by Kane Jewell Ruse McCall Anthony McKay Sax Slayer Michael Burke Logan
Frantic, not sure she wanted him to stop, or never to stop, her hands pushed at his head. Her fingers snagged in the long black curls and yanked, trying to lift his mouth off her over-sensitized nub.
He growled and shook his head, jiggling her clit with the movement. Fevered chills skittered through her body. Plum yelped. He wasn’t stopping. She was glad because her body was way ahead of her waking mind. It wanted to reach the finish line, no matter what her disjointed thoughts directed.
Hyperventilating, Plum tightened her grip on the man’s hair and yanked again, only this time, she was trying to mash his face into her crotch. Wild now, she wrapped her short legs around his torso, canting her hips to grind her pussy against his open mouth. “Eat me… eat me up!”
She couldn’t believe that was her making those growling noises, screaming that sluttish demand. Her cries turned to whimpers as the man pulled away to grin up her body at her.
“That’s what I’m doing, luv. I was so greedy for the rest of you last night I never got around to tasting my special treat.”
“If you stop now, I’ll kill you.”
“Oh, no worries, babe. I’m just getting to the cream-filled center.”
He was still chuckling when he latched onto her clit again. In counterpoint, his deeply plunging fingers reached and manipulated her elusive G-spot, driving her completely mindless with lust.
Pulse gone haywire, heartbeats faster than the wings of a hovering hummingbird, Plum’s lower body fought to rise up. The heavy arm across her belly held her torso down. As her body shook and trembled, he opened his mouth wide over her opening and used his tongue to delve deep into her vagina while supplying a strong suction.
That did it for Plum. She screamed, thrashing beneath her lover as he held her captive, kept her subdued as he gulped down her gushing fluids.
Before the first orgasm ended, another slammed through her, this one sharper and stronger than the last. It stripped her down to her bare essence, sent her spinning into the dark on a slide of debilitating pleasure.
The next time Plum opened her eyes, the room was bathed with the early morning light of pre-dawn, a softly indistinct shade that could be either six in the morning or six at night.
She stretched languidly, muscles and tendons a little achy and tight. The burn felt good… more than good. She sighed, her body doing a full-length undulation that left her loose and lax on the rumpled bed.
“Plum, luv, you were delicious.”
The sentence rang in the still morning air, startling the crap out of Plum. She’d heard that voice in her dreams, but hadn’t expected to hear it in broad daylight. Was she still sleeping? She pinched her arm to make sure. “Ouch!”
She sat up with the spring-like motion of a Jack-in-the-box, hand pressed to her chest where her heart was trying to pound its way out. She wasn’t sure what emotion she was feeling when she gathered her courage and turned to look down at the being taking up most of the room in her double bed.
Oh, my God! He looked scrumptious. His pale blue diamond-ique skin covered an impressive amount of muscular male goodness. His head rested on his folded arms, naked body splayed in a lazy sprawl on top of the covers. Lively root beer-colored eyes twinkled up at her from under droopy lids. White teeth gleamed in a self-satisfied grin as he leisurely licked his fingers.
Plum closed her eyes with an embarrassed groan. Hadn’t he just had those fingers buried knuckle deep inside her pussy?
“Sweetheart, I’ve never tasted such a special treat.” His voice dropped, and his eyelids drooped as he crooned, “I’m putting your name at the top of the Nice List because you were very, very good!”
It hadn’t been a dream. Plum grabbed two fists full of hair and screamed, “Oh my God, I’ve just fucked Santa Claus!”
Her land-line phone chose that moment to ring, interrupting Plum’s descent into panic. It could only be family calling this early. She scrambled for it, trying to hold the blanket over her exposed everything as she grabbed the handset “Hello?”
A disgruntled male voice growled, “You’re a grown assed woman, Plum, but I’m your eldest brother, and didn’t enjoy hearing you uh… knocking boots all damned night. So be prepared for visitors. Broc and Bru and I will be there in an hour. Oh, and tell Santa not to go anywhere. We want a word or three with him.”
Horrified at her brother’s words, Plum wanted to curl up under the covers and never show her face again. How had she forgotten she’d put her cell phone on speaker before heading off to confront what she’d thought was a burglar? Her brother must have heard everything. “Oh my God!”
“I heard a few too many of those last night,” Arti drawled, dragging out the sentence to its full sarcastic potential. He slammed down his phone.
Plum flinched and slowly replaced her handset on its base. How in the world was she going to explain being with Saint Nick? Almost fearfully, she lowered her lashes, peeking from beneath them at the Elf lying beside her, body boldly revealing he was still happy to see her.
He met her timid gaze with his calmly, not seeming at all worried. He didn’t know her brothers. Burying her flaming face in her hands, Plum tried to make sense of all this. The night before, she’d been innocently asleep in her bed when…
Chapter Two
’Twas the night before Christmas and Plum was snuggled in her lonely bed with visions of hunky men dancing in her head, when out in her living room there arose such a clatter, she sprang out of her bed to see what was the matter. And that was where her story shifted from that anemic Christmas classic…
Plum was instantly alert. When you lived in a neighborhood like hers you learned to sleep light.
Her family was constantly nagging her about moving elsewhere, like in with one of her three brothers, but she liked her independence. Besides, the twins were married to women she’d never cared for and vice versa. Just thinking of living with Arti made her shudder.
She loved her tiny house -- consisting of a living room, kitchen, and two bedrooms: one with an en-suite bathroom, the other a small room off the kitchen that she’d made her office since it got great morning light -- it suited her and she was prepared to defend it.
Plum squatted by her bed and felt around for the hockey stick -- a gift from Arti, her overprotective cop brother. Her fingers slid across the glossy cover of her Playgirl magazine -- oh, that’s where it had disappeared to -- and she pushed it aside intent on the stick.
Plum was brave, but she wasn’t stupid. Remembering Arti’s instructions, she grabbed her cell phone, hit the emergency speed dial number and waited for it to connect before thumbing the speaker button. Once she heard the sound of quiet breathing on the line, she slipped the phone into the snug bodice of her wispy red baby doll nightgown.
Protection in hand, she started toward the door leading to her living room. The loud racket told her she was dealing with one of two things: either a thief so desperate they didn’t care about making noise or a newbie thug or druggie with delusions of invincibility.
Taking a deep breath Plum squared her shoulders, tiptoed to the door and eased it open. She peered through the narrow gap and immediately bristled with anger.
There was a man rifling through the stacks of her Christmas presents bold as he pleased. And he had the nerve to be humming “Jolly Old Saint Nicholas” under his breath.
The sight infuriated her. The gall of that punk! How sick was it that someone would dress up like Santa to steal people’s presents? So what if he looked fine from the back? Who the hell did he think he was… the Grinch?
Then again, if he was trying for the Santa look, he’d missed it by a mile. Sure, he was wearing the requisite loose red jacket trimmed in white, held together by a wide black belt over matching pants tucked into knee high black boots, but they were way too big on him.
The loose fit made him look like a mischievous boy playing dress up in his father’s clothes. Normally she wouldn’t think that sexy, but on him the look was erotic as hell. His every move
ment teased Plum with glimpses of his naked chest from between the lapels of the casually draped coat. Damn, but she wanted to see more. Too bad he’s a stone criminal.
She peeked again and confirmed that, other than the clothes, he didn’t look a thing like the jolly fat Elf. From what she could see from the back and side, there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him and even bent over, she could tell he was tall. He might even be taller than her youngest brother, Broc, who played with the Cleveland Cavaliers.
His hair was a gleaming riot of glossy black curls spilling over broad shoulders and halfway down his back, the exact opposite of white. Her fingers itched to sink into that unruly mass. Too bad he’s a low-down, good-for-nothing-Christmas-present-stealing thief!
She’d seen enough. Tightening her grip on her hockey stick, Plum flung open the door and raced into the next room, screaming at the top of her voice. “Hold it right there, Mr. Grinch! You picked the wrong Who’s house to steal from tonight!”
At the strident cry, Nicholas straightened and turned to watch the woman skid to a sudden stop just this side of the door. The hockey stick she’d been brandishing fell by the way as another yell -- this one of alarm -- escaped. She snatched at the door frame, struggling for balance.
The effect of his glamour must have stopped her in her tracks.
Twinkling Brown eyes set in the most handsome face I’ve ever seen… though perhaps handsome isn’t the right word. Doesn’t begin to cover the appeal of wide cheekbones, lean blade of a nose and hair-shadowed square jawed chin that was a perfect match for his ripped body.
“Ah, Plum… there you are. About time. I’ve been making enough noise to wake the dead.”
Her mouth opened and shut. Oh. My. Gawd! Why does he have an Old World European accent? … only my next favorite thing on a man after a tight bod.
He could hear her disjointed thoughts quite clearly. Nick smiled at her, thumbs hooked in the wide belt at his waist. He was used to causing such a reaction, but normally it didn’t faze him. For some reason, this petite round woman sparked his libido. He was horny as hell. When his cock hardened -- something that hadn’t happened in far too long -- he figured it was a Christmas miracle.
The silence remained unbroken so he raised his eyebrows and gave her a tiny encouraging head bob. When she still said nothing, he thought he’d clear up a mistake. “FYI, luv, I’m not the Grinch nor am I here to steal anything.”
Plum couldn’t seem to form a single word, let alone a coherent sentence. Nick couldn’t help chuckling. He knew how very unlike her this current behavior was, knew she was desperate to find her voice.
Curious to hear more of her thoughts, he deliberately tuned in, justifying his peeking by telling himself they needed to communicate, which they couldn’t do while she was glamoured into muteness. His conscience wasn’t buying it but he ignored the small voice claiming he was taking unfair advantage. He so rarely got the chance to be naughty.
Okay, now he’s smiling at me -- more like laughing at me! Great googgly-moogly, his smile lights up his face and it’s pretty much lighting up my insides, too. Damn it, parts I’d thought dried up and mummified have woken up and started jangling, nipples and clit and pussy, to name a few.
Under his hungry gaze, Plum’s little mental meandering got physical. Nicholas avidly watched her body shuddering in response to her risqué thoughts. He didn’t bother fighting the lust she inspired. What blue-blooded Elf would?
And the man has the sexiest set of grooves in his lean cheeks, too. I’ve always been a sucker for a man with dimples. Face it, Plum, you’re a goner.
Overhearing that last made him wish she was his special treat, not some vintage cookie. Her dark skin and abundant curves were just his style, but he knew it was too much to hope she’d see past the glamour to his real self. Figuring he’d take what he could get, he waved his hand before her face. “Never mind trying to talk, sweetheart. You’ve already set me back quite some time. Luckily, I saved your house for last so just give me my special treat and I’ll be on my way.”
Special treat? Plum wondered, her anger roused by the man’s boldness. Was that what thieves were calling their loot these days?
Oh-oh, little Plum was so angry her thoughts practically flew from her. Her furious thoughts were like buzzing bees, gathering to swarm. Any minute now, she’d let fly…
“Who are you? And why are you in my house, rifling through my Christmas presents?”
Hiding a grin at her feistiness, which he found as attractive as her full breasts and hips, he ignored her first question to address the last. After all, deep down, she knew him. She simply didn’t want to admit it. “Now luv, that’s not accurate, is it?”
He indicated the pile of wrapped presents under her tree. “Only one of these is yours, sweetheart. The rest are only yours because you bought them…” He tilted his head and peered at the two presents on top, wrapped in gold foil and multi-colored bows. “Or made them.”
He walked over to gaze down at her, a frown creasing his brows. “Creating sexy lingerie for your brothers’ wives as their Christmas present was very original and in a normal situation, would’ve had the planned impact. Unfortunately, your brothers’ circumstances have changed.”
She backed up, eyes narrowing. “What the frick do you know about my brothers’ situations? And how in hell do you know what’s in those boxes?” Her entire stance stiffened. “You better not have opened them. I paid entirely too much for that gift wrapping to have it messed up.”
This time, his smile was oddly sad. “I always know who’s been naughty or nice.” He made tsk, tsk sounds, shaking his head. “If I were still giving out coal -- which I’m not because I feel there’s quite enough negativity in the world today, don’t you agree? -- I’d have to give several lumps to your sisters-in-law.” He sighed. “They have been exceptionally naughty this year.”
Plum blinked, obviously trying to take in what he’d said. “You’re not making a bit of sense.” Her mouth stopped but her thoughts didn’t. Handsome, but crazy as a loon.
He felt really bad about giving ill news at Christmas, but she deserved to know. “Your twin brothers will announce their upcoming divorces at your Christmas dinner, tomorrow. Meanwhile, I was promised a special treat… a plum cookie. If you’ll give it to me, I’ll go.”
What if I don’t want you to go?
Shaking her head to dislodge her inappropriate thoughts, Plum bent over and picked up her hockey stick. She settled her rump against the doorjamb because standing under her own power wasn’t a sure thing. “First of all, I’m Plum and the last name is pronounced: Koh-oh-kee, not cookie. But let’s get back to who you are and why you’re in my house. And please don’t try my patience with any sleazy, ‘I’m Santa, little girl. Come sit on my lap.’”
“But I am Santa… no, wait. Since you are part Armenian, I am Gaghant Baba, but you may call me Nicholas or Nick.”
“How’d you know I was half Armenian?”
“I told you, Plum. I know everything.” He tapped his paper. “And on my Nice list, by this address, there’s a note jotted that says: Special treat -- plum cooki. I figured my secretary left off the e.”
Her eyebrows rose. Forget him claiming to be Santa. She was interested in that note. Jerking a thumb at her chest, she asked, “What, I’m supposed to be your special treat?”
Inside, she was thinking, I wouldn’t mind. I’ve never seen such a tall drool-worthy piece of eye candy, at least, not in the flesh and not in my living room. This guy makes all those Playgirl magazine models look like microwaved leftovers.
A gleam lit his dark eyes and she had a moment to see the lust shining in them before he hooded his gaze. It had been a long time, but she still recognized sexual attraction when she saw it. This man was as drawn to her as she was to him!
Plum’s hand unfurled to cover her heart. It was trying to beat its way through her chest. Her pussy clenched and moisture leaked out to dampen her panties. She swallowed. Hard.
He
met her gaze and stared back at her, his dark eyes burning, until he blinked and broke their connection, glancing back down at his paper. He looked back up, his reddened face showing his chagrin. A note of disappointment coloring his tone, he admitted, “I’ve… I must have read it wrong.”
“So it means I’m the one who’s supposed to get a special treat.”
“That is obvious, now I reexamine it.” A small, deprecating smile widened those kissable lips. “I wanted a special treat so badly I twisted the meaning for my own purposes.” He shrugged. “Santa is always the giver, never the receiver.”
She couldn’t believe what she was about to say, but Plum knew she’d regret not grabbing this chance. She cleared her throat. “If I get to pick one special treat, I want you. I want to make love with you.”
His lips moved but whatever he was saying was drowned out by the loud, urgent banging at her front door.
“Police! Open up! Miss Cooki, Plum, are you all right in there?”
The twinkle was back in the man’s eyes. “You called the cops?”
She nibbled her bottom lip, undecided what to do. “I called my brother, the cop.”
The knocking got louder and more insistent.
“You’d better answer the door.”
What was she thinking? Plum almost ran to the door. She checked through the peephole and recognized Randall Crewes, a friend of Arti’s. Unlocking the door, she stepped back, inviting the officer in.
“Good evening, miss. Your brother called in a possible break-in?” He looked past her to the man standing at ease in the middle of her living room. “Is there a problem?”
Plum found herself shaking her head. “There’s no need to stand on formalities, Randy. Everything’s fine here. He’s… Nick’s my friend. I forgot he was dropping in tonight, is all. I put out the call before I saw who it was and forgot to cancel the emergency.”
The officer tipped his hat. “If you’re sure…”
“I am.” She nodded, firming her shoulders. “We were just settling in for a good visit, so…”
