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
Blurb:
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.
Extract
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.”
“Oh—well, yes—”
“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.
“Well?”
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.
