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.”
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