1. Spankings are meant to sting: don’t hold back
2. Use the word “rye” whenever ordering a Manhattan
3. Be present in every single goddamn fucking moment
4. Don’t leave my ties knotted on the bed posts
5. Don’t request dirty photos from my followers even if I want to
6. Cook naked, but avoid hot oil
7. Don’t write blog posts during intercourse
8. Thank everyone in the room after sex
9. Don’t sleep with the new intern. No seriously. Don’t.
10. Only post self-nudes on Instagram when I’m drinking
11. Publish my novel
12. Write so much smut my wrist gets sore
13. Always wear really nice socks
14. The King Tut is attainable. Don’t back down. Follow your heart.
15. Say I love you BEFORE sex
16. Only eat dates if they’re stuffed with blue cheese and wrapped in bacon
17. Remember “what’s up bro?” means “let’s get it on”
18. Throw that pajama themed brunch time sex party
19. Have sex in other parks too.
20. Find each one of my followers and send them flowers and kisses
The dressing room was large enough for me to sit and watch her remove her clothes.
“Hand me the red one,” she said. She was standing in her Christmas underwear, but New Years was right around the corner. I held up the dress, but pulled her to me with my free hand, keeping the soft fabric just out of reach.
“I like you better without the dress on.” I told her. She kissed my chin and I slid a hand down her back and gripped her hard. I managed to find a hook for the dress, and I kissed her with both hands before she could stop me. We sighed into each other’s mouths, knowing it was much too crowded for more than a kiss.
“Will you still love me next year?” I whispered as I slide my hand beneath the soft fabric around her hips. I teased her gently, as I kissed her neck, and I didn’t touch her before she answered.
“I’ll try,” she said with a groan. She was warm and wet and my two fingers were as far inside her as they could go. I held her tightly and pulled on her bottom lip with my teeth as she ground her pelvis against the palm of my hand.
“Will you still fuck me next year?” she asked, squeezing my fingers between her powerful thighs. I rubbed her clit with my thumb and the dressing room smelled like we had been fucking for hours.
Before she could come, and before I burst through my jeans I stopped. Before we lost clothes, and before we lost ourselves in each other I stopped. I stopped before fabric was torn and before we got thrown out of the store, but we kissed long enough to remember where a year had taken us. We kissed long enough to get us through the first few months of the next one and hopefully until spring.
“I’ll try,” I said, before I handed her the red dress.