Moonlight and Mistletoe

Special Smashwords Edition

Moonlight and Mistletoe

by Megan Hussey

Published by

Melange Books, LLC

White Bear Lake, MN 55110

www.melange-books.com

Moonlight and Mistletoe, Copyright 2016 Megan Hussey

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should go to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-68046-399-6

Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Published in the United States of America.

Cover Design by Ashley Byland from Redbird Designs

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Moonlight and Mistletoe

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

About the Author

Previews

MOONLIGHT AND MISTLETOE

By Megan Hussey

Some men consider themselves God's gift to women; but with Derrick Barnes, it's just a given. What woman wouldn't want a sensitive, hunky blond exotic dancer under her tree on Christmas Eve; all wrapped up in a bright red bow for her enjoyment? Yet Derrick, by day a college student and department store stock boy, only has eyes for Sheila Baxter; the bright BBW p.r. professional at Leveaux department store.

This year serving as Sheila Claus, the jolly replacement Santa at Leveaux department store, Sheila Baxter has quite the crush on her 'elf' for the season, stock boy Derrick.  Yet when she learns the secret about his scandalous night job, will she still be willing to meet him under the mistletoe?

Merry Christmas to all, and to all the ladies--I hope you find a Derrick under your tree!

Prologue

Derrick Barnes never would venture to consider himself God’s gift to women. Yet every night he set out to give every woman the ultimate gift of pleasure, fantasy and unbridled ecstasy.

That, after all, was his job—not to mention a true-life calling. He considered it both his occupation and his sworn duty to please and satisfy every customer; fulfilling her desires and acting out her most private, forbidden fantasies, live before her very eyes. At the same time, though, the sensual dancer always left his devoted fans wanting a little bit more.

As a lead dancer at Club Stud, the only female-geared adult entertainment club in Clearview, Florida, Derrick knew that—to stay on top of the proverbial heap in terms of popularity—he always had to bring his A game to every single performance. He had to appear gorgeous beyond a woman’s wildest dreams, and be seductive and accommodating as well. He doled out hugs and kisses in equal measure, encouraging his fans to touch his muscular body and run their hands through his silky dark golden hair. He not only danced for the pleasure of women, but he sought to learn all about the fantasies and scenarios that really turned them on—so he could bring every one of them to life before their admiring eyes.

With that in mind he had devised the perfect naughty costume for this year’s holiday season at Club Stud. While other dancers ventured on stage dressed as salacious Santas and elves whose dance moves put them right square at the top of Santa’s Naughty List—at the very least—he took a more novel, even sexier route, presenting himself most literally as a shiny, multi-purpose holiday gift for his customers.

Now standing before the full length, brass framed mirror that stood in the corner of their low lit backstage area, he inspected the whole of his holiday costume. He saw his tall muscular form adorned in a most exquisite form of holiday finery. One that—in all likelihood—would appear out of place at an office Christmas party.

That is, if said office did indeed maintain a ‘no shirt, no shoes, no job’ policy, he quipped, adding as he waggled his eyebrows at his own provocative image, I’d be out of a job for sure.

In his current professional setting, by contrast, Derrick expected very high marks for his current mode of apparel—if not, or so he suspected, an out and out raise.

After stripping off his street clothes, the conscientious dancer had brushed his hair to shining perfection—also moisturizing his chiseled golden face and applying just a touch of the creamy foundation and the kohl black eyeliner that in his business constituted ‘man makeup.’ Then he had adorned himself in a slick, shiny golden G-string that made for appealing wrapping paper for what he hoped the ladies might consider a most impressive package (Hardee. Har. Har).

Lingering just above his trim waistline were his flawless washboard abs and hard massive pecs, both of whom he had shaved and oiled to gorgeous effect. Then as a finishing touch, he had draped a ribbon of sleek gold satin over his bulging shoulder and tight across his chest. The bow, secured at his waist, could be pulled off at a moment’s notice—and at the whim of a special audience member chosen to be the subject of this very special striptease.

Aside from entertaining the large crowd of women gathered between the famous red brocade walls that lined Club Stud—a lush decorated club also adorned with candle lined brass chandeliers, a ceiling mural that depicted the Greek God Adonis at rest on a cloud in a gem blue sky, plush ivory carpeting, and shiny cherry wood tables swathed in pure lace coverings—Derrick always brought one carefully selected woman on stage for a little individual attention.

A glorified lap dance, I suppose one would call it, he mused with a smirk.

Yet in addition to grinding his hard body shamelessly against his subject and shaking his hair in her face, he also strove to treat her to the tender loving care that may have eluded her for far too long.

In asking the show emcee, an affable, talkative gent named Duke, to help him select his subject from their gathered audience that evening, Derrick always had very strict specifications in mind.

Don’t pick the prettiest girl in the room, the one that the other guys are falling all over themselves to get to, or even the one who’s offering up the biggest tips, he told Duke. Don’t select the snappiest dresser, or the gal in the shortest skirt or highest heels. When I walk out on that stage, Duke, I want to meet a woman who needs me—who for whatever reason is in need of some quality and intimate attention from this fantasy man who just appears out of nowhere to ease her loneliness—and better yet, to embody her wildest dreams.

These words now echoed deep in his mind, as a resounding knock on his dressing room door made him sit upright in his seat.

Hey Sexy Santa! Duke’s melodic, amiable voice pierced the door between them in a loud, unyielding tone. Your ride is here.

Rolling his eyes heavenward, Derrick suddenly remembered the final component of his holiday routine; one that he easily could live without, thank you very much.

Swinging open the door to his dressing room, he stared with skeptical eyes at the afore mentioned ride; an oversized red foil packing box wrapped in a sleek bronzed bow and situated on a pulley that came complete with four wheels.

Criminy, he muttered, shaking his head from side to side as he considered the curious contraption that would cart him to the stage that evening. Couldn’t I ride onto the stage on a motorcycle or something? I mean, does this thing even have air holes anywhere on it? A suffocated stripper is not a sexy one—I mean I’m more than pleased to have the smitten ladies gasping for breath in a state of arousal, but I, myself, tend to look better when my cheeks aren’t turning a festive shade of purple.

He grinned in spite of himself as the grimacing face of his dear friend Duke—a handsome, deep-voiced emcee with shoulder length dark hair and wide dark eyes—popped his head out above the controversial box that would carry his good friend center stage.

Dude, ex-nay on the whining, m'kay? he urged a now laughing Derrick. You’re going to be inside this box for about 30 seconds max—and when you emerge, you’re going to be assaulted with a barrage of one dollar bills that should cover your rent for the next two months.

Derrick nodded.

Assault is right, dude, he affirmed, adding with a slight wince, The edges of those dollar bills can be razor sharp—especially if they happen to land in just the wrong place inside the G-string. Ouch!

Duke nodded.

I feel your pain, dude, he agreed, adding with the broad shrug of his