Torrid Teasers Volume 18

by Sherrill Quinn, RaeLynn Blue

"Are you all right, lass?” His voice was harsh, guttural, the words sounding as if they had been dragged from the deepest part of him. “Please tell me you're all right."

  "I'm fine.” She curled her fingers deeper into his hard buttocks. “I'll be even better if you'd just get on with it.” She arched up, trying to get him to move.

  He laughed. When she clenched her inner muscles around his thick erection, he groaned and pulled out of her. Slamming back in, then sliding out, he set a hard, driving rhythm that crashed the headboard against the wall. With each thrust, the breath exploded out of her lungs on a thin, short cry. Through it all, he held her gaze, his eyes boring into hers.

  There was a wonderful sensation of fullness as he pushed deep into her body, then a clawing emptiness with his withdrawal. The head of his hard cock scraped along her sensitive inner walls and she fought instinctively to keep him deep inside her.

  The sensual tension coiled tight in her core, each thrust pushing her closer and closer to the edge of release. She kept her gaze on his, unwilling to look away, and saw his eyes go impossibly darker. His face pulled tight even as his lunges became more forceful.

  With the headboard pounding against the wall, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh and the suctioning sound of his shaft driving into her wet pussy ramped up her arousal. He gathered her body into his arms, sliding his hands around to grip her buttocks. The position forced her hips higher and she wailed as the new angle put him right at the mouth of her womb.

  Jazz leaned down further, rubbing over her sensitized nipples with the dark hair on his chest. Never taking his eyes off her face, he nipped her lower lip, then said in that dark, magical voice, “Come for me."

  All the spiraling tension gathering inside her reached a pinnacle and, with a keening cry, she exploded into her orgasm. Her back arched, her head went back and little stars swam behind her closed lids. Dimly, she heard his shout and felt his fingers dig into her buttocks as he stiffened and hardened even further inside her, then the hot spurts of his release jetted into her channel. His climax triggered a fresh round of spasms so strong, Anna's entire lower body clenched, hard.

  * * * *

  When the final twitches of his cock subsided, Jazz collapsed onto Anna. He buried his face in her neck, loving the sweet and slightly musky scent of her skin, and tried to catch his breath.

  Her chest heaved with the effort to draw breath, and he realized he was making it that much harder for her, crushing her with his weight as he was. He rolled over, keeping his semi-hard shaft inside her silken core, until she rested on top of him.

  "I'm too heavy for you,” she said, sleep and sexual satisfaction heavy in her voice. Glancing at her face, he saw her eyelids had already drooped shut.

  He snorted in denial. “Lass, I outweigh you by a hundred pounds. Compared to me, you barely weigh anythin'."

  She yawned and snuggled her face into the crook of his neck. The puff of her warm breath against his skin started desire pooling in his belly and his cock started to harden once more.

  "Still,” she said with another big yawn, “this can't be comfortable for you."

  "With you as my blanket, darlin', how can I not be comfortable?” He stroked his hands up and down her back, straying down to her silky buttocks every now and again, smiling when she shivered against him.

  "Okay, but I'll warn you now. I'm gonna fall asleep on you.” She slid one arm under him, curling her hand under his shoulder blade. The other hand rested over his heart.

  He placed his hand over the slim fingers on his chest and lightly squeezed. “I'd like nothin’ better, lass."

  "This is nice,” she murmured and rubbed her nose against him. “I could stay like this forever."

  "Like this?” he asked, thrusting his hips slightly against hers, seating his cock more firmly inside her. In reaction, her silky channel clutched him. Her breath hitched and she nodded. When he made no further moves, her breathing evened and slowed as she slipped into slumber. His fingers tightened briefly on her back, then he forced himself to relax. She needed rest, not more sex.

  Holding her close, his hands still stroking over her back, Jazz closed his eyes. Breathing deeply through his nose, he dragged her scent deep into his lungs. Her wish had been to not wake up alone on Christmas Day. She was looking for one night only, not a lifetime commitment.

  And a lifetime commitment with one of his kind was a very long, long time.

  But, by all the ancestors, he wanted to give her that. He had a picture very clearly in his mind of them together, first at the North Pole while he worked out the rest of his obligation to Kris, then at his ancestral home in Cnoc Meadha under the rolling hills of Ireland.

  He brought one hand up and tangled his fingers in her soft hair. She had become so precious to him. He wasn't sure he could let her go.

  But come morning, that'd be what he'd have to do.

  * * * *

  Anna stretched and came awake grudgingly, as she usually did, opening her eyes to face a new day. Feeling a heavy weight over her stomach and upper thighs, she moved her hand, touching a hairy, brawny forearm. She turned her head slowly, hardly daring believe it.

  Jazz was still here.

  He lay sleeping beside her, his long, dark lashes fanning his cheeks. The tip of one ear peeked through the long strands of his hair. Reaching out, she traced her finger over its contours, smiling at him when he opened his eyes.

  "Good morning,” she whispered, trying to keep her mouth as closed as possible so as to not breathe her yak-coated breath on him. Joy unfurled through her that he was still there with her.

  He smiled, a slow sexy curl of his lips. Wrapping one big hand behind her neck, he pulled her forward for a long kiss. His whiskered jaw rasped against her face. By the time he drew back, she'd stopped thinking about morning breath and streaked mascara.

  "You look like a pixie, with your hair sticking up like that.” His voice was raspy with sleep, his eyes still slumberous.

  She pursed her lips. “Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?"

  He leaned in for another kiss. “Oh, it's a very good thing.” He swept her hair away from her face, his hand cradling her head. “Merry Christmas, lass."

  Anna felt tears prick her eyes and blinked them away. He'd fulfilled her wish and now he'd leave. Wrapping her arms around him, she rested her head against his chest and listened to the strong thump of his heartbeat. She tried to control her breathing so Jazz wouldn't see how upset she was becoming. In less than twenty-four hours, she'd gotten very attached to her naked elf. She didn't like that they'd be going their separate ways once Christmas was over. Just thinking about it made her stomach roll with dread.

  Turning her head, she placed a kiss on his shoulder. She drew in a slow breath through her nose. She should never have made that stupid wish. Or, she should have made the wish one without consequences. Having loved Jazz, how was she supposed to cope with the loss?

  It wasn't as if they had a relationship. One night of sex—albeit mind-numbing, soul-shattering sex—did not a relationship make. But she felt like they were so much more than ‘friends with benefits.'

  He was familiar. Comfortable, like a pair of favorite slippers.

  She felt her chest go tight as she realized the simple truth. She wanted to be with him. She genuinely liked him—his humor, his tenderness. More than that, she felt drawn to him in a way she never had with anyone else. She could easily stay with him for the next fifty years.

  She stilled. He was practically ageless. In fifty years, if she lived that long, she'd be ninety. He'd still look much as he did today. Why would he want her when he could have another elf as ageless as himself?

  His long fingers sifted through her hair, lightly massaging her scalp. When he sighed, his chest lifted beneath her cheek. “It's Christmas mornin'."

  Why was he stating the obvious? Was he trying to tell her he needed to leave? “Yes,” she responded quietly.

  He cleared his throat. “Your wish was merely t
o not wake up alone."

  She drew in a deep, deep breath and let it out slowly. Propping up on one elbow, she stared down at him, dreading his response to the question she had to ask. “You're ready to leave?"

  "No!” He rose up, pushing her down onto her back so he could lean over her. “No, lass.” His mouth covered hers, hard and rough. By the time he drew away, they were both breathing heavily. “I think I love you, Anna."

  She stared into his eyes, realizing two things almost simultaneously. One, this was the first time he'd used her name. He'd been calling her lass, sweetheart, and darlin'. Two, it was possible for her heart to stop beating.

  She narrowed her eyes at him even as joy started flaring like fireworks inside her. “You'd better mean that,” she said, trying to make her voice stern and knowing she failed miserably. “'Cause I gotta tell you, I don't care if you've got a polar bear gnawing on your nuts, if you say it, you'd better mean it, because I'm thinking I love you, too."

  He grinned and those incredible ocean-colored eyes sparkled with joy. Grabbing her chin in one big hand, he brought her face close to his. “I mean it,” he said, and slanted his mouth over hers. His hand moved to her jaw, his fingers curling gently over her throat.

  She opened her lips for the swift invasion of his tongue. He stroked into her mouth, hard and sure, growling low in his throat when she curled her tongue around his in blatant invitation. It was the kind of kiss Anna had dreamed of during all those long nights spent alone in her big bed. A dance of the senses, he drew her tongue into play and settled into her arms, his fingers splayed beneath her shoulder blades.

  Tearing his mouth from hers, he rested his cheek against her face. “I wish..."

  When he didn't go on, she prompted, “What?"

  He rolled his forehead back and forth over hers. “I wish you'd come with me, live with me."

  She pushed on his shoulders until he moved back far enough for her to see his face. “You can't be serious.” Her breath hitched and she bit her lip against sudden tears. To live with Jazz, to have the time to love him the way she wanted to would be the answer to her dreams.

  "I am."

  Despite her best efforts, a tear tracked down her face. “But I'm human, and you're practically immortal."

  He brought his thumb to her mouth and swept a lazy pattern over her bottom lip. “Elven magic is a powerful thing, darlin'. I can take some of the years from my life and give them to you. We'll have a long, long time together."

  Anna searched his eyes, seeing truthfulness and caring and so much love, she could no longer hold back the tears. “I ... I can't believe this."

  His dark brows dipped and a look very much like panic crossed his face. “I thought you'd be happy."

  "I am,” she sobbed, laughing at the same time. Framing his face with her hands, she kissed him through her tears.

  "Then why are you cryin'?"

  "Because I'm happy.” When the confused frown deepened, she laughed and rubbed her nose against his. “It's a girl thing.” When he still didn't look convinced, she swiped at her tears and repeated, “I'm happy."

  "Good,” he muttered. “By the ancestors, you about gave me heart failure, lass. You shouldn't be cryin’ when a man asks you to spend the rest of your life with him."

  She laughed again. “Sorry."

  He rolled onto his back, pulling her into his arms.

  She snuggled her head on his shoulder and rubbed one hand over his hard pectorals, trailing her fingers through the swirling dark hair covering his chest.

  "I love you, Anna."

  Four simple words with the power to take her breath away. “I love you, too."

  When he rolled back over, pulling her under him, his mouth slamming down on hers, she had one last coherent thought.

  She was starting on the adventure of a lifetime with a man—an elf—who was naked.

  It didn't get any better than this.

  THE HAUNTING

  by

  RaeLynn Blue

  Grandma Liz found the ring in the display case at an antique shop in London and purchased it on the spot. She shrugged off the dealer's claim that it once belonged to Queen Elizabeth the First of England with a laugh and a, “Oh, hogwash.” And as far as the dealer's warning about Queen Elizabeth's curse on the ring forbidding anyone other than herself to wear it was concerned, Grandmother offered “hogwash” and departed with her newly purchased, totally British piece of history.

  Twenty years later, the ring came to me—her favorite granddaughter and namesake. The first time I slipped it onto my finger, I felt a tingling sensation on my hand. A shiver raced down my spine and just for a second, I thought of the dealer's warning.

  "Hogwash,” I said in my grandmother's memory and merrily went about cleaning her old bedroom, a task that seemed completely overwhelming. I took the ring off and slipped it into my jeans pocket.

  "It must be done,” Corrine said, her breath coming in a gasp.

  She'd mistaken the “hogwash” I'd uttered as referencing the cleaning chore that had me on my knees.

  "She did leave it all to you."

  The bare whisper of jealousy in her words burrowed into my ears like greedy little ticks on a dog. There must be something said of sibling rivalry—something naughty and nasty, no doubt.

  "Yes, I know, Corrine, but you could lend a hand. This place is enormous!"

  The dusty, antique three-bedroom house was willed to me two short weeks ago. Now not only did I share my name—Elizabeth Owens—with my grandmother, I also, at times, shared her homestead. The place held vivid memories of a happier time, when life was simple and filled with love—true love. Not the commercial, Hallmark card kind of love, but the kind that stuck with a person—like mashed potatoes.

  "Yeah, I could,” Corrine said with another brief smile, which didn't quite reach her eyes. She glanced briefly at grandmother's open jewelry box. “Being that it's Saturday, hello! I got stuff I can do, and since you were her favorite..."

  With that last ringing tone of outright spitefulness, she picked up her purse and exited through the room's beautiful mahogany door. Outside, a gorgeous day, free of clouds and bursting with bright sunshine, beckoned.

  Groaning, I turned around and searched about the room. A fresh layer of dust covered the somewhat new sheets that floated around like ghosts. Belongings had already been taken—relatives claiming cherished memorabilia and the local church thrift shop stopped by to collect a few odd collectables I hadn't wanted to bother storing. Or cleaning. But many of the smaller things—pictures, books, and statuettes—remained. The bedroom, her sanctuary, was the last of it.

  Why the cleanup fell to me was as simple as lemonade. Grandma Liz willed the place to me, and it was where I spent many of my childhood moments. The days were long back then, and I enjoyed watching my grandparents solidify a bond that would later be broken by death—tragic death.

  Underneath the bed, I spotted shoeboxes missed earlier and hauled them out into the sun-filled room. The dust billowed into the air, and with a few sneezes and wandering dust bunnies, I put them on the bed. I assumed the heap of boxes hid various styles of block-heeled shoes, Grandmother's favorite.

  I was wrong.

  Most of the cardboard boxes were filled with aged letters held loosely with elastic bands and paper clips. But the last small red shoebox held what appeared to be an old, leather bound book tied tightly with a satin, crimson ribbon. I pulled one of the ties until the bow collapsed—excitement surging through my hands, up my arms, and slithering down my back with icy accuracy, causing my stomach to tighten in anticipation.

  With the bedroom's hot stale air hovering like an anxious nanny, I opened the book and immediately recognized Grandmother's long, slanted loops. At the top of the yellowing page was a date. A diary! The last date was as recent as the previous year. What had grandmother thought about her life, her children, her grandchildren? What thoughts had she only written in her journal?

  Curiosity piqued, I stuffe
d the diary back inside the box and put it next to my purse. It would be a must read for later that evening when the cleaning was done.

  * * * *

  The day soon turned into night, and I pushed open my front door for an evening alone. The scent of fresh rain and jasmine filled the apartment, immediately releasing the stress I had knotted in my shoulders. Grime, dirt, and other solid patches seemed to stain everything I wore—my jeans, my t-shirt, even my shoes—and I wanted nothing more than a shower.

  Quickly undressing, I stepped into the already running water. The steaming hot currents of water drilled hard and consistent across my back, over my head and down my body. The soapy suds huddled around the drain before disappearing into the depths of the pipes. I closed my tired eyes and allowed the water to continue to saturate my skin. The desire to hurry had been taken, ripped and dragged from my being.

  The fatigue wasn't just from the labor at the house.

  Why was I cleaning a house on a Saturday when I should have been out meeting that someone special?

  "Because I'm a magnet for the deranged, the desperate, and the divorced,” I said to the showerhead.

  As if agreeing, a spray of cold water burst through and forced me out into the steamy bathroom. I toweled off in the same unhurried manner as I had showered. What was the rush? I didn't have a hot date, a group of girlfriends to meet, or anything worthy to rush off to.

  It was only seven thirty, but I crawled into bed for the night. My body was weary; my emotions, exhausted. Yawning, I tossed my jeans next to the chest at the foot of the bed. With a small clunk, my grandmother's ring fell beside the chest. I stared at it for a moment and became drowsy with fatigue. But just before sleep overtook me, I reached for the ring and placed it near the pictures of my cat, Shelia.

  Within moments, I slept...

  And dreamed...

  His voice is nearly lost in the soft fall of rain. It falls in a patter of cool, light droplets that become trapped in his rich, black hair. They sparkle like black diamonds, competing with his bright smile of promise.

  The country unfolds in front of us. Fields of supple grass, brilliant green, stretch outward as far as my eyes can see. Twilight sets the midnight-velvety sky with thick, pillowy clouds that beg to be touched, caressed, just like the smooth skin on his arms.