Wanton Christmas Wishes

by Multi-Author

  “Settle,” he said roughly as he looked down. He separated their bodies as far as he could and rolled her dress up so there was nothing between them but his trousers and her drawers. He loosened her ties and shoved his hand down her drawers. “Christ almighty,” he whispered as he ran a shaking finger through the hair on her mons. She moaned at the tender touch. “Have you nothing to say?” he asked, working that finger down until it pressed against her clitoris, setting her afire.

  “Don’t stop,” she panted. “Not for anything.”

  He laughed again. “Not for a horde of Cossacks,” he promised. “You have to know I needed this, my Edith. How I needed you.” Before she could answer he pressed his mouth to hers again. He moved his hips in a swaying side-to-side motion, so that his cock kissed her sex as his mouth was on hers, rough and hard and possessive, while he pressed and rubbed her clitoris. He was rough in this, too, as in all things, and clearly experienced. She said a little prayer of thanks for that. She hadn’t needed fumbling. She’d needed this, a man who knew what she wanted and knew how to give it to her.

  She bit his lip as a sharp wave of pleasure rattled her insides. He growled into her mouth, his hips pumping hard now, simulating the sex act. Briefly she wished he would complete it, shove his hard cock inside her and make her explode here against the wall in this dirty, dank little alley they called their own.

  His kiss became bruising, his big hands clutching her backside as he pulled her into his thrusts. He didn’t need that clever finger between them now; his cock was hitting her just right, gloriously driving her closer and closer to completion. She grabbed a handful of his hair, her other arm wrapped so tightly around his neck she must be near to choking him. But she didn’t want him to get away. She needed him. She needed him to help her reach the end.

  Neither broke their kiss, though their breaths were hard and fast as their chests rose and fell in harsh pants. She strained for her climax and finally it was there. She sucked in a shaky breath against his mouth with a desperate whimper as her entire body shook. Her arms and legs were locked around him and he crushed her to him, pressed his hips hard between hers and gave her an anchor to cling to as she fell apart.

  When she went limp in his arms he lowered her to the ground gently, but she sensed his urgency. He leaned her against the wall and she stood there panting, her skirts still a tumble, exposing half her legs. Then he ripped his trousers open and yanked out his cock. It was big and heavy and hard, standing tall between his legs. He began to pump it roughly and she reached out a trembling hand to touch it. The head was soft as velvet and he cursed at her touch, grabbed her wrist and pressed her hand against the side of it as he came in great, shuddering waves that made the big man tremble. She felt the hot wash of his release on the back of her hand, and she wrapped her hand over his on his cock.

  “Edith,” he said with a low growl. His hips jerked again and a small bead of semen slipping out of the end. She ran her thumb through it, making him curse again.

  “This is why I came out here,” she confessed in a whisper.

  He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped her hand off. Then he pulled her close and kissed her temple. “Good,” was all he said.

  Chapter 4

  FINN WALKED BACK into the hospital and stopped just inside the hallway leading to the large operatory ward. Edith had entered a few minutes before to allay suspicions, although her swollen, just-kissed lips and flushed cheeks were a dead giveaway to what they’d been up to. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go back to his tiny bed in his tiny room in Scutari and sleep for a week. Instead he twisted his neck to the side until he heard a satisfying pop and then began walking purposefully towards his duty. Patients came first, doctors second.

  “Dr. Harper,” one of the nurses said in a flat monotone. She looked and sounded as exhausted as Finn was. “We have a broken arm that was set in the field. It’s been several days. You’ll need to see if it was set properly. It didn’t look right to Miss Nightingale.”

  “Is that it?” Finn asked in surprise, relief washing over him. He could do a broken arm in his sleep. Which might very well be the case if it took too long.

  “And a gunshot wound to the arm,” she said, shrugging. “Just a flesh wound, in and out. The arm is sore and weak and swollen, but he’s still got some use of it.”

  “I’ll see the gunshot wound first,” Finn told her. “It might be infected if it’s swollen.”

  “They’re together,” she said. “Brothers, if you can believe it, from the 93rd Highland Regiment. Insisted on everyone else being seen first. They’re just as brave as the stories say.” She actually sounded girlishly dreamy for a moment.

  Finn stopped in his tracks, shock making him immobile. “Brothers?” His tone had the nurse taking a step back. “Fletcher? Is their name Fletcher?”

  She nodded with wide eyes. “Yes, doctor. A captain and a lieutenant, I believe.”

  “Where?” Finn demanded harshly. Could it be Ham? Finn would never forgive himself if Ham lost his arm because Finn had kept him waiting.

  The nurse pointed soundlessly to the end of the ward. Finn could see them now. One man was leaning over the other, who lay on a surgery table. Both wore the Black Watch kilts and scarlet jackets of the 93rd. He couldn’t tell in the distance and dark if either of them was Hamish. He jogged down the aisle between the cots filled with moaning, pain-wracked men, calling out behind him, “Send me Mrs. Lambeth!”

  At his shout he saw the man bending over the cot straighten abruptly. It was Ham. He could tell from the width of his shoulders, the curl of his too-long hair, the way he turned his head to the side as if he were listening, like a deer in the forest, but he didn’t turn to look. Ham had ever been like that—wary, but not revealing it if he could help it. Everyone else took him to be uncaring, almost foolishly so. Slow to alarm, slow to arms, slow to take action. But he was ever vigilant. If you’d needed to know what was going on and with whom in the village near his home, Ham would know. He knew everyone’s business and kept the knowledge to himself.

  Finn skidded to a stop just behind him. “Ham?” he said breathlessly.

  It seemed as if the world stopped as Ham slowly turned to face him. He looked older, a little careworn, but still handsome as sin as all those damn Fletchers were, with his red-hair and full beard and eerie light blue eyes. Even bedraggled and stinking of sweat and mud and sick he nearly brought Finn to his knees. No other man had ever done that. Finn didn’t think any other ever would.

  “Finn,” Ham said in that soft voice of his. He sounded pleased in that sort of private way they’d always had. Finn had forgotten that in the last ten years, forgotten Ham’s voice. He unexpectedly teared up, and glanced down at Ham’s splinted arm to hide it. He took it gently in his hands and examined it, turning it this way and that. Miss Nightingale was right. It had been set wrong. “It’s only a broken arm, Finn,” Ham said. He didn’t sound as calm and collected as he usually did and Finn glanced up. He was caught by the intensity in Ham’s pale stare. “It’s only a broken arm,” Ham whispered again. Then he dragged Finn into his one good arm and hugged him tight.

  Finn was overcome with emotion. He hugged Ham back, not wanting to let go, homesickness, relief, and a strange sort of grief swamping him for a moment.

  “What about me?” came a weak, petulant voice from the cot. “Don’t I get a hug and a how do you do? I’m the one who got shot. He tripped.”

  “I didn’t trip,” Ham said gruffly, his face pressed to the side of Finn’s head. “I was knocked down by a carelessly handled rifle. I’m lucky I didn’t get gut shot by that damn boy.”

  At the horror of the image, Finn’s hands fisted the back of Ham’s jacket. “Have a care,” he warned, his voice too rough by far. He cleared his throat as he self-consciously pulled away. “You’ll be bringing bad luck on your head.”

  “Only good luck now,” Ham said, smiling at him meaningfully.

  “Dr. Harper?” Edith
said behind them, curiosity in her voice. He watched as Ham glanced at her over his shoulder, his eyes warming at the sight of her. He had always had an eye for the same sort of woman that Finn was attracted to. Their friendship had grown out of a jealous fight over a silly girl. Soon enough, neither of them had wanted the girl. Finn turned to Edith, frightened and confused by all the strange emotions coursing through him as he stood between her and Ham.

  “Mrs. Lambeth,” he said, trying to sound cool and calm. “These are the Fletcher brothers, from the infamous 93rd. Old childhood friends of mine.”

  Edith smiled. “How do you do?” She was a tiny thing with her pale blonde hair and slight frame. She looked almost fairy-like next to both he and Ham.

  “Ma’am,” Ham said. “Captain Hamish Fletcher. And this,” he turned and waved at his brother, “is my brother, Lieutenant Conall Fletcher.”

  “How do you do, lieutenant?” she said.

  “At last,” Conall said, “someone acknowledges me, lying here bleeding.” He sounded like any other disgruntled patient.

  “Ach,” Ham scorned. “You haven’t bled in days, you puling babe.” He looked gravely at Finn. “He’s hot to the touch,” Ham whispered, “and that arm is right swollen.”

  Finn nodded, recognizing Ham’s concern. “All right.” He feigned exasperation. “Let me have a look, Conall. You always were a delicate boy.”

  “Ah, Finn,” Conall said. “Don’t be like that. Can’t you see I’m hurting? Why don’t you let the pretty nurse patch me up?”

  “Well, I’m no doctor,” Edith said with a small smile as she crouched next to Conall’s cot, “but I can offer a hand to hold. Will that do?”

  “I need a hand,” another man’s voice called out, his meaning clearly inappropriate. Before Finn could find the offender and admonish him, Ham turned a baleful eye on the ward.

  “Any more of that,” he said in heavy voice that carried, “and the hand you’ll be getting will be my fist in your mouth. Hush it and mind your manners around the ladies.”

  “Aye, Captain,” several voices called out weakly.

  Finn poked at Conall’s arm and his newest patient jerked away and writhed on the bed. “Well, you’ve gone and gotten it infected,” Finn told him in disgust. “You Fletchers were always for overdoing when you ought to be lying low.”

  “Lying low?” Conall said weakly. “And how was I supposed to do that, traveling across the steppes in a wagon and one of only a handful of men who could still walk?”

  “I’ll get you patched up,” Finn said. “Never fear. And then I’m going to force you to take it easy. You and Ham.” He glanced up at Ham as he spoke and the look Ham gave him in return was so heavy and full of heat Finn felt himself flush. He knew exactly how Ham wanted to take it easy. The question was whether Finn wanted to go there again. He glanced at Edith, who was watching them closely and he had no idea what he was going to do.

  “HOLD HIM DOWN,” Finn told Edith. He didn’t even look at her, but she wasn’t offended. He had his hands full with his friend’s arm. He’d always been gruff, and terribly tall and rough, too much so she’d always thought before tonight. He needed a haircut badly, and his whiskers needed trimming, too. She’d been tempted to take her shears to him. There was one lock of hair, an unruly curl that fell down the right side of his forehead to just above his finely arched eyebrow. He wasn’t distinguished, not in the way so many doctors were. He wore his clothes as if they were an afterthought. What she’d seen outside earlier had been a wholly unexpected side of him. Alluring. Exciting. He’d controlled her completely and she’d reveled in it.

  “No one needs to be holding me,” Captain Fletcher said indignantly. It was true the big, red-headed Scotsman was calm, but he wasn’t in control by any means. He had a painful, poorly set broken arm and was weak from lack of sleep, pain and his trip to Scutari. Worry for his brother still etched his brow, though the lieutenant was even now resting on a cot, a cool rag on his fevered brow.

  “Let the nurse do it, you fool,” Finn ordered, affectionate concern in his words. “I’ve got to reset this arm and it’s going to hurt. I’ll not lie to you.”

  “Ach, she’s a wee thing, Finn,” Captain Fletcher said, clearly reluctant to put her in harm’s way.

  “I may be small,” she said with amusement, “but I am mighty.” Several patients observing them from nearby beds laughed. She leaned over the big Scotsman. “If I can’t hold you down, I’ve a good right cross that will put you down.”

  “Now that I’d like to see, Mrs. Lambeth,” a patient called out. “I’ve got a quid on the lady.”

  “Here, here,” a few more called out, and the betting began in earnest.

  She smiled at the handsome captain as she took a firm hold of his uninjured arm and laid her torso over him. “I’ve got you. Don’t worry.”

  “Call out if you need help,” the captain told her as relaxed beneath her. He watched her intently with his odd blue eyes. Unexpectedly he whispered for her ears only, “You smell so damn good.” She blushed but smiled at him as if they shared a secret. Today she adored Scotsmen, really she did.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Before he could respond Finn made a sharp movement off to their right and she could hear the captain’s bone snap. Captain Fletcher sucked in a sharp breath of air, his blue eyes wide with shock, and then his back bowed beneath her, nearly tossing her off.

  “I said hold him, damn it,” Finn growled at her, his Scots burr pronounced. “I don’t need to be hurting him more.” She could hear the pain in his words. He’d hated hurting his old friend.

  “Yes, sir,” she said through gritted teeth. Her ire was more at herself than at Finn or the captain. She’d been too busy flirting with Captain Fletcher to do her job. She knew Finn hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours; his irritation was warranted and understandable. Edith pressed down more firmly on the captain, who immediately relaxed beneath her, though she could feel the tension in his good arm. She whispered soothingly to him as he bit his lip, uncharacteristically quiet. “It’s all right,” she said. “I’ve got you. Let Finn make it better. We’ll take good care of you.”

  Chapter 5

  EDITH HURRIED DOWN the hallway, running late for her tryst with Finn. Miss Nightingale had delayed her to talk about the nursing staff. She wanted Edith to move into a more supervisory position. A few months ago the idea would have thrilled her. Today her reaction had been dismay because more responsibility meant less time for Finn. She was in over her head and falling deeper everyday when it came to him. Her steps slowed as her thoughts turned to Captain Fletcher.

  He’d asked her repeatedly over the last month to call him Hamish, but she didn’t dare. The familiarity was unwise. She was terribly attracted to him, despite her ever-increasing feelings for Finn. The captain had never made any untoward advances, but it certainly wasn’t due to circumspection on her part. Each day she rushed through her other duties so that she could check on him. Finn was often to be found with him, and Edith had told herself many times that was why she sought him out, but she knew it for the lie it was. She simply enjoyed Captain Fletcher’s company, enjoyed his handsome looks, his well-muscled legs, shown off to advantage in his kilt—Edith had gained an entirely new appreciation for the traditional Scottish garment. But it wasn’t just his physical attributes that attracted her. He was quiet and intelligent, kind and compassionate. So like Finn in so many ways, and so different in others. Where Finn was quick to anger and often impatient, Captain Fletcher was always calm and cool, an enigma, never letting anyone close enough to discern his thoughts or feelings. He intrigued her even as his reticence saddened her. It seemed a lonely way to go through life.

  But Finn always knew what the captain was thinking, always knew the right thing to say to draw him out. They were as thick as thieves, and there were times that Edith had caught a look or two between them that she didn’t understand.

  She’d stopped by to see the captain for a moment before m
eeting Finn only to find him among the missing. His brother had shrugged and said he’d wandered off with Finn earlier. Part of Edith was disappointed that he might be with Finn in their spot, thus precluding any intimacies this evening. But another part was more eager than ever to reach their little trysting spot, knowing that both men might be waiting there for her.

  She heard muffled voices through the door, and excitement over seeing both men won out over disappointment. She started to yank the door open, but something made her hesitate. Though she couldn’t understand what they were saying, the tone of their voices made her ease the door open slightly, so that she could hear but not see them.

  “IT’S BEEN A month,” Ham said, staring up at the star-filled sky. “We don’t have much more time together.”

  Finn’s heart ached at the empty sadness in Ham’s voice. “A few more weeks. I can keep you here past Christmas.”

  Ham looked down at the ground. “I’d like that,” he said quietly. Nothing more. So like Ham.

  “You shall spend the day with me and Edith,” Finn said impetuously. He’d invited Ham out here with the same sort of impetuous desire, wanting to spend more time with him and Edith together. He felt the clock ticking away at this time with Ham. His appearance here in Scutari had been a gift, but a gift with limits and Finn hated that.

  “All right,” Ham agreed. “It will be fine Christmas to spend the day with you two.”

  “I’m going to ask her to marry me,” Finn revealed, “and I’d like you to be there.” His heart beat fast with nerves and excitement. He could picture it, asking her with Ham there watching them. There was a rightness to it.