First Day of
Christmas – Laurie Olerich
Christmas was
coming, but Wynter wasn’t feeling festive. She was in-between men at the
moment--and not in a kinky, sweaty threesome kind of way. Oh, she’d had dry
spells before. That wasn’t a problem--usually. It was the timing that was problematic. This was a special year. The sun and
moon and stars were aligned just so. Most women survived the holidays in spite
of their single status. She was not
most women. No. She most certainly was not. Leaning forward with a satin pillow
clutched to her chest, she nibbled the tip of one claw and searched for an
answer.
There had to be a
way out of this mess. She really liked her head attached to her body.
Before a plan presented
itself, her phone rang, sending a shiver down her spine.
It was him. Right
on schedule.
As the church
bells tolled the hour of midnight, Wynter arched her back, rocking her pelvis
to match the furious rhythm of the man kneeling between her thighs. With his shaggy
head flung back, neck straining with effort, he dug his fingers into her hips
as he slammed into her with a shout just as her muscles contracted and she
shattered around him with a cry of her own. As their breathing settled to
something close to normal, Michael leaned forward to drag his mouth across her
belly, dropping soft kisses over the newly inked tat that graced her hipbone.
“Sexy. I like that
you’ve used my sigil.” His green eyes smoldered with passion as he traced the intricate
symbol with the tip of his tongue. Nipping playfully, he held her impaled on
his cock, shaking his head at her frown as she tried to move away.
“You say that like
I had a choice. This was your order. I would’ve preferred a hummingbird.” She
stopped squirming and bit her lower lip as his cock hardened for another round.
With a mind of its own, her pussy twitched in welcome.
Come on in, big boy!
Love him? Hate him? It didn’t matter. Her body
wanted him anytime. Anyplace. They’d been down this road more times than she
could count. It wasn’t healthy, but who was she to argue? Her family’s future
depended on keeping this creature happy. If she had to let him give her a
screaming orgasm every now and then, she’d have to make that sacrifice. Taking
one for the team... As if sensing her surrender, he let his mouth curl into a
rare smile that promised pleasure.
Her tongue played
along her lower lip as she met his stare with a challenge in her eyes. He was
beautiful. No one could say otherwise. His smoky green eyes stripped her
defenses to leave her naked and wanting. Her sisters said he could see into
your soul. Maybe he could. Rumor had it he wasn’t human. Human or not, he was
impossible to resist.
“We’re almost out
of time, Wynter. Are you ready for me?”
Without breaking
her gaze, she trailed a fingertip across the flushed skin of his throat and
turned his chin downward. “I’m always ready for you.”
“Good girl.” He
flashed his smile one last time before turning her around so she knelt on her
knees. Clutching her hips close, he began to move with long, slow strokes that
filled her to the good side of pain. She didn’t bother to smother the moan that
escaped. God, he feels so good. To hell with Christmas. She tilted her
hips to take him even deeper and gasped as his cock brushed that sweet spot
deep inside. Closing her eyes, she shut out everything but the coiling pleasure
in her belly. There’d be time for regret tomorrow.
Thirty minutes
later, they lay sprawled in a tangle of tanned arms and long legs, too
exhausted to move, not really awake, but not totally asleep. Craving one last
touch, she tucked her face into his shoulder and drifted off.
“Don’t forget it’s
your turn to bring a man this year.” His husky tone softened the threat in his
words but it was impossible to miss.
She’d comply with
his wishes or she’d beg for death. “Yeah, yeah. Beg for death. I--”
With eyes gleaming
in the dim light, he pressed his mouth to her ear. “Don’t test me, Wynter. You
know the rules. Bring the man.”
All righty then.
So much for the afterglow.
She had her
orders. She would find the perfect man and bring him to Christmas dinner. That’s
the story she’d tell Mr. Perfect when she found him.
The truth was so
much worse.
When she eased
awake the next morning, Michael was nowhere in sight. Even the indention of his
head on the pillow was gone. She brought her fingers to her nose and breathed
deeply, searching for some hint of his scent. Nothing. As usual, there was not
a single trace of his presence. It was as if he didn’t exist at all.
Except this time,
he’d left a note on the nightstand.
This could not possibly be good.
Go to the courtyard.
Using the sheet as
a sarong, torn between excitement and fear, she padded through the house until
she came to the French doors that led to the frozen gardens of the courtyard.
Closing her eyes
against the painful site, she groaned, “He didn’t.”
There, in the
center of the tiny courtyard, stood a tree.
A pear tree to be
exact. And in that tree huddled a partridge. One sad, lonely, fat partridge.
The bird’s head swiveled in her direction; it’s beady eyeball zeroing in on her.
“And so it
begins.”
Second Day of
Christmas – Elaine Barris
Michael crunched
through the ice and snow on the sidewalk as he made his way to the beast of a
car sitting in Wynter’s driveway. His cock twitched at the memory of being
inside her tight heat. She belonged to him as much as the 12 cylinder. If she
didn’t already know he owned her, she would by the time this holiday was over.
“Fucking right,
she will,” he growled and punched the car to life.
He eased himself
back into the seat, flinching at the pain of where she had laced her talons
down his back in passion as she writhed in undulating waves of orgasmic bliss.
His flesh had mended enough to not be bleeding in rivers, but it stung.
His phone chimed
in his pocket, and he drew it out, looking at the name displayed.
“Yeah? What do you
want?”
“Where do I
deliver the package?”
The sound of
chirping and flapping birds was in the background.
“What the fuck do
you mean ‘where do you deliver the package?’”
“What?” Gustav
yelled.
Michael held the
phone away from his ear before yelling back, “Where do you think you’re
supposed to deliver it?”
“There’s no
address listed on the shipping label.”
“I’m surrounded by
fucking idiots!”
“Michael, sir, I--
”
“Forget it! Like
everything else in this operation, I have to do this myself. Leave it where it
is, and I’ll take care of it.”
He tossed the
phone onto the passenger seat, and shifted into reverse, muttering to himself
about the lack of good help.
Minutes later, he
maneuvered the growling car up the ramp into the warehouse where he kept his
business. Shifting into park, he threw the car door open with such force it
bounced back, slamming him inside before he had moved to get out.
“Goddamn it.”
Gustav came running
up to the car. Feathers were stuck to his face and hands; a few quills were
between the rims of his glasses and head.
After opening the
door more gently, Michael got out of the car and faced his inept employee.
“What the fuck
happened?”
“They got out,
sir.”
“How the hell did
that happen?”
“I don’t know,
sir, but they are trapped inside your office. We were able to seal the room.”
Throwing his
fingers through his hair, Michael tapped his boots on the concrete floor as he
thought about what a clusterfuck he was in. If he didn’t get those damned
winged creatures back into the birdcage and delivered, there’d be hell to pay.
He turned his head
to look towards his office, seeing the birds sitting on his coat rack in the
corner.
Maybe this would
be easier than he thought.
“Come on.” He
pointed across the room to the golden contraption they had somehow escaped.
“Bring it with you.”
Stalking over to
the room, he stopped when he took hold of the door knob and looked behind him
at Gustav.
“On the count of
three.”
Gustav nodded and
a few feathers fell from his clothes to the ground.
Michael went
through the countdown, and then opened the door with his lackey at his heels.
“What the--” Michael
said as his feet slipped out from underneath him, and he fell backwards, taking
Gustav to the floor with him. “Shut the door!” he yelled as the birds saw their
opening and took flight.
The latch closed
before the two turtle doves were able to find their escape.
The men got up,
and Michael raised his hands in front of his face and cursed, seeing them
covered in the white slime of the birds’ excrement.
“Oh, dear.” Gustav
handed him his handkerchief, and Michael grabbed it, wiping his hands as he
looked at the dotted floor.
“Open the cage.”
Michael lunged at
the nearest bird, taking it by its feet as it fought him to not be confined.
Thrusting its squawking body inside the cage, Michael locked it in, and then
went to battle the other.
That one was
crafty and flew through air, dodging the men’s attempts to capture it.
“Stop,” Michael
ordered, and then they waited for the winged menace to settle down.
When it did, it
landed on Gustav’s head and started pecking his scalp.
“Ow!” Gustav
jerked at the pain of the pricks into his skin as pieces of his hair were
plucked out.
“Don’t you fucking
move.” Michael avoided looking the dove in the eyes as he waited until the
perfect moment.
“Sir.”
“Shut up.”
Then the bird
began to coo in a serenade of love to its partner who was locked up.
“That’s right,” Michael
whispered, and in a flash of motion, snatched the bird by the neck from the
nest it had been making out of Gustav’s tresses and thrust it into the cage.
Lifting it by the
handle, he took it to Gustav’s vehicle.
“Give me your
keys. I’m not letting these things shit all over my leather.”
“Yes, sir,” he
replied and handed them over.
Michael sat the
birds in the truck’s passenger seat, securing it by latching the seatbelt
around it. After getting into the driver’s seat and starting up the engine, he
rolled the window down for fresh air.
“Wynter had better
find ‘the man’ after all of this. I did my part. Found the two fucking turtle
doves and a partridge in a pear tree.”
Third Day of
Christmas – Kitten K. Jackson
I cannot
disappoint Michael. Hmmm… Where to find the man… Where does anyone find a guy?
If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t be single!
Along with finding
a man for the ceremony, Wynter was also responsible for bringing three French
hens to her mother’s house for Christmas dinner. The contrast between the two
duties made her giggle at the absurdity of it all.
Cooking? Really?
And why do they need to be French? What difference does it make? A chicken is a
freakin’ chicken, right? “Don’t forget to save and bring the broth!” What does
that even mean? What the hell is broth?
After a shower and
a primping session, she went to her closet and took out a short black dress and
her favorite boots, which had four-inch heels. Once she was completely dressed,
minus panties, she posed in front of her full-length mirror. She leaned over,
adjusting her bra, bringing all the weight of her breasts forward. When she
stood, she admired their fullness. She tugged at the plunging neckline,
exposing as much of her cleavage as possible.
The hard part is
finding him. Hooking him will be easy.
Wynter decided to
go to a club where the men would be primed and ready for the taking. As she
entered the building and paid her cover, she felt eyes upon her. One intense
blue pair caught her attention. They belonged to a tall man with black hair who
wore his jeans, dark t-shirt, and black leather jacket like a boss. The way his
gaze roamed her body said all she needed to know.
She gave him a
sexy grin and a wink. She then turned and walked toward the bar. Before she
could order, he was beside her.
“Put her drink on my
tab, Joe.”
“You got it.”
“Thanks. I’ll have
a rum and Coke, please.”
“What’s your name,
gorgeous?”
“Well, it’s not
gorgeous. It’s Wynter. But thank you.”
“You’re welcome.
I’m Wes.”
After finding a
table, sitting down, finishing her drink, and engaging in a few minutes of
small talk, Wynter placed her hand on Wes’s thigh. His impassioned stare left
nothing to the imagination.
“Come on,” she
said.
Without
hesitation, or even saying a word, he stood and followed her. She grasped his
hand as she led him out the door and into the parking lot. She practically ran
around to the back of the building with him on her heels.
When she stopped,
he grabbed her and covered her mouth with his full wet lips, while his arms
went around her waist, and his hands groped her with abandon. Her hand moved to
his crotch and found proof of his lust for her—he was like granite.
“You want me,
don’t you?”
“You know I do,”
he said between hot breaths. “Am I hard enough for you? Big enough?”
“Oh, you’ll do
just fine.”
He looked around
and saw the vehicles belonging to the employees at the club. He walked her
backwards toward one of the older cars, and then he lifted her, placing her on
the hood. She leaned back on her elbows as he lifted her legs, spreading them
apart and diving between them. She watched as he feasted upon her, knowing she
had found the right man.
He will do just
fine indeed.
As his tongue
worked her clit, two fingers slid inside and out, then back in again, taking
her even higher. Within a couple of minutes, she grasped hands full of his hair
above his ears, pulling him closer into her. He moaned at her fervor as she
cried out her orgasm.
When her breathing
began to slow, he moved up and slipped his tongue into her mouth. Her own taste
and scent drove her mad with desire for him, but she was on a mission, and it
had to come first.
Pulling away from
his luscious mouth, she looked into those eyes—ones she thought could have
power over her if she allowed it, rather than the other way around.
“I need you,” he
said.
“Oh, don’t I know
it? I need you, too, lover. But there’s something I need more than your cock
right now.”
“What?”
His mind was
muddled by the lack of blood flow to his brain. The thought of anything other
than slamming into her wet and hungry core was of no interest to him.
“It’s important,
Wes. I need a favor.”
“I’ll do anything
you want. Anything,” he said, as he lowered the zipper on his jeans. “But I
need to be inside you.”
“No. I’ll let you
have me any way you want me, but first, you must come with me to a very special
Christmas dinner.”
“What are you
talking about? I want you bad, baby, but I’m not doing the holiday family
thing.”
“No! It’s not like
that. Not a family thing.”
“Whatever. Yeah,
I’ll go with you.”
“You have to give
me your word before I take care of you.”
“I said I would
go!”
She reached down
and grabbed his cock while flashing a wicked grin. His excitement showed in his
features when she eased off the hood of the car and went to her knees on the
concrete.
She took him into
her mouth, caressing him with her tongue while gently rubbing his balls. She
got him off in no time. She then swallowed and stood, wiping her mouth.
“Okay, let’s go.”
Nervously avoiding
eye contact, he said, “Baby, I’m sorry, but a friend came here with me tonight,
and I can’t leave him without a ride.”
“He can take a
cab.”
“I can’t do that
to him.”
“We have a deal!”
“Sorry but thanks.
It was awesome.”
Pressing her body
against his, she glared into his eyes while fighting to keep her claws from
appearing.
“You will go with
me, or you will die right here, right now.”
Fourth Day of
Christmas by Rebecca Royce
Michael stared at
the scene in front of him and wished he could laugh. Only he’d lost his sense
of humor sometime in the last century and had yet to see it return. He rubbed
at his chin and looked at his secretary. It was so hard to find good help and
so far Trixie had been an excellent employee. But, of course, the first time he
asked her to do something complicated he ended up…well…he wasn’t entirely sure
where he’d ended up just yet.
Where he wanted to
be was inside Wynter’s thighs, grinding her to completion until she called out
his name, coming again and again, until she never thought about another male
for the rest of her existence--Until she forgot there was such a thing as other
men.
“I asked you for
four calling birds.”
“Yes.” Sixty year
old Trixie with her arthritic knee and back pains—she did like to talk about
them—rocked back on her heels. “But it turns out, sir, there is no such thing,
really, as a calling bird.”
There had to be. He
shook his head. He still didn’t understand exactly why he was looking at the
scene in front of him. “I’m sure if we... what is the word... Google it. We can find out what a
calling bird is.”
“That is exactly
what I did. And it turns out that there are two distinct meanings to the words ‘calling
bird.’ I wasn’t exactly sure which one you wanted so I brought both. This
seemed like the best place to show you.”
Well, now, at last
an explanation. He walked forward. The basement of his office building wasn’t
exactly the place to run into problems. Too many civilians running around and
although his enemies might claim otherwise, he really wasn’t in the business of
killing for no good reason.
“I see the birds. You
have four of them. In that cage.” He couldn’t believe how much of the damned
rhyme required some kind of poultry. So far he was up to his neck in the
creatures. Everywhere he looked, something was squawking.
Trixie moved to
stand next to him. “Right. The translation most people subscribe to is that ‘calling
birds’ is actually an Americanized version of the word colly birds. Some places
that’s actually what they say. They’re, as you can see, black like soot. Hence
the name, I guess. But they’re really thrushes even though they look like
blackbirds. They’re actually not. Getting them here proved challenging, but as
you can see, I was up to the task.”
The thrush took
that second to chirp at him. Loudly. It didn’t like being in the cage any more
than he wanted it in his basement. Particularly after the incident earlier with
the two doves. Filthy creatures had tried to go at it right then and there. He
shuddered at the memory.
If he wasn’t
regularly getting any, the means of his messages shouldn’t be either. Damn it.
“That all makes
sense.” He pointed forward at the problem she still hadn’t addressed. “What I
don’t understand is why there are four clearly drugged men in my basement, half
naked.”
“Sir, I really
wanted to do a good job.”
He needed a stiff
drink. “I’m aware of that. Get to the point.”
“There are
multiple interpretations of the rhyme. Some people say it doesn’t mean birds at
all. But that the term ‘four calling birds’ actually refers to the Evangelists.
Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. So I found you some. The one over there is Mark.”
He followed where
she pointed. Mark was a stout fellow with dark hair and piercings on his
nipples. Matthew, who she told him sat next to Mark, was blond. He’d guess on
the early side of twenty-five. Luke, all the way to the right, he would put in
his early forties although being completely bald could make it hard to tell. And
John was somewhere in his thirties with just the beginnings of a gut showing.
“You’ll note that
in each of their laps I’ve placed a copy of their gospels, in case you wanted
to refer to it.”
No. He
certainly—most assuredly—did not want to read their gospels. Bile rose in his
throat, and he pushed away his angst.
“Trixie, what did
you drug these men with, and where did you find them?”
“They answered an
ad looking to have an affair. I rented an apartment for the meet and greets.
Took two days to get all the names covered. And they’re shot up on some good
old- fashioned heroin.”
Michael shook his
head and gritted his teeth. So apparently he was going to have to bury some
bodies. Four—no, he looked at Trixie—five
of them.
Terrible when
one’s secretary picked this time of year to show her psychotic tendencies. He
wouldn’t have minded seeing it around…the Ides of March. Did she have to do
this now?
Although he had to
give her credit--She’d been creative. In a million years he never would have
expected to have a Matthew, Luke, John, and Mark drugged in his basement. Michael
laughed, covering his mouth. Well there it was.
His sense of
humor. Back for a brief second.
Wynter had better
be finding them the absolute perfect man for Christmas. Although he supposed he
could drop her off one of the four tied up and see if she liked one.
No, he smiled.
Better she find her own guy.
“Trixie, where did
I put my shovel?”
Fifth Day of
Christmas by Elle Boon
Wynter barely kept
herself from ending the man standing in front of her with a slash of her talons.
A sound behind them alerted her to the approaching group of partygoers. “You
are a man who does not keep his word. For that, you will not find satisfaction
again unless it is with your one true love.” She let her magic flow into him,
knowing he had no clue he’d just been dealt a proverbial cockblock.
“Whatever. You got
off. I got off. I say we are even.” He turned away, stumbling into the wall on
unsteady feet.
She decided the
night had been a bust, but her body burned for fulfillment. Goddess, she wished
for the green-eyed Michael. Shaking thoughts of him out of her mind, she headed
toward the front of the club to catch a cab. There had to be a way--an easier
way--to find the perfect man for her to bring. She’d look in the Book.
Laughing as she
thought of the Christmas tale and why she hadn’t thought of it before. Five
golden rings, and it had been five days, which now leads her to the Book--the
sacred tome her family had kept as a diary of sorts throughout history. Surely
if there was help to be had, it was in there.
“I need you to
take me to the Warehouse District downtown.” She gave the cabbie the address.
He eyed her up and down through the mirror. Probably thinking she was a hooker
in her club outfit. She kept her thighs together, not wanting him to get a peek
at her panty-less state.
When she sat back,
crossing her legs, she had no doubt he was hoping he’d get a glimpse. Wynter
gave him a frosty glare. Michael would be able to help decipher some of the old
text in the Book, and help her with her other problem.
A shiver of
awareness and need worked its way over her flesh at the image of a naked
Michael. Wynter hadn’t been paying attention to the passing scenery and was
surprised to find the cabbie hadn’t taken her to the address she’d requested.
She rolled her
eyes. “Excuse me. This isn’t the location I asked to be taken to.” Seriously, she
wondered if her luck could get any worse.
“Listen, I know
you’re a working girl. What’s your rate?”
Wynter laughed.
“Darling, you can’t afford me. However, if you put the car in gear and take me
where I requested, I will let you live.” The threat wasn’t empty. She allowed
her talons to lengthen, letting him see the black claws.
“What the…what are
you?”
“I am a client who
you picked up and asked you to take somewhere. Now, take me where you were
supposed to.” She sat back, her gaze fierce. “Don’t make me hurt you. The mess
would be traumatizing for the both of us.”
He swallowed
audibly, his pudgy face a deep shade of red, which was better than the deathly
white he’d become when she’d had to flash her talons. Wynter swore the world
was becoming nothing but idiots.
As the cab came to
a stop outside the location of Michael’s office building, she was disappointed
to find it dark inside. She’d been sure he’d be there. The man practically
lived at his offices.
“Fuck me running.”
“Not on your
life.” The cabbie glared at her from the front.
Wynter rolled her
eyes but spoke to him as if he was a child, which most men like him were. “Even
if you were the last man on earth I wouldn’t screw you. Now, take me home.” She
rattled off her address, already knowing she was going to put a spell on him.
She couldn’t allow him to do to another woman what he’d try to do to her. The
thought that some defenseless person would fall into a trap like he’d tried
with her made anger burn in her veins.
When he stopped
outside her home, the sound of the locks popping instantaneously was almost
comical. Keeping her breathing even, she thought of the right words to say so
the spell would take hold and last forever. She let her power out, a whip of
lasting words lashed him. He jerked as if hit by a force much greater than a
tornado whipping through the small vehicle. Satisfaction curled her lips when
he slumped in his seat breathing hard.
“You will never
harm another. Goodbye, little man.” Wynter tossed a twenty dollar bill into the
front seat.
She hoped she
found something within the Five Golden Rings
tome that would help her in finding the perfect man. Her body still burned from
unfulfilled desire, and she cursed the fact Michael wasn’t where he should have
been. Her night had started with such promise.
“Gah, how did my
life become such a dang mess?” Shedding her clothes on the way to her bedroom,
she had a quick shower before flopping into bed naked. The cool sheets on her
still overheated flesh did nothing to ease her.
The Sixth Day of
Christmas by Elizabeth SaFleur
Michael dusted off
his pants and stepped back to admire his work. Unless you looked carefully, you
couldn’t tell the earth floor of his basement had ever been disturbed or that a
grave had ever been dug. He’d let the four men stumble out of his house, still reeling
from Trixie’s heroin doses. But, Trixie? He’d had enough of her tricks.
He set the shovel
against the wall and climbed the stairs to the first floor. He needed a drink.
He had time for a few, actually, before Trixie rose again. She hated when he
did this – buried her to teach her a lesson. She’d claw her way out, a string
of curses getting louder with each shovel full of dirt she moved. By the time
she pulled herself out, he’d have cracked opened a bottle of her favorite
champagne, Piper Heidsiec, as a peace offering. More, louder curses
would follow her stomping up the rickety cellar steps.
“Wipe your feet at
the doorway,” he’d yell. “The maids don’t come for a few days.”
She’d curse more
in her Old Norse language. But she always, always wiped her feet.
In the old days,
after she consumed the full magnum—by herself—they might have a hate fuck. Just to seal the deal that he didn’t really mean to kill her. Lately he
hadn’t felt like sinking himself into anyone but Wynter.
How was she doing? She better be
finding that perfect man . . . A sound from the basement stopped his thoughts
dead. Yep, he heard a distinct rustle underneath his floorboards. Trixie was
getting close. He dunked her well-deserved champagne in the ice bucket and
grabbed his keys. He didn’t feel like their usual reunion. Rather, he couldn’t
shake the image of Wynter, and her round hip decorated with his sigil. My mark.
Wynter was likely in some bar
luring some man to his sure death—or the greatest pleasure he might ever know. Michael
angrily slammed his car door shut. The clock read close to midnight. She might
be home by now. Nah, finding the
perfect man takes time, and she had only six days left. Tick-tock, my feisty Wynter.
He pulled out of his drive, needing
some time to think. He was only a mile from home when he had to slam on the
brakes. His headlights illuminated a family of geese. What was with all the
birds tonight? Everywhere he turned, something with feathers flapped at him.
He punched his horn. The stupid
poultry creatures didn’t move from the road. Rather they craned their necks and
gawked at him with beady eyes. One of the geese squatted lower. A white oval
object rolled from underneath its butt. Laying eggs? In the middle of the f-ing
road? He chuckled to himself. Six geese a layin’. Hmmm. It was a sign? Eggs were a sign of resurrection and of life.
A dose of unwelcomed sentimentality washed over him.
“Wynter, you must succeed,” he said, as if his words might be carried on the
wind.
He drove a wide circle around the
silly birds. Fifteen minutes later, he lurched into an empty parking space in
front of Wynter’s place.
If she wasn’t home, it meant she
was out doing her duty. Good.
If she was home, he’d take her
again and again. Even better.
Wynter lurched herself to sitting.
Someone had breached her room; Michael’s silhouetted form filled the doorway.
She fell backwards into her pillows. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” she asked,
staring the ceiling.
“The question is what are you doing here? Find him so soon?”
She leaned up on her elbows. “I’ll
have you know I found quite a few tonight. I’ve decided to raise my standards,
however.”
He drew closer to her bed and
snapped his fingers. The candle by her bed illuminated and sent light into his
green eyes. “Oh?” His lazy tone irritated, almost as much as the growing
arousal between her legs.
“Yes, I might bring two this year.”
He chuckled lightly. “One will
suffice, Wynter. You always were insatiable.”
“That’s calling the kettle black,
don’t you think? Why are you here anyway?” She was in no mood for more mystery.
Her family’s Five Golden Rings tome may have
cured her of ambiguities forever.
“Why do you
think?” The zip of his belt through his trouser loops went straight to her
clit.
“No.”
“Excuse me, what
did you say?” He leaned over her body, his breath warming her skin.
Damn him. “I said, no, let me undress you.” Why not
sate her appetite on him? She couldn’t let the night be a complete bust.
He straightened.
“Good girl.”
She dropped the
sheet and revealed her nude form. When his emerald eyes widened, a flush of
heat warmed her skin. She enjoyed affecting Michael as much as she enjoyed the
arousal he arose in her.
Before she had a
chance to shed him of his trousers, he’d pulled his shirt over his head. Eager
boy, she whispered to herself.
As he lowered
himself into her spread legs, a moan escaped her lips. Yes, this is what she
wanted tonight. Someone who knew what he was doing. When he pitched deeply into
her, she cried out from the sheer pleasure of him filling her.
“So far, this is
my favorite present of yours.” She clamped her inner muscles around his thick
cock and felt his breath quicken over her neck.
“Fuck, Wynter,” he
said.
“Yes, Michael.
Exactly.” She drew a long gash with a talon down his back for good measure—in
case he forgot her favors were not so easily won. Or was it because she wanted
him to wear one of her marks, like she did his? Who cared?
For a few hours,
she could forget everything and lose herself in the rhythm of his thrusts. Too
bad all nights couldn’t be like this. Oh, and that, she thought as Michael reached a special spot deep inside her.
A spiral of
pleasure ran down her spine, and she let a mind-wiping orgasm take her far, far
away from duties and obligations and potentially beheading Christmas rituals.
For now, what Michael called up from her body was all she required.
Seventh day of Christmas by
Isobelle Cate
Wynter stirred in her sleep, her eyelids moving as she
surfaced into consciousness. A low roar. Why was there a low roar in her room?
She opened her eyes, slowly blinking, and saw that rain was falling steadily
outside her window. The next thing she noticed was the heavy band around her
waist, the warm hand that cupped her breast, and the wall of muscle heating her
back. Her stomach concaved when she gasped. In all the times she and Michael
had fucked, he had never stayed… she looked at her bedroom window … until … the
… morning.
She eased around slowly to look at him. The harsh
planes of his face were not as dangerous looking when he was asleep. The light
stubble that shadowed his jaw made him incredibly sexy. She raised her finger
to trace the contours of his mouth that gave her so much pleasure for hours
until she asked him to stop. He didn’t. He gave her wave upon tidal wave of
orgasmic bliss that left her boneless and sated. Just the thought made her body
needy once more, desperately seeking Michael inside her again.
“You finished watching me sleep?” His deep rumble
vibrated through her body all the way to her core.
Wynter didn’t stop the smile that curved her lips.
“You’ve never stayed before. Couldn’t pass the chance to see the one who marked
me with his sigil, in sleep, could I? I might not get the chance again.”
His mouth tilted upwards showing his even, white
teeth. “Keep your end of the agreement and you’ll get to see more of me in the
morning.”
“Ugh!” She whirled out of his embrace, tossed the
quilt that covered them and jumped out of bed, naked. “Talk about a fuck me
mood killer.”
Michael’s soft laughter only infuriated her more.
Grabbing a set of clean jogging pants and T-shirt, she
left the room, slamming the door in satisfaction. Perhaps making coffee from
scratch would allow her irritation to bleed out from her. She loved this part
of the morning; grinding the coffee beans and allowing the fresh burst of
flavour to lend its smell to the kitchen she hardly used for cooking.
She looked out of the window that overlooked her
garden and the Jacuzzi which was now overflowing with water.
“Damn.” A crease marred her forehead. She hadn’t
thought of covering the liquid massager last night despite the fact that the
skies had already been overcast the day before, threatening to unload its
burden. But it never did. Now with the rain pelting the roof, the house felt
isolated from the outside world. If Michael hadn’t annoyed her so much, they
would have continued where they left off and the kitchen would have seen more
action than it had in the last few months.
Wynter sighed. Not being able to find a man for
Christmas was making her miserable. Add the stormy weather and she could have a
psychotic breakdown. She sipped her coffee as she stared out into the pouring
rain, lost in thought.
Conjure a man.
Wynter blinked.
That was it! Surely her family’s Five Golden Rings tome would have something about conjuring a man
for a brief span of time. There should be some harmless spell in that tome that
had all sorts of writings, it was practically a grimoire.
“Got any left?” Michael leaned against the doorway. His
jeans rode low on his hips, the waist unbuttoned. The taut muscles of his arms
pushed and slid underneath his bronze skin when he lifted his arms to rake his
fingers through his already tousled hair. Wynter’s own hands itched to run
through those dark tresses as she lay on the table with his face between her
thighs….
No, first things
first.
“Here.” She handed him her mug as she passed, the
coffee nearly sloshing over the rim.
“Where are you going?” he called as she rushed up the
stairs.
“Be right back!”
Michael turned from the window when Wynter returned
carrying the tome. She flipped through the pages. Her face, a mask of
concentration. As soon as Michael saw what it was, he scowled.
“Wynter,” he warned.
“You didn’t say I couldn’t use magick.” She shot him a
glare.
Michael glared back before looking away. “Go right
ahead. I doubt you’d be able to do it.”
“Still worth a shot.” Her finger ran down the pages
looking for that elusive spell.
May her ancestors forgive her if she made a mistake.
Wynter couldn’t remember the last time she dabbled in the arcane arts, but time
was running out for her. She ran out of the house and into the driving rain.
She didn’t want to destroy the only abode she had, and if fire came out of her
fingers, the water would quickly douse it. Michael followed her at a more
leisurely pace, sipping from their shared mug.
Evaporation and condensation must have been pretty
busy because her backyard was now waterlogged and resembled a lake. With her
eyes closed, the water raining on her like a benediction, Wynter chanted the
spell. A roar filled her ears and she felt the water lap at her feet.
“What the fuck? More avians?” Michael shouted in
disbelief.
Wynter opened one eye in trepidation, then the other
in stupefaction. Her mouth agape, she stared at the seven swans swimming in her
waterlogged garden. Black and white, they moved like the squares of a
chessboard that could have come from Hogwarts.
“I told you, you wouldn’t be able to do it.” Michael
shook his head. “You’re supposed to create a man, Wynter, not more animals who
peck their food.”
“Well, men can be animals when they fuck and peck
isn’t too far away from pecker which all of you have.”
“Don’t test me.” Michael’s face darkened. “It’s not
funny.”
Wynter stifled her laughter at the same time she wiped
the water from her face. She shivered in the cold but Michael’s face was
priceless. “What? They’re just a bunch of birds. What do you have against
them?”
“Nothing,” he muttered. “You’ve got five days left.”
That slowly wiped the smile from her face. Huffing and
shaking her head, she said, “The bars didn’t prove successful.” She worried her
lower lip before she brightened, stepping to enter the house. “I know. I’ll
case hotel lobbies.”
“And the birds?” Michael looked at them warily,
stepping to the side of the doorway to allow Wynter to enter.
She pirouetted to face him, tracking wet prints on the
floor. “In the spirit of Christmas, I’ll give one each to the hotels I visit.
I’ll need a ride though.” She winked, laughing at Michael’s scowl.
Eighth Day of
Christmas – Kay Manis
“Thanks for the
ride.” Wynter flashed Michael a mischievous smirk and slammed his car door,
rattling the leather console.
She was going to
pay for that. No one fucked with his baby…and by baby, he meant the Porsche 918
Spyder that purred underneath him.
Wynter tucked one
of those fucking swans under her arm as she sauntered into the hotel lobby. She
said you could attract more men with a swan than honey. “Don’t wait up!” She
blew him an obnoxious kiss and waved good-bye as her luscious hips swayed from
side to side. She was on a mission and as Michael wanted to stop her, he
couldn’t.
Michael growled.
Damn foolish woman is going to banish all to Hades.
“May I park your
car, sir?” The valet saddled up to his Porsche, licking his lips in
anticipation.
Yeah, right, you
little pimply-faced kid. Like I’m gonna let you spin out the tires of my
million dollar sports car.
Michael gazed out
the passenger side window and watched helplessly as Wynter disappeared into the
mass of half-naked men inside. What the fuck? Was there a stripper convention
at this hotel? The men parted like melted butter and stared at her backside as
she waltzed through the crowd. She was good. Too good. Fuck.
“Fine,” he growled
through gritted teeth at the valet.
He stumbled back
as if Michael had struck him.
Michael shoved the
car door and held it open for the twerp but stepped in front of him before
allowing him inside his precious baby. His massive body towered over the boy’s
small frame. “If there is one scratch on this motherfucker, one teensy, tiny
scratch when I get it back, I’ll rip your head off, shit down your neck and
feed you to the fucking swans at my girlfriend’s house. Got it?”
Wait, what?
Girlfriend? What the fuck? Did he just call Wynter his girlfriend? He hadn’t
had a partner, a girlfriend, hell, a wife for that matter, in over two hundred
years. If Wynter fucked this assignment up, that would all change though.
“Y-yes, sir,” the
boy stuttered. “N-not a scratch.”
The poor kid
sounded like a bumbling fool. Maybe Michael should put him on his payroll. He
laughed at the lunacy.
Michael watched as
the valet slid into the driver’s seat and drove away at a snail’s pace. Good
boy. At least he wouldn’t have to cast a spell that kept the kid’s pecker limp
for the rest of his life.
With a heavy sigh,
Michael waltzed through the hotel doors, not surprised to see a flock of men
around Wynter. They looked like the squawking birds in her back yard.
Girlfriend. Michael laughed to himself. Wynter was
nothing more than a piece of ass, a mission. She could have all the men she
wanted as long as she found the perfect one before Christmas.
As if sensing his
presence, Wynter’s gaze caught his. One side of her plump lips curled into a
delicious smirk.
Mission. Mission.
He reminded himself. She’s just a mission. A means to an end…your end if you fuck this up.
Suddenly the
shrill sound of women screaming came from behind him.
Michael turned on
his heels.
Not one, not two
but…wait…Was that eight fucking
chicks flooding out of the elevator? Their screams echoed through the hotel as
if their hair extensions were on fire. They were dressed the same, in hotel
uniforms marking them as maids.
“A Dios, mio!” one
shouted.
“Help! Help!” A pixie
minx with red hair slammed into him. “Get it out of here!” She pointed back
toward the elevator.
“What’s going on?”
One of the strippers who’d been enthralled by Wynter saddled up to him.
He eyeballed the
guy up and down, his menacing gaze obviously speaking volumes as the stripper
stepped away.
He pushed the maid
away and gazed down into her blue eyes. “What’s going on?”
“It’s a…”
“Yes?” he asked.
“Mierda es un
reno!” a Hispanic woman screamed, jumping up and down, her hands slapping
against her hips.
“Did you say
moose?” His Spanish was rusty, but he was pretty sure that was the translation.
“No! Es un reno! Salga de aquí!”
“Holy, hell,”
Wynter whispered next to him. “Is that a fucking reindeer?”
“Yes.” The redhead
nodded, her body trembling. “And the man in the ivory suit asked if we wanted
to ‘milk his reindeer.’” She used air quotes. “He made it sound--” Her eyes
darted between Wynter and him as she leaned in closer. “--sexual,” she
whispered.
“Kris Kringle,” he
and Wynter said in unison.
Eight maids a’ milking.
That motherfucker
was the biggest practical jokester Michael had ever met. “Enough with the
symbolism, Kris,” he moaned.
“Ho, ho, ho!”
Kris’s robust voice echoed through the lobby as he led the reindeer through the
posh hotel like it was an everyday occurrence. “I didn’t mean you’re a whore,
Wynter.” Kris laughed as he nudged my arm. “Although you have been on my
naughty list for quite some time.” His white eyebrows waggled as he ogled
Wynter.
Michael wanted to
punch him in the nuts. Kids may adore him, but Kris Kringle was the biggest man
whore on the face of the earth.
The reindeer
picked that moment to lay a massive Christmas “gift” on the imported Italian
tile floor.
“Ewww!” everyone
groaned.
“Word in the
Underworld is that you’re looking for the perfect man, Wynter.” Kris smirked
and held out his arms. “Here I am.”
Ninth Day of
Christmas: Bella Juarez
I need a fucking drink…
Michael made a
hasty exit from the swank hotel with Wynter in-tow. He’d be damned if he was
leaving her with all those naked men and Kris, so he’d sent her on her way. He
tried to recall an end of solstice ritual that had gone worse.
Actually those few years during the Black Death were
worse…
Comforted by the
fact that nothing could be worse than the Black Death, he leaned forward to
fire up the purring engine of his favorite girl.
At least this one doesn’t talk back…
The feel of
Wynter’s talons tearing his back to shreds during one of their more
rambunctious fucks made his cock twitch and a shiver run down his spine. He
couldn’t shake the feeling or lose the lovely taste of her. He sat back for a
moment and wondered what would happen if she didn’t bring the perfect man home
for the holiday. Who started this ritual and why, when the stars and planets
aligned just so, did they need it? Would their world, as they knew it really go
to hell in a handbasket?
Wait. I’m from hell; it’s not that bad.
He glanced
wistfully at the gilded doors of the hotel and placed his hand on the gearshift.
Before he could shift gears and let out the clutch, a thud shook his vehicle
and him down to his ancient bones. Bloody
hell! What now? He threw open the door ready to do battle with whatever it
was that had harmed his vehicle.
“Honk!”
One of Wynter’s
damn geese had decided to hitchhike. He stretched out his arms and looked to
the heavens, pushed back his sleeves and started to unleash a spell that would
level an entire modern city block. But when he caught the eye of the already
scared valet, he opted to grab the gangly goose by its fat legs and toss it
toward the hotel staff now gathered at the curb. An angry flying goose sent his
gawkers scurrying. He slipped back into the driver’s seat and took off,
spinning the tires as he floored the gas.
The hotel and
goose disappeared in his rear window in a haze of white smoke. A drink at his
favorite high-end gentlemen’s club would be just the thing to take his mind off
of this whole ordeal—and Wynter, who seemed to be getting under his skin more
than usual. He was at the club before he knew it. This valet knew how to handle
his baby. Michael handed him the keys and an extra hundred dollar bill.
“You know what to do.”
“Thank you, sir. And
yes, sir, I’ll take good care of her.”
Michael sauntered
up to the front entrance, and the man who stood sentry outside with a clip
board, unhooked the rope and stepped aside.
“Sir, should I
call ahead for your suite?”
“Yes.”
Michael entered
the noisy club and noticed not all of the stages were busy. He found that odd. A
soft brush at his elbow made him flinch and turn suddenly.
Who the hell dares to touch me?
As tall as he was,
he found his gaze level with sea-green eyes, and for a moment, he found himself
breathless.
“Morgan? What are
you doing here?”
The tall woman
with the bewitching, sea-green eyes and long, midnight-black hair smiled a slow,
evil smile. A perfectly arched eyebrow rose at his question.
“It’s my place;
why wouldn’t I be here?”
Her soft Irish
brogue was as smooth as the leather she wore. She could charm the life from a
man if he wasn’t careful. Thankfully, Michael’s humanity had almost been fully
stripped from him but the Morgan still had an effect on him.
“Why aren’t you
preparing for the gathering? Your due will be paid. In full.”
Her soft laughter
rose above the crowd and sent a chill down his spine him like almost no one
else could.
“Oh, my sweet pet.
My dues will never be paid in full. However, if your little hound from hell
comes through, then I’ll be sated… for a while. Now let me show you to your
suite.”
“When did you buy
this place?”
As she opened the
door, she laughed. “I took it in trade. The beast who owned it before me didn’t
know how to negotiate, nor did he know how to take care of his property. The
staff, especially the girls, were miserable.” She walked to the bar and took
out a highball glass and filled it with two fingers of dark amber liquid. “Now
that they’re being paid a proper wage and someone actually takes care of them,
I’ve attracted some of the finest talent around.”
Michael took the
glass of scotch and glanced out the mirrored window toward the floor.
“It looks empty. By
now, all of the stages are usually full.” He took a sip. “That’s good scotch.”
“Life is too short
for bad liquor. It’s early, darlin’. Don’t worry, it’ll pickup and when it
does, enjoy the show.”
Michael flopped
down into the soft leather chair and watched the night progress. Morgan had
sent a bartender to keep the drinks flowing. No matter how much he drank he couldn’t
quit thinking about Wynter. His exclusive bartender, a voluptuous redhead with
the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, left no doubt that she was his, all of her, for
the night. He wondered what the hell had gone wrong with him; he’d never pass
up an invitation like that. Back a few months ago, he’d have fucked her until
she screamed for mercy. Wynter never
screams for mercy… He shook his head; what had his little hound from hell
done to him? What transpired between him and her family was business, and he
needed to stay focused. She had to find a man, and his homage to Morgan had to
be fulfilled.
Focusing, he
glanced out over the floor. He sensed the excitement rising around a lone stage
that was still empty. The rest of the stages were full and busy. The girls were
making money hand over fist, and the drinks were clearly flowing if the large
number of topless waitstaff he saw weaving through the crowd was any indication.
Along with the throngs of people out on the floor, he leaned forward in his
chair in anticipation as the lone stage light and the spotlight moved over the
crowd.
“What’s going on
out there?” he asked the bartender.
“A new girl. I
hear she’s out of this world.”
The music blared above
the crowd and was so loud he could hear it clearly in his private suite. There
were now nine ladies dancing on each of the stages, but one had now taken previously
empty center stage.
The sweet Jezebel
had come on stage in a traditional harem outfit. The entire crowd was
mesmerized as she moved like a tigress. As the first scarf floated to the stage
floor, he came to his feet. His eyes traced the dancer’s lithe body, and his
dick instantly went to a full, painful, rock-hard erection. As the remaining
scarves she wore fell one by one to the stage, the men at her feet fought over
them.
Michael raced out
onto the club floor, compelled to get a closer look at this new, bewitching
beauty. Something about her held him like no one else could. Her lower face was
covered by a veil, and when he got closer, their eyes locked. She made him feel
as if she was dancing for him and him alone. He tore his gaze away from her
hypnotic eyes and watched her delicate hand pluck a scarf from her hip. The
unique tattoo on her hip was unusual and he took a closer look.
My sigil…
“Wynter!
What the hell are you doing here?” he shouted as he leaped onto the stage.
Tenth Day of Christmas---Patricia W. Fischer
Tenth Day of Christmas---Patricia W. Fischer
It
worked.
No matter how long she lived, Wynter knew she’d never be able to wipe the smile
from her face when remembering this moment.
“What
the fuck?” Michael stood nose to nose with her.
“You
don’t like it?” she purred, running her hand up his chest.
His
jaw clenched as his eyes bored into her. “Wynter, what are you doing?”
“You
said to find a perfect guy. I’m trying.”
“Trying
my patience.”
She
couldn’t help but bask in the glory of her power over him--the lust in his eyes
when he watched her move across the stage--the powerlessness of his
rational mind.
Just
like Morgan said…Out
of the corner of her eye, Wynter watched the redheaded siren glide across the
floor and to the bar. A wicked smile spread across the woman’s face. The very
same smile she’d given Wynter as she explained to her how to attract the
perfect man for the gathering.
“He’ll
be the first one to jump onto the stage with you. To claim you,” the melodious
Irish brogue danced in Wynter’s ears. “And all you have to do is turn him over
to me.”
The
wall of muscle in front of her growled, “Wynter, answer me. What the fuck are
you doing up here?”
Her
eyebrows hit her hairline as dread slammed her in the gut. Oh shit. Morgan’s
not letting him out of his debt. She’s burying him in it.
The
redhead raised her glass as if to toast Wynter on her perfectly played
betrayal.
Her
heart clenched. She wouldn’t let it happen this way. She wouldn’t let Michael
down again.
Sliding
up against him, she whispered, “Just do what I say.”
“What?”
He started to step away, but she grabbed the front of his shirt and writhed
against him. “Stop it. Get off the stage.”
“No
way! Leave her up there.”
“Hey,
get off the stage!”
“Let
her finish!”
“I
haven’t seen her tits yet.”
The
scarf-grabbing observers began to express their displeasure at the show’s
interruption and Michael’s personal stage show in front of the increasingly
frenzied crowd.
Wynter
backed Michael into the pole and slithered up and down his body. “Listen to me.
We’ve been set up.”
A
tug on one of the three remaining scarves distracted her. She glanced down to
see a wide-eyed, plump man yanking on her clothes. She stretched her leg and
let him yank the material free. He jumped around as he held the cloth above his
head. The half a dozen others who held parts of her costume followed suit.
“What
the hell are you talking about, Wynter?” His fingers wrapped around her arms,
but she twisted out of his grip as she moved around him. “I owe Morgan, why
would she--”
“Michael,
trust me. Morgan set us up. I don’t know why.” The beat of the music increased
and the men’s jumping followed suit. Wynter counted three more strips of
material left on her outfit before she stood only in a jeweled string bikini.
She continued to move about the stage, taunting, teasing the onlookers, but
staying a safe distance from them.
“Yes!
Yes! Yes! Yes!” the men chanted as they leapt around, waving the strips of her
clothing gripped tightly in their grungy hands.
The
air sat thick with the smell of heavy cologne and cigarettes. One lunged for
her, only coming back with another scarf.
“Son-of-a-bitch!”
Michael growled. “I knew she was up to something.”
Morgan’s
smile changed. Her eyes narrowed while she watched the performance.
Brightly-colored
material from her costume caught Wynter’s eye.
She
counted. Eight. Remaining? Two more pieces.
For
a total of ten.
Joyously,
the men jumped, danced, and…leapt.
Ten
Lords a Leaping.
“Where’s
the back door?” Wynter leaned over as she coaxed a man to rip a strip away.
“I’m
looking at it.”
As
she turned around, she glared at Michael. Despite his frustration, the corner
of his mouth curled up. “The backdoor to the building, shithead.”
His
eyes went wide and he nodded. “I know how to get there, but Morgan’s got her
goons all over the place. How are we going to get out?”
A
slow smile spread across her face. “Jump in the crowd and follow me.”
Without
pause, she spun to the end of the stage, offering the last of her scarves to
the tallest man of the group. As soon as Michael stepped off the stage, she
leaned forward and asked the man to help her to the floor.
Morgan
began to move forward with her bodyguards in tow.
Panic
grabbed Wynter by the throat as she watched Michael make his way to the back of
the building. He glanced back at her and pointed.
She
started to move forward but knew one of the body guards would cut her off.
Morgan’s
abilities far exceeded her own. Magic wouldn’t save her in here.
Looking
around at the chaos of men leaping with her scarves, she tried to figure out a
way to work them up even more. No cloth napkins, no jackets, no…nothing but the
clothes she had on.
“Wynter!”
Michael’s shout penetrated through the crowd as Morgan quickly got closer.
Her
heart ached for him. “Run!”
She
unhooked her top and spun it over her head. “Join me, boys!”
Shirts,
belts, and scarves went flying as all the onlookers spun their clothes in all
directions. No one could see where anything was.
In
the chaos, Wynter rushed towards the back of the club. Michael was nowhere in
sight. As she reached the curtains, a heavy hand grabbed her and slammed her
against the wall.
Eleventh Day of
Christmas---Riley Bancroft
Covering her exposed breasts with one arm,
Wynter clasped the other hand into Michael’s and they burst out the back door
of the strip club. Relief washed over her as she followed him down the alleyway
in a sprint. Boots slapping the pavement behind them reminded her that Morgan’s
goons were hot on their heels and Wynter kept up with Michael’s long-legged
strides.
Oh, those legs,
his thick muscled thighs and the way they clenched when he slammed…
“Ummph,” she
exhaled on a breath as they rounded the corner of the building and she slammed
into his back, coming to a halt.
A melodic tune
filled the air among cheers and chants along the street. Wynter couldn’t
believe her eyes. People lined each side of the sidewalk; some had beers in
hand. Others sang along to the music. Irish step dancers, wearing custom
dresses, pranced down the middle of the road. Behind them, a marching band
played “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” rhythmically walking to the beat. No,
not a traditional marching band, bag pipes…all piping away.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Michael
growled and tugged her through the crowds. “Who has a parade this time of
night?”
“Apparently
someone who appreciated eleven pipers piping,” she laughed in sarcasm at the
irony. Someone was playing a cruel joke on them. Whether they incited it upon
themselves or if Morgan truly orchestrated this all … they all would soon find
out.
Wynter’s family
had come into debt with Michael because they wanted the five rings tome--the
grimoire he’d stolen from them decades ago--back in their possession. In
return, he asked for a piece of property of his own. One who could fulfill his
every wicked desire whenever he felt the need to be sexually sated. One who he
would mark with his sigil to be his for eternity. One who would provide the “perfect
man” for him as a sacrifice every time the stars, moon, and planets aligned in
sync with the solstice festival. Luckily or unluckily for her, she happened to
be the item he wanted.
Men ogled and
hollered at her while she and Michael pushed their way down the sidewalk.
Wearing only bikini bottoms in December wasn’t the best fashion choice, but hey,
who’s judging when one was about to climb up a stripper pole?
A few blocks down
the street, his black Porsche sat parked next to a curb. An older lady stood
next to it with a scowl on her face and she tapped her foot. Trixie yelled some
Norse curses. “Next time make it two bottles of champagne!”
“I’ll do you
better than that, Trix. I owe you. For once, you did something right.” He
released his grip from Wynter’s hand. “Hop in,” he commanded.
The immediate loss
of his touch on her skin sent a lonely ache through her gut, but she jumped
into the car still covering her breasts. “Trixie’s not just your secretary, is
she?” The tension in the air between the two had been undeniable and definitely
had a hint of angry desire mixed in. “How’d she know where we would be?”
He popped the car
in drive. Wheels fishtailed as he spun away from the curb. “She’s a Valkyrie.
They have protective powers over the mercenary they have sworn to protect.
Trixie safeguards her chosen in battle.”
Peering over her
shoulder at the older woman growing smaller in the distance, she asked, “Aren’t
they supposed to be immortal? She looks…well for her age.”
“They age
extremely slowly. Trix was actually quite the looker in her heyday—quite the
female warrior and strategist.” The tone of his words and raised brows hinted
at something possibly more.
She spun around to
face him in her seat. Heat filled her chest, blooming outward, and set her face
on fire. “I’m sure she was quite something to you; that’s for sure.”
A sinful smirk
lifted the corner of his mouth. He didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Jealous,
my pet?”
“Me? Jealous? Of
course not. I mean, just the other night I had my lips wrapped around another
man’s cock while he got me off.” By no means would she be put in her place. Michael’s
the one who locked her into this arrangement with him to begin with.
His knuckles
blanched white around the wheel. The haughty expression he sported now replaced
with a sneer. “I think it’s time we washed that dirty mouth out.” He veered the
car off to the side of road, slammed it into park, and unzipped his pants.
Long, thick, and
hard, his cock popped out of his jeans as if breaking out of jail. “Your mouth.
Now.”
When she met his
gaze, those brilliant emerald eyes bore into her. Not only into the depths of
her soul, but further. Her pussy throbbed with his command. This man undid her
every single time. The closer she got to him, the more time they spent, the
more she craved him. She couldn’t get enough.
Her chest rose
with each deep inhalation as she licked her lips. By damn, she wanted him to
hunger for her like she was starting to with him. “No.” Wynter dropped her arm,
revealing her breasts, and moved to place her back against the door. Pressing
her shoulders back, the cool air in the car teased her already sensitive
nipples. She propped her feet up on the middle console to spread her thighs.
“Your mouth. Now.”
Sinful desire
filled his eyes and a growl vibrated from his chest. He placed his thumb over
her clitoris, drawing small circles. “Do not forget who you belong to. Nor the
debt you must pay for your family. Shall I make you orgasm like this? Bereft of
my cock filling you?”
She tried not to
move her hips in rhythm of his touch, but found it difficult as her sex
clenched in response to the tender strokes. Damn, he had a way of driving her
body to the need of passion.
He increased the
pressure and thumbed her harder. His eyes focused in on her. “Answer,” he bit
out.
You will not moan.
You will not…she couldn’t stop the sound from leaving her throat. Oh the
tortuous ways he pleased her. Body thrumming to life, the exquisite tickle
spread throughout her aching pussy, and she couldn’t deny her response to him.
“No.” She needed to have him inside and hitting the soft spot that always sent
her over the edge.
“Come and mount
me, Wynter.” He moved her bikini bottoms to the side uncovering her pussy. “I
can see you’re ready for me.”
How his brusque
words made her lust for him more, she had no idea. All she knew or cared about
was the fever escalating in her body to have him. She moved in her seat and
climbed on top of his, straddling his waist.
“I’m always ready
for you.” The tip of his shaft barely breached her nether lips. She rocked her
hips back and forth to, coating him with her juices.
Michael gripped
her hips and slammed her down on his thick cock. “That’s right. You will always
crave me.” He nipped her bottom lip before sliding his tongue into her mouth.
Using his
shoulders as leverage, she pulled up and then came down hard on him—riding him.
Tingles spread throughout her womb with each penetration.
“Fuck, Wynter. I
want you to want me without the debt.” He clamped a hand on the nape of her
neck and branded her with a punishing kiss. The husky way he said her name, the
way he claimed her.
Her thigh muscles
quivered as the energy pulsated, building up, and overflowing. Her inner walls
clenched and released. Pleasure overflowed as warm bursts jetted inside and she
milked Michael’s cock into sweet oblivion with her.
Foreheads
together, their breaths mingled in quick bursts.
“Goddess. That was
amazing,” she whispered against his lips.
Michael tensed
beneath her.
She could have
sworn he froze up like a block of ice.
“Don’t ever say that
Morgan’s name again.”
Twelfth Day of
Christmas: Brenna Zinn
Morgan, curses, debts, a perfect man,
sacrifice…
Morgan, curses, debts, a perfect man,
sacrifice…
Try as she might to search for the perfect
man, all Wynter’s thoughts focused on Morgan, curses, debts, a perfect man, and
sacrifice. Again and again, the mantra
replayed in a tireless loop through her mind as though the words themselves
held the key to solving her predicament.
If only such a
thing were possible.
Wynter rubbed her
slim neck, fully appreciating her entire body being in one piece. Michael wouldn’t
really cut off her head at the solstice festival if she failed her task, would
he? With Morgan, that tricky witch, demanding her dues from him, did he have a
choice?
She pondered the
second question, not truly knowing the answer.
A cold wind blew
down the street, lifting and tossing the red and gold stands of her long hair
in the air. Above her, the sun peaked in the brilliant blue sky on this, the
shortest day of the year. The winter solstice. Time was running out. In a few
short hours, the alignment of the stars, moon, and planets with the solstice
festival would take place.
She still needed
to find the perfect man.
The sad fact of
the matter was, she knew the perfect guy. And, if she were completely honest
with herself, she loved him. Tall, handsome, magical and kinky as hell, Michael
was the perfect man…for her. He would easily be too much for a normal human
woman, but she was none of those things aside from the woman part. As a phoenix
shifter, she was as far from being a normal human as Santa Claus. Well,
actually more. And although she could be reborn from her ashes, she’d need to
wait at least 500 years to be mature enough to fly, let alone have sex again
with Michael. Where was the fun in that? Five hundred years was too freaking long to
wait.
Why hadn’t she
realized she loved him before? She’d picked a hell of a time, or lack thereof,
to finally figure that out.
Morgan, curses, debts, a perfect man, sacrifice…
There has to be a way out of this mess.
When did this
crazy situation start? How did it start?
Where could she find the answers? Not from Michael or Morgan. They’d never tell
her. Her family had gone deep into hiding almost a thousand years ago. No way of knowing where they were to ask
them. Phoenix shifters tended to stay to themselves, even away from other shifter
family members. Hard to catch and hard to hold. That was their way and always
had been.
When she arrived
home, she stomped the snow from her boots and tossed her coat aside, determined
to find some miracle that would keep her head atop her shoulders. After pouring
herself a glass of wine, she pulled the heavy Five Golden Rings tome from its place on the shelf and settled in
for some serious researching. Page after page, she combed through each spell
and the various handwritten notes on the margins, losing herself in the
familiar magic. Then she came across a page she’d never noticed before. Not
once since she’d been given the tome so many centuries ago had she seen its red
and green print or the colorful illustration of an oak mistletoe branch.
Oak mistletoe, she
recalled, was sacred. The plant bestowed life and fertility, and was considered
a powerful aphrodisiac. The berries and stiff barbed leaves had been regarded
as a sexual symbol throughout history.
It was also Michael’s
sigil.
She flipped the
page back and forth several times, trying to make sense of the extra sheet. The
spell on the page before and the notes on the page after were ones she’d read
dozens of times. How had she possibly overlooked this particular spell all
these years?
She leaned in and
read the first paragraph of the unfamiliar page. Then the second, and then the
third. Each word caused her heart to beat a fraction harder. By the time she’d
finished the page, it thudded deep in her chest as though being pounded by
twelve drummers drumming
The hell?
Michael’s beast of
a car roared in her driveway, pulling her attention from the book. She glanced
at the clock. Exactly four o’clock. He was on time, as always.
Wynter met him at
the door, her heart still hammering.
“Why didn’t you
tell me?” she asked before he stepped into her house. With a shaking finger,
she pointed to Five Golden Rings tome
on the table. “Why was this-all of this--kept from me?”
His eyebrows
knitted, creating a deep valley between his emerald eyes.
“I’m not sure what
you’re talking about. Tell you what?”
“I read the spell,
Michael, and the notes. I know.”
“Spell?”
“Don’t play stupid
with me.” She swallowed back the strong emotions rising within her. “Not now.”
For a brief
moment, he looked as though he might attempt to carry on his charade of
confusion, then he shook his head and smiled wanly. “If you’ve seen the page,
the time has come for us to talk.” He took her hand and led her to the couch in
the living room. “Here. Take a seat. You may need it.”
They both sat,
still holding hands, she at the edge of the seat. Despite his palm warm against
her skin, her insides pricked and shivered as though exposed to frigid gusts of
wind.
“Do you remember
me before I stole the tome?”
His question
caught her off guard.
“No. What does
that matter?”
“Everything.” He
sucked in a long breath and slowly released it. “Before I stole the Five Golden Rings tome, I was a mortal
man. We lived in the same hamlet back in England. I would see you each day when
you walked by the fields I worked in. I knew from the moment I first saw you,”
he stopped for a moment and stared longingly into her eyes, “that I loved you.”
You love me?
His unexpected
confession sent a jolt of electricity down her spine that sizzled through her
arms and legs, making sitting upright difficult. She braced herself with her
free hand, her body swaying slightly. She started to speak, but he placed a
finger on her mouth.
“Let me finish. There’s
much to say.” He cleared his throat. “You never noticed me. So beautiful, wild
and free, why would you? I was a simple farmer’s son. But I knew I had to have
you. That I would die a thousand deaths to make you my own. So, I went to
Morgan, the most powerful witch in the country, and asked for her help.”
Wynter felt her eyes
widen.
“She told me you
were a magical being, and that you could never be with a human man. The only
way I could have you was to become a magical being too. She said she would do
this for me under three conditions. I would have to provide a perfect man to
sate her appetite each solstice when stars, moon, and planets all aligned. And,
the perfect man would have to be selected by you, my chosen love. If you failed
your task, I would have to behead you.”
A gasp escaped
from her mouth. “That is how this all started?”
He nodded.
“There’s more. To complete my transformation, I would need to give her the
tome. She needed a spell within it. Once she had the book and the deed was
done, she used magic to hide the page. Morgan said that only when you fell in
love with me would my debt be paid in full and the page would be revealed.”
Unbidden tears
welled and slid down her face.
“I’m so sorry,
Wynter.” Michel brushed her wet cheek. “I loved you for so long and wanted you
with all my heart. At the time, I would have done anything to make you mine. I
never meant to cause you any harm, but there was no other way.”
Too choked with emotion
to speak, she simply shook her head.
“Now that you know
the truth, can you ever forgive me?”
He spoke in a
voice wracked with concern. Pain and worry filled his eyes. In all their years
together, she’d never seen him so wretched. His clear suffering both touched
her heart and tore at her soul. At that moment she couldn’t imagine anyone
loving someone more than she loved him.
Michael opened his
mouth to speak, but this time it was she that quieted him by placing her lips
on his. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he drew her in close,
deepening their kiss. When they finally parted, she smiled.
“Morgan’s going to
be pissed,” she said, still finding her breath. “She’s not going to be sated
with my help tonight or ever again.”
“You forgive me?”
Wynter grabbed his
hand and stood. “You’ve got a lot of sucking up to do. A lot.” She pulled him
up and headed to the bedroom. “And I think I know the perfect way to start your
penance. This is the longest night of the year, and you won’t be sleeping one
second of it. Just be careful of all the feathers when we get in there. If you
ever buy me another bird for Christmas, I’ll personally make sure you get on
your hands and knees cleaning up after it. Then again, having you on your hands
and knees doesn’t sound too bad.”
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