A Perfect Man for Christmas
An erotic serial in 12 parts
7th 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.
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.
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