Page 110 of The Naughty List

Cheers to fun, friendship, Christmas, filthy encounters, and all the opportunities the agency has given me. Damn, I’m welling up again at the realisation of just how lucky I am.

A guy joins us after our toast. A brooding, broad shouldered beauty in a tux.Devon.

“Hey, Holly. Sorry,Ella,” he says after saying hi to Eb, and I can’t believe it. Jesus Christ, he knows me, too.

The small groups get bigger as more and more guests arrive. It’s a sea of eclectic wonder, thrumming with a huge variety of styles and tastes, just like the industry we work in. There are princesses in dresses so big they are practically pantomime costumes, and hot guys in suits who look like they’ve come straight from a casino. So many faces and names as they introduce themselves. Some I recognise, some I don’t. Some profiles I’ve seen before, some I’ve never caught sight of – but every single one of them is lovely. Warm, and fun, and full of festive spirit as the champagne flows.

It’s beyond my comprehension to think I belong in this place, with so many incredible people. I scan the room in awe and disbelief, checking out the dancefloor where people are hitting the groove. I choke with laughter when I see someone in Rudolph antlers, and Ebony laughs along with me when I tell her about last night’s proposal.

“He hung your bra on his fucking antlers?!”

But then my laughter stops dead in my throat, my eyes widening as I catch sight of the doors swinging open. Because, no. NO WAY.

A couple walk in together holding hands, raising them above their heads like superstars as the room lets out a cheer.

“Fuck!” Eb says. “I didn’t think they were coming! I thought she was away at a proposal.”

But no. She’s here. Creamgirl is here with us… in a figure-hugging black velvet dress, her pillar box red hair in curls down her back, with a sparkling silver tiara displayed proudly on her head.

Eb elbows me in the side, laughing all over again.

“There you go, see? You’re so fucking similar. She’s even in a bloody tiara.”

Creamgirl sure dresses exactly the way I love, but no. She’s on another level to me. She has sparkles of silver above her cat flicks, and her tiara is bigger, bolder, and so is she. She’s a plus size dream, the incredible curve of her ass tapering into her waist, only to explode again into one hell of a fucking cleavage. She’s absolutely beautiful, and so is her boyfriend – which is hardly a surprise, given how stunning she is.

He’s tall and muscular, in a jet-black suit, with a thin black tie over a crisp white shirt. His jaw is to die for, and his nose is strong and straight. He reeks of cheeky charisma, a huge grin on his face as he leans in to whisper something to her. She lets out a roar of a laugh, and it’s clear she has a cracking sense of humour from the way she tips her head back and slaps his arm.

They are a couple to die for. His brows are shaped as well as hers, and his hair is messy, and punkish – the look I love – just not as unkempt as Connor’s. He has a streak of deep, dark purple at the front, giving him an edge of indie, and the pair of them are so hot they burn their way straight into my eyeballs. I must be gawping like an idiot. I jump as Eb leans in to me.

“And there you have the hardcorers of the hardcorers. What utter beauties. I really didn’t think they were coming.”

“I didn’t know Creamgirl has a hardcorer boyfriend,” I say. “Fuck, what a couple they must be.”

“Eh?” Ebony says. “Oh, no. No. Josh is a hardcorer, yeah, but he isn’t her boyfriend. They’re just friends. He used to be with an entertainer called Magpie, but they split back in the summer. In fairness, she did look quite a lot like Cream, but those two have known each other since they were kids. I think they dated for like three weeks when they were teenagers. Platonic ever since.”

I’m still staring at them as they head through the gathering throng like celebrities.

“Josh,” I repeat. “Which hardcorer is he?”

“Weston.”

Oh my fucking God! I’ve checked out Weston’s profile, but it doesn’t show him like this. Not in such crystal clarity. I’ve mainly seen his massive, pierced cock, and filthy pictures of him using it – in gritty, shadowy images to make it look even dirtier. His intro video shows him working his hard-on, and saying how he’ll use it for anything, but his full face isn’t on it. I didn’t see his hair… and he wasn’t grinning with such a perfect smile…

“His reviews are off the scale,” Eb says. “You won’t see him on chat much, as he keeps himself to himself. He’s bi, and his clients are mainly guys.” She giggles. “Very happy guys, no doubt. And jeez, his cock. He’s pierced, right the way up.”

“Bi, with all the boxes ticked, yeah, I’ve seen that. Just like Cream, Harlot and Bodica.” I pause, staring at him. “I’ve Weston’s profile. I just didn’t realise he was so…”

“Hot?” she finishes for me. “I’m surprised you haven’t figured that out, since you’re such a hardcore stalker. Literally.” She nudges me. “You’d better get your tongue back in your mouth before you dribble all over the floor.”

“Stop it.” I laugh. “I’m notthatbad.”

“Whatever. You’re crushing on him, and idolising her like a fangirl. I know you, Ells.”

Yes. She does.

Cream and Weston step up to the bar, standing right beside us when they’ve finished with the first round of hellos. I’m transfixed as they take their glasses and raise their champagne to each other. You can see how close they are from the look in their eyes. I must be still gawping at them like a dickhead, because Cream catches my eye. I feel sick, like a crappy emulation of the queen herself, but she lets out a squeal and closes the distance, grabbing me straight into a hug.

“Hollyella! I was wondering if you’d be here!”

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