Happy Tuesday! Christmas is around the corner! Everybody ready? Today I've got author Raven McAllan coming for a visit again and talking stuffed stockings, Santa and well, read on! Oh, did I mention she's also holding a giveaway?
Stuff The Stocking—give me Santa…
Let's face it, not for one moment am I going to believe Santa is a little old roly-poly man with last night's dinner in his beard and who smells of snuff or worse.
"Oh no he isn't."
Under that red coat and furry hat is a lot of padding. Cushions, polystyrene bits, and the odd chunk of cotton wool But, wait for it, under all that is a hot-bod-drop-dead-gorgeous-lose-your-knickers-in-a-flash for guy. Who smells divine.
My version is tall dark and handsome (duh) with deep, dark, fathomless eyes and a smile that lights all my candles and more! Feel free to imagine your own private fantasy Santa. Or borrow mine; I don't mind sharing. After all, Christmas is a time for sharing.
So stuff the stocking, (although that conjures up some very interesting scenarios) I'd prefer Santa to do the stuffing…
I seem to have a few Christmas stories out this year, can you tell I'm a sucker for all things Christmassy… From Where There's A Will, my free story (Evernight Publishing), via A Vanilla Free Christmas, the anthology (also from Evernight), to The Perfect Gift, Book three in my Ladies of London series (Breathless Press) to Deck Mac Hall, (also Breathless). I've spanned the era's, and degree of hotness…
Last Christmas, I did the usual, wished on a star… wow wishes do come true…
Mac Hall in Deck Mac Hall, the Christmas story that is to be released this coming Friday, hopes his wishes will come true. As does Holly… but …on this cold and snowy Scottish Christmas…
See for yourself
For ten years Mac had trained to understand the sort of Dom he is. Now he must explain himself to Holly and hope it's what she wants. Holly has lusted after Mac for years, so when he suddenly announces this Christmas is the right time, she is determined to see it through.
Mac is a man of extreme tastes, and he's not all sure that Holly can be the sub he needs. He has prepared for this time for years.
Will all this preparation bear fruit, or is little Holly going to run away screaming? There's only one way to find out.
Here's a tease…
"Now that is definitely the rock-star status symbol," she said as she stared at the deep red Aston Martin DB9. "Love the color." She followed him toward the door.
"It reminds me of your lips," he said casually as he opened it to usher her inside the house. "And the color your ass will look after a spanking."
Holly spluttered and stood still. Thank goodness she didn't have a mouthful of liquid or his back would be soaking. All she could think of was the pictures he painted in her mind. Of her ass on view and his hand coming down. Another surge of juice redampened her thong, and she squirmed.
"Does that turn you on, Holls? I bet if I put my hand up that tiny pelmet of a skirt you're wearing and under your panties, you'd gush for me, wouldn't you? Soak my hand. And if I rubbed your clit, put my fingers into you, you'd come, fucking my hand. I'm so looking forward to that."
"Yes, well," Holly said. Of course he noticed. Damn him. Her ass was on fire at the thought. And sod him, she was almost coming with his words, never mind any actions. "Dream on. Talk, not show, remember? This time it's all words, not actions."
He laughed. "This time. I like that."
Bollocks. Foot in mouth.
She didn't say anything and tried not to listen to his amused chuckle. Carol the cautious one had always said her habit of opening her mouth before her brain engaged would get her into trouble one day. Instead she walked past him though a large room, which had a freezer and washing machine in it. She saw an old-fashioned pulley or dolly-maid clothes airer, as they were sometimes called, hung from the ceiling. Mac followed her gaze.
"Interesting, isn't it," he said. It wasn't a question. "Such a great mix of ropes and slats. I have another one in my room."
As a conversation stopper that took the gold star. Holly gaped at him.
"I don't use it for drying clothes either. So far it's untouched, but I'd like to rectify that."
Her skin tingled, and sharp stings of excitement bombarded her. She rubbed her legs together as a fresh gush of excitement sent her juices into overdrive. At this rate it wouldn't just be her underwear that was soaked. How on earth could she deny him anything?
"Really?" She tried for nonchalance and was sure she missed it by a mile. "Instead of a wardrobe maybe?"
"Minx. Come on. Let's have a glass of wine and sit by the fire. Then I promise I'll talk to you. Just talk until you say different. I know." He held his finger over her mouth as she opened it to come back with a smart retort. "I mustn't presume."
Holly couldn't help herself. She nipped the digit—not hard—and then ran her tongue over the spot.
"Fuck it, Holly. Do not do that. You are so testing my patience, lady, and around you, it's pretty near none-existent anyway. Go sit in the lounge. Through that door there. And shut up. Please, or I'll forget every promise I've made you and myself and fuck you five ways till Friday."
And as for Judith, she wants to give Stephen The Perfect Gift for their Regency Christmas. (Their story was released on the 7th.)
Judith has the perfect present for Stephen—herself. Will he accept, or decline her gift?
Lady Judith Gresham had been in love with Stephen, Viscount Pelham for years.
Stephen eleven years her elder, treated her purely as one of his sisters friends; he was too old in years and deeds for such a young innocent. As his sister, was now happily married, there was no longer any reason to see her.
Even to himself he wouldn't admit he missed her.
So when his sister and her new husband decided to have a Christmas house party, and illness causes them to beg to use his home, he agreed. Even when he heard Judith was to be one of the guests he wasn't really worried, he would keep to himself, enjoy Maria Mallins, his long married mistress, and treat Judith with distant benevolence.
However Judith and his sister had other ideas. Look…
A tease again
Stephen gave into temptation. He stretched out and caressed the perfect globes of the milk-white arse presented to him. His fingers ached to sample the delights he could imagine between the delicate curls that covered her quim. He nobly resisted the urge to venture further, but fondled her arse, and circled the perfect rosette of her anus. Even that small degree of intimacy made his cock rise up and demand attention. Thank the lord for the decrees of the ton that stiff breeches were not de-rigeuer in all situations. He was pleased to be wearing pantaloons, even if they were frowned upon as fast by some of the upper echelon of the ton.
A noise not unlike a kettle about to boil was coming from under the skirts. It seemed the lady was not amused.
With an inward smile of satisfaction, Stephen used his fingers to tease for a few seconds longer, squashing his innermost desires to take things a lot further. Judith, for he was sure it was she, was upside down, her skirts hung over her upper body, and shielded him from her view.
With regret he turned her upright, letting her skirts fall and cover her perfect body.
She was red in the face as she glared at him.
Stephen suppressed a chuckle. "Ire because I took a small liberty my dear or because I stopped before I began to explore?" He raised one fine shaped eyebrow, and held the lantern closer to her.
The light swayed, and he saw stars, as pain radiated from his stomach, to his cock and thence upwards. He could have sworn his teeth rattled with the intensity of the blow he received.
The minx has hit me.
His breath whooshed out of him, and through the ringing in his ears he heard her furious voice.
"You bastard, you cad, you, you, villain." Her voice was deep and full of scorn. "Is that the lone way you can justify touching me? When my head is covered and I cannot either take part or deny you?"
Put like that it did seem rather more underhand than he intended. Stephen did his best to gather air into his labored lungs and not wheeze like an old man. It was several seconds before he decided he was in control of his breathing once more. His chest heaved as he struggled to formulate his sentence.
"I apologize, my lady," he said stiffness uppermost in his voice. "If I offended or upset you." He was not going to apologize for his actions, and he saw the gleam in her eyes when she realized it.
"And do you apologize for anything more?" she asked, her hands clenched by her sides.
Stephen eyed those tiny weapons. He knew the signs of ire in a woman. "If I did so, it would be a lie," he replied. "I must be frank, I enjoyed every tiny touch, and my body aches for more."
See? Feisty heroines, who won't stand for any nonsense. If anyone tries to do 'stuff' without their say-so, well that person's goose will be well cooked.
To celebrate, I'll give away a copy of either book to two commenters, when they say who they want stuffed in their stocking!
You can find me at
www.facebook.com/ravenmcallan or www.facebook.com/rmcallan
and on twitter @RavenMcAlllan
Love R x