“Oh hell,” Nick moaned; franticly searching his lust filled mind for a reason to give the young intern, as to why he was nearly defiling the young sapling he’d found on his morning run. “Well, see, because…er it’s young.”
“Um, okay, but…”
“No, really, look here at the wood,” Nick waved the small sprig in the air, trying to get the intern’s attention. “It’s young and therefore still green in appearance.”
Laticious lupas, the kid was blushing.
And why wouldn’t he be considering what he just found you doing. At least your pants weren’t down. Yet.
“Shut up,” Nick snarled
“I’m sorry, m-maybe I should come back later.”
Shite, now the kid was red to the tips of his ears and probably thought Nick was a crazy, uber-perv.
Well aren’t you?
Woman, stop pushing me.
Giant white teeth and a warning growl filled his head. Great, now he’d pissed her off. He’d never had a death wish until…well hell, until Zeva with the kissable lips and the perpetually perky nipples had entered his life.
“What did you want, mmm…” Nick snapped the fingers not gripping the piece of tree he’d just been fondling, trying to come up with the kid’s name.
“Right,” Nick went back to eyeing the wood in his hand, covertly, of course. “And what did you want?”
Birch, the wood was white with black markings, not to be confused with Poplar and would look fantastic falling across Zeva’s round ass. Would she let him pinken her cheeks with this beauty? She seemed to enjoy the ruler, but…
“...is it green?”
Damn, he’d zoned out again. Nick looked up at the kid now waving the shamrock colored edition of the Guts and Butts, known this week as the Greenie Meanie edition. The reason for his distraction stood behind the young bear, trussed up in whiskey colored leather boots and a minty green dress that had to have started its life as nothing more than a silk scarf.
“St. Patrick’s Day, Robby.” Zeva eased up close and spoke with a tease in her voice that Nick knew would drive him up the wall sooner or later. “You know, green beer, green rivers, Leprechauns and pinches for those not wearing a stitch of green.”
“Iiiieeeieieee…” Robby screeched.
Nick knew from the young man’s startled look that his undisciplined mate had pinched his ass. Even though Zeva was clearly at fault, Nick snarled and sniped at the recipient of his woman’s touch.
“Hmm, boss man’s upset, Robby, you better take off.”
Though Zeva stood between them, Nick was grateful that Robby knew better than to run. If he had any lick of common sense he’d also take his break.
“Damn woman,” Nick grumbled as Zeva drew near. “Why do you start shite like…Yiipp.”
“You’re not wearing green either, Nicky. By the way, you almost had the pot of gold. I was going to let you use that sweet little twig on my round ass as you called it, but then you thought me undisciplined.”
Nick felt faint; do mostly from the mass exodus of blood from the big brain down to the little one. He was so hard at the thought of her bent over his big wood desk, taking and enjoying each swing of the sapling he still held, that he nearly missed her parting shot.
“Now, you can kiss my Blarney Stone!”
~ Website ~ Blog ~
Red Wolf Goes Green
Wheel keeps spinning, ‘round and ‘round … Jamie thought that had to be a song lyric or something, but he couldn’t remember from where. Or maybe it was a line from one of Lamar’s dirty books. He couldn’t seem to get his head to stay on straight long enough to figure out which.
That wheel surely couldn’t be spinning any faster than the world right now, that’s for dang sure.
A voice that sounded like a crypt forming words went off in a basso boom behind him. “Is the cub all right?”
“He’ll be fine.” That was Lamar. “A little too much of the green beer, I think. Geez, chico. Never try to go Irish all in one night.”
“I’ll make a note.” Jamie’s stomach lurched. He bent over the toilet again. Almighty Loup-Garou, was there anything left in his innards?
The bathroom door creaked open. “How’s he doing?” a woman’s voice said.
“He recovers quickly. Your brother is tougher than he looks.”
“He isn’t my brother.” She sounded amused. Her slippered feet whispered over the linoleum. When Jamie blinked the stall into a semblance of focus, he spotted Gypsy kneeling beside him. She held a stein to his mouth. “Here. Try some of this.”
“No way.” He recoiled the few inches into Lamar’s steadying arms. “I done enough trying tonight.”
He shouldn’t have moved. Movement sent off a seismic tremor in his guts. Lamar bent him over the bowl. “Better back up,” he advised Gypsy. “Looks like we’ve got aftershocks.”
“Hump you,” Jamie croaked. It echoed off the porcelain.
His audience waited patiently for Jamie’s hacking to stop. “Not brother?” the sepulchral voice at the stall door said. “He is red wolf, yes?”
“Yes, but we aren’t related. Would you wet a paper towel for me, please?”
The voice’s owner moved away. The bathroom shuddered. Or maybe that was just Jamie’s head. “What the hell’d I do?” he groaned.
“Well … ” Lamar ticked the points off on his fingers. “You drank a pitcher and a half of green beer, for starters. That’s on top of the cocktails we had before we got here. Then you told me you loved me and you wanted to celebrate. Then you got up on stage and tried to Riverdance.”
“You dance well,” the voice boomed from the sink.
“I did what I could to cover for you,” Gypsy added. “The crowd thinks it was part of the show. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you from falling off the stage. Thank you for catching him, Sergei.”
“I assumed he was kin.”
The bathroom door opened and a new voice squealed, “Hey, what’s that she doing in here?”
“Men’s room is closed for cleaning,” Sergei thundered. “Get out.”
“But I gotta take a – ”
“Use tree.” The door was slammed shut with finality.
Gypsy patted Jamie’s sweaty face with the damp paper towel. She offered the stein again. “Try some of this. It will settle your stomach and perhaps clear your head.”
With Lamar’s aid he held the stein steady and downed a healthy gulp. Then the taste kicked in. Gypsy snatched the stein to safety before he could fling it away. “Dayum! That’s vile.”
“He’ll be fine,” Gypsy assured Lamar. “I need to get back to the stage. He can lie down in my dressing room.”
“Thanks, Gypsy. We owe you big time.”
“I will see to the cub,” Sergei added. Jamie clutched at the toilet bowl. No way he liked the sound of that.
Between the two of them, they got Jamie upright. Jamie got his first look at the owner of the voice and felt the world go sideways again. Lordy, the boy was big. Make that BIG. And white as a trout’s belly. He smelled like a tiger, with a hint of vodka. Sergei carried him out of the bathroom. Lamar led the way to the back.
“Why is it green?” Sergei rumbled.
“Why’s what which now?”
“Your hair. Why is it green?”
“Oh, that … we dyed it. Lamar and me. 'Cause of the holiday. Thought it’d be funny. His is green too.”
“He is snake. I assumed it was natural.”
“Ain’t nothing natural about that boy. Soon’s I know where my feet are I’m gonna kick his tail.”
Lamar held the dressing room door for them. Sergei laid Jamie out on the tiny leather sofa in the corner. Lamar coiled up beside him. “Gracias, hombre. I got it covered. Go watch Gypsy dance.” The monstrous tiger nodded and went out.
Jamie pressed one hand to his head and the other to his stomach. “I feel like a 100-pound bag of scat,” he announced.
“You’re more fun at a party than I pegged you for. We gotta get copious quantities of beer into you more often. What’ve we got coming up? Easter? April Fool’s?”
Please, Jamie prayed to the Loup-Garou, let me pass out. And he did.
Posted by Pat Cunningham
White Fang and Pasha Celebrate St. Paddies Day
“Talk about wearin’ of the green,” White Fang muttered as Pasha entered the Pleasure Club’s Irish Pub.
The emerald green evening dress clung like a faithful dog. Bad as the spectral, but real Dublin Black Dog, he wanted to lick every nook and cranny -- take his time savoring her juiciness.
Holy hell, no surprise his cock gave a jerky salute beneath the polished wood plank table. To distract himself for a moment, White Fang tipped up his mug of Guinness, and took a deep swallow.
Feck and kiss the blarney stone, he could have poured straight whiskey down his throat, and not burned as much as he did now.
White Fang figured the woman cat goddess owned every carnal hormone rampaging through his body. Lykouz! Worse, he had to resist shifting into a wild wolf beast, and jumping on her statuesque bones. Right here. Right now.
So far, their matings had only occurred in human form, but...and, Pasha’s butt was so round and sumptuous, White Fang dreamed about handling her ass when they weren’t together.
She swayed toward him from across the large room, all sexual grace, and he sure as all hell was going to enjoy the show she put on for him. After all, Z’Pasha, granddaughter of Bastet, was the queen of seduction. In and out of the bedroom.
Slowly, White Fang traveled his gaze from Pasha’s exotic feline face down the column of her lovely neck. Her peridot shamrock earrings dangled, caressing the top of her mostly bared shoulders.
Her voluptuous breasts were confined by the heavy silk of her dress. Still, her aroused nipples pushed at the fabric, begging for the tug of his teeth.
White Fang gripped the handle of his mug hard. Not wanting to shatter it, he set it aside. To torment himself further, he sniffed in her perfumed scent -- woman feline heat mingled with jasmine blossoms.
“Do I have your attention, super dog?”
Like an itch that had to be scratched, her low purring voice scratched his study-ready balls. “Pasha, gorgeous pussy, your jaws are clamped on my attention.”
Knowing she wasn’t finished with him, White Fang waited, his gaze lapping at the revealed swells of her breasts.
She leaned slightly, her breasts subtly jiggling. “Pant, pant, super dog,” she sultrily crooned.
At the same time, she trailed the chiffon silk scarf she carried on his shoulder. Then, like a breathy whisper the scarf brushed his earlobe.
Bending over, his seductress traced the rim of his ear with the point of her tongue. “Leather boots and the scarlet book I magickally sent you?” she asked, her whisper a soft purr.
“In front of the fireplace,” he growled, low and needy.
“Later, if you want my pot of gold and a marathon ride between my thighs... remember, my love wolf.” She paused.
Her fingernail lightly clawed his other earlobe, and White Fang nearly gnashed his teeth. His cock gave a mighty jump, threatening to bust through his old-fashioned leather breeches.
Her lips seized his. All too briefly. With a rub and cuddle of their noses, she straightened.
Waving off his gentlemanly attempt to rise, she moved opposite him, and seated herself. White Fang devoted his gaze to the hump-inspiring slink of her hips.
“Remember?” He raised a brow.
“Do not ask ‘why is it green?’”
Pasha’s wide smile reminded him of the infamous cat who had eaten the cream.
HAVE A SHAPESHIFTING ST. PAT’S DAY...
Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~
Celtic Good Luck... or just nookie?
“Why is it green?” Mooney moaned softly as Marissa’s fingernail flicked over his painfully cold nipple.
“Why is what green?” she asked distractedly.
“Your hair,” Mooney moaned. “I liked it better when you had it dyed blue.” That much was certainly true. He’d grown up expecting to be a typical wolf, find a typical job and a typical mate and be all things typical of a beta wolf. Not in a million years had he expected to fall for a prickly tempered goth-girl witch. Her naturally black hair had at least a few hanks bleached blond then tinted various shades of blue. It should have offended his lupine sensibilities.
“Sh, love,” Marissa said with a smile. “It’ll be blue again as soon as this temporary dye washes out. “Now hold still. We had a bet, remember? I agreed to be your designated driver so you could go bar hopping and try everyone’s green beer and get smashed on Dublin’s best whiskey…”
“And then I let you use me in a Celtic ceremony of luck,” Mooney finished, shivering as the silk scarf she’d used to pull her hair back brushed his ear.
She had him kneeling in front of the stone fireplace thingy that she’d made out her in the woods. They were both butt-naked, not a pleasant thing at midnight in March in Montana. Of course, he had enough whiskey in his system to make sure he didn’t freeze too bad but still. He wished she'd finish painting that while stuff on him already so they could get down to the cuddling before the fire part of this Celtic Ceremony.
“Patience, lovely wolf,” Marissa whispered in his ear. “You know I’ll reward you well for letting me have my way with you.”
Yeah, he thought, then smiled. His itchy-witch did a great job or rewarding him…
~ Rebecca L Gillan