Crawl in Bed With KJ Charles
And A Good Book
*crawls into bed* *Settles on pillows* Important things first, are these sheets silk or cotton?
Cotton, but a high thread count.
Ahhh. These are the finer things in life, aren't they? What are you wearing?
Wearing? In bed?
EEP! *covers eyes* It's so much simpler when people wear clothes to these things! *peeks between fingers* What are we snacking on in bed while we read tonight?
Single malt Scotch, Laphroaig for preference. Smoky, sophisticated, strong.
*hums* Now that is a fine beverage. If I open this nightstand drawer, what will I find?
Don't look in there. No, really, *don't*.
That makes me even more curious! Are you sure? *reaches for drawer pull* Yikes! Okay…*snatches hand back* No need to glower. Do you roll up in the blankets like a burrito, or kick the covers off during the night?
I mostly get into life-or-death battles with the pillow.
Those pillows can be ruthless. *nods* Well then, can I put my cold feet on your calves to warm them up?
Only if you're hungry for death.
*inches away* Okay then. I'll... um…make sure to keep over here where it's safe. What are we reading?
The Magpie Lord by KJ Charles
Exiled to China for twenty years, Lucien Vaudrey never planned to return to England. But with the mysterious deaths of his father and brother, it seems the new Lord Crane has inherited an earldom. He’s also inherited his family’s enemies. He needs magical assistance, fast. He doesn’t expect it to turn up angry.
Magician Stephen Day has good reason to hate Crane’s family. Unfortunately, it’s his job to deal with supernatural threats. Besides, the earl is unlike any aristocrat he’s ever met, with the tattoos, the attitude…and the way Crane seems determined to get him into bed. That’s definitely unusual.
Soon Stephen is falling hard for the worst possible man, at the worst possible time. But Crane’s dangerous appeal isn’t the only thing rendering Stephen powerless. Evil pervades the house, a web of plots is closing round Crane, and if Stephen can’t find a way through it—they’re both going to die.
Crane lunged. Stephen ducked, jinked sideways and retreated in earnest as Crane went for him, far faster than he’d anticipated. He skipped backwards and found Crane had backed him against the desk again. The taller man grabbed him, astonishingly hard, and threw him backwards, so that the breath burst out of him, and before he could move, Crane was over him, pinning him down.
Stephen’s back was on the desk, and his feet didn’t reach the floor. Crane leaned on him, bodies pressed close, pinioning his wrists above his head, face dark with anger.
It occurred to Stephen Day that he had just made a fairly spectacular misjudgement.
“I apologise for that.” He spoke as calmly as possible, trying to ignore the pressure of Crane’s body against his. “It was in the way of an experiment, to see how fast you’d shake it. You’re developing surprisingly rapid resistance to fluence.”
“Perhaps that’s because people keep doing it to me,” said Crane through his teeth.
Stephen’s brows drew together slightly. “I think you may be right, at that. How—”
“No,” said Crane. “I’m asking the questions.”
He was pressing down painfully on Stephen’s wrists, taut body just over Stephen’s, hard and intent and all too close to the night’s imaginings. Stephen swallowed, cursing the betraying rush of blood, wishing he dared shift position.
“This is quite uncomfortable.”
“Good. I remembered what happened last night.”
“Nothing happened,” said Stephen instantly, defensively.
“Yes, it did. There was a ghost.”
“But that wasn’t what you had in mind, was it?”
Stephen bit his lip. Control this. “Why don’t you tell me what you think happened last night?”
Crane’s lips drew back in a snarl. “What I think is that I was about to have you right there in the garden. I think you were about two minutes from being flat on your back in the grass.”
Stephen felt the blood recede from his face. Brilliant, Steph, well played.
“And…” Crane shifted his leg up so that it rubbed against Stephen’s painfully tight groin, ridding him of the admittedly faint hope that Crane hadn’t noticed his arousal. “I think you’re two minutes from the same thing right now.”
“Oh God,” said Stephen involuntarily. He couldn’t tell if Crane meant it, or what he meant. A dizzying pulse of excitement was making it difficult to think. Crane’s body was hard against him, and he could feel the larger man’s cock, pressing against his stomach. “Listen—”
“Shut the fuck up!” It was a shout, but Crane’s voice moved immediately to a savage purr. “I want to make you pay for that right now, you manipulative little bastard. I want to make you pay, and you know it, and…” His mouth curled, and he shoved his thigh cruelly against Stephen’s erection again. “And you like it. In fact, I suspect there’s nothing you’d like better. Is there?”
Stephen couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.
Stephen licked his lips. “What do you want me to say?” His voice sounded breathy in his own ears.
“Tell me why you did that to me last night. And don’t lie to me. I know what you wanted, what you want. So why did you do it?”
He did not want to answer that. “I— It was—”
“You wanted me to fuck you, didn’t you?”
Stephen shut his eyes. “Briefly.”
Crane lowered his head so his mouth was right on Stephen’s ear, voice vibrating, teeth and tongue touching the sensitive flesh. “When I fuck you, Mr. Day, it will not be briefly. It will be long and hard and extremely thorough. I’m going to take pains with you.”
Stephen whimpered, helpless to stop himself, tilting his hips so his cock rubbed against Crane’s body. Crane thrust back hard, once, grinned mirthlessly at Stephen’s gasp, and leaned back with a look of victory in his eyes.
“Let’s consider this in the nature of reparations.” He shifted one hand so that it pinioned both of Stephen’s wrists and moved his free hand to his belt.
I'm on Tiwtter at kj_charles, and blog at http://kjcharleswriter.wordpress.com, or find me on Goodreads and Facebook!