Frankie should’ve stopped drinking an hour before she actually did—but the Christmas party cocktails were sweet, cold, and kept magically appearing in her hand. By the time the music got loud and the lights turned soft and gold, her inhibitions had melted like snow under a heat lamp. And she wasn’t the only one feeling bold. She caught her coworker Mason watching her over his glass. Dark suit, loosened tie, the kind of quiet guy who always kept things professional… except tonight, he didn’t look away. He held her gaze. Slow. Intentional. Hungry. Frankie’s body warmed instantly. It didn’t help that her other coworker, Jordan, slid in behind her and murmured in her ear, “You look incredible tonight.” The compliment hit harder than it should’ve. Maybe it was the alcohol—maybe it was the way Jordan’s hand brushed her waist just a little too long—but something inside her snapped. “Do you two want to get out of here?” she asked, voice low and reckless. They didn’t answer. They just followed. In the empty conference room, the door barely clicked shut before Mason kissed her—hard, urgent, like he’d been thinking about it for months. Jordan’s hands roamed her hips, her thighs, sliding higher, tugging at her dress like he couldn’t decide whether to pull it up or rip it off. Frankie moaned into Mason’s mouth as Jordan pressed against her from behind, his breath hot on her neck. Their bodies sandwiched her, grinding, touching, claiming. “God, Frankie…” Mason groaned. “You taste sweet.” “She feels even sweeter,” Jordan added, fingers slipping under her dress. Her head fell back, a soft cry escaping her lips. She didn’t care who heard. She didn’t care about the office. She didn’t care about anything except the heat flooding her body and the way these two men were devouring her like she was their late-night Christmas dessert. Mason lifted her onto the conference table, knocking pens and tinsel out of the way. Jordan pushed between her legs while Mason kissed down her throat, his hands gripping her thighs, pulling her closer like he couldn’t get enough. She gasped, back arching, legs trembling. “Frankie,” Jordan growled against her skin, “you’re so damn needy tonight.” “Drunk,” she whispered. “And horny.” “Good,” Mason answered. “We’ve wanted you for a long time.” Her mind barely processed the words before another wave of heat rolled through her. Their mouths, their hands, the way they touched her everywhere at once—Frankie could barely breathe. And she didn’t want to. By the time they were finished with her, her dress was wrinkled, her lipstick smeared, and she was sprawled across the conference table like the naughtiest holiday decoration anyone had ever seen. Jordan tucked her hair behind her ear. Mason kissed her swollen lips. “Merry Christmas, Frankie,” Mason murmured. She smirked, breathless and ruined. “Best. Party. Ever.”

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