Page 1 of Festive Flings

~ Jamie ~

My legs turn to jelly as his hot, wet tongue caresses my folds expertly, sending jolts of pleasure directly from my womanly core to every nerve ending throughout my body. Fuck, he is good.

As he plunges his darting tongue deep inside me, I am engulfed by the building tension that is brewing and overflowing within me. I want his tongue, his fingers and more importantly his thick, long cock, and I want them right now.

He leisurely laps up my slit until he grazes over my swollen bud, and as he flicks his tongue out, my hips buck involuntarily, searching for more of his delightful touch. His lips clamp down on my clit, the feeling so intense that it causes me to shout out.

Then, all too suddenly, it stops. I thrust my wanting, weeping hole up, trying desperately to reconnect, begging with my frantic reactions for release, for more.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

As my early morning alarm clock startles me awake, my hand is down my pants and I am frustrated as hell.

It’s the third time this week I have had one of these dreams, and they are becoming more vivid and realistic each time. I seriously need to get laid. And fast.

After showering and dressing in my skirt and blouse, I pick up my mail, and notice both my sister and I have received identical handwritten envelopes. I set hers, along with the rest of her mail, on the lamp table before I set off to work.

I work in London’s elite business and financial district and the roads are busy every morning, so I opt for public transport. By taking the tube to Canary Wharf, I arrive at my office ten minutes early, giving me enough time to get myself a cup of coffee and open my personal mail.

The heavy parchment envelope with silver hearts on the corners captures my attention once again. Despite its pretty outward appearance, my insides seem to constrict and then turn to ice water as I read the contents.

Staring in horror, I reread the invitation. This cannot be real. I am invited to the wedding of Carl and Francesca on Christmas Eve. The very same Carl who had been my boyfriend for six years. Then, four months ago, I returned from a training course early and found him in our bed with the aforementioned Francesca.

Six years we were together and never in that time had he mentioned marriage or weddings or even an engagement. What makes Francesca so special? Deep down, I know what truly haunts me as I question: why wasn’t I special enough?

A note with my name scrawled across it falls to my desk as I continue to stare at the invitation in disbelief; it must have also been included in the envelope.

Dear Jamie,

I hope there are no hard feelings.

I wanted you to know that I never meant to hurt you.

I just couldn’t help falling in love with Fran.

I would love it if you could come to my wedding, for old times’ sake.

You could bring a friend if you don’t have a date.

Love, Carl x

I hate the insinuation that I won’t have a date. I don’t, but he doesn’t need to know or presume that. In the four months since I split from the man I thought I would spend eternity with, I have been celibate.

I think I have been in a state of shock, if I am completely honest. Carl’s betrayal hit me hard. I felt like such a fool because I had no idea that he was being unfaithful. I thought we were in a good place. I thought he loved me as much as I loved him. He cheated on me and I am the one left with a broken heart with a side of shattered self-confidence.

The first person to call is my big sister Billie, who’s obviously opened her envelope as well. “Did you just get an invite off that cheeky bastard? I can’t believe he’s getting married to this other woman, Jay. I won’t go if you don’t feel comfortable –”

Cutting her off mid-rant, just as I usually do when I don't want her to know I am hurt, I try to play it off. “Bill, it's fine. I’m happy for him, honestly, I am.” I almost believe my lies too, as I recite to myself: I am fine, I am great, I’ve never been better. “Look, I’ve got to go, my boss just walked in.”

My sister whistles down the phone. “You know, sis, the best way to get over a man is to get under another one, and your Mr. Matthews could make any girl forget her own name, never mind her ex’s.”

My sister has been salivating over my boss; Owen Matthews, ever since I introduced them at my birthday night out just before I found out about Carl. The tall, handsome, rich and successful Canadian evidently made a lasting impression on my sister. “Goodbye, Billie, and for goodness sake, remember you are happily married,” I chastise her before hanging up.

I stuff the note and invitation into the top drawer of my desk, plastering a welcoming smile on my face and take my boss’ coffee through to him.

If I can just get through today, I will be okay. I just need to paint a face on for the world for the rest of the day and then at 5p.m., I can go home and lick my wounds. Just nine hours. I can do this.

“Jamie, what happened, eh?” My boss, Mr. Owen Matthews, looks concerned. “You are as white as a sheet. Are you sick?” I shake my head. I need this job; I need my wages so I can keep my apartment. I remind myself that everything is great, I am fine.

---