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Christmas Smut

These red hot stories are here just in time to make sure you have a very merry holiday. Eight of today’s sexiest authors a serving up shorts about Santa’s dominant streak, Jack Frost’s cold hands, and a romantic Hanukkah night. Over 22,000 words of naughty holiday action!

Explicit content: This holiday smut contains bdsm and taboo PI scenes, interspersed with warm gooey romantica.

Available FREE from SmashwordsAll Romance, and (sometimes) Amazon.

Excerpt:

Strong cheekbones. Wide-set green Macedonian eyes. Thick curly hair. A man balanced on the edge of Asia Minor, from a race of warriors. He had the thin polish of civilization, Persian and Greek both, and it seemed to hold something in check that was just as unkempt and intriguing as his hair.
Sun-bronzed face. Thick lips.

Lips drawing nearer…

His mouth touched the tip of my breast. I gasped.

“Shanti,” he breathed on my nipple.

His hand on the back of my neck was powerful but gentle. He let my head fall back and my body followed. I opened like a book under him.

He leaned over me and nibbled at first, but boys are boys. Soon he buried his face in my cleavage, soaking up my warmth.

I took a liberty, touched him in return. He didn’t object. Though I was a human woman and he was…something else, he bent to the gentle pressure of my hand.

I slid my hand up his side and ran my fingers through his hair. He smelled like a spice market. I wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He was powerful but I moved him effortlessly.

This was what Mother had wanted to know: Had I had sex, and did I know men?

Yes, I knew men. This creature reacted like a man. He was a man. Whether it’s a sweaty high school boy in a Honda Element, or a demigod in a candle-lit room, men respond the same. His lips on my body were demanding, but he acquiesced wherever my hands went. He wanted to bend me and be bent. His need pulsed like campfire heat.

He was almost too beautiful to behold. I half-closed my eyes.

His lips finally met mine.

Fire.

I temporarily forgot to learn about him, but he learned me, and that helped me learn myself. I will never forget the ‘me’ he found: Taut stomach; lean, powerful thighs; an invitation of an ass. My breasts, which I’d always considered ungainly, were pure luxury in how they shifted across my torso.

I held his face to mine in case he tried to get away. His tongue brushed mine—flavors of tamarind and anise. I was already on fire, but now he caught fire too and slipped his hand between my legs. I had no thought in my mind. I opened to him and his fingers curled in my wetness. I groaned into his mouth.

The rough linen of his toga sparkled against my hyper-sensitive breasts. It was too much, so I pushed it off his shoulder and brought us skin to skin. I snaked my other hand between his thighs. His manhood filled my palm, hot and solid.