Let's Scrooge

by R. L. Caulder

“That’s for you to decide.” I hesitate, but Gwyneth needs to know the details. “She went through a bad experience, and the way she handled it was to summon a boogeyman. Her parents paid the price. She’s a mess, but I don’t know that she’s past redemption.”

  Gwyneth sighs heavily. “You never bring me the easy ones, do you?”

  “You’re not made for easy.” I check the time and do some mental math. “The police will be questioning them for a bit longer, but you should get down to the station within the hour. There’s also a guy in the drunk tank who likes to get girls hammered and take advantage of them, so if you happen to drop a curse there…”

  When she chuckles darkly, I mentally cross one asshole off my list.

  “I should also warn you that Detective Sharpe is on the case,” I add, because Gwyneth hates surprises once she’s on a case.

  Curiosity fills her voice. “How are things going with Detective Hot Stuff?”

  “He’s not falling to my feminine wiles, if that’s what you’re asking.” I glance down at the thawing gunk that covers my pajamas and grimace. While they mold to my curves, outlining my small breasts and slender waist, they’re not inspiring lust. Prison, yes, desire, no. “He doesn’t see me at my best, and he doesn’t like what we do.”

  “But he keeps visiting you,” she purrs. “He’ll come around.”

  I frown. “Is that a premonition?”

  “I don’t see matters of the heart,” she denies. “But I suggest you shower sooner rather than later.”

  With that ominous warning, the line falls dead.

  Hanging up the receiver, I glance at Flint, who raises his brows in question.

  “We need to shower,” I inform him.

  His blue eyes sweep over me. “I’d say so, yes.”

  I peel the front of my shirt away from my skin with a wet slurp. “Think Marc’s done yet?”

  The corners of his lips twitch as he shakes his head. “Not on your life.”

  “Hmm.” I back out of the kitchen, my shoes squeaking on the tiles, and Flint stalks after me.

  As soon as I clear the kitchen counter, I turn and sprint for the hall.

  When I fling the door to the bathroom open, steam rolls through the enormous room, and flames rage in the fireplace that separates the soaking tub from the large shower. Marc stands under the rain shower faucet overhead, water pouring down over his large, sculpted body.

  Flint barrels into the bathroom behind me, his shirt already off and his pants halfway down. He hops on one foot as he frees one leg, then the other, before tossing his entire pajama set, shoes and all, into the fireplace. Or, more accurately, into the shoot in the center, hidden by the flames, that leads down to the large furnace in the basement.

  “Last one in has to scrub our backs,” he calls as he darts into the shower and shoves Marc out from under the spray.

  “Hey!” Marc protests. “I was using that.”

  “And now I am.” Flint stretches his hands above his head, back arching. “Come to daddy, you beautiful, hot, hot water.”

  Laughing, I peel out of my clothes and toss them down to the furnace before joining them, hitting the on button for the side jets as I do. Water shoots from the angled jets on the sidewalls, and the two smaller showerheads turn on.

  We stole the idea for the setup from a luxury spa, and it was worth every penny of our investment as the hot water pounds the last of the gore from my skin and my bones finally begin to warm.

  It feels good to be scraped raw by hot blasts of water, and I take a moment to relish the modern technology that gave us this gift. So much better than heating buckets over a fire to fill a tiny hip bath.

  A loofah shoves into my face, and a bottle of shower gel appears next to it, shaking from side-to-side for my attention.

  “Fine,” I grumble as I take the items from Flint. “Turn around.”

  “He barely got dirty,” Marc protests from the back of the shower, where he stands beneath the much smaller stream of the showerhead on that side. “I should get to go first.”

  My eyes rack over his muscular front, tracking the rivulets of water that curve around his well-defined pecs and down the hard, center line of his six-pack. The water puddles in his belly button, then follows the thin line of dark hair down to meet the hair around his semi-hard cock. It twitches under my attention, and Marc reaches up to slick his chestnut-brown hair back from his face, his muscles ripping for my pleasure.

  “Wait your turn, cowboy,” Flint points at him imperiously. “He who shirks coffee duty goes last.”

  “You can scrub my back while I scrub Flints,” I offer with a waggle of eyebrows.

  Marc’s brows sweep together. “That’s the exact opposite of how this should go.”

  With a shrug, I pour soap onto the loofah. “Then you’ll just have to wait.”

  Marc extends his hand. “Give me the damn bottle.”

  “All this talking when there should be scrubbing.” Flint wiggles his slender hips, drawing my eyes to the perfect dimples above his ass. Unlike Marc, his muscles belong to a runner’s body, whipcord tight instead of bulky. He glances over his shoulder and arches a slender, dark brow. “Get to it, woman, before I turn into a prune.”

  “You’re never going to turn into a prune.” Gripping his hip with one hand, I press the loofah to his back and sweep it in wide circles.

  Flint’s head tips back, and a loud groan fills the bathroom.

  “Stop pretending you’re in a porno,” Marc tells him before hot, soapy hands slide over my shoulders and dig into my tense muscles.

  My moan of pleasure joins Flint’s as I lean back into Marc’s touch.

  “You’re both ridiculous.” But Marc digs in deeper, pulling another moan from me.

  His massages feel downright magical.

  I halfheartedly scrub Flint’s back as Marc turns my muscles to putty beneath his skilled hands. When Flint turns around for me to wash his front, it only feels right to toss the loofah aside and plaster myself against him in a limp puddle of goo.

  He grins down at me and reaches over my shoulder, coming back with the bottle of body wash. He squirts it between us to create a pool of soap between my breasts where they press against his chest.

  Leaning down, he pushes my wet hair from my ear to murmur, “You’re not done soaping me up.”

  I purr in acknowledgment and move against him, the soap making our bodies slippery. Behind me, Marc’s hands move down my back to the end of my tailbone, and his thumbs sweep over the crest of my ass.

  It pushes me forward against Flint, his hardening cock caught between our bodies. He groans as I roll against him, loving the heat of his length against my stomach.

  Another cock nudges against my back as Marc leans in, his voice a rough growl. “Can we hurry it up and just go to bed already?”

  I shake my head, my wet hair whipping back and forth over my ass and the tip of Marc’s cock. “No time to sleep.”

  He nudges his cock against me. “I wasn’t talking about sleeping.”

  Flint grabs my hips and pulls me up onto my toes. “Aren’t you on timeout, cowboy?”

  I laugh at Marc’s instant growl of refusal, “No timeouts on Christmas.”

  Before I can countermand that statement, he bends and hooks his arm through my legs, lifting one behind the knee while leaving me on my tiptoes on the other. It brings me into perfect alignment for his hard cock to slip between my legs while leaving me completely off balance.

  When I grab Flint’s slippery shoulders, I almost slide right off. Damn all this soap.

  Pulse racing, I glance back over my shoulder. “Okay, I agree, let’s go to bed.”

  “That option’s off the table.” His hips flex, rubbing his cock across my entrance.

  A gasp escapes me as he slips through my wet folds, and I wiggle. “Hey, what about a little foreplay first?”

  “We did that earlier.” He rubs back and forth, nudging against my opening without entering.

  “Demon
hunting is not foreplay,” I groan as desire surges through me.

  “Liar.” He stills, cock poised at my entrance. “You fucking love demon hunting.”

  “Who’s here with me?” I gasp as my reason trickles away. But I need to know for sure. “Is it just you, Marc? Or is—”

  “Just me, sweetheart.” He rocks against me in a shallow thrust that moves the head of his cock in and out of my body. “Pretty boy will make sure it stays that way.”

  “I got you,” Flint promises, before wet hands cup my cheeks and Flint pulls my attention back to him. “Now, pay attention to me, too.”

  His head dips, his mouth claiming mine. This time, there’s no playfulness in his kiss as his tongue sweeps over the seam of my lips before sweeping inside. I tilt my head to give him deeper access as his hands travel down my neck, over my shoulders, then down my sides before settling on my ass to lock me in place between them. I groan into Flint’s skilled mouth and reach back to grab Marc’s hip.

  It’s all the invitation he needs as he thrusts into me in one smooth glide that stretches me open in the most delicious way possible. Seated fully inside me, he pauses for only a moment before he pulls back and drives back in, rocking my body against Flint. Flint groans as I rub against the hard cock trapped between us, our stomachs slippery with soap. He pulls back to nip at my lips, and one hand leaves my ass to shove between us and find my hard nipple, plucking my desire to new heights.

  Marc’s lips land fever hot against the side of my neck, his hard body a heavy weight against my back as he moves inside me at a fast pace and shoves me over the precipice into orgasm.

  My body stiffens between the two men, my muscles winding tight before I moan, a deep, throaty sound that fills the bathroom. My inner muscles pulse around Marc’s hot cock, milking around him as he stills deep inside me.

  As my muscles slowly relax, Flint reaches between us and shifts his hard cock to nudge against my already full entrance.

  I grip his shoulders tighter as he presses forward, stretching me to make room.

  Marc’s hot breath fills my ears, murmuring words of encouragement as I shake and tense between them before forcing myself to relax. I want this pleasure, this sensation of being filled beyond my limits, of taking both men into my body.

  Skilled fingers funnel through the wet curls at the height of my sex to find the sensitive bud there, stroking until I moan and move between them. Marc shifts, pulling out slightly, and as he surges forward, Flint joins him, both men sinking deep.

  I lose my senses to the pleasure, unsure who touches me where, whose tongue thrusts into my lips, or who squeezes my breasts and pinches my nipples. The overwhelming sensation of being surrounded and possessed rocks through me as the men thrust together, building the pleasure.

  The bathroom disappears, the shower vanishes, until all that exists is our bodies rolling as one toward a single goal.

  Climax crashes over me, and I rip my lips free, my fingers digging into hard muscles as I ride out the release. The two men stiffen against me, buried deep inside my body, and they groan in unison as their cocks pulse and hot cum floods my channel.

  I sag between them and, once more, feel the hot spray of the water against my skin. Good thing we have an enormous water heater to go with our enormous shower.

  Flint nuzzles my neck as they slowly pull free of my body. “Now, what did you say about taking this to the bedroom?”

  I groan as Marc lowers my leg back to the ground, and I struggle to support myself. “You’ve got to be kidding. You want to do that again?”

  “That, or something else. I’m up for any of it.” His cock, still semi-hard, twitches against me to accentuate his point.

  Marc’s hands massage down my hips. “You can just lay there. We’ll do all the work.”

  “Well, when you put it like that...” I throw my head back to rest against his shoulder. “Rinse me off and take me to the bedroom!”

  Flint gives Marc a look, and Marc tenses behind me.

  “No, wait—” My protest cuts off as Marc loops an arm around my waist and steps backward, right under the rainfall showerhead.

  Water sluices down on me, and Flint’s hands rub over my stomach and breasts. “Scrub-a-dub dub!”

  I sputter and wiggle my way out of Marc’s hold, then escape the shower. “I changed my mind. No encore!”

  Marc and Flint just laugh as they finish rinsing off, so I grab all the towels from the warming rack and march out of the bathroom, leaving them to drip dry together without me.

  Chapter 7

  PRANCING REINDEER

  Still laughing, I dump all but one towel on my bed and dry off before going in search of a new set of pajamas. I’m pretty sure I have another duck themed pair somewhere in here, and based on my call with Gwyneth, I feel that looking the same as my five o’clock persona is important.

  I move a couple years’ worth of options aside before my hand falls on the set I remember. It’s the same blue and yellow theme with red Santa hats, but instead of rubber duckies, these are real ducks. Marc and Flint had gotten into an argument that year over whether they counted as a new version of something we already owned, so they’d gone into the bottom of the drawer.

  Now, though, I’m thankful they’re so similar.

  As I dig out the matching shirt, warm hands grab my hips, and a bare body presses against me. “Why so quick to dress?”

  I smile and straighten to lean against Marc’s muscular form as I tug open the top drawer for a pair of panties. “Isn’t it more fun to undress me again later?”

  “If you put those on, I’ll just rip them off.” His hand slips around to my stomach, then drifts down to the damp curls between my legs, and my pulse picks up, despite how satiated they already left me.

  As his thick fingers slip between my legs, I close my eyes and rest more of my weight against him. I feel sore and empty from their lovemaking, and the idea of being filled again makes my stomach tighten with need.

  Marc’s lips move up my neck in a hot slide of tongue and teeth, scraping against my flesh as his free hand delves through my hair, tugging my head to the side to give him better access. I gasp at the hint of pain, at the rough way he sucks on my skin, like he’s starving and wants to devour me.

  His body heats against mine as his fist tightens in my hair. “You taste so good, Merri.”

  The guttural growl pops my eyes open, and I stare at our reflections in the mirror over the dresser. Red flushes Marc’s skin, and embers burn in the depths of his eyes. His knee presses between my thighs to push my legs open so his hand can dive deeper, searching out my tender folds.

  His skin burns fever hot against mine as I reach into my underwear drawer, my hand searching through the lace and cotton until my fingers curl around a slender baton.

  With one swift move, I swing my arm up, smashing the thin metal rod against his face. He releases me with a surprised grunt, and I twist free, swinging again. My next blow catches him on the side of the head, and he falls to the mattress.

  I raise the club again in threat. “Let Marc take back control, Darius.”

  He pushes himself upright, a snarl twisting the face of the man I love. “Why does he get to touch you, while you continue to reject me? I was your first, your only.”

  “And you betrayed me.” Angry, I club him over the temple, and the fire vanishes from Marc’s eyes to be replaced by pain-filled confusion.

  “Pen, sor—” he slurs, before his dark eyes roll back in his head, and he slumps to the mattress, unconscious.

  “I hope you didn’t start the party without me!” Flint calls as he cruises into the room, then freezes, the little hand towel he holds falling from his fingers. “Well, fuck. What happened?”

  “Marc’s on timeout, again.” I toss the baton back into the dresser drawer and, no longer in the mood for lace, I grab a pair of granny panties.

  “He let Darius out, huh?” Flint scampers past me to his dresser and pulls out a matching set of pajamas. S
tepping into them, he looks over his shoulder at me. “Did you give him a concussion?”

  “Maybe.” Worried, I bend to lift Marc’s eyelids and check his pupils. When I shift in and out of the light from the dresser, they dilate properly. “No, looks good. Darius can heal him or deal with the headache, too.”

  “He might, just to torment Marc,” Flint grumbles.

  “Then that’s the price he pays for carrying that asshole.” Gently, I shift Marc onto his side and pull the blanket from the foot of the bed to cover him. “He’s here to guard me, not grope me.”

  “Well, you are very gropeable.” Flint pinches my ass, then dodges out of the way of my swing. “Come on. I smell coffee and hear the call of Christmas movies.”

  We leave Marc in the bedroom and head back to the kitchen to grab fresh mugs of coffee before we settle on the couch in the living room.

  Even at almost seven in the morning, we find Christmas movies already playing on the family channel. We’ve both seen the one currently airing, so missing the beginning isn’t an issue for us, and we cuddle up together under a reindeer lap blanket.

  Slowly, the large wall of windows that face the backyard turn from black to gray then an icy blue as the sun creeps over the tree line. Frost glistens on pine needles, promising a cold day.

  Flint gets up to turn on the twinkle lights that wrap around the tree we set up in the corner next to the fireplace, then grabs two of the stockings that hang from the mantle and bring them back to the couch.

  He hands me one as he settles back on the couch.

  “You don’t think we should wait for Marc?” I ask as I peek inside.

  “Stockings at dawn are tradition,” Flint sniffs. “It’s not our fault he’s sleeping through it.”

  “I’m not sure I’d call it sleeping.” But I gamely pull out the first of my wrapped presents.

  The stiff rectangle feels like cardboard on the back, with something soft on the front that jingles quietly. Flint pulls out a matching gift, and we eye each other before tearing into the festive wrapping, racing to see who can open theirs first.

  Triumphant, I hold up a pair of reindeer antlers attached to a headband with red bows on each one that hold little gold bells. I shake it, making the bells ring, and Flint joins in with his matching antlers.