Monsters Under Mistletoe

1. Moira

Chapter 1

Moira

I will say this for the new director of the Archive: She knew how to throw a holiday bash.

The main reception hall of the London office was usually a rather sterile looking place with its wall of floor to ceiling windows, white marble floor, clear crystal chandeliers and black furniture. But someone had managed to transform it into a bright, festive atmosphere with two enormous Christmas trees, red and green bunting, white lights and tables groaning with food that never seemed to run dry. Personally, I was most impressed by the three fully stocked open bars.

This would be my last night at the London office, and I was less upset about it than I'd imagined. I'd been a decorated field agent for four years before an assignment sent me to the infirmary for almost a month. It took experimental medicine to give me back the use of my legs, and two months of intense PT so I could move without excruciating pain in my back and hips. As it was, i would bear nasty physical and mental scars for the rest of my life. When I'd had a full-blown panic attack just at the mention of going back into the field, my psychologist had rightly recommended me for desk duty.

The Secret Archive was the world's repository for mystical items, or artifacts. Agents, such as I had been, went out to find these relics and bring them back here where they were neutralized and stored. Supernatural beings of all kinds worked here alongside Mundanes, which is what they called us Humans. It was good work for an adrenaline junkie like me who didn't have much family to speak of and who had always dreamed of travel. At least until the injury. Now I dreamed of not having my body shredded and laying in a bloody heap on the side of a mountain.

I had worried that becoming injured and having an aversion to field work because of it would be the end of my career at the Archive. But then my superior had recommended me for the Co-Lead in the novice agent training position at the fairly new west coast office in Seattle and I'd jumped at the chance. It was technically a promotion even if the newly minted West Coast office was widely talked about as where they sent everyone too damaged or over the hill to do much good. I'd be managing the teams we sent into the field, but never going myself.

But for right now, I was more focused on getting my ho-ho-ho on, if ya know what I mean. I'd never had a dry spell quite like this one and I was determined to have one last office fling before I flew out right after Christmas.

I fidgeted with the sprig of very well-preserved mistletoe that was pinned to my tight green V-neck sweater and wondered if Daphne was full of shit.

She was a long-time friend and the head of the Sexual Artifacts Dept, and had assured me that this dreadful bauble would attract a bona fide Christmas One-Night Stand. Apparently, it had soaked up the energy of hundreds of such encounters over its years being worn by secretaries and receptionists alike.

"As long as you keep it to yourself, don't share it and return it to me the next day, it's just fine," Daphne had said. "And bonus, it doesn't override free will, just enhances the attraction already there."

That's how horny I was: willing to trust an artifact to whammy some man or woman to drag me into a broom closet for anonymous office sex and leave me with no regrets.

I took my third flute of champagne and made yet another circuit around the room. Some of my colleagues were dancing in what was obviously an alcohol fueled lack of self-consciousness. Others were congregating together on the furniture, talking about missions, or mishaps with artifacts. There was even a group of Werewolves from Scotland, the first clan to accept an invitation to the Archive in nearly a generation. Daphne was apparently mated to one of them and I had to admit, those boys were sex on a very large, very primal stick. My pussy would probably break off on one of their giant cocks, but what a way to go.

But not one of them glanced my way. I was just about to call it a night and return the mistletoe to Daphne when I collided with a very firm slab of man covered in red and white fur.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," the champagne was dribbling down what I now saw was a Santa suit. "This has just been the worst...party."

I looked up and up and found myself staring into dark eyes and full lips quirked up into a grin that I could see even behind the fake Santa beard.

"I couldn't agree more," he said, his voice like every naughty thing I wanted under my tree.

"You, uh, on duty?" I gestured to the ridiculous throne they'd set up for Santa by one of the trees.

"Not anymore. I was just about to go get changed and put in my mandatory mingling time. But...you want to get out of here for a bit? I have to stay until towards the end, the Director's orders, but she didn't say anything about me needing to be on the floor the whole time."

The mistletoe pinned to my chest gave a jolt of electricity and I jumped.

Holy shit, was this thing working?

"Sure, if you don't mind the company," I smiled at him.

His gaze raked down my body and I was suddenly very glad I'd bought the matching green mini, even if it did have tiny snowflakes on the bottom. I was also wearing dark red stilettos and black nylons that made them appear much longer and leaner than they were.

"I'd prefer it, actually," he said.

My heart was beating faster than a drum as I followed him toward a door behind the Christmas tree. It led into a small office that had a suit hanging up inside a small bathroom and two suitcases against a wall. A couple of take-out containers were sitting on the desk, along with a stack of files. There was nothing personal about the space at all, which told me this had been a temporary stopping place for him. It made me wonder where he actually worked, because it sure as hell wasn't here.

"You're obviously just passing through," I gestured at the space.

"I was...actually," he turned to me, and took the beard off, "no work conversation. No titles, no you must know so and so."

My mouth dried up at the sight of his face. A chiseled jaw dusted in dark stubble, long eyelashes and high cheekbones. When he took the hat off, there was an abundance of dark, wavy hair that I itched to run my fingers through.

"No names either," I whispered, suddenly caught up in the naughtiness of it all. "Just two people, needing a distraction."

He nodded, those dark eyes staring at my mouth.

"Exactly," he breathed.

I was never bold. I didn't pick guys up in bars, I didn't do one-night stands. Which was likely why I was in the middle of such a bad dry spell. But tonight, I was a sexually liberated woman with a stocking that desperately needed stuffing. My hips swayed as I walked over to him. He watched every step with a hungry look that sent heat pooling in my belly.

"So St. Nick," I whispered, my fingers slowly undoing the buttons on his Santa coat, "what do you want for Christmas?"

The dark chuckle he gave me was laced with brimstone seconds before the glamour Supernaturals used to hide their true form dropped and the tan skin was replaced with a beautiful green. His already tall form grew in both height and breadth. Short tusks jutted out from his bottom teeth, the tips blunted.

"Before we do this," his voice had gone deeper, heat rolled off his body, "you need to know what kind of monster is fucking you."

I'd served with several Orcs, most of them handsome, but none of them available. I'd always wondered what it would be like to have all that raw strength caging me in, to feel his tusks against my skin and know that I was at the mercy of a being that could crush me with very little effort. I reached out and ran the tips of my fingers across the sprinkling of dark hair on his pecs and down his stomach to the top of the waist band of his Santa pants.

He inhaled a hissing breath and snagged my wrist.

"Did I say you could touch me yet?" he purred.

"No," I breathed.

"Go stand in front of the desk," he ordered as he finished unbuttoning the Santa coat.

He shucked it off and stood in just the pants by the time I got to the desk. Dark hair covered his chest and trailed down his taut stomach to disappear below the waistband of his pants, the planes and shadows of his green skin were as erotic as they were beautiful, and I found myself licking my lips as I imagined running my tongue down his body.

"Take off your clothes," he ordered, "slowly."

I was shaking, but not with fear. Adrenaline aided by alcohol and the fact that I'd never been so fucking horny in my life had me buzzing. I stripped out of the sweater and tossed it away, hoping the pin still worked if it wasn't on me. Next, I wiggled out of the skirt and tossed it too. I was standing in nothing but my red lace thong and bra set, my black garters holding up my stockings. I was about to take them off when his voice stopped me.

"Leave the heels and hose on," his voice was rough, chest rising and falling fast.

I was turning him on. Me, with my stomach pooch, my chubby thighs and boobs that weren't nearly big enough.

"Bra and panties off," he commanded.

I did as he asked and stood with my bare ass against the cool surface of the desk while he pulled up a chair and sat a few feet in front of me. The scars from my injury were on my back, he couldn't see them and for that I was grateful. I didn't want to witness when his naked desire for me turned into pity. I pushed all of that away, forcing myself to stay in this moment and not waste a second of it.

"Sit on the desk with your legs spread. Show me that hungry pussy of yours."

I swallowed hard. My body felt like a live wire, and I was so wet that it was already starting to drip onto my thighs.

He hummed low in his throat as I did as he asked.

"So pretty. Look how wet you are, just from seeing my true form. You want to fuck a monster, is that your Christmas wish?"

"Yes," the voice was not mine. It was too husky, too breathy. It belonged to a woman who knew she was sexy enough for a man like this.

But maybe for tonight, I was that woman. Maybe that was the magic of the artifact, that it made a woman like me, who was scared inside and out, feel like the sexiest woman in the world.

"Have you been a good girl?"

I chuckled, a throaty, low sound that his eyes widening.

"Depends."

"On?"

"If you want a good girl or not."

"Hm," he leaned forward, the front of his pants tenting obscenely. "I want you to be my good girl tonight and do what I ask. If you can do that, then I'll give you what you want. But be warned, I won't be gentle."

"Good."

"Well then," he leaned back and grinned at me. "Show me how you play with your wet pussy, my good girl."

I'd masturbated plenty, but alone. Now, this sexy as sin stranger wearing Santa pants and grinning like the Devil himself was ordering me to make it a spectacle.

I started to close my eyes as I dragged my fingers through my wet slit when his voice interrupted me.

"Look at me," he ordered.

My eyes snapped open, and I saw him with his cock in hand. It was so thick that his fingers barely fit around it. A bead of pre-cum dripped off the tip, which was a very dark green and peeked from foreskin.

"Touch yourself like a good girl," his voice brought me back to the moment. "And keep your eyes on me."

Those dark brown depths pulled me in and as I rubbed my clit just right, I wasn't aware of the distant sound of Christmas music or laughter, I didn't feel the cool air on my pebbled nipples or was aware of the blank canvas of a room we were in. I only knew him. The way his chest rose and fell faster, the sight of his big hand around his cock, the way he stroked himself faster as he watched me race to the finish line.

When my orgasm hit me, I let loose a long, loud groan, shocked that I was actually able to keep eye contact with him.

"Put your fingers in your pussy," he commanded, "and taste yourself."

I did as he asked, no longer the injured, washed-up field agent. No, I was a woman of raw sensuality, unafraid or ashamed of myself.

As my fingers came out of my mouth with a wet pop, he rose from the chair and stepped out of the Santa pants. Thick thighs covered in a liberal sprinkling of dark hair met my eyes, his cock even larger than I could see from his sitting position. I had a moment of genuine worry that I'd be able to take him without injury when his dark chuckled rolled over me like a warm breath. He came to stand between my legs, his hands clasped my hips and pushed my legs wide.

"You're gorgeous when you come," his voice was rough. "What are your limits?"

My injury meant that being on my back was still difficult, but I also didn't want him taking me from behind and seeing the scars. I needed to not be that person right now. But how to tell him this without letting all of that out?

"Nothing from behind, and I have a bad back so..." I cringed as the fantasy began to deteriorate into reality.

He seized my chin with his strong fingers and tilted my head up.

"Don't do that."

"What?"

"Whatever it was that was taking you away from me and this moment. You are the sexiest fucking thing I've seen in a long time, and I am burning to fuck you, but the only way I'll enjoy it is if you do. So be my good girl and don't you dare be ashamed of telling me what your boundaries are. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Now," his hand trailed down until he was grasping my throat, "can I fuck you against the wall?"

Even before my injury, when I'd been in the best shape of my life, I hadn't been confident enough to try that. But looking at St. Nick's bulging arms and hungry stare, I wasn't afraid in the least. In fact, the mere thought sent my core quivering with want.

I nodded, and he laughed.

"I'm going to fuck you hard and deep," his mouth trailed biting kisses against my breasts as he spoke. "No one will ever compare. I'll never forget this and neither will you."

The last few words were spoken in a rush of breath, as if he hadn't wanted me to hear and I wasn't at all sure I had. With every bit and lick of his mouth as he trailed lower, my mind became foggy, lost in sensation.

His hands parted my legs more until I was spread obscenely before him and he hummed against my mons. I was still wearing the heels, nylons and garter belt, and it felt deliciously illicit.

"You smell so fucking good."

And then he dragged his tongue through me and I choked out a soundless gasp.

"And you taste even better. Fuck, I could make a meal of you."

I thought he might, but instead he ripped open a condom wrapper with his teeth and handed it to me.

I took my time as I rolled it down his length. He was so hot and hard in my hand, I wished we had the time for me to lick his shaft, to spread it with lube and jack him until he was putty in my hands...

"Next Christmas," he laughed, "I'll get us a room, and you can play with me all night while I eat this pussy."

"Next Christmas?" I arched an eyebrow. "Someone is sure of himself."

"Hopeful. Now," he pulled my legs around his waist and grabbed my ass, one cheek in each huge hand, "if I'm too rough, you tell me, understand?"

I nodded, and all the air in the room seemed to press against me. He was a stranger. This was as dirty and perfect as I could've hoped for. And yet, we were face to face, my arms around his neck and for a moment, a split second, I longed for this to be more, to be the beginning of something, not an end of itself. I think he did too because when he kissed me, it wasn't a first kiss, full of sweetness and questions. No, St. Nick was tasting me, devouring me, owning me. It was as if he were trying to imprint the sensation of me on his mind.

I was so overcome by his kiss that I didn't realize we were moving until my back hit the wall. A tiny twinge of pain shot up my spine and he must've noticed because he pulled me back a bit.

"Are you still wet for me? Shall we see?"

He ran himself back and forth through me, sending shudders through my whole body as my core tightened.

"Please," I whined. "Please I need..."

"Be my good girl and tell me, what do you need?"

"You to fuck me, please?"

His thumb ran over my bottom lip and I bit down on it. His eyes glittered in response.

"Such a filthy, gorgeous, good girl."

On the last word, he thrust up hard and breached me. The stretch was on the pleasurable side of painful, but it still made me bite my lip. He stared into my eyes, lips parted, and for a moment the dominating, confident male faded away and all I saw was a savage craving in his eyes.

"That's a good girl," his voice became strained as he pulsed a little more into me. "That's such a good...fucking, girl."

His hand snaked between us and his broad, calloused thumb found my clit, pressing down and around on it just like he'd seen me do on the desk. All the while, he was working himself more and more into me. I'd never, in my life, felt such a rush of fire and bone melting pleasure.

"Oh my god," my nails dug into his shoulders and threw my head back.

He started fucking me in earnest then. His thumb working my clit, wringing new heights of pleasure out of me while his body slammed into mine, the slap of flesh punctuating each of his snarls and my cries of ecstasy. I had no concept of time, or how loud I was being until I screamed, and his mouth covered mine, consuming the sound as if it were his due.

The heels fell off my feet, and I heard the tell-tale rip of my garter belt, but I couldn't care less. My body spasmed, toes curled, and I swear I broke the skin with how hard my fingernails raked across his back. One last hard push and he snarled against my throat. The sting of his teeth against my skin only added to the tsunami I was lost in.

When I finally could think, I found myself pressed mostly against him, my legs and arms wrapped around his beautiful green skin. His fingers trailed along my sides and ass, and he pressed tiny kisses along my collar bone.

"That was..." he gulped down a breath.

"Yeah," I agreed.

We looked at one another. That same pull captured me and I wondered if it would really be so bad to get his phone number, to make this a regular hook up. But then he leaned back a bit, gave me a smile that had a definite distance to it and my heart sank, just a little.

It's fine, really. All I wanted was a hookup, I reminded myself.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked as he carefully took me off him and set me on my feet.

"Oh, I'll be sore but fine," I said with a grin.

"Good," he smiled back at me.

He ducked into the small bathroom off the office to take care of the condom, and I got dressed. My nylons were useless with the ripped garter belt, so I took them off and threw them in the trash. I wasn't going to stay, anyway. Something told me I wouldn't be able to stay away from my devilish St. Nick and I didn't want this to become awkward.

When he came out, he was dressed in a suit, his glamour back in place. I wasn't sure which I liked better, to be honest, because either way he looked like every girl's wet dream of a bad boy in a suit.

"So," I said, with a smile, "I, um, thanks for making my Christmas wish come true."

He grinned at me and stepped close.

"Glad to help. And thank you for making a dull party well worth attending."

"Sure, any time. I mean...well, I, uh..." I laughed and shook my head. "I have no idea what to do."

"Me either. Would you believe that I don't normally do this?"

"No, but then again I don't either, so what do I know?"

He reached out and ran his fingers across my cheek, and I thought he was about to say something. I held my breath, waiting, wanting. But instead, he closed his mouth and planted a soft kiss on my cheek.

"Merry Christmas," he said.

"Merry Christmas."