What is your favorite memory of Christmas?
I'm giving a copy of my White Hot Christmas: Santa's Treat to one lucky winner, and a winter wolf book cover set to another. (Trade size paper book and large size paper book) Name will be drawn from those who post. Good luck!
Santa's Treat by Camille Anthony
Santa's been a little disenchanted with his job lately. Mrs. Claus ran off with Rudolph, who kept putting his nose where it didn't belong -- all Santa's reindeer are shifters. What? You didn't think he’d keep a herd of fat lazy deer around all year, eating their heads off, when he only needed them one night a year?
Anyway, the Mrs. ran off with Santa's ex-best friend, so he's been alone for a while now. So you can see why the idea of a special treat got his juices running. He thinks Plum's giving him a treat, but he read the note wrong. Plum's been a very good girl, and he's supposed to give her a special treat. But that's OK, because the treat Plum wants is Santa.
Excerpt from Santa's Treat:
“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 a 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.
OMG! 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…
T’was 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 2 bedrooms: one with an in-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 is it that someone would dress up like Santa to steal people’s presents? So what if he looks fine from the back? Who the hell does he think he is…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 movement 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!”
To enter the drawing for Camilles' treats, answer her question above: What is your favorite memory of Christmas? Or comment on her post in some other way. Camille's contest will close at midnight tonight and her winner will be announced tomorrow morning on this thread.