Santa's Helpers: Christmas Elves Are Ringing|
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2012 Sean Michael
This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
Fucking satin dresses.
Fucking curls and eyelashes and...
Joey threw the clay molds across the room, the fucking things shattering. If he had to design one more motherfucking pink sparkly high-heeled shoe... He'd set the entire goddamn North Pole on fire.
"Merry fucking Christmas to you too, Joey." Bane stood in the doorway of Joey's workshop, hands on his hips, the little bauble on the top of his hat hanging over into his eyes.
"Fuck off. You're supposed to knock!"
Bane was here. Bane was here. That meant he could lose his shit, totally, completely, and it would be okay.
"Not when the big guy sends me, I don't. Not when he tells me to take care of my house before the entire year's production is screwed up." Bane tugged off his stupid hat and began to stalk toward Joey.
"Your house? Your house? I'm... I'm the best designer they have!" He backed away, his heart beating a little faster. "I invented Darling Daisy. I did Nikki Little. The entire line of Fashion Forwards? Mine!"
"He meant where we bed and eat, baby. Not the toy making." Bane rumbled at him, moving closer. "You're being a bad elf -- a very naughty elf -- and I'm here to fix it."
"You keep your pointy ears over there." Joey was having a snit. Damn it. A few growls from Bane was not going to derail it, either.
"No can do. The boss was very clear on what my only duties were until you're in a much better mood." Bane kept moving toward him, and Joey swore he could even smell the elf.
He put the worktable between them. "Don't you have something in the garage to use a wrench on?"
"Not unless I drag you to the garage."
"I'm not going to the garage." He moved a little faster, his achingly hard cock making it hard to maneuver properly.
"No, I've got somewhere else in mind." Bane was still moving, pushing him toward the back door of his workroom.
"No. No. Busy. Making more impossible fucking shoes so little Betsy has her dream doll and sweet Lucy gets everything she's wished for." It was the same shit every year. Same shit, different dolls. He was fucking stunning at his job, and Santa knew it.
"You're not listening to me. The boss wants you off the floor and in my bed until you've had an attitude adjustment."
Bane was suddenly a whole lot closer. How did the man do that?