Christmas Connection

Billy London

www.beautifultroublepublishing.com

Billy London Copyright © 2011 by Billy London All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including but not limited to: printing, photocopying, faxing, recording, electronic transmission, or by any information storage or retrieval system without prior written permission from the authors or holders of the copyright. This book is a work of fiction. References may be made to locations and historical events; however, names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and/or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), businesses, events or locales is either used fictitiously or coincidental. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only. Published by Beautiful Trouble Publishing, LLC PO Box 61 Colfax, NC 27235 www.beautifultroublepublishing.com Cover Art: Marteeka Karland http://www.marteekakarland.com/ Editor: Stephanie Parent Proofreader: Novellette Whyte http://authorgurunovellette.blogspot.com/ Formatter: Savannah J. Frierson, http://sjfbooks.com/editing/ ISBN: (e-book) 978-1-61788-177-0

For Janet Eckford, I've never been so full of Christmas spirit. And for my readers. You've made this year wonderful for me. This is my kiss under the mistletoe for you all. No, no, I'm not that way inclined. I just love you all. A lot.

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Caveat This work of erotica contains adult language and sexually explicit scenes, which are smoking hot. This book is intended only for adults, as it is defined by the laws of the country in which the purchase is made. Keep this book out of the hands of under-aged readers.

If one more person asks me why I haven’t got a boyfriend, there will be a turkey fork in their eye, Christina thought, smiling with gritted teeth. She really should have skipped Christmas this year, but her lame-as-hell twin sister had begged for her support. “It’s my first one serving the masses as a vicar’s wife,” Caroline had said. “It needs to be perfect.” “You’re married to God’s servant on earth, why wouldn’t it be?” Christina had drawled, distracted by the game of elf bowling. “Chris, help.” The one word that never emerged from her sister’s mouth had convinced her that this would be a good idea. It was not a good idea. Caroline was supposedly shackled to the kitchen, but Christina caught her mid-kiss with her husband. “Stop it,” Christina fumed at them both, Caroline hiding behind her husband like a child. “You, get out there and start preaching the benefits of silence to your relatives,” she pointed at her brother-in-law. “And you, hurry up and cook so I can go home.” Brendan beamed at her. “You can’t go home. I’ve got your present coming.”

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BILLY LONDON

“It’s Christmas day. If I haven’t got it now, it’s not turning up.” For a vicar, Brendan had the most devilish of smiles. “Yes it will.” “Door!” Caroline yelled, turning back to the oven. “Quick, I think we’re ready to sit down.” “Now I’m God’s servant on earth?” Caroline grinned. “Think a little lower.” With a huff, Christina stomped to the front door and opened it to her mother. “Hello spinster daughter.” “Oh my God, get out. Just turn around, get back in your cab, and get out.” “What? It’s true. I thought this year you may sort yourself out, but still nothing. Not even a boyfriend at the least. What are you doing? Where is he?” “If Brendan has his way, that would be me.” Christina looked for the owner of that voice and saw a bulky chest. She looked a little higher and saw beard. Farther up and her gaze slammed into a bright green-eyed one. Her whole body did a little internal explosion at the full realisation that lust at first sight was not a complete and utter myth. Jaw. Meet. Floor. “And you are?” her mother said, all girlish excitement. “Cole. I’m Brendan’s friend. We studied theology together at Cambridge.” That Cole? The one who

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travelled all over the world, like the Littlest Hobo, helping people wherever he went? He was divine! “Are you a vicar too?” “Good lord, no.” Those green eyes turned on Christina. “Hello, Christina.” “Hi,” Christina squeaked before clearing her throat and lowering her tone. “Hey. Come in.” He shuffled past her, making the large corridor seem like a mouse hole. “Brendan could have put a little bow on you at least,” he murmured. “Oh no, wait, there’s one on your bra.” Christina slapped a hand over what she thought was a modest amount of cleavage—but hell, at that height, he could probably see what colour her panties were. “I’m not that desperate for a man,” she retorted, slamming the door after him. Cole gave her a very slow smile. “I’ll have to see what I can do about that.” Help. Caroline came into the corridor. “Who needs help? Cole, hi!” During the flurry of hellos and drinks, Christina sat down in the corner and tried to pull herself together. Brendan and Cole chatted away and over one another, glancing in Christina’s direction every so often, before Caroline announced that dinner was served. Unsurprisingly, Brendan made a show of

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seating Cole with his sister-in-law as he topped up glasses with the veritable off-licence of booze Brendan and Caroline had bought for the day. Cole, bold as brass, caught her little finger with one of his huge digits and didn’t let go. The roughness of his fingers started to turn her on to the point where she really could have dunked her head in a bucket of ice. I’m overreacting, Christina told herself. Calm down. Her mother, obviously delighted by the idea of having another Cambridge graduate as a potential son-in-law, furiously argued religion with him and everyone else. “I’m saying there should be women priests because it was women who discovered the empty tomb first. Not men. Who spread the word then?” “No religion at the table!” Caroline demanded, much to her husband’s amusement. “That’s my job, darling.” “It’s just too fractious. Like politics. Talk about something else.” Cole rolled his big shoulders, “Fine by me. Christina, what were you saying about how many babies you want us to have?” Christina sprayed wine across her plate. Everyone stared at her. Grabbing a napkin and explaining through coughs, she got to her feet. “Just going to clean up.”

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“I’ll help,” Cole offered, following her into the kitchen. “You. Cut. It. Out.” He smiled at her, and hell, she felt it right to her toes. “No. This would have happened much earlier if I’d been at your sister’s wedding. I was committed to a water project in Cambodia. Sorry.” Christina frowned at him, excited and horrified that he could be playing with her. “You can’t go around saying things like that.” “Why not?” “You don’t know me, so you obviously can’t mean it.” He gave a shrug, humour sparkling in his eyes, “Brendan told me you’re a more mental version of his wife, so I’m game if you are.” “I hate that man,” she muttered. “And look, I’m not just for Christmas. Like that puppy appeal. It’s not all for show—I need proper taking care of.” “And what makes you think I can’t handle that?” he asked softly, catching her chin on the edge of his hand. Help. Caroline called from the table, “Oi! Stop sucking face. Get back in here and eat!”

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“Good point,” Cole agreed, resting a hefty arm over her shoulders. “The faster we eat, the faster I can find out if that little bow comes undone or not.” God, help me. “He’s busy!” Caroline yelled. “Stupid twin,” Christina muttered, heaving Cole’s arm from her shoulders. “Stop encouraging her.” He gave her hair a childish tug before passing her on his way back into the dining room. “It’s not for her benefit at all, Christina.” She let him leave the kitchen. Looking toward the ceiling, she sighed “It’s because I made threats about the turkey fork, isn’t it?” A burst of laughter from the table was more than enough of a sign that this was just one big heavenly joke. *** Everyone had the itis. Too much turkey, too many potatoes, too much damn stuffing—and Caroline had made four different types. Show-off. Cole, or “new bro” as Caroline was now referring to him, had gone for a shower to wake himself up. “Is he staying with you guys?” Christina demanded of her sister when he and Brendan were

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washing the huge tins and pans that wouldn’t fit in the dishwasher. “No, he’s staying with you.” “What?” “Well, Mum’s staying here. How are you going to jump on that ride without some alone time?” “You could have asked me!” Caroline closed her eyes. “I’m doing you a favour. You’ll thank me somewhere around orgasm number fifteen. Now go away. I’m tired. Damn Christmas, I feel like I’ve done a full day’s work.” Stepping over the various bodies scattered across the living room, on easy chairs, tucked up in blankets, as Wallace and Gromit blasted across the screen, Christina went up to the spare room. Normally, usually, all right, every time she went to her sister’s house, she’d end up in the spare room, in a tshirt, wishing she hadn’t found that last glass of wine so necessary. She opened the door, hoping for alone time before she had to sacrifice what little sanity she had left to Cole inside her home. Good. God. On. Earth. She was aurally assaulted by her mother’s snores. “God’s sake,” she muttered, closing the door. “Christina, can you grab me a towel?” a voice rumbled in the corridor. Whipping around, she saw Cole, all dripping wet, one shoulder of muscle upon

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muscle steaming with heat as he leaned on the doorway. “What now?” “A towel,” he repeated, rubbing a hand over his face. Oh lord, he’d shaved off the beard. He looked less Bear Grylls and more… Good God, he was just beautiful. “Um, yeah.” She reached for the airing cupboard and handed over two. He caught her arm and pulled her inside the steamed room. Waving away white fog, she caught the barest glimpse of what made Cole walk like he was straddling a log. “What do you think?” he asked as he shrouded all that gloriousness in towelled mystery. “Beard or no beard?” “You’ve already done it, so why ask me?” He smiled, all white teeth and impure intentions. “Because as you’ll be spending a lot of time in close proximity to my face, you should get a say.” Christina quirked a brow, more at herself than him. It wasn’t wise by any stretch of the imagination to be in a hot room, with a hot guy when she was producing enough heat to power the whole city. “I was worried you’d be able to serve a second Christmas dinner from that hairy plate.” He caught her by both arms, bracing her against the wall of fragranced, steamy male. The tingle

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between her thighs that had started when she’d opened the front door to him now turned into a threeact Stomp performance. “Beardless, yes or no?” Lightly, he kissed her mouth, his tongue brushing just the tip of her own, before his mouth traversed a path to her neck. “I thought you’d be ticklish here,” he murmured, stroking his smooth jaw over her collarbone. Christina shuddered. “All the same smug face to me,” she retorted. He lifted his head. “Why are you being mean to me? You’re my present.” “I am not. You’re mine!” His grin was triumph defined. “See? Isn’t it much better when you agree with me?” Her top was soaking up the droplets of water on his bare chest, and his towel was beginning to smuggle a rising tree trunk. “Um,” she said intelligently. “Look, is this a bet with Brendan?” “Don’t talk about him when I’ve got a hard-on,” he warned her, lifting her up to his height and pressing her against the door. “You’ll scare it away.” Her giggle danced in his mouth just as his tongue slipped between her lips. God, this man had not spent all those years travelling around the world. He’d stayed in some sex school studying how to make a woman do exactly what he wanted. Her skirt had

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gravitated to her waist, and despite the kisses that were inducing a complete haze of lust, she was very aware that his towel was slipping, leaving one tiny piece of silk between her and sexual Armageddon. He growled. It made her laugh. Anything that was like kissing the ground in the middle of an earthquake had to be amusing. She felt his lashes lift. “What’s so funny?” “It’s like kissing a Ferrari.” He kept her pressed to the door with his thigh, and then began flicking the buttons of her top. Her breath quickened as each one popped open. “How’d you know?” “I own one.” “Oh God,” he moaned, pressing his mouth to her cleavage, “did you really have to make yourself more fucking sexy?” She wanted to start fanning the steam away and look for the cameras. Was this guy absolutely for real? “Because I own a Ferrari?” “Because you’re a woman with impeccable taste. Right down to your underwear. Buy that yourself?” “I like having nice things.” Her voice trailed off when that huge, hot palm of his cupped one lacecovered breast.

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“I’m a very,” he pressed his mouth to her neck, “nice,” he unsnapped the front clasp of her bra, “thing. Have me.” He had far too much control over her body. How was that even possible? What the hell had Caroline and Brendan told him? “And you’re fucking up my hair!” she added out loud. Cole allowed her breast to slip from his mouth. He didn’t bother looking at her hair, just in her eyes. “Are you truly that upset, or do you want me to really fuck it up?” “Big words,” she challenged. Those green eyes darkened briefly in acceptance. The towel completely fell to the floor, and Christina realised his words weren’t the only big thing in the room. Bracing himself on the edge of the bathtub with her legs on either side of his waist, he cupped her completely in one huge hand, from pussy to arse, rubbing her clit with the heel of his palm. Fine, she thought. You’re not the only one who can do this dance. His hair was still silky wet to the touch, making it near impossible to keep a grip on. Her mouth not leaving his for a second, she ground herself against his hand, only to immediately regret such wantonness. One thick finger slipped under the silk of her panties and deep into the equally silky heat of her pussy. She gave a groan under his lips that could have been heard in the Sahara.

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“Hold onto me,” he demanded. Not even waiting for an answer, his finger was replaced by an even thicker thumb, her arse filled with a slick finger at the same time. No. Man. Had. Ever. Dared. To touch her there. She was burning from the frizzing tips of her hair to her curling toes. Oh God, they’d never be the same again. She’d have to wrap her feet like a geisha. Her brain didn’t obey the command to scream about her feet. If her feet were named Cole, however... “Too loud,” he warned her. A knock sounded on the bathroom door. “Occupied!” Christina yelled. She blinked away steam, still shaking, her fingernails deep into both of his bulky biceps now. “Sorry!” her mother blustered. They heard her steps move away from the door. “I am loud. Get used to it, or get out.” He smiled against her neck. “I need to fuck you. But I looked in the cabinets. The good reverend has nothing to help.” She was going to hell anyway. “I’m assuming you did all your tests before fingering me?” “Clean hands,” he promised. “As such.” “It would shut my mum up if I got pregnant before Caroline.” “Game on.” He shrugged, ripping the gusset of the panties and shoving his dick deep inside her. She

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strained against him, almost lifting away from that monster, he filled her so completely. Her legs were straining from the width of his body. “Oh God, hurry,” she moaned, hardly able to take any of it. She was half surprised her head hadn’t exploded in joy. Without moving an inch from inside her, he lifted her up, anchored her against the door once more and rattled it. That door shook as if he was going to fuck her right through it, and carry on when they landed on the floor. It trembled just like Christina to feel him powering inside her pussy, raging a bonfire in her that wouldn’t go out until the next Christmas even if she didn’t ever see him again. “No, not letting you out of my sight.” Her voice increased in volume each time his balls pressed tightly against her swollen pussy lips. “You’re coming around.” “No, just coming,” she sighed, losing her breath to the climb of another orgasm. He was so good. Too good. Just the best present she had ever been given in her life, including the time Caroline had dropped over emergency batteries. He started to withdraw from her and she gave a growl of protest, wrapping her legs under his tight buttocks, keeping him inside. The heat around her was nothing compared to the heat within her pussy as Cole came and came. She

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collapsed against him, limp between the rock of his body and the seemingly indestructible door. Again knocking ruined what was a perfectly sated mood. “You’ve been in there for ages, Christina, now come out.” “Occupied!” Cole drawled. Christina’s mouth dropped open when she heard her mother gasp and exclaim, “My daughter’s a slut.” “If you weren’t so desperate for me to get a boyfriend!” “This is your sister’s house!” “This was her idea!” “You come out right now!” Christina untangled herself from Cole’s body. “But I look like a slut. I can’t go out there.” He exhaled deeply, washing his hands in the sink before picking up the discarded towel. Wrapping it around his lower half once more, he opened the bathroom door at a crack. She pressed herself to his warm bare back, peeking around him. “Mrs. Lowe? Christina and I are just talking about our future. Would you mind leaving us alone for five minutes?” “Five minutes,” her mother responded. Had it been anyone else but a half-naked Cole, there would have been an acrylic nail in each eye. Luckily, her mother was swayed by a pretty body. Cole closed the door and slid the lock across. Reaching around his

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own body to catch her arm and pull her in front of him, he pressed her to the door once again and pushed her frizzed hair from her forehead. “Mmm, you smell like me now. By the way, Brendan and Caroline can have your mum next year as well.” “You’re rushing ahead of me. What’s happening next year?” “Preferably we’ll have a three-month-old, a house near a park and a second set of keys to the Ferrari.” “You’re saying that like it’s a joint asset.” “Come on. I’ll make it worth your while...” Help. Cole wasn’t anywhere near her mouth when a thunderous banging on the door made him jerk his head up. “Christina Lowe, you put your clothes on, get out of that bathroom and go and bang your man at home. Don’t defile my Christmas with sinful behaviour.” “Hey, hey, hey! Enough with the slander.” “It’s all right, Caroline,” Cole said soothingly. “We’re going home.” “You’re the slut,” she muttered at Cole. He simply pressed a kiss to her neck, and then picked up her left hand and did the same to her ring finger. “I’m not sure Brendan would be happy saying that as a vow. But we’ll blackmail him.”

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“Actually, yeah. Setting me up and expecting me to take it lying down.” He made a face. “Well. You weren’t really lying down as much as you were just screaming for…” “Finish that sentence and there will be no next year. Not for you.” He grinned, hustling her out of the bathroom. “Course there will be. You don’t know that I can cook.” The heavens opened and the angels did sing. He cooks. Thank you God. “What about me?” Caroline asked as Cole shut the door behind them. “Don’t I get any thanks?” Caroline had enough thanks for one year. Christina had turned up, helped cook, played nice and had respectfully not kicked the turkey to the floor and ridden Cole on the dining-room table. Her sisterly obligation was all square. They exchanged looks, Cole reading her mind perfectly. Let’s go to yours and do this some more. Looking back at Caroline, they said in gleeful unison, “No.”

**

**

Billy London Ah, poor Billy. The only girl between two boys who each have nearly a foot on her. Didn't stop her from starting physical fights with them. She still thinks she can take them. So while she used to hide away in her wardrobe to read a book or four, she started to question why the heroines in those books would just lie there and take it. No, not just sex, but downright JamesBond-backhand-slapping, do-as-you're-told-woman, inappropriate lie there and take it. She couldn't understand it. These women were just playing that mental woman from Coming to America, Miss “Whatever You Like” who barked like a dog and hopped on one foot. Billy didn't want to do that. Definitely not because one emptyheaded fool with different anatomy told her to. So she started to create characters and worlds where the women could own their sexuality, their intelligence, their right to turn around and say “jog on, mate” without apology. The small problem was that other people wanted to read what she was had written. “Er...why?” didn't cut it as an answer. After years of prodding and pleading and come on and for goodness’ sake, what's the point otherwise, she closed her eyes and pressed “submit.” Actually, she had Prosecco, limencello and white wine, then pressed “submit.” Who would have thought people would actually enjoy reading about the crazy characters who live in her head? But they have done, and Billy feels rather proud of that connection with her fellow man. Billy lives in London with the most patient family in the world and doesn't forget for a minute how lucky she is. Well, she wouldn't mind a BBC adaptation of one of her novels... Ooh, with Richard Armitage!