10th Day of Christmas
by 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.
Check out Patricia's books at http://patriciawfischer.com/
11th Day of Christmas
by 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.”
12th Day of Christmas
by 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.”
THE END
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night...
