Hot Stories for Cold Nights (2 page)

“Well,” Missy said. “I wouldn't mind more really good kissing.” She propped herself on her elbow and looked down at her husband. “You mean like this?” she said. She lightly brushed his mouth with hers. Concentrating on his lips, she teased, nibbling on his lower lip and licking.

“That's not bad,” the leprechaun said. “Pete, what about you?”

Pete realized that he was totally enjoying the feel of Missy's lips against his. He rolled so he was leaning over her now and kissed her with as much passion as she'd shown.

“Nice,” the leprechaun said. “Real nice.”

The sound of the little fellow's voice aroused Pete. He was watching them kiss. Would he watch them go further? He pressed his tongue against Missy's lips and she opened her mouth. As he invaded, his hand stroked her shoulder and arms, eventually venturing to her breast. Was the guy still watching?

“Nice,” he purred softly. “Yes, just like that.”

Pete played with Missy's breast through her T-shirt and bra and heard both Missy and the leprechaun sigh.

Finally, Pete said, “Okay, leprechaun, what now?”

“What do you want now, Missy?” he asked.

Missy wriggled beneath Pete and managed to pull off her T-shirt. “More,” she said, slightly breathless.

Her bra was pink lace and Pete's fingers found her already swollen nipple through the fabric. He knew how she liked to have her buds played with and he rolled it between his fingers.

“Like that, Missy?” the leprechaun asked.

“Maybe not so hard.”

Okay,
Pete thought, easing his touch, and pulling slightly. “Like this?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, her hips beginning to move beneath him.

“What about a little sucking?” the leprechaun suggested. “Do you enjoy things like that, Missy?”

“Mmm” was Missy's affirmative reply.

“This way?” Pete said, drawing one turgid nipple into his mouth, wetting the fabric of her bra.

“Oh, yeah,” she purred.

“Maybe without the bra now,” the little man said.

“Yes,” Missy moaned, lifting her shoulders and unclip-ping the hooks. “Suck me good.”

This was new. Missy wasn't usually aggressive in bed, and she seldom said things like that. Pete felt his cock hardening as he fastened his mouth on her breast.

“Suck harder,” she said. When he complied, she said, “More. Bite me a little.”

If that's what she wants, that's what she'll get,
Pete thought. He carefully used his teeth, but she grabbed the back of his head and tangled her fingers in his hair, guiding his mouth to where she wanted it. “Now the other,” she said, her breath now coming in short bursts.

She twisted so he could get a better angle as he licked, sucked, and bit her other tit. “She's got great tits,” the leprechaun said, and Pete felt her body jerk.

“You tell me,” she said to her husband.

“You've got beautiful tits,” Pete said, torn between arousal and surprise that she enjoyed hearing words like that. “I love sucking them.” He could feel her excitement rising as he spoke.

“How about giving him some?” the leprechaun said. “His cock needs attention.”

“Does your cock need attention?”

Pete's heat was rising to the boiling point. “God, yes,” he moaned.

She reached between them and squeezed his hard erection through his pants.

“Too many clothes,” the little man said. “Time to strip.”

The couple quickly removed their clothing, too hot to even think about the small man watching and directing their actions. “And it's time to finger her,” he said, cackling.

Pete slipped his hand down Missy's belly and combed through her pubic hair until he found her erect clit. She was so wet that he could easily stroke her and feel her entire body react.

“Is he doing a good job?” the leprechaun asked.

“A little softer,” she said. “I like long, slow, soft strokes right now.”

Pete obliged, understanding exactly what his wife wanted.

“And you, young lady, grab his cock. It needs some rubbing.”

Missy wrapped her fingers around his cock and stroked along its length. “Squeeze harder,” Pete said, “and move your hand a little faster.”

“Put your finger inside me.” She moaned as she stroked him exactly the way he stroked himself when he jerked off.

He slid one finger into his wife's sopping hole. “Another,” she cried, almost screaming in her need. “I need more. Fill me up!”

He did as she asked and felt her channel muscles clench on his fingers. He could wait no longer. Pete moved between her legs and plunged into her, driving his hard dick deeper and deeper.

“Yes,” she screamed, “like that. Now harder. Fuck me harder. I'm going to come. Right. Now!”

She screamed as her legs twined around his hips and she thrust her hips upward.

His orgasm followed in just a few moments.

Missy and Pete dozed on the grass until the sun set, then when they woke up, they realized that the little man was gone. True to his word, it had been the best sex they'd ever had and they'd learned a lot about the art of communication.

 

 

LATER THAT EVENING, THE LITTLE MAN, ALL DRESSED IN green, arrived at his house in suburbia. Entering the kitchen, he tossed his green top hat on the counter, grabbed his wife, and, hand on her breast, gave her a deep, passionate kiss. “Forget dinner,” he said in his natural voice, having to clear his throat several times after an hour of squeaking. “It all starts with kissing.”

“Damn, Bernie,” his wife said, lifting her five-foot-tall husband so she could press her mound against his hard cock. “You've been doing the leprechaun thing again, haven't you?”

His wide grin was her answer.

“I love it when you come home all hot like this,” she said, a wide smile on her face. “You're such a con artist, but I do like the results.” She turned off the stove and they rushed into the bedroom.

THE FOLLOWING YEAR, MISSY AND PETE WROTE A BOOK titled
Leprechaun Loving: Communication Advice from a Magical Being
. It sold several hundred thousand copies and was translated into fourteen different languages.

The letter had gone on to detail several places in the manuscript where her agent thought that a sizzling lovemaking session would add to the text.

Mandy sighed. She had to admit that she agreed with Norman. When she'd written the sections he referred to, she'd realized that a good erotic encounter would add immeasurably to the effect, but she had found herself unable to write one. She'd created a sort of fade-to-black and moved on to the “morning after.”

Putting the letter to one side on her desk, she booted up her computer and brought up one of the sections in question. Rereading, she knew she had to add something really hot. The characters were begging for it and readers would feel let down if they didn't “do it.”

She opened a new document, and after staring at her blank screen for several minutes, she pushed her wheeled desk chair away from her computer and leaned back. Why was she unable to write the needed lovemaking scenes? Obvious. What the hell did she know about hot, kinky sex, especially between people who were little more than strangers at that point in the story?

She wasn't totally without a sexual past, of course. She was over thirty and she'd had boyfriends. Two had been live-ins, if only for a few months each. But the sex with each had been traditional, missionary position. Even her fantasies were pretty plain vanilla.

She went onto the Web, searched for erotic stories, and found plenty. She considered rewriting one or two of those, adapting them to the situation in her manuscript, but the tales all seemed so phony. She wanted to be able to write warm, loving sex between people who cared about each other, even if they weren't in a relationship—not just folks getting it on to scratch an itch.

She had to admit that, in her book, the people who would be involved in the scene didn't know much about each other. The first two encounters were actually little more than one-night stands. Could people have meaningful sex without any kind of relationship?

She sighed. Okay, in the twenty-first century people did that sort of thing. She knew that. She just couldn't write about it, couldn't
feel
it. And if she couldn't feel it, she couldn't commit it to paper—or to her word processor.

“It's not that difficult,” a male voice said from behind her.

She whirled around and saw a man standing by the door, leaning casually against the jamb. He was sexy as hell, with shoulder-length deep brown hair caught at the nape of his neck with a black cord and a Kirk Douglas cleft in his chin. He was tall and lean; his body well displayed in a tight black shirt, skintight black jeans, and cowboy boots. And he had the most brooding bedroom eyes above a devilish, wrong-side-of-the-tracks grin. He looked like a bad-boy hero from one of the romance novels she enjoyed reading so much.

She stared, unable to say a word, committing him to memory.
Next time I need a magnetic, erotic, totally sexy guy for one of my books, he's it.
She placed a hand over her pounding heart and tried to calm her racing pulse. She wasn't afraid, however, even though a strange man was standing in her office in her condo. She felt that he belonged.

Finally able to breathe, she said, “Who are you?”

“I have no idea,” he said, “but you can call me . . .” He seemed puzzled and tilted his head to one side. “Jared. That sounds like a good name.”

Jared was the name of the hero of her current novel. “Okay, Jared. What the hell are you doing here?”

“I'm here for you,” he said, his smile revealing white, even teeth in the middle of his deeply tanned face.

Here for me? A strangler? A rapist?
But as quickly as those thoughts flitted through her brain, she dismissed them. She didn't know why, but she felt no malice from him and had no fear. “Here for me? What the hell does that mean?”

“Again, I have no idea. I just know that I was summoned in some way, so here I am. What did you do to summon me?”

“I didn't summon you in any way.”

“Don't be silly. Of course you did. Think. What were you doing when I showed up?”

The book. The sex scenes. She was thinking . . . She couldn't go any further. “I don't know.”

“Oh, Mandy, stop fooling yourself. You certainly do know, and now that you do, I do, too. You've written a book. A good book. But it's missing hot sex. I would bet that's what I'm here for, and it's what I do best. I'm really good at hot, wicked sex.” Again that charming, enticing grin, this time accompanied by a slow, sexy wink.

“Arrogant, too,” she said, glaring at him. She wasn't going to have sex with him just so she could create spicy scenes for her novel.

“True, but I was only telling you the truth. And yes, you're going to have sex with me just so you can improve your book.”

“Dream on.” She tried for mad, suppressing the urge to smile at him. He was almost irresistible.

“Not me, you. I'm your dream. And your reality.”

“Nonsense.”

“Do you have any better explanation? I'm here because you wanted me here.” He looked down. “No one really looks like this.” He walked over to a full-length mirror that hung on the door of the closet in the bedroom she'd turned into her office. “I look like the cover of a romance novel. I can't be real. If I were a woman, I'd turn me on. Admit it. I'm a hunk.”

“Okay. You're sexy as hell. But so what?”

“Sexy as hell. How sexy
is
hell?” There was a chuckle in his voice, then he lowered it until it flowed like honey. “Hmm. Sexy enough to have your nipples all tight and your pussy twitching and wet?”

He was right, but . . . “Now cut that out and leave me alone.”

He moved behind her, lifted her short hair from the back of her neck, and kissed her there. Then his tongue swirled, making a small wet pattern above the back of her T-shirt. His mouth slid to the tendon that extended from her neck to her shoulder and he bit her.

She felt a flush fill her, further swelling the flesh in her groin. “Cut that out!”

“You don't really want that, now do you? I'm here for your pleasure, so accept it. Accept me.”

He placed one hand on each shoulder and turned her swivel chair until she faced him. “You want this, and you know you do. Stop lying about it.”