A Perfect Man for Christmas Revisited day two

A Perfect Man for Christmas

An erotic serial in 12 parts

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 4th 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?” 

To check out Rebecca's wonderful books - visit her website at

http://rebeccaroyce.com/ 

 5th 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.

Check out all of Elle's books at http://www.elleboon.com/

 

 

 6th 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.

Check out all the books of Elizabeth at http://www.elizabethsafleur.com/

A Perfect Man for Christmas Revisited

We had so much fun with this story last year that we are bringing it back for a second view.  A group of authors we love created this story for all us fans as a free Christmas gift.  Read and enjoy.  And if you love it, support these amazing authors by buying their books. 

 

 

The full story will be posted three a day for the next four days so check back daily for each piece of the story.  Remember this is an erotic story and not work friendly.

 

A Perfect Man for Christmas

An erotic serial in 12 parts

 1st Day of Christmas

by 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.”

Check out Laurie's website for her awesome books at http://www.laurieolerich.com/

 2nd Day of Christmas

by 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.”

Check out Elaine's website for more of her terrific books - 

http://elainebarris.weebly.com/

 3rd Day of Christmas

by 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.”

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