The rain was relentless. Not that Vincent cared. He had no reason to go out in it. However, the scene outside his window was damned dreary and depressing. The condo complex he lived in was landscaped to be all woodsy with twisting streams and paths that included little bridges. The huge plate glass window of his spare bedroom/office looked out over the bridge that led to his building. His condo and his neighbor’s shared a path to their combined front deck. On the backside of their building were two identical condos, but they were out of sight and another path led to them.

The rain had been coming down in sheets all day. Now, at three in the afternoon it was almost as dark as night. Still, Vince could see that the complex’s streams were swollen and rushing beneath the bridges, the pathways flooded and muddy. He felt bad for those residents who had to lug something home in this weather. The garages were all pretty far from the condos themselves. It would be easy to slip in the mud and water and drop whatever you were carrying.

As if his thoughts had conjured up a victim, his neighbor came slip-sliding into view. She wore a traditional business type tan raincoat with the hood pulled up to cover her head. Instantly, Vince’s eyes went to her feet, because usually she wore ridiculously high heeled shoes. Today, however, she wore bright red rubber boots that reached her knees. The heels were clutched in her hand along with what looked like a small gift bag. When she stumbled over the bridge, clumsy in the big boots, he saw that the bag wasn’t a holiday bag, but a birthday bag, which was odd since it was Christmas Eve.

He watched in amusement as she shuffled toward their deck, obviously unused to wearing such awkward footwear. Standing at the corner of his window he could see her step onto the covered deck. She reached up and pushed the hood back. Her honey colored hair was tousled and her mascara had run. She looked completely disheveled. In the year he’d lived next to her, Vince didn’t think he’d ever seen her with a hair out of place. Today, she looked like a designer version of a bag lady.

She sat the bag on the railing so she could take out her key. He stretched on his tiptoes to get a better look at her. The bag was definitely a birthday bag. So either she had bought a gift for someone else or it was her birthday. There was a thud as she went into her condo and shut the door.

Vince sat down at his desk and returned to staring out at the rain. He’d turned off all the phones in his house, hoping against hope to avoid his family. He’d already told them he was busy, on a deadline to finish coding the program he’d been contracted to create. However, the Warfield clan was big on holidays and despite his deadline, he knew they expected him to participate in the family Christmas revelry.

The problem was, now that he was past thirty, his family expected him to marry. For the past two Christmases, at least one of his relatives had brought along a friend in the hope that Vincent would hook up with her. They didn’t get it at all. He wasn’t ready to get married. And even if he was, he wouldn’t marry any of their friends. If he did, his life would be even more invaded by them. He was trying to get away from them, not give them a pipeline into his bedroom.

He sighed and looked at his computer monitor. The deadline wasn’t all that urgent really. He just needed an excuse to not go to the big Christmas Eve party at his aunt’s house and the big Christmas Day festivities at his parents’ house. He didn’t want to see his cousins and siblings and all the nieces and nephews and assorted other relatives. He just wanted a peaceful, quiet holiday in front of his fire with a lot of wine and some corny old Christmas tunes. Maybe he’d even make popcorn and watch It’s A Wonderful Life. Christmas alone sounded like heaven to him.

Movement outside his window caught his eye. A familiar brown uniform was making its way up the muddy path toward his condo. Who the hell would send a package on Christmas Eve? he thought.

The UPS guy disappeared from view and Vince stood up, preparing to go down to open the door, but no one knocked. He looked out the window and saw the courier rapping on his neighbor’s door. He frowned when she didn’t answer. The courier rang the bell. She still didn’t answer. That’s when the guy turned toward Vince’s door.

He was already on the stairs headed down, when the doorbell rang. He yanked open the door and the frowning UPS guy shoved a small flat box into his hands.

“It’s for your neighbor. She ain’t home,” he said, bounding off the porch and into the rain before Vince could tell him that she was home.

He shut the door and set the box on the hall table. The label said it was from Plain Brown Wrapper. Opening the hall closet door, he rummaged for a pair of flip flops. He wasn’t about to put on shoes and socks to stand on the deck and pound on Ms. Nikki Crawford’s door. He was suddenly feeling pissy that he even had to. Why the UPS guy couldn’t have just left the box propped against her front door was beyond Vince. Now, it was up to him to go out in the cold and damp to lean on her doorbell until she answered.

Pulling out the flip flops, he put them on and picked up the box with a resigned sigh. At least, he would appreciate the warm fire, popcorn, and old movie even more when he got back. He stepped out on the deck, leaving his front door ajar. Walking the five feet to her door, he was aware of the wind picking up and the rain becoming sleet. He shivered a little as he pushed her doorbell. He could hear it echo through her condo, but she didn’t answer.

Ignoring the rain, he leaned over the railing to see if her windows were glowing with light. There was none. The condo was dark. Even the porch light wasn’t on. He rang the bell again. Still no answer. Now, Vince was worried. Why hadn’t she answered the door? Even if she’d taken a shower when she got home, she should be out by now, he thought.

Vince pounded on the panels of the wood door, trying to remember where he’d put the phone number for the condo association. There was an emergency number for the manager who was supposed to have keys to all the units in case of emergency. In the year he’d been there, he still hadn’t given the guy his key. With the sensitive work he sometimes did, it went against the grain for him to give someone access to his home. Not that anyone needed a key anyway. He rarely left the house.

There was a loud thud just then and Vince jumped, spinning around. The wind had slammed his front door shut. He blinked at it. Had he unlocked the door when he walked out? he wondered, a stab of discomfort twisting his stomach. He walked over and tried the door. Locked.

Vince shook his head ruefully. It was ironic that just as he thought about how the manager had no need of his key, he got locked out. Now, it was imperative that he get his neighbor to answer the door. He needed to use her phone to call a locksmith.

He wiggled his frozen toes and pushed her doorbell again. Still no answer. He leaned his head against the panels of the door, listening for any sounds inside. Faintly, he thought he heard the sound of crying. With a frown, he closed his eyes and concentrated, pushing his ear closer to the seam of the door and doorframe. Those were definitely sobs he heard inside the condo. His stomach clenched and his chest began to ache. They were the most heart rending sobs he had ever heard.

Clutching the box to his chest, he pounded on the panels, calling his neighbor’s name. “Nikki! Open the door, it’s Vince! Nikki!”

In the year he’d lived next door to her, they’d spoken maybe a dozen a times. He’d introduced himself when he moved in. They’d said good morning or hi, how are you a few times. He’d asked her over for pizza one Saturday, but she’d declined and he hadn’t pushed it. She was cool and reserved, almost standoffish, and he wasn’t much better, always distracted and busy inside his head with work.

He thought about what she looked like. She was beautiful, really. Honey colored hair, long, but often worn in a chignon. She almost always dressed professionally, rarely in casual clothes. She was petite and always wore very high heeled shoes. With the four inch heels on, she probably fit under his chin. Measured against his height of six foot one, that put her at about five foot two. Her eyes were… green, he thought. Not dark. Her face was triangular, high cheekbones, pointy chin. Her skin seemed smooth and unlined, her age anywhere from thirty to forty five. She had that classic kind of cool beauty that was pretty ageless.

She came home late usually, after eight pm, often with a briefcase in her hand and a take out food bag. He knew she drove a nice car, a sporty Acura sedan in an understated shade of blue. She’d never brought home a date or a boyfriend that he knew of. He’d never known her to be away for the night either unless she was on a business trip. All of that added up to no love life, which was a little odd for such an attractive woman. A very attractive woman who was sobbing as if her heart was breaking while he stood on her porch getting frostbitten toes.

Vince listened at the door again. She was still crying. The sound was like a knife in his gut. It made him want to knock the door down and take her in his arms. And it made him want to shoot whoever had made her cry like that. His male protective instincts had been awakened and even if he hadn’t been locked out of his condo, he would have been pounding on her door, yelling her name to get to her answer.

He kept up the pounding for a good five minutes until finally he heard the sound of the locks being turned. The door cracked open wide enough that he could see her place was dark, no lights on. Her hair hung in her face, so he couldn’t get a good look at her.

“Nikki, a package came for you,” he said gently.

Her hand slipped through the small opening, reaching for it. Vince saw that her fingers trembled. He held onto the package, saying, “The wind slammed my door shut. I’m locked out. Can I use your phone to call a locksmith?”

She sniffled, withdrawing her hand, but she still didn’t speak. Vince’s heart turned over in his chest. She was obviously very distressed.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Nikki,” he told her in a soft voice. “I know you were crying. I promise I won’t disturb you. I just need to make a phone call.”

The door opened another inch, and he saw her push her hair back. Her face was streaked with tears, her mascara in black smears on her cheeks. She blinked at him, her green eyes huge in her small face, her soft mouth trembling. Vince was instantly beset with the strong urge to take her in his arms and comfort her.

She stepped back and opened the door wider, turning away from him. “The phone’s over there,” she said hoarsely, waving a hand toward the living room. “I need to wash my face.”

She disappeared down the hall and Vince stepped into her house, turning on the lights. Apparently, she’d come in, dropped her things in the entryway and commenced sobbing on the couch in the dark. Her wet raincoat was crumpled on the floor. Beside it lay the muddy rubber boots and the birthday gift bag. He picked up the coat and hung it in the closet, then set the boots on a piece of newspaper.

Bending to pick up the birthday bag, he saw that the tag said, “Happy birthday, Ms. Crawford.” It was obviously a gift from one of her staff since the tag was addressed so formally. He peered inside. The gift was a brooch, an enameled Christmas tree. Very pretty, but inexpensive and impersonal.

He set the bag on the half moon hall table and stepped down into Nikki’s living room. Her couch was cream colored, but one of the pillows bore the unmistakable marks of her tears, black mascara streaks. Vince picked it up and turned it around so it wasn’t obvious. The phone was on the glass coffee table. He picked it up, dialing information as he looked around the room.

She lived well. The furniture was expensive but warm and comfortable, a lot like his own stuff. She had expensive electronics just like him. The most feminine thing in the room though was a row of giraffes on the mantle. Wooden ones, china ones, ivory, a jeweled one that must have cost a fortune, one covered in fake hide… That’s when he noticed that she had other accents around the room in giraffe print fabric and had a few framed paintings and prints in the same theme. She was a giraffe fan, which seemed weird considering how tiny she was.

The other thing he noticed about her house was that there were no Christmas decorations. Even though he didn’t want to spend Christmas with his family this year, Vince had still put up a tree and strung lights through his banister. Stockings hung from his mantle even though he lived alone. Every room in his house had some kind of holiday decoration. He might be tired of the hectic boisterous Warfield family gatherings, but he loved Christmas.

He was on his fourth call to a locksmith when Nikki reappeared. She had changed into jeans and a black turtleneck sweater. Her honey colored hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail that emphasized the triangular shape of her face. Now that her face was scrubbed clean of makeup, he could see that she had little crows feet at the corners of her eyes and couple of lines between her arched brows as if she frowned a lot.

“Any luck?” she asked huskily, her hands thrust into the front pockets of her jeans.

He shook his head, and tried again to talk the locksmith into coming out on Christmas Eve. “I’ll pay you triple your normal rate,” he begged.

Finally, the locksmith agreed to come, but he couldn’t give Vince a definite time because he had three jobs ahead of him, the roads were turning icy, the traffic was bad, and it was a holiday. Vince hung up and looked at his neighbor. She wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry. He’s not sure how long it will be before he gets here,” Vince said apologetically. Nikki bit her lip, her shoulders hunching. “Look, I’ll call my brother to come get me. I’ll be out of your hair in half an hour,” he said in a rush, ready to do anything to wipe that bleak look off her face.

“No. It’s okay. It’s my fault you’re locked out. If I had answered the door when the UPS guy rang, none of this would have happened,” she replied, her voice whiskey rough from her tears.

She turned away, heading for the kitchen. “Can I get you a drink? Something to eat?”

Her voice was cool and formal, and Vince knew it was a front. Even though she wouldn’t look at him, he’d gotten a glimpse of her eyes, and what he saw in those emerald depths was a despair that was barely holding back another onslaught of tears.

He followed her, for some reason not wanting to let her out of his sight. “A cup of coffee? Or some cocoa?” he replied. “I was just going to light a fire, make some popcorn and watch It’s A Wonderful Life when the UPS guy knocked.”

A shudder went through her when he mentioned the movie. It was apparently not a wonderful life for her, if the tears were anything to go by. Vince wished he could convince her that just like in the movie, sometimes things were just not as bad as they seemed.

Nikki reached into the refrigerator and pulled out some milk. He watched her pour some in a pan and turn on the burner, take out mugs and expensive Swiss chocolate cocoa mix. She knew he was standing there, but she acted as if she was alone in the kitchen, her movements deliberate and economical.

“If you have microwave popcorn, I can make it without burning it,” he said in an amused voice, hoping to coax a smile from her.

Her eyes flicked toward him, and she pointed silently to a cupboard. Vince opened it and took out a box of popcorn. Well, that hadn’t worked, he thought as he eyes her stiff back.

While the popcorn popped and Nikki made the cocoa, Vince looked for a bowl. She pointed to another cupboard and he opened it, taking down a big terra cotta colored bowl. Nikki pulled out a tray and put the mugs of cocoa on them. Vince set the bowl of popcorn on it and took the tray from her. She followed him into the living room and placed some napkins on the coffee table by the tray.

Vince seated himself in the corner of her L shaped couch so that no matter where she sat, she wouldn’t be that far from him. He noticed that she sat on the edge of the cushion as if she were about to jump up at any second. The tenseness of her shoulders gave away her discomfort and he saw that her white socked toes were curled under almost as if they were hands clenched into fists.

Vince figured the only way to break the ice was to be honest. Maybe then she would relax. “Nikki, I know we don’t really know each other although we’ve been neighbors more than a year. I know you were crying tonight. And I have to tell you that I’ve never heard anything so heart wrenching in my life,” he said simply. “If there’s something I can do to help, please tell me and I will do it.”

She lifted her head and her eyes met his. The bleak despair in those beautiful green eyes made his stomach twist. She looked at him silently for a long moment. Then she set her cup down on the table. An expression of determination settled on her piquant face.

“Vincent, am I attractive?” she asked finally.

He blinked. Of the things she could have said, that was the one he never would have guessed. “Yes,” he answered honestly. “You’re a very beautiful woman.”

Nikki looked at him thoughtfully and he wondered what the hell was going on behind those haunted eyes of hers.

“You’re sure you want to help me?” Her voice was husky, the whiskey soaked tones low.
He nodded, unable to help himself. The more he looked at her, the more beautiful she became.

Remembering the sound of her tears, her pain, knowing that it was still bottled up inside her… no one should feel like that especially on Christmas Eve. He just wanted to enfold her in his arms and make the pain go away.

Then her words shattered his warm feelings.

“Will you fuck me?”

~~~

Opening her mouth and uttering the words, “Will you fuck me?” was the hardest thing Nikki had ever done. She could stare down corporate raiders and manipulate reluctant board members, but asking a man for sex was not in her repertoire of skills. In fact, it had been at least a year and a half since she had last gotten laid, not that it had been any great shakes either. The only orgasms she’d had in the last five years were the ones her vibrator gave her.

Men were usually intimidated by her. Her cool demeanor, her business skills, her sharp intelligence, all combined to make her an ice queen that men were afraid to touch. The arrogant alpha types didn’t like how emasculating her success was and refused to be with her. The weaker beta or omega types were afraid they wouldn’t measure up, which meant, of course, that they never did.

Nikki didn’t know where Vincent fell in that spectrum. She’d been watching him for more than a year. He worked from home and was often distracted. She knew he made a lot of money or he wouldn’t even be able to afford a condo in this complex. He drove an expensive Jaguar. He wore a Rolex. She knew he had family because she’d seen them. A sister. Two brothers who looked a lot like him with the same silky dark brown hair.

She knew he watched football and occasionally smoked cigars on the deck. He had his groceries delivered. He didn’t have a pet. He played air guitar… Her lips twitched as she recalled seeing him once in the upstairs bedroom window with headphones on, jumping around strumming the air. Then her amusement faded as she remembered something else about him. He was younger than her.

Younger men had always appealed to her in the sense that they were hot, beautiful specimens of manhood. Who wouldn’t like looking at something beautiful? But take one to bed? Or have a relationship with one? No way. No how. She’d never met a younger man who appealed to her that way before. Yet tonight, looking at the honest expression on Vincent’s face, something shifted inside her.

Maybe it was the fact that it was her fortieth birthday, and it had been the worst birthday of her existence. Maybe it was because she couldn’t face another birthday, let alone another Christmas alone, without a single person who cared about her. Maybe it was because she’d been watching him for a year and deep inside she’d yearned to reach out to him, to make friends with him, to know him, to touch him…

She looked at him now, his amber eyes wide with shock. He was handsome, intelligent, and kind, everything she liked most in a man. In her socks, she only stood as high as the middle of his chest, and his size made her feel feminine and delicate. Breathing in his scent, a mixture of some kind of aftershave or cologne and his own masculine smell, she felt heat pooling in her lower body.

The moment the words fell from her lips, she’d known that she had wanted him all along. Since the moment she’d first laid eyes on him. But he was her neighbor and he was younger. He was everything she could not, should not have.

“No.”

His refusal echoed in her head. Dear God, he was rejecting her. How embarrassing… how… painful… The pain overrode everything else actually. Unable to stop herself, tears filled her eyes. There was a rushing in her ears. Vincent said something and she had to shake her head to clear it. She stared at him blankly, her heart and body aching.

He frowned. “Nikki, did you hear me?” he asked, scooting closer to her on the couch. “I won’t fuck you, but I’d be more than happy to make love to you.”

Vincent’s softly spoken words, the expression of concern and growing desire on his face, overwhelmed her. The tears that filled her eyes spilled over. She swallowed hard and Vincent groaned. His hands reached out and pulled her against him. Her eyelids fluttered down as his lips touched hers.

His mouth was firm and warm, his kiss teasing her lips open. His hands were warm on her back as he tugged her closer until her breasts were pressed against his chest. She shivered when his tongue swiped along her bottom lip. When he raised his head, her eyes opened. Those beautiful golden irises were like flames, his desire plain to see.

“Do you know how many times I wondered if you had a boyfriend?” he asked.

She shook her head. Vincent laughed a little, a self deprecating sound. “Every time I saw you,” he admitted.

Nikki looked away, scooting back on the couch, her body angling away from his. “Are you trying to tell me you’ve always been attracted to me?”

“Yes. Not that I wanted to admit it.”

When her eyes shifted back to his, she could see that he was a little uncomfortable. “You’re a very self possessed woman. It’s hard to get close to you. Whenever I tried to talk to you, you walked away, as if you didn’t have time for me.” A short, humorless bark of laughter escaped him. “You’ve been very hard on my ego, Nikki.”

“I didn’t mean to be, but your age and… and…” she stumbled to a stop, not sure what to say about their age difference. She wasn’t even sure exactly how old he was. He looked like was about twenty eight.

His hand caught her chin, turning her face back to his. “I’m thirty two years old. I’m not a kid, Nikki.”

Suddenly, she felt the weight of her horrible birthday again. “I’m forty years old today, Vincent,” she whispered, her expression bleak. “I’m forty and there is no one in this world who cares about me. My executive staff gave me rain boots. My assistant gave me a brooch. I have no one to go to dinner with. No one to come home to. No one to spend Christmas with. Not even a girlfriend. I’m pathetic. A forty year old loser at life.”

Wrapping his arms around her, Vincent rocked her against his chest. “That’s not true. You came home to me.”

“No. You only came over because I didn’t answer the door for the UPS man.”

“If you had given me a chance six months ago when I asked you over for pizza, you would have been coming home to me,” he told her arrogantly.

She remembered him asking. He’d said it very casually one Saturday morning at the mailboxes. His tone had been offhand as if he didn’t really care if she came over or not, so she’d turned him down.

“You really want to make love to me?” she said into his sweatshirt.

Instead of answering, Vincent took her hand and placed it on the button fly of his jeans. She gasped, feeling the hard throbbing flesh beneath the denim. Her eyes met his.

“I-I’m older th-than you,” she stammered.

An annoyed expression crossed his handsome face. “Seven and a half years. That’s nothing. You’re still young. You can still have kids. Age is just a number,” he told her firmly.

“K-kids?” she gasped, her eyes wide.

He grimaced. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m putting the cart before the horse. Right now, I just want to get between your thighs. Now, shall I take you upstairs, or shall I light a fire in the fireplace and proceed to give you rug burn on your ass?”

The deep despair and loneliness that had enveloped her earlier was suddenly gone. She looked up at Vincent. His sexy smile, filled with desire and anticipation, had her heart thudding in her chest. He wanted her. He really, truly wanted her.

“I don’t care,” she breathed, answering his question. “I just want you.”

“In that case, I have an idea.”

He got up and lit the fire. As soon as it blazed to life, he reached down and pulled off his sweatshirt. Nikki gazed up at him, watching the slabs of golden light from the fire slide across his wide chest. He was gorgeous. Perfect abs, cut and ridged. Long arms with defined biceps and rock hard forearms. Firm pecs and shoulders that rippled with muscle. A line of dark hair bisected his abdomen and disappeared behind the waistband of his jeans. He was so beautiful Nikki wanted to cry and she hadn’t even seen all of him yet.

“Your turn, sexy lady,” he murmured, reaching out to pull her to her feet.

His long fingers slipped under the hem of her sweater, teasing the soft skin of her waist. Nikki sucked in a breath, her nostrils filling with his scent, as he eased the sweater up. The soft cashmere glided up over her unbound breasts, baring them to his eyes. As he stared at her, the tips hardened. While her arms and his hands were tangled in the sweater, effectively cuffing them both, Vincent bent his head and took a nipple into his mouth. He suckled her gently, his tongue swirling over the sensitive tip. Nikki whimpered and wriggled, trying to get her hands free so she could touch him, but her arms were caught tightly in the sweater.

Vincent switched to the other breast, just for a moment. Then he lifted his head and pulled her sweater over her head, freeing her arms. He gently tugged the hair band from her ponytail and her thick hair slid down over her shoulders. He bent his head again, nuzzling the spot where her neck met her shoulder, his face buried in her hair. Nikki shivered as his tongue tasted her skin and his hands cupped her breasts.

Tentatively, she reached out and placed her hands on his ridged abs. He sucked in a breath and her fingers slid up, exploring his chest and shoulders.

“Do you like what you see, what you’re touching?” he murmured, his thumbs teasing her nipples.

“Oh, God, yes,” she breathed.

“Good.”

He reached down between them and she heard the buttons on his jeans pop open. His hands brushed her thighs as he pushed his jeans off. She looked down and sucked in a breath. He was naked. Beautifully naked. Rampantly naked… with a huge erection. An erection that was pierced.

“Oh, my God. Didn’t that hurt?” she gasped softly.

Vincent shrugged. “Not in the way you’re thinking. Besides, you’ll like it, trust me.”

She eyed the piercing. There was a curved barbell looking piece of jewelry through the underside of his cock head. The ball at the end of the jewelry stuck out past the end of the head and underneath was another ball. It dawned on her exactly where that jewelry was going to touch when he was inside her. Heat flooded her pussy.

Her eyes flew to his. He was smiling wickedly. He obviously knew exactly what she was thinking.

“It’s called a PA or a Prince Albert. Dumb name, but like I said, you’ll enjoy it.”

As she stared at his thick cock, Vincent’s hands reached for the waistband of her jeans. He unzipped them and pushed them down, his hands curving over her ass. She stepped out of the jeans. Vincent’s fingers stroked along the line of the lace thong she wore.

“Jesus. You’re fucking hot. I knew you were beautiful, but damn,” he whispered.

Nikki felt excitement and pride spread through her. She tried to keep herself in good shape, but she worked so many hours it was hard to find time to exercise. At her age, she knew there were a few less toned spots, but overall she thought she looked okay. Hearing Vincent say she was hot was exciting.

He pushed off the thong and his fingers brushed over her mound. “Holy shit. You wax.” His voice was reverent.

Now, Nikki felt even more proud of keeping herself up. She regularly had all her pubic hair removed and had for years. Her last real boyfriend had said there was something naughty about fucking such a tiny woman with a hairless pussy. She wondered exactly what Vincent felt, but could tell that he liked it.

He brushed the backs of his fingers against her hairless mound. “That feels so damned soft,” he murmured.

Before she realized his intent, he slipped a long finger inside her. She sucked in a breath, grabbing his forearms for balance. Their eyes met.

“You’re so wet. Do you want me, Nikki?”

“God, yes! You have no idea how much I want you, Vincent. Please fuck me!”

He eased his finger out of her pussy, pulling her down to the carpet. For a moment, she wondered about the rug burn. Then he rolled to his back, yanking her on top of him. With one hand, he guided her mouth to his. His hips flexed and he rubbed his cock against her wet flesh. Nikki moaned and sucked on his tongue.

As they kissed, she felt him feeling around with his free hand. Her eyelids lifted in time to see his hand coming out of his jeans pocket with a fist full of foil packets. As the condoms spilled on the carpet, Vincent broke the kiss and ripped open a packet with his teeth.

“Help me put this on,” he panted.

Nikki took the condom from him and encircled the base of his cock with one hand. She positioned the condom at the tip of his head. She frowned at the jewelry and he said, “Like this,” stretching the condom out and over the jewelry. Then he started to unroll it, but she pushed his hand away and stroked down the length of his erection, unrolling the condom as she went. Once his cock was encased in the latex, she stroked him lightly with her fist.

Vincent groaned. “I want you, Nikki. Being here with you is like a dream. I’ve wanted you so long.”

She rocked on her knees, leaning over him and rubbing her hard nipples against his chest. He kissed her again, his tongue rubbing against hers. She tilted her hips and he guided his cock into her wet depths. As she slid down on his thickness, she could feel the balls on the PA’s jewelry pressing against her through the condom. She shuddered. It felt amazing. His dick was stretching her, filling her, and the jewelry rubbed her G spot exactly.

Their eyes locked as her hips began to undulate, her body gliding up and down on his cock. Sweat sheened them both as she moved more quickly, pushing herself toward her orgasm. Vincent’s fingertips parted her folds and found her clit. He rubbed it and she cried out, the stimulation almost too much to bear when coupled with the feel of his cock and the PA jewelry.

“Jeez, Nikki. You’re so damned tight,” he said through gritted teeth. “I don’t know if I can hold out much longer.”

Nikki tossed her head, her long hair falling around them as she leaned in to kiss Vincent. His hands cupped her hips and hers gripped his shoulders, using them for balance as she rode him hard. She felt her skin flush and knew she was close. The feel of the jewelry had her shuddering from his very first thrust. Pre-orgasmic ripples had already been quaking her body, causing her pussy to clamp down with each thrust.

He flexed his penis inside her and the jewelry thumped her G spot. With a muffled scream, Nikki came. She trembled and jerked, twisting on Vincent’s body as heat seared her from the pelvis outward. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she moaned his name.

Vincent thrust inside her several more times, each one causing more orgasmic quakes in her. Her muscles clamped on him so tightly she could tell that he could barely move within her. Apparently, what little he could move was enough though because he came with a loud groan, his fingers tightening around her hips. She collapsed on him, sucking in great gasps of air.

~~~

Vince felt like the king of the world. The woman he’d wanted for a year was lying on top of him. Her pussy pulsed around his cock. Little tremors still rocked them both. He wondered how much better things would get once they were in bed…

Nikki lifted her head and looked him in the eye. “This is the best birthday present I’ve ever had,” she whispered breathlessly.

“Me, you mean?”

“Mmmn hmmn.”

Vincent looked at his watch. It was still early. “It’s still your birthday. Maybe you’ll get another present that you like better,” he told her. She snuggled against him, her face rubbing his chest. “Hey, don’t go to sleep!”

Nikki’s eyes opened, the emerald irises glowing a little in the firelight. “Take me upstairs, Vincent. I don’t want tonight to ever end. I don’t want this feeling to end.”

He slid his hands up her back, marveling at the satiny texture of her skin. “What feeling?”

“Of belonging.”

His heart turned over in his chest. He remembered her saying that she’d been crying because she felt so alone. He wished he’d known it was her birthday. He would have gotten her a gift. Then he remembered the package from UPS. He lifted her carefully off him.

“Get the condoms, love, and lead the way to your bed,” he told her. As they passed through the entry hall, Vince grabbed the small flat box from UPS.

When they reached her bedroom, Vince saw a lone, wistful, reminder of the holiday. On the night stand was lamp that looked like a lit up Christmas tree. Nikki walked over and turned it on, lying the condoms next to it. She turned and saw the package in his hand.

“What is that? And who sent it?” She reached for it, turning it over in her hands. “What is Plain Brown Wrapper?”

“Open it,” he suggested.

They sat on the side of her bed while she opened the box. Inside, was a pink plastic blow up chair with a huge pink dildo attached to the seat.

“Now, that’s what I call a birthday gift,” Vince said with a smile.

A card fell out of the box. Nikki picked it up and read it out loud. “A beautiful woman should never spend Christmas alone or without orgasms. Please spend Christmas with me. If you can’t or won’t, then at least spend it fucking my chair so I can think of you on it.” Her eyes shot to his in surprise. “This is from you!”

He smiled, pleased with her shock. “Yeah.”

“You arranged for this to be delivered to me today.”

His smile widened. “Yeah.”

“I screwed it all up by not answering the door,” she wailed.

Vince shook his head. “No, you didn’t. Everything turned out so much better because you didn’t. Being here in your bedroom with you is much better than us sitting on my couch watching It’s A Wonderful Life.”

She looked at the chair, looked at him, then held it out to him. “Blow it up, please. I want to ride it for you.”

Feeling his desire rising once more, he took out the small pump and blew up the chair, sealing it shut. Nikki eyed it carefully before going into the adjoining bathroom, and returning with a bottle of lube. She oiled up the dildo. Their eyes met and she kissed him hard. He sucked in a breath, his hands automatically coming up to cup her breasts and tease her stiff pink nipples.

They kissed for several minutes as Nikki stroked his cock with her lube warm hands. Vince could smell peppermint and realized the lube was the flavored stuff, something that gave him wicked ideas. He broke the kiss, backing Nikki toward the chair. She spread her legs, straddling the pink plastic, her green eyes holding his. She slowly sank down onto the chair, one hand holding his for balance, the other guiding the thick pink dildo into her wet pussy.

When she was seated on the chair, its dildo fully within her, Vince drew a shuddering breath. “Fuck it for me, Nikki,” he whispered, reaching for his cock.

He stroked himself as she began to rock on the chair, bouncing a little and making her perfect tip tilted breasts jiggle sensuously. Her hands slid down her thighs, then up her torso to her breasts. Vince’s breathing grew rapid and uneven as he watched her caress herself and fuck the chair. A faint sexual flush tinged her creamy skin pink, and he could smell her arousal. His fist twisted on his stiff cock, the movement smooth and practiced.

Nikki looked up at him, her eyes glazed with passion. The tip of her pink tongue flickered over her full bottom lip, wetting it. Vince swallowed hard. It was time to put his idea into motion.

“The lube, it’s flavored?” he whispered roughly, his voice harsh with desire.

“Peppermint,” she panted.

“Good.”

He stepped toward her, holding his cock out toward her. The head brushed her lips. The cool metal of the jewelry touching her mouth made her eyes darken. One hand came up and she brushed his fingers away, replacing them with her own. She wrapped her hand around the base of his cock and fed herself his hard length.

The warm wet rasp of her tongue as it snaked around the barbell and down the shaft of his cock, had his eyes rolling back into his head with pleasure. She sucked on him as if she was a little kid with a candy cane. Her eyes glittered in the light from the Christmas tree lamp and Vince could see how much it turned her on to suck him.

Her free hand cupped his balls, rolling them until they tightened painfully, drawing up tight to his body. He reached down and pinched her nipples, rolling them, and tweaking them. She moaned, the sound vibrating the length of his swollen, sensitive erection. He sank his hands into her thick blonde hair.

“Honey, I’m gonna come,” he warned her, giving her every opportunity to pull back in case she wasn’t a swallower.

She redoubled her efforts and Vince felt like his cock was on fire. As he stared down at her, she thrust herself down on the chair’s dildo, shuddering. Her eyes blinked closed and the vibrations that thrummed against his hard cock told him she was moaning uncontrollably as she came. The sight of her coming, her skin flushing a deeper pink all over her torso, her skin rippling with reaction, completely set him off. He thrust into her wet sucking mouth. Her tongue flickered over the jewelry, rubbing beneath the head of his cock. Two more pumps into her mouth and he was filling her throat with his hot cum.

Her eyelids lifted and the green irises watched him with languid sensuality as her throat worked, swallowing every ounce of his juice. Vince shook with the force of his orgasm, and the force of his feelings for the woman who was sucking him. He’d always been attracted to her, but tonight his emotions had exploded all over the place the moment he’d heard her crying. As he stared at her, her mouth filled with his cock and his cum, all he could think was, Mine. My woman.

Nikki shivered, as he pulled his deflating member from her mouth. Bending, Vince slipped his hands beneath her arms and lifted her off the chair. He cradled her to his chest and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, rubbing her face against his warm skin. He settled them in her queen size bed, pulling her into his arms. Her long hair trailed over his shoulder, and he could smell its sweet scent despite the overpowering odors of sex and peppermint that permeated the bedroom.

“So you like my Christmas present?” he asked softly.

Nikki chuckled. “I like the birthday present better.”

Vince grinned. “Oh, you mean me?”

She nodded and her breath came out on a long sigh. “I’ve been alone a long time, Vincent. I don’t know how to be part of a couple…” she began and then stopped as her voice began to shake.

Vince cupped the back of her head and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “It’s okay. It’s been a long time since I’ve done that too. We aren’t kids. This is important so we’ll make it work, right?”

He said the words confidently, but inside he was praying hard. Please, God, let her want a relationship with him because he was falling so hard for her it wasn’t funny.

“The age difference?” she asked hesitantly. “Your family?”

Vince tilted her head back and kissed her love swollen lips. “My family will just be glad I’ve found someone. The age thing is meaningless. It’s just a number.”

“B-but you w-want kids a-and a family and…” Her voice trailed away uncertainly.

“Nikki, it’s too soon to discuss those things, don’t you think?” he said calmly. “And it’s not like I would have to give those things up to be with you. I saw your artwork downstairs, giraffe mothers and babies…”

Nikki sighed again. “I’m too old.”

Vince’s hands tightened on her and he rolled her beneath him, fitting his hips between her spread thighs. “Do you still have a period?”

She nodded, looking a little confused. “Every twenty eight days like clockwork.”

He grinned. Oh, God, this was going to be so perfect, he thought. “Well, then, my sexy cougar, you’re not too old to get pregnant.” He pressed his rising cock against her wet pussy. “Would you like me to prove it? My dick is rising to the occasion and I’m not wearing a condom. I can just slide myself right into your hot, wet depths and fuck you so hard you’ll be begging me to knock you right up.”

Vince saw her swallow hard, her expression a little nervous, but deep in her green eyes he saw how turned on she was at the idea of him impregnating her. He couldn’t believe that this cool, beautiful businesswoman hadn’t been snatched up by some Alpha male who thought nothing of overpowering her and imposing his will on her, forcing her to be a woman, his woman, and not an executive. It had been all he could think of from the moment he’d met her. Now, his dreams were coming true because amazingly, the cool executive exterior she wore was just armor, hiding the soft, feminine tenderhearted woman from the cruel business world.

He thanked God that he was smart enough to realize that there was more to her than what she projected to the world. He only wished he’d tried harder to get close to her before this. He’d been aching for her more than a year and now it seemed as if that was a wasted year.

“But we barely know each other,” she protested, despite the fact that her hands were curving around his buttocks and she was rubbing herself against him suggestively.

Vince laughed. That wasted year maybe wasn’t so wasted after all, he thought with a wicked grin. “Oh, but that’s not true at all, my sexy cougar,” he purred as he lowered his head to hers. “We’ve known each other for more than a year.” His words brushed her lips and then he kissed her deeply, letting her feel the emotion that was rising within him.

When he raised his head, she twined her arms around his neck, pulling him back down as her hips tilted up so that his pierced cock head slid right over her engorged clit. “This is the best birthday ever,” she whispered again, as if she could barely believe it.

“And Christmas,” he agreed, rubbing against her. “Are you okay with the age thing now, Nikki? You know it means nothing, right?”

“Oh, I don’t know about nothing, Vincent. I think it means we’ll have a very cougar Christmas,” she smiled, her lips parting beneath the onslaught of his possessive kiss.

Nick Diamond had been painting Ione Alexander for a week before he noticed that there was something different about her. She stood on the dais in his studio, completely nude and totally still. Her face was turned away from him, her long auburn hair spilling over one creamy shoulder and down her back to her waist. He’d been so into his work for the past few days that he had never noticed that she never needed a break.

He paused in mid-brush stroke, as the thought occurred to him. He tilted his dark head to one side, staring at her. She was so still she didn’t even look like she was breathing. He tapped the rounded wooden end of the paintbrush against his full bottom lip. That was very odd.

He set the brush down and stepped away from the canvas. “I’m going to the kitchen. I need a drink,” he told her, keeping his voice normal as his eyes watched her every move. Well, if she’d had a move, that is.

He reached the kitchen doorway, looking back at her once more. Finally, she moved. Her hair rippled as her head turned, and her smoky eyes met his.

“Are you okay, Nick?” Her voice was low, and slightly concerned. “You never drink while you’re working.”

His jaw tightened. She’d studied his habits while he’d been working. That was unnerving. Especially when it had taken him a full week to notice that there was something unnatural about her stillness.

“I’m fine. Had a little too much wine last night so I’m dehydrated,” he muttered and ducked into the kitchen.

He grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and unscrewed the cap. He took a long swig from the bottle as he returned to the studio. She still hadn’t moved. Her body was completely still. A frown knitted his brows. His theurgic senses were pinging like crazy now. That stillness was more than unnatural, it was preternatural. She was immortal.

Nick set the water bottle on the floor near his easel and picked up his brush again. When he looked back at the dais, Ione was perfectly in place. He set aside his unease and began to paint. Two hours later, he cleaned his brushes as Ione dressed. He was still out of sorts, although there was really no reason for him to be. Just because she was immortal didn’t mean anything. Immortals needed money just like anyone else did.

When Ione stepped out from behind the screen that hid the closet where she’d hung her clothes, his eyes were drawn to the delicate high heels on her narrow feet. They were not cheap shoes. In fact, now that he was really looking at her, he realized that her clothes were all designer clothes. That meant that the job was not the reason she was here.

He bit the inside of his cheek, to keep from sneering at her. He’d had people lie to get close to him before. Usually, they weren’t very subtle. Usually, he didn’t even need his theurgic senses to pick up on the fact that someone was playing him. He schooled his expression into one of cool disinterest.

Ione came closer, her head tilted to one side. “You usually have my fee out by now. What’s wrong, Nick?” she said quietly, her smoky eyes steady on his face.

“You don’t need the money, so why do you care?” he asked sardonically, unable to stop himself.

Her eyebrows arched up. “Since when did my monetary needs have anything to do with earning my fee?” She stepped closer to him, and he barely kept himself from stepping back. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Nick’s jaw clenched hard. “You’re not human,” he stated baldly.

A resigned expression crossed her beautiful face. “So? You needed a naked body. You never said it had to be human,” she pointed out reasonably.

“If you’re immortal, then you know what I am.” His eyes held hers, looking for any sign that she was going to lie to him.

She shrugged carelessly. “Yeah. You reek of magic. But that’s not why I was drawn to you.”

Drawn to him. Her words shocked him. They were the words a woman used when she wanted a man. Now, he was even more certain he was being played. He was outraged, yet unable to just cut her loose. Besides the urge to paint her, the tug at his groin wasn’t something he could easily ignore. His eyes narrowed speculatively.

“What are you?” he asked abruptly, needing to know just what she was so that he could more easily figure out what was going on between them.

She shifted foot to foot, but her eyes didn’t waver from his. “What does it matter?” she asked softly.

“You’re not a vampire. You’re out in the daylight,” he tossed out, pressing for an answer.

She shook her head. “Your idea of vampires is completely wrong. They can go out in the daylight. They’re the people you see bundled up with a hat or hood on. They get sunburned easily like an albino. The sun doesn’t kill them,” she explained in a gentle tone that made him feel like she was humoring him.

“Then, what are you? A fairy? A pixie? An elf?” He threw the choices at her, annoyed with her tone, but determined to know what she was and why she was here. He felt off kilter, and didn’t like it.

She shook her head again. “I’m not fae.” Another sigh escaped her. “If I tell you why I’m really here, will you stop asking me what I am?”

Nick stared at her, taken aback by her bluntness. He wondered if the deal she offered him would be worth it. Maybe if he knew what she wanted, he could buy the time he needed to discover what she was. Knowing what a being was held the clue to how to protect yourself from them.

“Okay,” he agreed, folding his arms over his t-shirt clad chest.

“I was at the Wizard’s Club one night and I heard someone talking about you,” she began, her eyes still holding his. Their smoke grey depths shone with honesty. It was an expression Nick didn’t exactly trust. “They said you were a master with a whip.”

Nick stiffened. He wondered who had been talking about him. It wasn’t unheard of for people to whisper about him and his proclivities, but it was unheard of at the Wizard’s Club. One of his closest friends, Drake Keating, owned the club and gossip about any of the wizards was frowned upon.

“Why would that talent matter to you?” he asked her, watching her reactions to his words.

“Have you ever heard of the Cult of Orthia?”

Her words were so soft he could barely hear them. And they shocked him to the core.

“The Sanctuary of Artemis Orthia? In Sparta?”

She nodded briefly, her face giving nothing away. Nick was taken aback. The cult was ancient. It preceded a lot of religions and certainly preceded the lifestyle he had been immersed in for the past twenty years. It was a religion characterized by ritual flagellations of its members.

He sat down on a stool and stared at her. Unlike the submissives he often flogged, her eyes were locked on his instead of cast down. She was obviously not a sub. With a twinge of surprise, he felt his cock decidedly stir. The earlier tug he’d felt was obviously not an aberration. It had been a long time since anyone who wasn’t a sub had aroused him.

“So you want me to flog you?” he asked, lifting one brow inquiringly.

She shook her head, her silky auburn hair rippling. “I am no submissive. I do not take part in the lifestyle. This is a deeply religious thing for me, Nick. I require whipping on a regular basis as part of my prayers,” she said quietly. “My blood is my sacrifice to Artemis.”

Her words were soft, but emphatic. There was a preternatural glow to her eyes when she spoke of whipping as part of her religious rituals. It made him wonder if she enjoyed the pain. Then he recalled her words about the lifestyle. She was not a sub nor was she a masochist. This was just part of her religion.

Usually, Nick wasn’t one to make off the cuff decisions. However, he’d made one the moment he’d met Ione. He’d wanted to paint her the instant he’d laid eyes on her. Now, she’d made a request of him and was awaiting an answer. At first, he didn’t think he had one. He’d never flogged anyone who wasn’t a full on sub. He didn’t know how he would feel whipping Ione when he knew that she would look him in the eye when he was done.

Still, he found himself uncharacteristically opening his mouth and saying, “Okay. When do you want to start?”

Her eyes finally fell from his. She nodded her acceptance. “Tomorrow. Before I pose for you?”

Nick shot to his feet, his heart suddenly pumping in overtime, as he realized that there was no way she could understand what he did with a whip. “Ione, I don’t think you know what you’re asking for,” he said with an apologetic shake of his head. “If you’re going to pose for me, I can’t flog you first. The whip will leave marks on your flesh.”

A strange little smile curled her lips. “Don’t worry, Nick. I’m immortal, remember? You don’t need to worry about marks,” she murmured and turned for the door.

He stared at her retreating back in shock. What the hell was she talking about? Even immortals bled! “Hey! What about your fee?” he called out as she reached for the doorknob.

She glanced back him, her smoky eyes glowing. “Tomorrow. I need to go home and prepare for the ritual.”

When she’d gone, Nick went to the bar and poured himself a shot of whiskey. He gulped it down, then stared into the empty cut crystal glass. He’d done a lot of odd things in his life and met a lot of odd people. However, Ione took the cake. One moment he’d been painting her, so immersed in his work that he hadn’t even looked at her as if she were a living breathing being. Then, oddly, it struck him that she didn’t seem to be a living breathing being after all. And finally, he was now totally in lust with her, and even though she wanted him to flog her, she was not a sub.

Nick felt confused. He needed some perspective. As usual when that happened, he walked out of his penthouse loft, crossed the hall to the other penthouse loft and knocked on the door. Drake Keating answered it wearing boxers and nothing else. Nick wasn’t surprised by his state of undress. It was sunset, which meant Drake had just woken up.

“What’s up, Nick?” He stepped back as Nick brushed past him into the loft.

“Drake, someone was talking about me at the club.” He padded barefoot across the pale wood floor, coming to a stop next to a very big Venus Flytrap plant. He looked at it and shuddered, moving away.

Drake shut the door and moved to sit on the leather sofa. He closed the newspaper that was open on the coffee table and picked up a mug of coffee, sipping from it as he looked thoughtfully at Nick. “About your art? Or… something else?” he asked finally.

Nick threw out his hands. “What do you think? I encourage people to talk about my paintings. The other stuff, the lifestyle, what I am theurgically… Never.” His words were firm and emphatic. He didn’t like anyone talking about the fact that he was a Dom or about his magical abilities.

“How do you know that someone did?” Drake’s expression was inquiring. If someone on his staff was gossiping, he’d handle it. If it was a customer, well, that required more finesse.

Nick’s eyes drilled Drake’s. “Ione, the girl who has been posing for me this week, she said she overheard someone at the club talking about me being a master of the whip.”

That was not a good thing. Drake set his mug down and sat back. “Customer or staff?” he asked bluntly.

Nick shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ll have to ask her.”

A shrug lifted Drake’s broad shoulders. “I’ll look into it and handle it. It shouldn’t happen again,” he said in a voice that brooked no quarter.

Nick moved farther away from the Venus Flytrap, sitting on the edge of a chair across from Drake. “She’s not a sub, Drake,” he said the words softly, and his friend looked up startled.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna…?” Drake’s eyes took on an expression of astonishment.

Nick’s shoulders shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, I’m gonna flog her. And yeah, afterward, I’m gonna paint her. If I’m lucky, I’ll fuck her after that. She’s the hottest thing that’s crossed my path in the last year,” he said, with a little shake of his head, as if he couldn’t believe he was even contemplating being with Ione.

Drake frowned. “But she’s not your type, Nick. Why are you stepping out of your comfort zone?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted candidly. “I can’t remember the last time I was aroused by a woman who wasn’t a sub.” His expression turned wry as he looked at his friend. “C’mon, Drake. When your dick tells you to fuck someone, how much attention do you pay to your comfort zone?”

A reluctant grunt of assent came from Drake. As Nick well knew, when Drake was horny, he’d fuck whoever got his dick hard, be it male or female. Drake was an equal opportunity lover. The lines he didn’t cross were not gender oriented but relationship oriented. He didn’t touch his employees or their relatives, friends, or lovers. He didn’t encroach on anyone’s relationships even if they had open marriages or arrangements. In actuality, Drake was as finicky as Nick himself was, both of them preferring to stick to a certain type of partner who knew where the lines were drawn and never crossed or blurred them.

However, Nick’s words hit home with Drake because of a girl, an immortal who was part werewolf and who had natural theurgic talents. Drake had been teaching Keir, had been her instructor in the ways of the therugic arts, known to the public as magic. While they were working together, Drake had been convinced she was his mate. Then one day, something had happened to change Drake’s mind. He had broken things off with Keir on a physical level, even though he continued to instruct her. Later, he’d told Nick that he had discovered who Keir’s true mate was. Breaking out of his comfort zone had shaken Drake, so it was no wonder he was cautioning Nick about doing the same.

“You don’t want to run your life based on the things I do,” Drake muttered with a grimace. “I’m not a good role model.”

He and Nick looked at each other in silence for a moment. Then they both grinned. Drake stretched out his arms along the back of the couch, as Nick stood up and went to the door.

“I’ve never been good at following the norm. Why should this be any different?” Nick said with a rueful shake of his head. He glanced back at Drake, his emerald eyes meeting Drake’s pale blue ones. “Wish me luck, buddy.”

Drake nodded slowly. “Oh, I do, Nicholas, although I’m not entirely sure you need it. I’ll take care of the loose lips. Enjoy your flogging.”

Back in his own penthouse, Nick stared at the half finished painting of Ione. He thought about the first time he’d seen her, standing at the bar at the Wizard’s Club. She’d been cool and aloof. The crowd was close around her, yet she seemed untouched by them. He’d maneuvered closer and their eyes had met. She stared at him unblinking until he’d told her his name and asked her to pose for him. She’d agreed instantly and taken his card.

When she’d shown up at his loft, he’d been in a passion to paint. That obsession had dogged him for days, which accounted for the fact that he hadn’t noticed she was immortal. Now that he looked at his work, he realized that it was one of the best things he’d ever done. He’d captured her exactly. He stared at the long expanse of her back in the painting. The luminance of her skin made his cock hard, and he knew that it was going to be a long night of tossing and turning in anticipation of the next day.

Nick rose with the dawn. He hadn’t slept well, but still felt energized. After showering, and drinking half a pot of coffee, he felt ready to face the day’s activities. He opened a panel in the wall beside his dresser and looked at the different whips and floggers. He wasn’t sure what to expect from Ione or what she expected from him. He reached in and pulled out a three foot long braided leather single lash. He had longer whips, but indoors the three foot “Iditarod” single tail was perfect. He closed the panel and took the whip into the studio area of his loft.

He gave the whip a few cracks to warm up his arm. Anticipation had his muscles quivering already. He set the whip down and forced himself to go about his usual routine of checking his mail and his email, taking out his trash, and preparing his brushes and paints. The sun had been up for only an hour when his buzzer rang. Instantly, his cock twitched. Without bothering to ask who was there, he buzzed them in and went to open his door.

He stood in the open doorway, dressed in faded jeans and a loose black t-shirt, his feet bare. The elevator doors opened, and Ione walked toward him. She was dressed down today in jeans and a green t-shirt. When she reached him, neither of them said a word. He stepped back, and she entered the loft.

By the time he had locked the door, she was naked, standing on the dais in the studio. The only thing she wore was an ornate ring on the forefinger of one hand. She kept twisting it, as if she needed to touch it.

Nick picked up the whip and walked over to her. He let the leather stroke over the soft skin of her arm, watching the gooseflesh that rose as it passed.

“Are you ready?” he asked her softly, a little unsure of himself because this was out of his element altogether.

She nodded. “You must draw blood, Nick. Do not be afraid to do so. The ritual is not complete without the blood sacrifice,” she told him, her eyes holding his.

He shifted on his bare feet, uncomfortably aware that he had no clue what to do other than wield his whip. “You need to tell me what you want, what you need. This is not my… milieu,” he admitted, his voice slightly hesitant.

Ione knelt on the drop sheet that covered the floor of the dais, sitting with her legs folded beneath her. She stretched her hands out before her and murmured a few unintelligible words. Then she said, “I will tell you when I am ready. At my word, you must whip me until my blood runs freely. Only then will my sacrifice to Artemis be complete. It should take no longer than five minutes.”

Nick’s eyes widened. Five minutes was a long time with a whip like his and delicate skin like hers. Still, he stood ready, whip in hand as she began her ritual. Her voice was at first a monotone, chanting words in a language he didn’t know. As it rose in volume, the chanting became singsong in nature, like a prayer. Ione twisted the ring repeatedly around her finger, but when Nick looked more closely, he realized that she was turning it systematically. Two turns in one direction, three in the other. Then one turn and two. The patterns were obviously familiar to her because she executed them so quickly there was no way she was counting.

Finally, she rose to her knees and planted her hands on the drop sheet covered wall. Her arms were outstretched, her hands above the level of her head. The ring on her forefinger was glowing with a strange red pulse that made Nick’s stomach clench. His grip tightened on the whip as Ione whispered, “Now, Nick.”

She began to chant softly again, and despite her command, Nick hesitated. She looked so delicate kneeling there. Her position was unlike any he had ever used with a sub before and he felt off kilter.

“NOW!”

The guttural growl startled him. He uncoiled the whip. Crack! The braided lash snapped, leaving a red welt across Ione’s back.

“AGAIN!”

The growl had a preternatural echo to it and a shiver went down Nick’s spine. Then, as he looked at her, the first lash mark faded to pink. He blinked, stunned. Crack! He hit her again. And again. By the time the lash struck her a fourth time, Nick had found his rhythm. He flogged her until the welts on top of welts began to look raw. Then he saw a trickle of blood.

Uncharacteristically, he began to put more power into each blow and aimed each one directly at that trickle of blood. By the time the five minutes were up, blood ran freely down Ione’s back. Her chanting rose to a peak and then stopped. Nick lowered his arm, setting his whip aside. He wanted to run over to her, but was unsure of himself.

Ione knelt facing the wall. Her unusual ring was no longer giving off a red glow. Her head hung down between her arms, her hair trailing to the floor in front of her. She looked as if she were held by invisible bonds, immobile and silent.

Nick’s heart was pounding with a mixture of excitement and fear. What he was afraid of, he had no idea. As he stared at Ione’s bloody back, he noticed that the bleeding was stopping. He watched, wide eyed, as the bleeding stopped, and the welts began to heal. They went from red to pink to white and then faded altogether. He sucked in a startled breath and took a step back.

Ione stood and turned to face him. Her face was smooth and composed, but her eyes glowed with a light he had never seen before. Her naked body was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Her beauty struck him anew as his cock began to throb. She stepped off the dais and came toward him.

“Are you sure you want to paint me now?” she whispered in a seductive tone.

With shaking hands, Nick threaded his fingers into her long hair. “No. I want to fuck you now,” he muttered, mesmerized by the aura of sultry sexuality she gave off.

She smiled and wound her slender arms around his neck. “Then do it.”

Her head tilted back, and Nick bent to kiss her, his mouth finding her soft lips in a fierce kiss. A moan erupted from the back of his throat as his tongue slipped between her lips to taste her mouth. A shiver went down his spine as his cock went rock hard. He ground his hips against her, letting her feel his erection. Her hands burrowed beneath his t-shirt, her fingers dancing over his hard chest and abdomen. Nick let go of her head and broke the kiss long enough to reach down and yank off his shirt. Ione slipped her hands into the waistband of his jeans and popped the buttons open.

When the jeans hit the floor, she knelt and took his cock into her mouth, licking and sucking it with abandon. Nick’s eyes rolled back into his head. Her mouth was like wet fire, and her tongue hit every nerve ending he had. He felt like his skin was on fire, he was so turned on by her.

Ione’s hands stroked up the outsides of his thighs as she sucked him, her auburn head bobbing with her movements. Her tongue slithered and slurped at him while her mouth provided suction. The gliding motion of her lips on his hard flesh made him incoherent with lust. Her long fingers found his balls and she cupped them, squeezing gently. Nick groaned out loud. She was turning him inside out and all he could think about was how much he wanted to fuck her.

He pumped into her mouth a few times, and she let him. Her eyes told him that she knew how much he loved fucking her face. When he stepped back, his cock sliding wetly from her mouth, she sat back on her heels, then leaned back on her hands, her pale pink nipples pointing at him. Nick drew a deep breath. This was more vanilla than he had had in twenty years. It certainly wasn’t his usual sex. The flogging hadn’t turned him on. She had.

He knelt between her thighs, his eyes drawn to her wet pink folds. She was waxed, hairless, and visibly wet. He touched her lightly with his forefinger, rubbing the slick wetness over her swollen flesh. She shivered and a little moan escaped her. He placed his hands on her silken thighs and pressed them apart. Her folds parted, showing him the swollen bud of her clit. He bent and blew on it. With a little scream, she came.

Her skin rippled. Her hips jerked. Her head flew back, exposing the white column of her throat. Her nipples darkened to rose. Nick watched in awed silence, his cock so hard it hurt. He waited as she rode out her orgasm. As soon as the tremors eased, he moved forward, his thighs spreading hers wider. He rubbed the head of his cock over her sensitive clit and she choked back a cry. Then, with a single stroke, he slid deep within her. Her muscles clenched around him and he closed his eyes, fighting for control.

She was so tight and hot and wet around him that he was afraid he wouldn’t make it. He started to mutter a quick incantation, but stopped himself. What he was, and what she was, had no part in what they were doing at the moment. He cupped her hips in his hands and began to thrust into her. She braced her feet on the wood floor and pushed herself into each thrust. Nick leaned over and nipped at her stiff nipples, causing her to shudder with pleasure. He sucked a nippled deep into his mouth and little whimpers emerged from her throat. He moved to the other nipple and she began to rake her nails down his back.

Heat enveloped his groin and a red haze of pure unadulterated lust rose in him. He slammed his cock into her harder and harder. She clutched at him with her fingers, imitating how her internal muscles clung relentlessly to his cock. Sweat sheened his skin and her hands slipped in it as she tried to hold onto him. Nick tilted her hips up off the floor as he rose up, wrapping her thighs around him as he held her firm buttocks and pounded into her.

The loft was filled with the sounds of their sex. The wet sucking sound of each thrust. Hushed breaths and cut off groans. Little moans and pants. The soft rushing sound of their out of control breathing. Nick’s senses went into overdrive. His muscles began that little quiver that indicated that his orgasm wasn’t far off. Beneath him, Ione was writhing. It was obvious she was about to come again.

He reached between them and flicked his fingertip across her clit. Her body stiffened for a split second and then she screamed, her body convulsing. Her tight, wet sheath clutched him so tight he could barely thrust. He felt his balls tighten as her nails dug into his forearms. The heat grew at the base of his spine. He pushed into her fiercely and let his orgasm explode. A sharp cry broke from him as he slammed into her and filled her with his cum.

Nick collapsed on Ione, his body trapping her between him and the hard wooden floor. They were both gasping for air, their bodies still twitching from the aftermath of their orgasms. Ione was shaking. Nick could feel it. He didn’t think it was a bad shaking, but he wasn’t sure. As soon as he caught his breath, he levered himself off of her, rolling onto his back on the floor, his chest still heaving a little. He turned his head and looked at her.

She was sprawled on the floor, her skin damp, the marks from his fingers already fading in the way that remarkable regenerative skin of hers had. He got up and bent to scoop her up in his arms. He carried her into the bathroom and set her down, keeping one arm around her while he turned on the shower. When he had the temperature of the water just right, he lifted her in and stepped in behind her. Ione rubbed a bar of soap in the smattering of hair on his upper chest. He grinned at her and kissed the tip of her nose. They washed each other playfully and then dried off.

Nick was lying on his bed watching her dry her long hair while they talked a little about his work and different places they’d visited. When she was done with her hair, she wandered around his bedroom as they talked. Nick watched the fluid movements of her body and wondered how many more times he would get to fuck it. Then he stiffened as she noticed something pink in the corner of the room, almost hidden by the decorative drapes. She pulled out the inflatable pink chair and stared at it wide eyed.

“What’s this?” she asked as she walked around it.

“It’s a chair,” he replied gruffly, feeling almost embarrassed, as she touched the hard pink rubber dildo that was attached to the seat.

She looked over her shoulder at him, her smoky eyes curious. “Who uses it?”

Nick sighed and sat up. “I have. It’s not really my thing though. My last girlfriend left it here. She used to ride it all the time. When I protested that she fucked the chair more than me, she made me try it.” He felt a sting over his cheekbones and knew there was a bit of color staining them. What straight guy admitted to enjoying being fucked in the ass with a dildo anyway?

Ione pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I thought you were into that whole BDSM thing? I thought you were a Dom,” she said, tilting her head to one side a little as she looked at him with a question in her eyes.

“I am. That doesn’t mean I never have girlfriends. My last girlfriend liked to top women too,” he explained.

“Hmmn.” She walked around the chair again then went into the bathroom, coming out with a steaming washcloth. She washed the chair carefully, removing all the dust that had accumulated on it. Afterward, she tested the tension of the vinyl. Nick knew she was thinking about trying it. After all, why would she wash it if she wasn’t going to use it?

Then Ione looked up at him. “Why is the whip such a turn on to you?” she asked. “I don’t understand that. To me the flogging means something else. I don’t understand how it could be sexual.”

Nick got up and walked over to her, pushing her long hair over her shoulder so he could lick along her collarbone. “It’s all about control, Ione,” he murmured. “To me, being in control of a woman, or a man, is exciting. I don’t fuck men, but I’ve topped them before, whipped them, and it’s turned me on. Afterward, I find a female to fuck. When I whip women, afterward I want to touch them, to feel the welts on their skin. I want to trace the welts with my tongue and fuck them until they come.”

She stared him thoughtfully, watching him lick his way down her arm to her hand. “There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

He looked up and nodded. “Yes. Subs have no control. They don’t do anything unless the Dom allows it. They can’t look me in the eye. They can’t come… until I say so.”

As the words left his mouth, Nick realized he had no urge to dominate Ione. Sure, he wanted to fuck her again, but he didn’t want her to submit. He didn’t want to control her. The realization hit him hard. It had been many years since he had wanted to be with a woman without controlling her.

She smiled at him and reached down to rub herself between the legs. Nick’s nostrils flared. He could smell her arousal. His cock rose.

“I’m going to fuck this chair for you,” she murmured, her eyes glowing. “What I want you to do is flog me again. Whip me while I’m riding this. I want to see if it heightens my pleasure.”

Instantly, Nick shook his head. “No way. It’s dangerous, Ione. If you’re moving, I can’t guarantee I can hit your back. If I hit something else, I might seriously injure you,” he told her, his hand coming up to cup one full breast.

Ione made a sound that was half derisive snort and half chuckle. “C’mon, Nick. You can’t hurt me. You’ve seen that already. If you strike something you shouldn’t, my body will heal it. The pain is only momentary,” she explained. “Please, Nick. I want to know what it’s like when you’re getting turned on from whipping me. I want to know what the pain feels like when it’s coupled with pleasure.”

Her eyes begged, and Nick knew he was going to give in. All his years of intense control had led to this, a game with the pink chair and his whip, to satisfy the curiosity of an immortal woman with whom he had had the best vanilla sex of his life. He went into the other room and came back with the whip. Ione was already sliding onto the chair backward, lowering herself onto the thick pink dildo while she clutched the back of the chair.

She sucked in a breath and began to rock. Nick watched her, his cock getting harder and harder as she pleasured herself with the chair. She bent over, pulling her hair forward and presenting him with her bare back. Her eyes were glowing, filled with sexual heat, as she said, “Whip me now, Nick. I want to know what it feels like.”

She cupped her breasts in her hands, tugging at her nipples. Moans erupted from her mouth and a sexual flush tinted her pale skin. Nick didn’t even have the urge to lift the whip. He was completely mesmerized, watching her get herself off. But her eyes pleaded, and he found he couldn’t resist.

He stepped back, judging the distance and the movements of her body, hoping he was making the right calculations in his head. The thought of the frayed end of the whip lashing her beautiful breast or face made his stomach churn. He knew her body would heal the wound, but he couldn’t get past a sense of horror at the thought of hurting her.

The lash sang through the air, landing across her back. She bucked on the chair. The moment she returned to her rocking motion, he hit her again. Her moans grew louder and his flogging took on a rhythm that meshed with her rocking motions. She had a dozen huge red welts across her back and was moaning incessantly when the whip cracked one last time. A trickle of blood oozed down her spine, and Nick tossed the whip to the floor, striding over to her.

Ione was fucking the chair roughly, her eyes closed, one hand viciously twisting her nipples. Her skin was flushed, and Nick could see she was about to come. He leaned down and whispered, “Come for me, Ione. Come for your master.”

Her eyes popped open, meeting his. He could see the overwhelming lust in their smoky depths. Her breath caught in her throat as she started to peak, and Nick crushed her mouth beneath his. He sucked on her tongue as she came, her body quivering and shaking. Minutes later, when she had calmed, Nick lifted his head, ending the kiss. Her eyes fluttered open again.

“Oh, Nick,” she sighed.

He smiled at her and held out one hand. She took it, stumbling a little as she tried to get off the chair. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to his bed, where he checked her back to find that it had already healed and the blood was gone.

Nick wrapped Ione in his arms, as her heartbeat finally slowed to normal. They were silent for along while and then she said, “I can’t believe how good that felt. Will you teach me to be your sub?”

Nick let out a long sigh. He hated to tell her the truth because he wasn’t sure what would happen when he did. He turned her in his arms so that they were face to face. “Ione, I can’t. You’re just not proper sub material,” he told her gently.

She pouted. “I can be if I want to. And for you I want to.”

He shook his head. “You’re too proud. It’s not you.”

A faint glimmer of tears shone in her eyes. “I don’t want to give you up. I don’t want this feeling to end. How can I keep it, how can I be with you, if I can’t be what you want?” she husked.

For a man who wasn’t looking for a relationship, Nick wondered why he was about to step right into one. Then he looked into those pleading smoke colored eyes again and found the answer. He’d fallen for her. Hard.

He stroked a hand over her silky hair. “Ione, I haven’t lived my whole life a Dom,” he told her.

Confusion clouded her eyes. “I don’t understand, Nick. What I heard at the club, the man said this was your lifestyle. He said he’s never known you to live any other way for more than twenty years.” She swallowed and said, “He said you loved it.”

Nick went very still. He remembered having a conversation with Drake in his office the night he’d met Ione. Had that been where she’d heard him being called a master of the whip? And how the hell had she heard them talking anyway?

“How did you hear that conversation, Ione?” he asked cautiously.

Her face turned pink, and she bit her lower lip. Nick wanted to lick the pink flesh that was caught between her teeth.

“I have… certain powers… I heal instantly… and I have exceptional hearing,” she explained haltingly. “When I heard about the whip, I knew you would be the one to help me with my rituals. I’ve gone centuries without being able to perform them because I cannot find the right person to administer the flogging.”

Nick drew back from her slightly. “Are you going to tell me what you are?”

She drew a shaky breath. “Are you going to teach me to be your sub so I can please you?”

He shook his head again. “Ione, I’ve lived like this for more than twenty years. That much is true. However, that doesn’t mean I haven’t had relationships…”

She broke in, her eyes wide. “I couldn’t share you. To imagine some other woman giving you that when I cannot…” She blinked rapidly, then schooled her expression stoically. “I would rather leave now.”

She pushed at his chest, trying to break free of his grip, but Nick wouldn’t let her go. “You didn’t let me finish, Ione,” he told her soothingly. “I don’t have to live this kind of life. It’s suited me for the past twenty years, but I’m not the kind of man who HAS to be a Dom, who HAS to have this to get off. I would be perfectly happy letting you pretend to be my sub once in awhile. You see, I lived the lifestyle, but it never defined who I truly am. There’s more to me than my whip and a need to control.”

He raised a hand and sent the pink chair floating around the room. “I’m not without power of my own. I’m not without my own immortality,” he explained. “You cannot pigeonhole me by saying I am a Dom. I don’t have to have subs… but I think… I have to have you.”

Ione’s eyes began to glow and she relaxed in his arms. “Good. Because I’ve been watching you for so long, wanting to be with you,” she whispered.

Nick’s brows rose. “You’ve been stalking me?” he joked, knowing it could well be true. She was definitely a determined woman.

She laughed. “You could say that. How about I ride that chair for you again while I tell you all about it?” she teased, her face taking on a sultry sexuality that had Nick’s cock responding instantly. “You did like it when I rode the chair, didn’t you?”

Nick’s breathing went completely haywire. “Yes,” he hissed out as her long fingers wrapped around his growing erection.

She stroked him a few times, then motioned toward the floating chair. “Let it down, and we’ll see how fast the chair and I can turn you on without the whip,” she purred.

“Fuck the whip,” Nick murmured, his fingers stroking over her smooth hip.

She wriggled away, out of the bed. He snapped his fingers, and Ione caught the chair as it fell from the ceiling. Her smoky eyes met his emerald ones. “You and me and the chair?” she asked softly.

Nick got up and stalked toward her, taking the chair and tossing it aside as his hands cupped her breasts. “No. You and me. Full stop.”

His head dipped, and he kissed her again, feeling how she melted against him. It was a kind of control he’d never thought to have, and yet, it was far more satisfying than years of wielding the whip had brought him. He wondered briefly if maybe he should buy a few more of the pink chairs though. After all, he really had liked the way she’d looked when she had been riding it… just for him…

The Wiz and the Chair
By Winterheart © 2008
ESN ID 40584-080901-322975-11

Drake put his key in the lock then paused when he heard the door behind him open. Looking over his shoulder, he saw his neighbor emerge from his penthouse condo and shut the door behind him. The two of them were the only residents of the top floor of the Manhattan high rise. Considering the kinds of upscale people who lived in their building, it was probably best that they shared a floor since both of them were unconventional and kept odd hours.

Drake’s neighbor, Nick, was an artist, with an artist’s temperament. A couple of times a week, there was a lot of screaming followed by Nick carrying out an armload of pink plastic. Sometimes it was during the week, sometimes on the weekend. Tonight, was a weeknight.

“Hey, Nick. How’s it going?” Drake asked as the tall, lean form of the artist ambled toward the elevator.

Nick’s emerald eyes blinked groggily at Drake. “Eh? Oh! Hey, Drake. What’s doing, mate?”

Drake bit back a grin. Nick sounded either drunk or sleepy or both. The Englishman was dressed in threadbare jeans and a thin tank top that used to be white, but was now stained with what Drake hoped was red paint. Although, knowing Nick’s ability with a whip and his immersion in the BDSM lifestyle, there was every possibility that the red spatter wasn’t paint.

“Just getting in from the club,” Drake said easily, eyeing the pink plastic draped over Nick’s shoulder.

Seeing the direction of Drake’s gaze, Nick’s fingers tightened on the plastic. “No date tonight?”

Drake often brought home someone from the club. His sexual appetite was voracious usually, and nights at the club were always good for feeding his cravings. However, tonight he’d been too restless to pick one of the beautiful young women or men who wanted him to fuck them. He shrugged at Nick. “Wasn’t in the mood,” he replied shortly.

Nick’s dark brows shot up. “That’s not the Drake Keating I know,” he said in surprise.

Trying to turn the conversation from himself, Drake gestured toward the pink plastic. “Whenever Ione is here, you toss out a pile of pink plastic. What the hell is it?”

Nick’s eyes shifted away from Drake’s warily. “It’s a chair. A blow up chair.” He pushed the button for the elevator and the door whooshed open. “Gotta go. See you, Drake.”

The elevator door closed and Drake frowned at it. What the hell was the big deal? He turned and opened the door to his loft. He wasn’t sure what had made Nick so sketchy, the fact that he mentioned Ione or the fact that he’d asked about the plastic. With a sigh, Drake thrust his curiosity aside. Nick was a character and always had been. They’d been neighbors for nearly ten years and friends for more than twenty. During those years, they had both learned a lot about each other’s lives from sexual habits to theurgic abilities. Both of them were wizards, fully trained, and at a high enough theurgic level where they were sought out as teachers for others who had magical abilities. Drake took students if he felt someone’s talent was special. Nick, being a much more private person than Drake, never took students.

Drake tossed his overcoat onto a leather chair and headed for the black lacquered bar. He poured himself two fingers of Scotch and knocked back half of it before pressing the switch that opened up the skylight and the wall of windows that overlooked Manhattan. Dawn was closing in and the sky was no longer black velvet. Instead, it was streaked with indigo and deepest violet.

Watching the sun rise while he drank his Scotch, Drake wondered why he hadn’t been in the mood to bring someone home. He could be standing here right now having his cock sucked, but no. He’d looked at all the eager young faces around him, each one of them beautiful and sexy and more than willing to please him, and his stomach had turned. The nameless, faceless sex was wearing on him.

He finished his Scotch and set the glass down, heading for his bedroom. Having realized what his problem was, didn’t solve anything. He stripped off and got in the shower. Just because he wasn’t interested in casual sex anymore didn’t mean he wasn’t horny. He was. In fact, he was more horny because now there wasn’t some beautiful young thing sucking him off every night.

Drake wrapped one soapy hand around his stiff cock and began to stroke it with a twisting motion. It had been awhile since he’d had any kind of relationship. His last relationship had ended on a jangling note when he’d discovered that the woman wasn’t what he thought she was. He’d been so drawn to her, her beauty and the raw power she possessed that she had no clue what to do with. He’d been excited to teach her and had taken her to his bed, thinking that she was his mate. Unfortunately, something had happened to show him that she was not for him. Once he knew who her real mate was, he had been unable to have sex with her.

He closed his eyes and leaned against the cool tile, his fist stroking his cock a little faster. His gifts were not always a blessing. It had definitely not been a good day the afternoon that he’d had a vision of the future that showed his former lover Weylyn with his current lover Keir. That’s when he’d know she wasn’t meant for him. That day, he’d let Keir go. He still worked with her twice a week on her theurgic training, but when that was done, he would send her to Weylyn. It was the right thing to do.

Meanwhile, here he stood in his shower, jacking off while thinking of the two of them. Weylyn was the most beautiful man Drake had ever met. His lean, wiry build was rock hard with muscle. His face was chiseled and more beautiful than a man had any right to be. Drake had always been particularly taken with Weylyn’s silvery eyes. They were always so full of mischief and life. Weylyn was a hedonist. He would have sex with whomever caught his eye and made his dick hard. He was unabashedly a horndog and good natured about it. His personality was as beautiful as his body and face. The combination had been irresistible to Drake.

Keir had a natural beauty and an uncomplicated personality. She had no hang-ups sexually or otherwise. She’d known that Drake liked men as much as women, and she hadn’t been jealous. In fact, she’d gotten off on seeing him with men, something most women were threatened by.

Thinking of how Keir had gotten aroused while watching him have his cock sucked by a young stud had Drake’s arousal shooting through the roof. His fist glided harder and faster. He groaned out loud and widened his stance, reaching down with his free hand to cup and squeeze his balls. Inside his closed eyelids, he imagined Keir watching him get sucked off by Weylyn…

With a loud moan, he came. His hot cum erupted from the thick head of his cock, hitting the side of the shower. Some of it dripped down onto his hand and he rubbed it into his hard flesh, imagining that it was Weylyn’s agile tongue instead of his fingers. He opened his eyes, staring at the tile where the water from the showerhead was washing away all sign of his ejaculate. Despite the sexual release, depression settled over him as he finished his shower.

Once in bed, with the skylight and blinds shut, he tried to figure out what it was that he wanted. He felt restless and dissatisfied with everything. His work was boring. The club literally ran itself. His theurgic work had slowed to a trickle now that he was working with Keir only two days a week. Maybe he needed a hobby.

Or a relationship…

The thought was fully formed in his mind like an insistent voice. Drake grunted and rolled over in bed, hugging his pillow. He wasn’t a fan of relationships although he’d been in several throughout his life. All of his relationships had ended on a disappointed note, though. The disappointment being his.

A deep sigh escaped him. Maybe he just needed to stop thinking about being with people he couldn’t be with anymore. He closed his eyes, determined to get some sleep so that tonight, maybe he could look at things differently… and get laid.

On his way out to the club later that night, Drake ran into Nick in the hallway. His eyebrows rose. Again with the pink plastic chair. He gave Nick a speaking look as he pushed the button for the elevator.

“C’mon, Nick. What’s the deal with the pink plastic blow up chair?” he asked his friend as they got in the elevator car.

Nick sighed and pushed the button for the ground floor. As the elevator headed down, Nick held up the chair. That’s when Drake saw the huge pink rubber dildo attached to the seat. For some odd reason, his cock stirred.

He gave Nick a sardonic look. “So who’s riding it? You or Ione?” he teased.

Nick shook his head ruefully. “Ione. She loves driving me crazy with the damn thing. The problem is, she’s too rough with it, and we’re breaking them at least once a week,” he explained. “I’m gonna have to buy stock in the damned company at this rate.”

Drake laughed. “So where do you get something like that? It doesn’t seem like the kind of toy you’d go for on your own.”

Nick tossed the pink plastic over his shoulder. “It’s not. Melina left the original one behind after she dumped me for that fetish girl. Apparently, she bought it at Plain Brown Wrapper. Or so my credit card statement says,” he said wryly.

“Man, you sure can pick them, Nick,” Drake replied with a shake of his head. “Now, fess up. You’ve used the chair too, haven’t you?”

The Englishman pokered up, but Drake knew he was teasing. “A gentleman doesn’t fuck and tell,” he murmured in a snooty tone.

As the elevator door opened, Drake leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Yeah, right, buddy.” Nick’s emerald eyes glared lethally at his friend, and Drake laughed. “Catch you later!”

Once out on the street, Drake caught a cab and found himself directing the cabbie to Plain Brown Wrapper. Inside the store, the chair caught his eye instantly. They had one hanging from the ceiling. He walked up to the counter and pointed to the pink chair.

“Is that the only color it comes in?” he asked.

The Goth kid behind the counter raised one pierced brow and gave Drake a bored look. “That’s the only color it comes in today,” he drawled. “The blue one won’t be in stock for a couple of weeks and the green is discontinued.”

“I’ll take two pink ones,” Drake told him, pulling out his wallet.

“Big spender,” the kid muttered and disappeared for a moment, returning with two flat plastic packages.

He ran the credit card, and as Drake signed the slip, he bagged the two chairs in a plain brown paper sack. Drake hopped into another cab and headed to the club. The main part of the crowd hadn’t arrived yet since the doors had only just opened at sunset. Drake headed to his office and his manager, Justin Scott, followed him. He set the brown sack down on a corner of the desk and sat down. Justin shut the door and sat in one of the chairs across from him.

“Don’t tell me the liquor bill isn’t right again?” Drake joked.

Justin just stared at him with serious dark eyes. Inwardly, Drake sighed. For the last year, Justin had run the Wizard’s Club. Before that, he’d been the assistant manager at a vampire club. Drake had met him in that club. Justin had been working, and Drake had been trolling. Justin was hot, and Drake had been horny. Weylyn had just left New York, and Drake hadn’t met Keir yet. Justin was beautiful with his short dark hair, dark seductive eyes, and tight, muscled body. Drake had come on strong that night, and Justin hadn’t been immune to his seduction. Later that night, Justin had been on his knees in Drake’s loft, sucking his cock like there was no tomorrow.

They’d gone at it hot and heavy for a week, but then Drake had met Keir. He’d dropped Justin instantly, something for which he was now profoundly sorry. Until recently, he hadn’t realized how much of a jerk he had really been to Justin eighteen months ago. When the club’s manager left abruptly to move to Europe, Drake had offered Justin the job, thinking he’d kill two birds with one stone. He’d get himself an experienced club manager and appease his conscience at the same time. Now, it dawned on him that he really hadn’t appeased his conscience at all. He should have apologized profusely to Justin. Eighteen months after the fact, he wasn’t sure how he could make amends.

“The liquor bill is fine. In fact, everything’s fine. This place runs like a well oiled machine,” Justin said in a cool, emotionless voice. “It runs so well, I wonder why you come in here every night. Do you think I can’t do my job?”

The bitterness was so slight that if Drake hadn’t already been feeling guilty, he wouldn’t have noticed it. “Justin, I…” he started to apologize, but Justin’s dark eyes flashed angrily and he stopped.

“Don’t fucking say you’re sorry, Drake,” he snarled, his body stiff with indignation. “If you had really been sorry you would have said something long ago.” He stood up and walked to the door, then turned back to pin Drake to his chair with fierce, dark eyes. “You gave me this job, and I’m grateful that you did. But I’ve proven myself to you over and over again in the past eighteen months. Your club is in good hands. Now go the fuck home and let me do my job!”

Justin slammed out of the office, leaving Drake staring blankly at the closed door, shocked to the core. Justin’s little outburst showed Drake something he hadn’t realized before. Not only had Drake struck at Justin’s pride by dumping him, he’d made the sting worse by showing up at the club every night, making Justin feel as if he didn’t trust him to do his job. Drake shook his head, angry and disappointed in himself.

I’m a putz, he thought. A huge fucking putz.

He picked up the brown bag and left the office. The staff greeted him as he walked through the club. Justin stood behind the bar with a clipboard in his hand. He looked up as Drake passed, and there was a flash of pain mixed with the anger in his dark eyes. Drake lifted his hand, letting Justin know he was leaving, as he pushed past the crowds and out the door.

There were cabs at the curb, but Drake couldn’t go home. He stood there, wondering what to do, where to go. His depression from the night before closed in.

“Is everything alright, Mr. Keating?”

Drake turned to find one of the doormen standing there with a concerned expression on his face. He shot the man a reassuring smile.

“Yeah. Everything’s fine, Joe. I’m just not sure what to do,” he replied absently.

“About what, sir?” Joe’s face didn’t lose its concerned expression. Obviously, he wasn’t used to seeing his boss at a loss.

“About my life,” Drake sighed. He gave the doorman another smile. “Have a good night, Joe.”

Drake turned and started walking. If he was going to go into coma mode, he needed to find somewhere else to do it. Standing on the curb in front of his club was not the answer. He walked and walked, thinking about Justin and how he’d treated him. He’d been with any number of one night stands. They’d all known what to expect. However, when he’d met Justin, he hadn’t treated him like a one nighter. Justin wasn’t one nighter material, and Drake had known that, but the instant he’d met Keir, he’d dismissed Justin exactly as he would a one nighter. Drake berated himself silently. He was such a huge fucking asshat.

He’d walked probably a dozen blocks before he decided to go home. He caught a cab and was home less than half an hour later. He set the plain brown bag down and pulled out his cell phone, dialing his best friend Garren Fairfax.

“I’m going to shoot you the next time I see you,” Garren growled into the phone.

“Did I wake you? I’m sorry. You know I’m no good at figuring out GMT,” Drake apologized sheepishly.

“It’s not even six am,” Garren groaned. “Ack. I’m up now. What’s wrong?”

Drake bit back a sigh. Garren could read him like a book. He opened his mouth and everything came out. Everything he had been thinking and feeling lately. Garren listened in silence until his friend was done.

“Drake, you need a life,” he said gently. “You treated Justin badly. Yet you did something incredibly good for him, and you placed a lot of trust in him too. Now, stop torturing the guy and let him do his job. As for Keir, you’re over her, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah,” Drake muttered reluctantly.

“Then let it go!” Garren said, his voice exasperated. “You said you weren’t in love with her. You said you’re over her. So let it go and stop thinking about her. Now, about Weylyn…”

Drake cut him off. He was starting to feel like a monumental ass. “Wey’s my friend. I’m not a pining lover or anything,” he explained gruffly to Garren. “I guess I just miss the connection… the closeness…”

“Drake, you can’t find someone to be with if you’re sitting at home moping,” Garren said told him.

Well, shit, Drake thought. He hadn’t thought he wanted a relationship, yet that was pretty much the reason why he was suddenly so draggy ass. His friend Nick had someone now. In fact, everyone he knew had someone now. Being alone sucked. Not that he had wanted to admit that.

“You’re right. Thanks, Garren. I’m sorry I woke you up,” Drake said apologetically.

Garren chuckled. “No worries. It just means I have time for a quickie with my honey before I have to catch a plane to Paris.”

They hung up and Drake strode into his bedroom, yanking off his dress slacks and shirt and exchanging them for tight jeans and a t-shirt. He grabbed a leather jacket and headed out to the vampire club where he’d met Justin. The last time he had truly been looking to meet someone had been the last time he’d gone to that club. That night he’d met Justin.

In the club, Drake did the same thing he did in his own club. He hung at the bar for awhile, so people could see him. Then he got a booth and sat back, waiting to see who would come over and show that they were interested. A few hours later, he was bored. Three women and a couple of men sat at his table. All of them were interested in him sexually. He wasn’t interested in any of them. Conversation swirled around him, but he felt disassociated.

By the time two a.m. rolled around, he was ready to leave. Alone. Then he noticed a familiar taut ass in faded jeans. He frowned a little. Monday through Thursday, the Wizard’s Club closed at midnight. Weekends, they were open until three in the morning. The vampire club was always open until a half hour before dawn.

Drake’s eyes followed Justin’s perfect ass through the crowd to the bar. He leaned on it, laughing with the bartender. A tall blonde man came up and put his hand on Justin’s jean clad posterior. Drake’s manager and former lover didn’t even flinch. He turned and began flirting with the guy. Drake’s gut clenched. For the next half hour, he watched Justin flirting with the blonde guy and with a tiny petite brunette. He danced with the brunette and Drake stared in astonishment as the two practically fucked each other on the dance floor. Justin’s hands were even under her miniskirt. Drake’s fingers tightened on his martini glass.

One of the girls asked him something, and he brushed her off. She took off in a huff. Then the two guys decided that they liked each other more than they liked him. So Drake was sitting there flanked by two girls he wasn’t interested in, staring at his drink angrily, replaying in his head how Justin had been dancing with the brunette, when a familiar voice growled, “Why don’t you take one of them or both of them home and fuck them, and stop staring at me like you’re jealous? We both know you don’t give a shit about me so stop fucking up my night by looking like you do.”

Drake’s head shot up, and his eyes met Justin’s angry ones. He’d never seen Justin so worked up. Usually, his manager and former lover was cool and efficient, not simmering with emotion. “Look, Drake. I realize what happened between us a year and a half ago didn’t mean jack to you. But did you ever stop to think that maybe it meant something to ME?”

He planted his hands on the table and looked scornfully at Drake, ignoring the two wide eyed women. “I let you brush me aside for Keir, because you thought you’d found your mate. When I discovered that she wasn’t your mate, I thought maybe I had a chance with you again. Instead, I’ve had to sit there night after night at the club watching you pick up any hot young thing who took your fancy.”

Emotions rolled across Justin’s handsome face, not the least of which was the anger that was pouring out in his words. “Now, you’ve invaded the only place I can go where I might be able to meet someone, anyone, who will wipe the memory of you from my head! So for once, would you do something for someone other than yourself? Take your skanks and get the fuck out of here!” he growled.

The two women gasped and when Drake didn’t bother to defend them, they slid out of the booth and left. Drake sat there staring up into Justin’s stormy eyes. What he saw in them turned him inside out. There was anger, and pain, and an overwhelming, reluctant desire. Slowly, he slid out of the booth and faced Justin.

The younger man’s jaw tightened, as if bracing for a blow. Drake shook his head. Then, with the speed of a striking snake, he leaned in and kissed Justin. His lips pressed hard against Justin’s mouth. He flicked his tongue against Justin’s lips and they parted. His tongue slithered into the wet cavern of the younger man’s mouth, teasing his tongue. Justin shivered and sucked on Drake’s tongue.

Drake pulled away, his chest heaving. “Are you coming home with me?” he asked huskily.

Justin’s expressive eyes flashed. “Why? So you can dump me again?” he snapped.

Drake reached out and brushed a finger along Justin’s stubbled jawline. “No. So I can apologize properly,” he said, his tone quiet and emphatic.

Emotions warred in Justin’s eyes. Drake could see the struggle quite clearly. His groin tightened. He wanted Justin. He wanted a chance to make up for what he’d done too. But mostly… he wanted Justin. It burned like a fire in his gut. Drake waited… and waited.

Finally, Justin drew a deep breath and said, “Okay. I’ll come home with you. But I’m not promising to stay. If I think you’re just going to use me again, I’ll leave, and when I do, you can expect to find my resignation on your desk within the hour.”

Drake felt sucker punched. On the one hand, he was elated to have a second chance with Justin. On the other hand, he knew that if he fucked this up, he would lose not only his chance with Justin on a personal level, but he would lose the best manager the Wizard’s Club had ever had. Instead of answering, he kissed Justin again. This time the kiss was softer, a promise, and an apology.

They left the club and took a cab to Drake’s. Once they were in his penthouse, Drake began to feel nervous. He took Justin’s jacket and hung it with his own in the front closet. He walked over to the black bar and took out his Scotch.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked formally.

Justin was tickling the Venus Flytrap. He looked up with an amused smile and said, “No, thanks.” He glanced down at the big green plant. “It’s gotten a lot bigger.”

Drake knocked back two fingers of Scotch feeling the welcome burn of the alcohol in his gut. “Yeah, it has. Nick hates coming over here to feed it when I’m gone.”

Justin’s smile widened. “Still? It’s just a plant. Why does it creep him out so much?”

Drake shrugged. “Don’t know. It just does.” He set the empty glass on the bar and opened the skylight and blinds so that the lights of Manhattan could be seen. He dimmed the living room lights so the view would be better.

Justin’s smile turned seductive. “Mood lighting?” he murmured as Drake walked toward him.

“I don’t like the glare on the glass when the lights are on inside,” Drake muttered absently as he came to a stop in front of Justin. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered.

One hand came up and slid beneath Drake’s shirt. The fingers danced along the hard ridges of Drake’s abdomen, causing him to suck in his breath. “You, Drake. I want you. I’ve been half in love with you for two fucking years. Long before you ever brought me home that first time,” he said in a low voice that was filled with suppressed emotion.

Drake reached down and ripped off his t-shirt. Justin splayed his palms across Drake’s chest, gliding over the muscles reverently. His hands slipped down to the waistband of Drake’s jeans, unbuttoning them and pulling the zipper down, his knuckles brushing against the hard evidence of Drake’s arousal.

The only sound in the penthouse was the sound of their rough breathing and their clothes dropping to the expensive area rug. Drake popped open the buttons on Justin’s fly with one swift move. Then his hands were delving inside, seeking Justin’s cock. Moments later, they were both naked and fully aroused.

Drake rubbed his hips against Justin’s, their cocks sliding against each other. He slipped his hand down and took Justin’s cock in his hand, stroking it with a twisting motion that made Justin moan. Then he kissed the younger man, their moans coming out choppy as their tongues and lips mashed together. The kissing was hot and wet, frantic with lust, both of them ignoring the sting of their beard stubbled jaws rasping against each other. All the while, Drake’s hands were stroking them both, rubbing and squeezing their cocks with his hands, pressing them together, smearing their conjoined pre-cum over whatever he could reach.

Justin’s hips flexed rhythmically against Drake’s. His lust soared at the friction and feel of Drake’s muscular body against his. He put his arms around Drake, stroking his triceps, reaching down to squeeze his tight buttocks. He kissed Drake deeply, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked the other man’s tongue. His fingers traced the cleft of Drake’s ass and he felt his lover shudder in anticipation.

Then all the hot rubbing against each other ceased as Drake dropped to his knees, his tongue snaking out to lick all around the swollen head of Justin’s cock as if it was a lollypop. When he flicked at the sensitive underside, the thick erection jerked in his grasp and Justin groaned. Drake loved teasing Justin. The expression on his face was pure lust and it turned Drake on.

Justin sank his hands into Drake’s short blonde hair. “Do I look like a popsicle to you?” he rasped, his voice breathy.

Drake chuckled and slid his lips over the thick cock in front of him. Justin cried out, clutching Drake’s hair as the head of his cock was massaged by the muscles of Drake’s throat. He could barely stand as Drake sucked him expertly, deep throating him, and teasing him with a swirling tongue,

Justin felt like his head was going to explode. His balls were so tight, he knew his orgasm wasn’t far off. In fact, when Drake had been rubbing their cocks together and their bodies had been so tight against each other that a feather would have had trouble coming between them… Justin had been afraid he would come right then. He was crazy about Drake. Everything about the wizard turned him on. The feel of his skin and his body rubbing up against Justin pretty much unmanned him to the point that all Justin wanted to do was beg Drake to fuck him.

But Drake had other ideas. He was acutely aware that Justin cared for him. He was even more aware of the fact that he had hurt Justin. Right at that moment, all Drake wanted to do was make it up to him. So he sucked and licked and teased Justin’s cock, worshipping it and paying homage to it. He drew out the other man’s arousal to the point where Justin’s legs were shaking and little mewling noises came from the back of his throat with every suck of Drake’s talented mouth.

Finally, Drake cupped Justin’s balls in one palm, squeezing and teasing the taut sacs. One long finger teased Justin’s ass. Justin thought he was going to pass out from the pleasure. No one had ever sucked him so well. Heat was roaring through his veins, and there was a whooshing sound in his ears as he felt his balls tighten unbearably. Then Drake inserted one thick finger into his ass, up to the first knuckle, without lube. The momentary pain pushed him over the edge and his cock exploded in Drake’s mouth, his hot cum filling his lover’s mouth and throat.

Justin’s fingers pulled painfully at Drake’s blonde hair. However, Drake was so into Justin’s reactions that he didn’t care. He could feel how explosive Justin’s orgasm was and a sense of satisfaction filled him. Justin’s cum also filled him. He came so much that Drake, who was less experienced with sucking than being sucked, had a difficult time swallowing it all. A trickle escaped the corner of his mouth, but he ignored it. He was focused solely on Justin’s pleasure.

When Justin’s shudders subsided, Drake slurped the semi-erect cock, cleaning it with his tongue as he let it slide free of his mouth. Justin looked down at him with glazed eyes. That’s when he got an idea.

Drake stood up and Justin grabbed him, holding him tightly as they kissed urgently. Justin licked his cum from Drake’s chin, reveling in the taste of it on his lover’s skin and tongue. He reached down to stroke Drake’s thick cock, slick with a steady flow of pre-cum. Drake twisted away and pushed Justin down on the leather sofa.

“Wait right there,” he said huskily and went into the bedroom.

Quickly, Drake found the bag from Plain Brown Wrapper and ripped the plastic cover off the chair with his teeth. He opened the closet and pulled out an air pump. The chair filled with air quickly and Drake closed the valve, sealing it shut. He took the chair and a bottle of lube to the living room.

Justin was sitting with his thighs spread wide. Drake’s mouth watered at the thought of licking every inch of that beautiful muscular body. His eyes settled on Justin’s half hard cock. It was thick and long. Nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, Drake was pretty sure the younger man was longer than he was. Maybe not quite as thick, but definitely longer. His ass cheeks clenched as he wondered how it would feel to have Justin fuck him. He’d had fingers and dildos in his ass, but only once had he been fucked. Weylyn had been an excellent instructor in anal sex, but his cock wasn’t quite as long or thick as Justin’s. The thought of that monster dick in his ass made Drake shake with lust.

Drake set the chair on the floor near the couch. Justin looked at it in surprise. “What’s with the toy, Drake?” he asked curiously.

“You’ll see,” Drake told him with a smile.

Drake straddled Justin’s body, kneeling over his thighs. His hard cock rubbed against Justin’s thighs, abdomen, and partially erect cock. He put the bottle of lube in Justin’s hand and whispered in his ear, “Get me ready.”

He licked and nibbled his way across Justin’s torso, stopping every now and again to kiss him deeply. Justin poured the lube into the crack of Drake’s ass, his fingers working it in a little at a time. Drake moaned into Justin’s mouth as he felt one finger slide deeply into his ass. Their kisses deepened as Justin worked his finger in and out. Then it was two fingers and Drake’s body undulated on Justin’s. By now, Justin was rock hard again. He stroked his free hand over Drake’s cock and his own, as his desire spiraled out of control.

Then Drake pulled away, Justin’s fingers sliding easily out of his ass. Breathing hard, Drake walked over to the pink chair and turned it so Justin could watch as he lowered himself onto the chair. The pressure of the thick dildo at his slippery anus was both incredibly arousing and slightly painful. He pressed downward and the thick rubber head pressed past the first tight ring of muscles. With a loud groan, Drake felt the dildo seat itself inside him. He rocked a little and the dildo pressed his prostate, causing his cock to jerk.

Drake locked eyes with Justin as he began to ride the chair. Justin’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, his arousal beyond anything he had ever felt before. Drake began to stroke his cock in time to his thrusts on chair. Heat was wreathing his whole body. He stared into Justin’s desire filled eyes and began to fuck the chair harder, imagining that Justin was fucking him.

By now, Justin felt like he was going to explode. He was stroking his cock, remembering how it had felt in Drake’s hand, and against Drake’s cock and hard body. He shuddered, unable to sit and watch while Drake pleasured himself. He lurched to his feet, striding over to Drake. For a moment, he watched Drake fuck the chair. Then, he dropped to his knees, engulfing Drake’s thick cock in his mouth.

Drake groaned loudly. “Oh, fuck, Justin. Oh, yeah. Suck my cock.”

Justin wrapped his tongue around Drake’s cock, teasing it and sucking it. He slurped and sucked voraciously at the hard flesh, his fingers manipulating Drake’s balls, his head bobbing in time with Drake’s thrusts onto the chair’s dildo. He could smell the scent of their sweat and cum in the air, and it made his own cock jerk. Then Drake’s fingers tightened on his head, holding him still. Drake’s hips thrust up from the chair, pressing his cock even deeper into Justin’s mouth. He fucked Justin’s face as he fucked the chair faster and faster until Justin thought he would choke.

Drake’s eyes rolled back into his head as pleasure whipped through him. Justin’s mouth was so hot, so tight and wet that he couldn’t bear it any longer. The feel of Justin sucking him while the dildo slid in his ass, pressing his prostate with each thrust… Drake drew a shuddering breath and yelled as his orgasm hit him. He was slammed down onto the dildo with the force of his shudders. Justin pressed his face into Drake’s belly, sucking every millimeter of the wizard’s spasming, ejaculating cock into his throat. He swallowed and swallowed, not willing to lose even a drop of Drake’s cum.

When Drake went limp, Justin lifted his head. Drake’s muscular body was damp with sweat, glistening in the low lights. Justin ran his hands over his lover’s ridged abdomen, loving the feel of smooth skin and hard muscle beneath his palms. He caressed every inch of Drake that he could reach as his lover recovered from his explosive orgasm.

He pinched Drake’s nipples and then found himself under scrutiny from Drake’s pale blue eyes. They gleamed at him in amusement.

“Can’t get enough of me?” Drake teased in a husky voice.

Justin’s dark eyes stared back at him, a serious expression in their depths. “No. I can’t,” he replied, his tone low and filled with emotion. “You’re the wiz here. Didn’t you know? Couldn’t you tell how I feel about you?”

Drake’s expression sobered as he realized that all these months Justin had been wanting him and he hadn’t even noticed. “Help me up,” he said quietly.

Justin helped him remove the chair’s dildo from his ass. When he was back on his feet, Drake wrapped his arms around Justin, just holding him. “I’m sorry,” he said simply. “I was wrong to treat you as I did. I was wrong about a lot of things, and I’m so fucking sorry.”

For a long moment, Justin stood there, reveling in the feel of Drake’s body against his. Then he leaned in and kissed him briefly, without desire, but overflowing with emotion. Justin rubbed his hands up Drake’s forearms and over his biceps.

“Apology accepted on one condition,” he said, his voice thick.

“What’s that?” Drake asked, with a brow lifted inquiringly.

Justin smiled slowly. “You let me ride the chair.”

Drake blinked. Then he began to laugh. “Tell you what… you can ride the chair… after you ride me.” His hand stroked Justin’s still hard cock.

Justin looked at him in surprise. “A year and a half ago it was all about you fucking me. The big important wiz had to be the one controlling everything. You wouldn’t even entertain the idea of me fucking you. Why the change?” he asked.

Drake shrugged. “I’ve learned it’s not all about me. It’s about you too. I’m not the same selfish man you first met. I’ve learned some lessons since then,” he admitted.

Justin slipped his hand into the crack of Drake’s ass, feeling the muscular buttocks clench and unclench. “Hopefully, you haven’t learned them all,” he said in a low seductive tone. His finger slipped into Drake’s tight anus. Drake shuddered and his cock began to stiffen once more.

“There are definitely some things I’d like to teach you,” Justin whispered.

Drake nipped the side of Justin’s neck. “Take me to bed, Justin. I want you to fuck me.”

Justin pressed his mouth to Drake’s and their tongues slid against each other. They moaned into each other’s mouths. “One of these days, my handsome wiz, I’m going to show you that it’s not just fucking,” he murmured. “There are whole other levels to this when you love someone.”

“Like I said, take me to bed, Justin.” Drake’s voice was thick with emotion as he kissed his lover.

On the way into the bedroom, Drake turned out the lights. Unfortunately, he missed one, leaving the pink chair sitting in a dim spotlight, as the Manhattan skyline brightened behind it.

By Winterheart

All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2008 Winterheart.com
ESN: 36412-080506-281258-70

The box was ordinary brown cardboard. The shipping labels were the kind one would normally find on a package. The return address was a company called “Plain Brown Wrapper.” The name made Weylyn instantly suspicious. Anything with a name as innocuous as that, was not what it seemed.

Weylyn shook the box. It made a whooshing sound as the contents slid around inside. He grimaced, as he realized he wasn’t going to know what was inside the box unless he opened it. Taking out a pocket knife, he slit the packing tape carefully, preoccupied with trying to figure out which of the people he had fucked recently had sent him a present. He was confident enough in his abilities as a lover to know that he hadn’t left anyone angry and unsatisfied, so there was no way that this wasn’t a gift.

He put away the pocket knife and peeled back the flaps of cardboard. Lifting out the crinkled brown packing paper, he found a flat cellophane package. The contents were bright neon pink plastic. Weylyn frowned. Pink wasn’t exactly his color, and he couldn’t imagine anyone buying him a pink anything. Upon closer inspection, he decided that it looked like a raft for the pool.

Weylyn pulled the package out and ripped open the cellophane, taking out the hunk of pink plastic. His sensitive werewolf nose crinkled as a strong scent assailed him. Whew! Whatever it was, it stunk to high heaven. Petroleum based products always reeked and his nose was more sensitive than most. Whoever had sent him the gift either hadn’t realized how delicate his nose was, hadn’t really thought about how stinky plastic was, or didn’t care.

As Weylyn began to unfold the pink plastic, he discovered that the sender hadn’t cared about the stink of the plastic. What he held in his hands was a gag gift. At least, he was pretty sure it had to be a gag gift. What was in his hands, was a pink plastic chair… with a big thick dildo attached to the seat.

He frowned at the chair for a long moment. Then he began to grin. As he reached for the box to search for a card, he began to laugh. The chair was really funny. It was a great gag gift! Now, he wanted to know who had sent it. Obviously, it was someone who knew he was bi-sexual. The chair wouldn’t be nearly as funny if he’d been straight.

His hands touched a sheet of paper. He pulled it out and read,

“Hey Wey!

Drake”

So maybe it wasn’t exactly a gag gift after all, Weylyn thought, fingering the thick dildo. In fact, come to think of it, the stiff rubber dick resembled Drake’s cock. The shape of the head, the thickness of the base, the way the veins stood out…

Weylyn grinned as he realized that he was getting aroused. Not that it took much. He was a horn dog at the best of times. Getting his were on was his primary goal in life. After his music, of course. Luckily, his music usually made it really easy to get his were on. It didn’t hurt that he was attractive either. And his personality was outgoing and fun loving. He was a combination that most people couldn’t resist, which meant that he never suffered from a shortage of partners.

A hunt through his closet produced a pump to blow up the chair. Once it was filled with air, Weylyn set it down facing his television. He stared at it with a little smile curling his lips. Drake loved to fuck. He’d loved fucking Weylyn, and he’d loved it when Weylyn fucked him in return. So the chair wasn’t exactly a gag gift. Still, it amused Weylyn.

He left the chair in the living room of his small flat and went into the bedroom. He had a gig tonight and had to get ready. He didn’t have time for the chair at the moment. After a shower, he dressed in leather jeans, a sleeveless t-shirt, and boots. He smudged a little black eyeliner under his eyes and ran a hand through his damp brown waves. Done with his primping, he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. He stopped, the door halfway open, and looked back at the chair.

Damn. It looked totally hot just sitting there waiting for someone to use it. Weylyn’s cock stirred, and he quickly eyed the clock. A discreet cough from the other side of his door had his head jerking toward the sound. His grey eyes met the amused jade ones of a woman he had never seen before.

“Nice chair,” she murmured in a husky voice.

“Gag gift,” Weylyn replied shortly, looking her up and down.

Woah. She was far hotter than the pink chair. Nicely rounded, full breasts, perched on a petite body. Long, dark silky hair spilled over slender shoulders in a thin t-shirt. Wide dark green eyes in a small triangular face. A pert nose. Moist pale pink bowed lips. A tiny beauty mark at the corner of those smiling lips. Oh, yeah. Lust roared to life within him.

“Mmmn. I can see what part would gag you,” she purred, her eyes glowing in an uncanny manner.

Weylyn’s were senses went into overdrive. The girl in front of him was immortal. However, he just wasn’t sure what she was. He was about to ask her when his cell phone alarm went off. Shit. He was late now. He shut off the alarm and stepped out of his flat, shutting the door behind him.

“I’ve gotta go to work, but I’ll be back about three a.m. My chair and I will be available for rides then,” he told her, breathing deeply of her scent. Oranges and lemons. Maybe some grapefruit and lime thrown in. Definitely a strong citrus scent. But what the hell was she?

The woman stepped back, thrusting her hands into the back pockets of her faded jeans. The movement made her big breasts, in the thin black t-shirt, thrust out even more. Then she leaned her shoulders back against the wall, which thrust out her narrow hips. Weylyn had to tell his libido to take a hike. Now, was not the time to test the patience of his fellow band mates. He had exactly forty five minutes before curtain, and he should have already been walking in the side door of the club.

“You’re a musician, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice sending shivers down his spine.

“Yeah. And I’m late,” he chuckled, his amusement glittering in his pale eyes. “They’re gonna think I was banging someone.”

The woman’s smile was mysterious and enticing. “If you want, you can tell them it was me. My name’s Keir.”

Weylyn stiffened. He knew that name, but he couldn’t place it. It was definitely ringing warning bells in his head though. “I’m Weylyn,” he replied, trying to keep his tone neutral despite the warnings going off inside him. “And… I’ve really gotta run. Nice meeting you!”

“It was nice meeting you and your chair, Weylyn,” Keir said in a husky voice filled with sexual promise.

Weylyn’s body responded, even though his head was screaming ‘No way!’ It was certainly not a scenario he was used to. When Weylyn wanted someone, he acted on it. Unless, of course, the other person was attached. He didn’t know where he knew Keir’s name from and didn’t have time to think about it. Nor did he have time to think about what was up with the warning bells in his head. He raced down the stairs, hopped on his motorcycle, and took off for the club.

His band didn’t really notice that he was late. They were all busy preparing to go on stage. He slipped in, and went into his usual routine. The band played well that night. They were tight, and the music flowed easily. Nothing went wrong. By the time Weylyn climbed the stairs to his flat, it was half past three. He didn’t think Keir would be waiting for him since he was late. Sure enough, when he reached the top of the stairs, he found that the corridor was empty.

Feeling oddly relieved, he unlocked the door. Inside his flat, he tossed his jacket onto the coat rack and got a beer from the kitchen. He was tired, but still a little wound up from the performance. He turned on the TV, flopped onto the sofa, and did a quick channel surf. Nothing was on, of course, so he decided to take a quick shower to get rid of the performance sweat.

Afterward, he walked naked into his living room, toweling his head. He popped in a DVD from his porn collection and lowered the sound. Porn was a staple in Weylyn’s life. He had an extensive collection. Nothing too kinky or extreme, but it was still beyond what most straight men would watch.

Weylyn was a hedonist. His philosophy of life had everything to do with pleasure – getting his were on – and nothing to do with commitment and mates. He didn’t know if he had a mate out there in the world somewhere. If he did, he hadn’t met her yet. Or him. He wasn’t narrow minded enough to think that if he did have a mate, that it had to be a woman.

When it came to the sexes, Weylyn wasn’t particular. He loved men just as much as he loved women. However, he very rarely got involved with gay men. He preferred men like himself, unabashedly male with a healthy appreciation for women… who just happened to appreciate men too. As a consequence, he often ended up in threesomes or group sex. As long as he got his were on, he wasn’t that particular whether it was one on one, two on one, or more.

The porn on the DVD was a couple of men enjoying a redhead, as well as each other. Weylyn took a long drink of his beer and felt his performance high beginning to ebb. He lounged naked on his sofa, looking at the porn, but not really paying attention. Instead, he was trying to remember where he had heard the immortal woman’s name. It was an unusual name, beautiful and wild like her. He thought of those luscious breasts straining the thin t-shirt she’d worn. His cock stirred.

The warning bells made him uncomfortable though, especially when he couldn’t figure out why they were going off. The only thing that made any sense to him was that it was somehow tied up with her name. However, the harder he tried to place it, the more elusive it became.

Several beers later, Weylyn was pleasantly buzzed and had given up trying to figure out the mysterious Keir. Now he was actively watching the porn and stroking his hard cock. He mentally kicked himself for turning down all the groupies who had swamped him after the gig. He’d been playing half aroused thanks to Keir, but for some odd reason, he had been totally unable to pick up on any of the young men and women who offered themselves to him at the club.

As he watched the two men fucking on his TV screen, Weylyn began to contemplate the pink chair. Was Drake serious about him using it? Or had it just been a gag, something to make him laugh? The man being fucked started moaning and Weylyn’s cock twitched. The chair was becoming more and more interesting as the porn progressed.

When the camera zoomed in on the two men, Weylyn couldn’t take any more. He flew into the bedroom and pulled out a bottle of lube. Within moments, the thick dildo of the chair was lubed up and so was Weylyn. He paused for a moment, wondering which way you were supposed to sit on the thing. After walking around it a few times, his thick cock bobbing with each step, he decided that for a man to use it, one must straddle the thing.

Weylyn stepped over the pink plastic and lowered himself toward the dildo. It slid along his asscrack until the head pressed his lubed anus. With a hiss, Weylyn pressed down, feeling the familiar pleasure pain ripple through him as the dildo slid into his ass. On the TV screen, the two men were moaning and crying out. Weylyn rocked on the plastic chair, his long fingers digging into the plastic as he worked the dildo in. Once it was seated within him, he let his breath out on a long sigh and stroked his cock.

Fuck. That felt so good, he thought, feeling the dildo pressing against his prostate. His fingers encircled his cock, squeezing and stroking. The pleasure sent heat rushing through his veins. Sweat broke out on his skin as he rocked his hips, the dildo thrusting into him with each movement. His head fell back, moans erupting from his mouth, his left hand squeezing his cock as his right clutched the chair for balance.

“Oooh. That is soo sexy.”

The low whisper was like the stroke of a finger or tongue down his spine. Eyes shut tight to better concentrate on his body, Weylyn was sure the voice had come from the TV. He thrust down on the chair, feeling the dildo stretching him, feeling the pleasure lick like fire beneath his skin. His breathing roughened as the voice came again.

“Yesss. You are so hot. God, you love being fucked, don’t you?”

The sexy whisper and the explicit words combined to tease his senses. It pushed his arousal even closer to the point of no return. His fingers moved more rapidly on his cock. He could feel the pre-cum oozing from its tip onto his knuckles. His chest burned. Masturbation had never been so hot before. The pink chair was fucking him… he was fucking himself. The freedom was a pleasure in and of itself. There was no one he had to worry about pleasing. It was just him and the pink chair.

“And me. You and that chair make me hot. I want to move your fingers and replace them with my mouth. Then I want to sit on you.”

The sibilant whisper raked him like the brush of long nails along his skin. His eyes popped opened in shock. Before him stood Keir. She was naked, her long black hair streaming over her ivory skin. He stilled, unsure how she had come to be in his flat, naked, and watching him pleasure himself.

Even though he was filled with caution because of her sudden appearance, a part of him admired her naked form. Her breasts were full, luscious globes with dark pinkish caramel nipples. She had narrow hips and a slightly convex belly. A spray of tiny diamonds dangled from a belly button piercing. Her pubes were hairless and Weylyn’s sensitive werewolf nose could smell her arousal. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed her citrus scent the moment she had come in. He certainly noticed it now. It was strong in his nostrils, pushing his lust to the edge of his control.

“How did you get in here?” he asked, unable to completely give in to his lust.

Keir’s hips swayed as if to some music only she could hear. “I have certain… powers,” she murmured, her jade eyes almost black with desire. “I wanted you, so here I am. Imagine my surprise at finding you riding the chair. You have no idea how hot you look sitting on it, pleasuring yourself.”

A low growl emerged from her throat and Weylyn’s were senses went completely off the Richter scale. She was a werewolf! He blinked up at her, his hard cock and the dildo in his ass forgotten for a moment. “You’re a were.”

She shrugged, her silky black hair rippling. “Half. My father was something else. I’m not sure what. My mother died before she could tell me. All I know is that I’m a were with an extra set of powers,” she said, her voice husky and sensual.

“And you got in here… how?” Weylyn pressed, his eyes on the strange tattoo on her hip. It was a wolf clan symbol, but a symbol different than that of his own pack. The pack mark was worked into another symbol, this one more arcane looking, some kind of tree of life…

He shook his head, trying to free himself of her mesmerizing hold on his senses. His heart was thundering in his chest in a way that was far more intense than during his masturbation session. His nerve endings were pinging with awareness. The citrus scent of her filled his nostrils and went straight to his head like a drug. His cock was straining, begging to be touched by her. There was a ringing in his ears, and this time it had nothing to do with the earlier warning bells he’d heard. He could feel his fangs elongating in his mouth, as he was suddenly filled with a longing to kiss her.

“I want to kiss you too,” she murmured, circling the chair, her fingertips lightly touching the plastic. “And I just appeared here. I wanted to be here so I wished myself here. Walls, locked doors, all of those things cannot keep me from where I want to be if I wish myself there. I told you, I have a whole set of non-werewolf powers.”

Weylyn’s eyes were on her fingers. The long slender digits had pale pink nails, short and well manicured. His nostrils flared as her arousal wafted to him again. Never had anyone’s scent affected him as acutely as Keir’s did. The barest whiff of her had his cock and his lust raging almost beyond his ability to control it.

“You can just appear wherever you want. You can read my thoughts. What the hell are you?” he asked, trying to shake himself loose of the desire that threatened to swamp his reason.

She bent at the waist, her perfect breasts only inches from his face. “I told you, I don’t know. What I do know is that I want you.”

She reached out then, and her fingers brushed along the line of his jaw. Weylyn sucked in a sharp breath. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it would burst from his chest. She buried her fingers in his wavy hair and kissed him. The instant those pale pink lips touched his, Weylyn went up in flames. A lust like none he’d ever felt before consumed him. He completely forgot that he was sitting on the chair and reached for her, almost tipping himself over.

Keir caught him, her hands holding his shoulders firmly, the fingertips stroking over his skin. A little cry escaped her. “Oh, Weylyn!”

She knelt, her mouth trailing hot, wet, sucking kisses from his mouth down his chest. She pushed his hands away from his cock. Not knowing what else to do, Weylyn clutched the chair with one hand and used the other to stroke her hair from her face as she bent to take him in her mouth. The most exquisite wet heat enveloped him, and he felt the flames inside him rise up once more. His hips shifted, and he resumed rocking on the chair, the dildo fucking him with just the right pressure, as Keir’s tongue swirled over the head of his cock.

Weylyn’s eyes rolled back in his head. He’d been in a lot of sexual situations since his coming of age. There wasn’t much he hadn’t tried, and what he hadn’t tried was all stuff just too out there to be interesting to him. However, nothing had ever felt as good as this moment. The pink chair was fucking him with exactly the right pressure, at exactly the right angle. His prostate was being massaged in exactly the way he liked best, which in turn had his cock straining, harder than he could ever remember it being. Added to that, Keir’s mouth was sucking him with single minded purpose. The suction, and the swirling action of her tongue, made it a perfect blow job. Best of all, she took all of him, which was no mean feat, and she handled his balls exactly right, to maximize his arousal. It was the most mind blowing sex Weylyn had ever had.

The moans in the room grew steadily louder, partly from the forgotten porn on the TV and partly from Weylyn and Keir. The vibrations from Keir’s moans of pleasure made Weylyn’s cock ache. The smell of their desire filled Weylyn’s nostrils with every breath. The feel of Keir’s silky hair, and her even silkier skin, drove Weylyn crazy to touch more of her.

With a loud groan, he pushed her away. Her mouth popped free of his cock as she sat back on her heels, her dark green eyes looking at him questioningly. Weylyn continued to rock on the chair, unable to stop, loving the feeling of being fucked. He leaned over and licked her stuff nipple, growling, “Stand up.”

Keir rose to her feet, stepping close to the chair, her thigh brushing Weylyn’s hard shoulder. His hand stroked up her thigh and slipped between them. His long fingers glided over her wet, sensitive flesh. She cried out, her hips swaying toward him. His thumb found her clit, the flesh so swollen it was peeping out of her folds. Weylyn hissed in a breath as he teased the sensitive bud. He tilted his head, opened her folds with his fingers, and stared at the glistening dark pink jewel. He’d never seen one so swollen before. He blew on it, and her entire body rippled with reaction. Her scent was intoxicating, which made him wonder what she tasted like. He leaned closer. His tongue snaked out and curled around her fat, swollen clit.

Keir screamed and came with a rush of pleasure so intense she could have sworn there’d been an earthquake. She shuddered helplessly, her hands grasping Weylyn’s shoulders. His mouth was like flame on her. With one swipe of his tongue, he’d given her the biggest orgasm of her life, and now he was licking and sucking her flesh as if he couldn’t get enough. He fucked her with his agile tongue, making her thrust her hips into his face. He sucked her clit until her knees grew so weak she didn’t think she could stand. He licked her labia so that every swipe of his tongue hit every nerve ending and erogenous zone she had there. Her whole body was shaking, her skin flushed with desire, her mind consumed with lust. Never had sex been so overwhelming. It made her want to cry at the perfection of it.

Weylyn couldn’t get enough of Keir. The taste of her on his tongue made him long to lay her out on his bed, flop down between her thighs, and bury his face in her wet pussy for hours. He couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman, or a man, this much. The two of them together were like an out of control wildfire. The fierceness of his desire for her scared him and filled him with elation at the same time.

He pulled away from her as she came a second time. His cock was so hard he thought it would burst right out of its skin. He stared at her with narrowed silver eyes. “Fuck me,” he whispered, wanting nothing so much as to be inside her.

Weylyn leaned back on the chair, feeling the dildo in his ass pressing up harder, the pleasure laced with an edge of pain. Keir grabbed his shoulders and straddled his thighs. She lowered herself onto him, and as her tight, wet pussy grabbed him, her weight thrust him farther onto the chair’s dick. Weylyn sucked in a breath feeling his ass stretch and his cock being milked by Keir’s tight muscles at the same time.

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed. His body felt like someone had plugged him into an electrical outlet. Awareness zipped along his nerves, through every muscle, sinew, bone, and flesh. He’d never felt like this before. His arousal was higher and hotter than it had ever been. His brain was more engaged, his entire being pinging with this connection he felt to her.

Keir dug her nails into his shoulders and rode him, her hips twisting as she ground down on him. The moment he slid into her, she’d felt her heart stop. For two beats, it completely stopped. Something profound had happened to her. She knew it. She felt it. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it was something.

They bucked and twisted and fucked each other. Each of them was so into the other that they both pretty much forgot about the chair that cradled them both, even though Weylyn could feel the dildo thrusting up into him with every down stroke of Keir’s. Her breasts pressed against his damp chest, the taut nipples poking him. His pubic hair rubbed her exposed clit with every movement she made. His hands cupped her ass and stroked her back. Her fingers clutched his shoulders and his biceps. She had to cling to him to keep her balance as she rode him hard.

Sweat dampened their skin. Keir’s long hair got stuck to both of them. Weylyn sucked on her neck, nibbling at her with his fangs like a vampire. She reciprocated, licking his jawline and scraping her fangs along the edge of his ear. The heat and friction between them was building. Keir felt her third orgasm rising within her. Spots appeared before her eyes. Weylyn could barely catch a breath, he was panting so hard. A growl rose in his throat as his balls tightened. His orgasm was right there… right there…

He thrust up into her as she ground down on him. The dildo hit his prostate and he howled, his balls feeling like they exploded as his cock erupted in a huge orgasm. Keir screamed as her orgasm slammed into her. She felt the hot spurt of his seed within her. Her scream dwindled to a whine as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding him tightly and nuzzling his throat. Weylyn felt dizzy from coming so hard.

Suddenly, there was a loud PFFFFFTTTTTTT! Weylyn tumbled backward, and Keir landed on his chest. They looked at each other with startled eyes. Keir blinked, trying to clear her head.

“Arggh!” Weylyn grumbled. “Fucking chair broke.”

Keir swallowed hard, her heart still thundering. She wriggled off of him, feeling shaky from so many orgasms. She couldn’t get up. Instead, she sprawled on the carpet, her chest still heaving.

Weylyn looked at her. Even in an unattractive pose, she was hotter than Hades. Her jade green eyes were wide with shock and fulfillment. Her lips, nipples, and pussy were all still swollen and bright pink. A trickle of semen was on the inside of one creamy thigh. His heart turned over in his chest. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

“Let me help you,” she murmured, leaning over to offer him her hand while she reached for the chair with the other hand.

She eased the chair away from him, carefully removing the dildo from his ass. Their eyes met. Her breath caught in her throat. “Oh, Weylyn,” she sighed.

He leaned over her, pushing back on the carpet. He kissed her hard, then lifted his head to stare down at her. “Who are you? Do you live in this building?”

She shook her head, tears beginning to fill her eyes. “No. I came here to meet you, but I was running late and when I went to knock on your door, you opened it. I could see you were leaving so I… I…” She broke off, swallowing and trying to push back her sudden tears.

“Why were you coming here to meet me? Who sent you?” he demanded, his body pinning her to the carpet.

“Drake,” she whispered, her eyes wide.

Weylyn went rigid. He sat up, his hands falling from her body. “Drake sent me the chair too.”

And then it happened. The connection he had been searching for earlier was made. Now, he knew where he had heard the name Keir before. He stared at her in shock. “Fuck! You’re Drake’s girlfriend. That’s where I know your name from,” he said, feeling sick to his stomach.

This incredible woman, who had fucked him as no other woman ever had before, belonged to his former lover. She was attached. He had broken one of his own rules. He couldn’t believe it. He had ignored the warning bells and screwed Drake’s girlfriend. Damn it to hell!

He turned his angry eyes on Keir, but the moment he saw her, struggling not to cry, he knew he couldn’t lash out at her. A deep sigh escaped him. What the fuck did he do now?

“Weylyn?” Keir’s voice was shaky, but she was holding off the tears. “Drake broke up with me.”

“What?” Weylyn shook his head. He could barely take in her words. All he knew what that he and Drake had been lovers once, a few years back during one of his brief trips to New York City. He’d returned to London, but he and Drake had remained friends. For the past six months all Drake could talk about was this girl he’d met named Keir, which meant “dark”. He’d seemed gaga for her. Weylyn had been happy for him. He hadn’t heard from Drake for about a month. At least, not until he’d received the package today.

“I don’t understand this at all. Why did Drake send you here?” he asked Keir.

She sat up slowly, her eyes never leaving his. “I’m not sure. He said he would send you a note. When he broke up with me, he said I wasn’t meant for him. He said he had a friend I would like more. Then he made me promise I would come and meet you,” she told him, her voice rough with emotion. “I liked Drake. He was a lot of fun, and he taught me a lot about my powers, but I wasn’t in love with him or anything. When he told me that I would like his friend Weylyn, I decided there wasn’t any harm in coming to meet you.”

She bit her lip and brushed back her hair, seemingly unconcerned with her nakedness and the scent of raw sex that filled the air. “When you opened the door tonight, I saw the chair and I saw you and… and something inside me fell into place,” she said quietly. “Your scent was like nothing I had ever smelled before. You smelled like oranges and lemons. Maybe a little grapefruit and…”

“… lime thrown in,” he finished for her, his voice filled with stunned wonder. “That’s how you smell to me.”

They looked at each other, shaken by their discovery. Then Keir got up. “Drake said he sent you a note. Didn’t you get it?”

Weylyn rose to his feet. “There was a note in the box with that thing,” he pointed to the deflated, popped, pink chair. He walked over to the dining table and pushed aside the cardboard box, picking up the note from Drake. Before his eyes, the note changed. Before, there had only been a short paragraph. Now, there was a whole letter.

“Fuck! Drake and his magic!” Weylyn exclaimed. Keir came to stand beside him and together they read the note.

“Hey Wey!

Drake”

Weylyn dropped the sheet of paper. As soon as it hit the table, all the words on it disappeared. He looked at Keir, who shrugged. “It’s a simple magic trick,” she said, meaning the letter from Drake that had first been a note, then a letter, and now was blank.

He turned away from the letter and looked at the pink chair. It was a puddle of plastic on the carpet. The porn on the TV had long since ended. There was silence in the room. He turned his head and looked at Keir, suddenly realizing that they were both still naked. She was motionless, her eyes watching him cautiously, her emotions carefully hidden behind a mask of calm. But her eyes were dark and cloudy and her pointed chin had a fine, almost imperceptible, tremor.

Weylyn breathed in deeply, the citrus scent of her filling his senses. “Drake didn’t send me a gag gift after all,” he said in a deep voice.

“No?” she rasped, a slight look of panic beginning deep in her dark green eyes.

He shook his head and took two steps toward her. The panic grew. He held out his hand to her, palm up. Her nostrils flared. “No. A friend as good as Drake would never send me something that was a joke,” he told her firmly. “The chair isn’t a joke and neither are you. You are my future, Keir.”

She blinked back a sudden rush of tears. “Really?” Her words were a wisp of sound. “You’re not just saying that because you want to get your were on, are you?”

Weylyn began to grin. He stepped closer to her, feeling the warmth of her body radiating from her skin outward. “I do want to get my were on. With you.” He reached out and took her in his arms, kissing her delicate mouth gently. He felt her respond, felt her body melting into his. The kiss deepened, and their tongues entwined.

When he broke the kiss, they were both breathless and desire was rearing its head again. Keir looked over Weylyn’s shoulder. “I don’t suppose you could…” Her voice trailed away, and she shook her head.

“What?” Weylyn asked, feeling the strangest warmth inside him. He felt comfortable in a way he never had before. Always, he had been restless and anxious for his next fuck. Now, there was a calm inside him that made him feel… happy.

Keir pointed to the deflated pink chair, lying forlornly on the carpet. “Can we patch it?” she asked, one brow arching up, her eyes glowing at him.

A wicked grin began to tug at Weylyn’s mouth. “Yeah. I think maybe I can patch it,” he told her, and kissed her again.