your outfit from all angles. The skirt was full, the hem lined with soft white fur, your arms were bare, and the fabric was just short enough to show the garter holding up the tops of your black stockings.
It was perfect.
Your cherry-red heels clicked on the floor as you made your way to the bedroom you and Dean shared, your confidence growing with each echoing step. You opened the door and put your hand on your hip, Dean’s gaze immediately flicking up to you.
His eyes widened and he dropped the dismantled gun he was cleaning on the desk.
“What’s this?” Dean asked as he walked towards you, his voice already low with lust.
You grabbed Dean’s hands and guided them around your waist, his breath catching when his fingers brushed the corset-style back of the dress. His eyes moved up and down your body greedily.
Dean mumbled something unintelligible as his gaze drifted down to your low neckline. You rolled your eyes and smiled.
“Well, this is me making to up to you.”
Dean looked up and let loose what could only be described as a growl, winding his arms around your waist and connecting his lips to your neck faster than you could blink. He left open-mouthed kisses all along your shoulder and chest, making his way up your throat and to your lips with a primal fervor. It took all your remaining good sense and focus to think to shut the bedroom door.
Then every thought flew out of your head when he pressed you up against it.
Your back slid against the painted wood of the door as Dean held you in place, his big hands on your hips the only thing keeping you steady on already-wobbly feet. And then he went lower.
Dean slid his hands down your sides and sank to the floor, dragging his fingers along your body as he went. You tangled your fingers in his hair and tilted your head back as he unclipped the garter belt holding your stocking in place, then pulled the thin fabric down your leg, following his rough fingers with possessive kisses. You drew in a shuddering breath and pulled him to his feet, crashing your lips to his once again.
Skilled fingers began toying with the lacing on the back of your dress - how he knew what to do you had no idea – and after a few more breathless kisses the sexy Santa outfit was loose enough to slide off your body. But he made no move to do so. Instead, Dean put his hand under your thigh and lifted you off the ground, making you moan against his lips as you wrapped your legs around his muscled torso.
When your back hit the mattress and Dean stood up to remove his shirt, the view of his chest making your breath come that much faster, you finally managed to say, “See, wasn’t taking that picture worth it?” now that your mouth was momentarily unoccupied.
Dean was on top of you in a second - his body hovering just enough to keep his full weight off of you, but not so much that you couldn’t feel his bare chest pressing against yours – and he connected his lips with yours in a bruising kiss, his voice rumbling through your body when he finally said, “So worth it.”
Marilyn is not a great dancer and she knows it. The motivation is a terrible fear of failure. She is a great star without the background or experience. She is afraid and insecure. That’s why she is late. That’s why she stalls. She is always looking for more time - a hem out of line, a mussed hair, a scene to discuss, anything to stall facing the specter, the terrible thing of doing something for which she feels inadequate. — Jack Cole ( choreographer on Let’s Make Love)
Author’s Note: This one starts of kind of slow but I really like how it ended up. Thanks for sending in a request! As always, feedback is welcomed!
Saturday sleepovers were always your favorite part of your friendship with the boys. It was the only time you really spent alone with the four without interruptions. As much as you loved hanging out with your girlfriends nothing compared to the antics you got into with the boys around.