White Hot Christmas: Clothing Optional|
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Copyright ©2011 Cynthia Sax
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Otho twisted his wrist to glance at his watch. It was three a.m., and the demon council clearly stated that the fairy protection shifts didn't start until six a.m. on the twenty-fourth. If he showed up at her door three hours early, Prism would ask why, and then he'd have to admit he'd been counting down the days to seeing her again.
She'd raise those thin eyebrows.
He'd feel like a jackass.
So Otho stayed outside in the freezing cold, leaning against his winter-inappropriate 1957 Corvette convertible, sipping hot black coffee, contemplating his attraction to the most uptight fairy on the planet. She was a librarian, for fuck's sake, and around him, her lips were constantly pursed with disapproval. God, they were soft lips though. He could imagine them pursed around his --
The door opened, and Otho ducked behind the car. A beautiful face peeked out, looking from side to side, her dark blue hair pulled back in a ponytail. He watched her with lust and keen interest.
What the fuck was she doing?
Prism stepped outside. She was wearing that white terrycloth robe he'd often seen hanging on the coat rack by her front door. On her feet were gleaming white sneakers, with matching socks folded neatly down to her ankles.
She took another look about her and nodded to herself as if mentally confirming a fact she already knew. Prism then turned around until she faced the open door, removed her robe, tossed it inside, and closed the door.
Otho's mouth dropped. His eyes widened. His entire being stilled.
She was gloriously, wonderfully, buck-ass naked.
Sure, she'd been naked with him before, when they fucked last Christmas, after imbibing one too many glasses of spiked eggnog, but that had been a fast and furious fuck in the dark, under layers of concealing cotton sheets. He hadn't had a good look at her body. He did now.
Her breasts were small and firm, tipped with indigo nipples that tightened to mouthwatering peaks as they came into contact with the cold air. Her stomach was flat and indented with muscles he never thought he'd find attractive on a female. Her hips were shapely, with a triangle of closely cropped blue curls nestled between them. And those legs... He licked his lips. Those legs should be classified as a weapon. Normally concealed under loose black trousers or ankle-length skirts, they were long and lean and perfectly designed for wrapping around a demon's thick torso.
His cock showed his appreciation for her fit physique, pressing painfully against the zipper of his dress pants. Smoke curled out from his flared nostrils. He stepped toward her.
And then she was gone, running along the street in a flash of blue.