by Kane Jewell Ruse McCall Anthony McKay Sax Slayer Michael Burke Logan
“Shit fuck,” said Ian. He didn’t even know where the lube was at this point. He craned his head, trying to look over his shoulder but finding his field of vision limited by the arm of the couch.
“Not good.” Nick pushed himself forward, kissing Ian on the forehead as he moved. A moment later, Ian’s face was buried in Nick’s chest. The odd, spicy smell of vampire filled Ian’s nostrils. It wasn’t unpleasant, not even remotely, not even when Nick’s chest hair poked up his nose and tickled. He gripped Nick under the arms, feeling the deep wideness of his chest, the hard arcs of his ribs. The chest was silent -- no breath, no heartbeat. It was weird, but the sheer strength of it, the breadth and solid muscle, made Ian close his eyes in the throes of a deep shudder of desire.
“Lotion?” said Nick, who had apparently abandoned a large portion of his vocabulary. Ian just nodded, assuming Nick could interpret the movement against his body. Nick slid back down, pausing again to affix his mouth to Ian’s. Ian felt a slight prick of pain against his lip; Nick was losing control of his fangs. The pale wash of fear this realization brought was not sufficient to cool Ian’s raging horniness at all.
Where a threat of possible death by vampire bite didn’t slow him down, the application of lotion to his ass made his dick flop for a moment in an attempt to shrivel up and hide. The lotion was fucking cold.
“Sorry,” said Nick. “I can’t really warm it up.”
“S’okay.” Ian let his hips tilt upward, sliding his belly against Nick’s. His own body heat warmed the lotion, and his dick got back with the program, letting the cold lotion and Nick’s cool fingers -- also growing warmer as they increased their contact with Nick’s body -- bring another level of arousal rather than the opposite.
He grunted in a fairly unappealing manner when Nick’s fingers slid inside him. Nick had wide, blunt hands, and his fingers were just as blunt, just as wide. And he started with two, which struck Ian as a bad idea for about a second and a half. Then his body just… opened up, and he felt like he wouldn’t have cared if Nick had been shoving a zucchini in there, as long as he made Ian full. He pounded ungracefully on Nick’s back.
“Now. C’mon.”
Nick chuckled and twisted his fingers inside Ian. The spear of sensation as the fingers nudged his prostate drove straight up through Ian’s chest and made him emit a strangling noise he wasn’t at all proud of. Then, to his relief, Nick drew his fingers back and butted his cock against Ian’s hole.
The cock, too, was wide and blunt, pressing its way into Ian’s body on a slide of insufficient hand lotion and pure lust. Ian relaxed and let him in, then tightened again to feel the almost painful friction. He thought he made a sound, but he couldn’t really hear it over his own frantically pounding heart.
Nick arched over him, thrusting slowly until his hipbones pressed into Ian’s groin. He braced his hands as best he could on the narrow couch, lifting himself a bit so he could look at Ian’s face.
“You okay?”
Ian nodded, chewing on his lip. Nick kissed him again, quick but attentive, then began to thrust faster. The movement was fluid and smooth, controlled. Ian’s legs splayed open wider, until he was half afraid he was going to fall off the couch right in the middle of everything. That would be bad. Nick lifted his torso a bit, and Ian managed to ease his calves onto the other man’s shoulders.
“That’s better.” Nick slid a hand along Ian’s ankle, caressed the top of his foot. When he leaned down again, Ian’s thighs protested, but Ian rocked his hips a little and everything settled into place.
“Yeah,” he said, “yeah, better.”
“Good.” Nick’s affirmation was almost a murmur. They said nothing then for a time, Ian clutching at Nick, Nick thrusting harder and harder into Ian’s open body. Ian could feel little but the burning penetration, the almost violent lust pouring up into his chest. He wasn’t going to last long. There was no way he could.
He didn’t. He seriously thought he was going to be able to hold out for five more seconds, but then he didn’t. He groaned -- again, what the fuck with the ugly noises -- and felt his ass clench hard as he spewed all over Nick’s stomach. Some of it, somehow, landed on Nick’s chin.
Ian couldn’t help it. He snickered.
“What?” Nick snapped. He was still entirely focused on what he was doing, which right now involved fucking Ian hard enough to bang Ian’s head into the arm of the couch. “What?”
“You have come on your chin…” He broke off, lost in full-fledged laughter. Somehow, through what Ian had to assume was a prodigious effort of concentration, Nick grabbed the back of the couch, shoved so hard into Ian that Ian’s chest hurt, and came. He did it in complete silence, the look on his face so deadly, deathly serious that Ian just started laughing again.
“Stop laughing when I have my dick in your ass!” Nick’s voice was so firm Ian couldn’t help but attempt to obey. He failed, though, and his next peal of laughter had them both tumbling off the couch in an undignified sprawl of half-discarded denim, unbuttoned shirts, and still-tangled limbs.
“Oh, my God, you are such an asshole.” Nick levered himself up onto one elbow, staring down at Ian, who was still giggling like an idiot.
“It’s why you love me,” said Ian, and then suddenly sobered.
Nick stared at him for a long moment, then the hard, focused, drill sergeant look on his face faded. He smiled, his eyes soft, and leaned down to kiss Ian gently on the mouth.
“I do, you know,” he said quietly.
Ian said nothing. He didn’t know what to say. Instead he reached up and cupped a hand against Nick’s cheek and drew him down for another soft kiss. “Don’t be such a stranger.”
Nick snorted a laugh. “God, we are so fucking drunk.”
“We are.” Ian laughed again. “We are. We’re blotzed. Blitzed…”
“Blitzened,” said Nick, and laughed so hard he had to roll off of Ian to keep from crushing him.
“We’re fucking Blitzened,” Ian concurred, and laughed so hard he snorted Zima out his nose.
* * *
Nick woke in Ian’s bed, tangled in blankets and warm, gangly limbs, most of which were not his. Ian’s bedroom smelled terrible. Nick had a feeling Ian spent way too much time masturbating in here. Judging by the take out containers on the floor, he definitely spent way too much time eating Chinese food in here.
He didn’t care, not even if it turned out Ian masturbated and ate Chinese food at the same time. Ian was warm and pliant against him, and, in spite of falling asleep, Nick hadn’t wasted the entire night. It had been a long time since he’d fallen asleep in the middle of the night, and he was relieved to see the sun had yet to make an appearance. The clock on the cluttered nightstand said 4:55. A couple of hours until sunrise, at least.
He pulled Ian closer, resting his head on the other man’s shoulder. He was warm and human and… warm. And Nick loved him.
What had possessed him to say that? He didn’t know, except that Ian had started it. With his stupid, “That’s why you love me,” comment, and his ridiculous curly hair and his big eyes.
Ian was an asshole.
Nick smiled against his lover’s shoulder. An interesting turn of events, to be sure. But it was true. He loved Ian, and now that he’d said it, he wasn’t going to take it back.
Gently, he kissed Ian’s lax mouth. Not the best decision -- Ian was drooling in his sleep. But he stirred and opened his eyes, looking up at Nick like he had no idea where he was.
“Hi,” Nick said.
“Um… hi.” Self-consciously, Ian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “When did we get here?”
Nick shrugged. “Dunno. Few hours ago.”
“It’s a mess…”
For a moment, Nick thought Ian was going to get out of bed and start cleaning. To forestall any lame-ass domestic compulsions, he tightened his embrace. “You stay where you are. I’m not done with you.”
“You’re not?”
“I most c
ertainly am not,” said Nick, and bent to lip Ian’s neck.
Nick hadn’t really meant anything by the choice of body part, but Ian tensed beneath him. “Are you…?”
“Oh.” Leaning back, Nick studied Ian’s face. He didn’t look scared. Not really. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.” Ian’s expression became suddenly stubborn, resolved. “Do it.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Do it. Bite me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
In spite of Ian’s firm expression and resolved tone, Nick didn’t believe him. Not entirely. But he couldn’t turn the offer down. He licked Ian’s neck, tasting the salt and feeling the pulse of his heartbeat. Ian shuddered.
The scent coming from Ian’s body held just enough fear to make it spicy, just enough arousal to make it irresistible. The apprehension concerned Nick, but Ian had his head turned to one side, the visible beat of the pulse in his neck calling Nick to it. Right next to it was a tiny, white scar, barely visible, from the last time Nick had bitten him. Nick pressed his tongue against it, then the flat of his teeth, still fangless.
“Do it,” Ian prodded.
“Are you still drunk?” He wanted to do it, but he didn’t want Ian to regret it later, either. And, most of all, he wanted Ian to remember it.
“Not that drunk. Just fucking do it, for fuck’s sake.”
Nick did it. His fangs parted Ian’s warm skin easily, blood springing to the surface, hot and sweet against Nick’s tongue. He could still taste alcohol in it, but the bite of it was less than he’d expected, given how much they’d imbibed. He had no doubt Ian was as sober as he’d needed to be to make a clear decision.
Ian clenched Nick’s arms, fingers digging in, and made a low, pained sound, but he made no attempt to move away. As Nick drew on the flow of blood, swallowed, he could feel Ian’s hips pulsing under him, the hard line of his erection dragging against Nick’s stomach. He took another long gulp, then carefully eased back, licking the wound to seal it.
“You okay?”
Ian nodded. His eyes were squinched shut, nose crinkled. Nick laughed and kissed the lines between his eyes. Slowly, Ian relaxed. His eyes opened, wide and brown and limpid, like a puppy or a harbor seal.
“That’s all?” Ian sounded disappointed.
“For now.” He kissed Ian’s mouth, belatedly remembering he still had blood on his lips. But Ian kissed him back, not seeming to mind, tongue questing inside. Nick reached down into the heat between Ian’s legs and cupped his balls. They were soft, and the skin shivered and retreated under Nick’s touch.
“Merry Christmas,” Ian said.
Nick blinked. “Oh. Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” How had he forgotten that?
“It is.” Inexplicably, Ian pushed to a half-sitting position, looking around him at the clutter around the bed, on the nightstand and on the floor. Finally he said, “Ha!” and reached over to snag something off the floor from behind a couple of take out boxes still stained with soy sauce.
“Ha?”
Ian had a green sock in his hands. He quickly tied a knot in it, then, with a mischievous grin, held it over his head. “Mistletoe.”
“That’s not…” Nick started to protest, then laughed. “Shit. Close enough.” And he kissed Ian hard, and bore him back down into the bed.
Merry Christmas, indeed.
Elizabeth Jewell
Elizabeth Jewell is the author of a number of erotic romance books, including Dark Callings and Weary Memories, both from Changeling Press. When she isn’t writing, she’s usually asleep. Elizabeth lives in Colorado with her nearly grown kids and a variety of animals.
Keep track of EJ’s exploits at Elizabeth-jewell.com or via her Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/pages/Elizabeth-Jewell/112009064452. You can also keep track of EJ and her alter ego, Katriena Knights, at twitter.com/crazywritinfool.
Visit changelingpress.com/author.php?uid=8 for more titles by EJ.
Emmy’s Wish
Ayla Ruse
Will this little Elf get the huge (male) present she wants?
Dear Santa,
Every year you tell all the Workshop Elves to write down one wish they’d like you to grant as their Christmas present. Every year you bring amazement and joy to all us little Elves. In fact, this is one of the perks I’ve loved about being a Workshop Elf.
During the past couple of years, though, it seems that something’s happened to disrupt our communications. I’ve not received my wish yet. I don’t know if my request isn’t getting to you, or if my wish is unclear, but this is the third year I’m making the same request.
Santa, I want a BIG, real live man as my present. The first year I left the time open-ended. Last year I asked to have him a month. This year, because having him around for a long time seems to be an issue, I’m willing to negotiate to have him only one day -- preferably Christmas Day.
Thanks, Santa. And if my wish can’t be granted this year, I’ll drop by sometime, because you’re going to have to spell it out for me why this wish isn’t working.
Your ever faithful worker ~ Emmy.
P.S. In case you aren’t sure what I mean, I want a BIG male with BIG, um, male parts. Bigger than our local Workshop Elves, at least.
Chapter One
Emmy woke up Christmas morning hopeful, excited, and with eyes squeezed shut. She took a deep breath and peeked to her right.
Damn. No hulking male. Instead, there was a shiny little golden bell resting on the pillow next to her head. “Thanks, Santa,” she mumbled as she picked it up and gave it a little shake. Its tune spread high and bright through her room, and Emmy sighed. In truth, she wasn’t surprised to find her bed empty -- again. Hopeful, but not surprised.
“No sense staying in bed if it’s empty.” Determined to enjoy her Christmas day, she climbed out from under the red satin sheets, naked -- ever hopeful -- and rummaged through the top of her messy bureau. Finding what she wanted, she picked out a shiny red and green twisted ribbon, which she threaded through the bell. She hung this around her neck, admiring how the bell rested perfectly in the shallow valley of her breasts.
She tapped the bell, smiled at the pretty tinkling sound, then cupped her small breasts and flicked her nipples. “Sorry, girls. Looks like we’re flying solo again this year.” Shrugging her shoulders, she bounced out of her bedroom.
Her destination: the kitchen, and breakfast. Even though it was still early and not much sunlight filtered in, she didn’t turn on her lights. She’d decorated the high, open beams throughout her cottage with bright, twinkling, multi-colored rope lights, lending a festive glow throughout her home. Dancing a little to make her bell sing as she made her way into the living room, she didn’t pay attention around her, and her leg banged against something solid. Off balance, she fell over the obstacle and landed hard on the floor.
“Mmm, Merry Christmas to me,” a low, male voice resonated through the room.
Emmy froze with her forearms on the floor, and her waist caught over what she quickly realized was a male leg.
“Does that sweet ass come with a face?” the voice inquired seductively.
Her initial embarrassment fled and excitement poured through her. She pushed up to her hands, turned her head and became speechless at the sight of the male draped across her couch. As she looked up his length, his clothing stood out first. His pants and shirt shimmered a blue and white blend that reminded her of the frozen lakes out back. She smiled at the bulge growing under his pants, but moved her gaze up to his face. His dark skin stood out starkly against so much white. It was difficult to pinpoint under the glow of the lights, but she’d put his coloring at a light smoky gray. Like the first shadows to fall at dusk. His white hair was long, thick, and shaggy -- not in a derelict way, but more of a blending in with nature kind of way.
She stopped breathing when their gazes locked. His eyes were white, with icy blue irises and a brighter starburst of white for pupils. He tilted his he
ad and her gaze averted to his pointed ears. Elf’s ears. It couldn’t be. “You’re an Elf?” she asked incredulously.
He nodded. “I’m a Border Elf.”
“The ones that protect and patrol the North Pole? I’d heard you guys were ugly.”
The Border Elf laughed out loud.
“You are definitely not ugly,” she said hurriedly, teetering on his leg as she worked herself upright. Once on her feet, she didn’t stay there for long. She crawled right up and over the male and straddled his hips as if she’d done so a million times before.
“Whoa.” He grinned. His blinding smile dazzled her. “What’s this about?”
“Santa sent you, right?”
“He did. He told me he had an Elf who wanted to play with a Border for a day.”
She clapped her hands and, raising her head, whispered, “Thank you, Santa.” Looking back into the arresting face of the male underneath her, she said, “You’re my gift. I get to play with you all day!”
A curious look crossed his face. “I got the impression from my uncle that the girl he wanted me to play with was, um, a really little, as in young, girl.”
It was Emmy’s turn to be confused. “I am little, in a size-sense, but no different than most other Workshop Elves. I’m even considered tall at four feet, eight inches. I don’t know why -- wait -- did you say uncle?”
“Yes. My uncle is Santa. He’s tried to get me to come up here a couple of years now but work’s tied me up. This is the first year I’ve been free.”
“A couple of years?” she practically squealed. That meant Santa hadn’t forgotten about her at all. She’d give that jolly ol’ Elf a huge smacker the next time she saw him. “Oh, boy. We don’t have much time, then.”
