Naughty Holidays

By Beverly Rae

Four naughty holiday books previously released as single titles, revised and lengthened for your enjoyment. Get hot and bothered during the cold winter nights.
Wishing you a naughty holiday! ~ Beverly Rae

SANTA, SEND ME A CONVERTIBLE
Angie's going to win her dream-mobile in a contest for the Ultimate Holiday Spirit no matter what it takes. But Jack has his eye on the sleek blue Porsche, too. They’re after each other in more than one way. Who will win the contest? Will the mysterious Santa—unlike any other Santa—interfere?

I COULD JUST EAT YOU UP!
Sexually-starved Rayne needs to satisfy her hunger for a man. Combining all the ingredients for a recipe of fun and magic, Rayne cooks up more than an anatomically-correct gingerbread man.

THE VIRGIN ANGEL
Free-spirited Cara Williams has never met the one man who could match her wild ways and win her heart. When she meets a mysterious and sexy man, she feels an instant connection with him.

Josh died as a baby and never had a chance to live. He visits Earth to experience life, if only for a few days. But The One-Who-Knows-Almost-All has other ideas.

MISTRESS SHEILA AND HER FOUR NAUGHTY ELVES

WARNING: This story contains handcuffs, whips, a studded collar, and some Christmas magic.

Sheila Simmons, a new witch, decides to take a night off from studying for her magic exams. Instead, she attends a friend's holiday masquerade party. Her costume: a dominatrix Santa named Mistress Sheila.

Once at the party, Sheila discovers just how popular her costume is. In fact, four little men dressed as elves take every opportunity to chat her up. She uses her magic to change the four diminutive men into four handsome, sexy hunks and takes her pretend role as dominatrix to heart. But the men surprise her when they add a little magic of their own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beverly Rae
• Release date: Nov 26, 2017
• ISBN: 9781941974117

Beverly Rae

When I enrolled in an online writing course in 2004, I had no idea that I’d started a new career. I love writing and had never even thought I could make it my life’s work. I’m married to my real life hero who has supported me from the beginning and given me all the time in the world to realize my dream. I live in Georgia and spend my days in my office writing with my dogs at my feet. What more can a girl ask for?Most of my books are paranormal romances, some MF and some menage, with graphic sex and a laugh or two. Keep checking back and you’ll see more of my books showing up. If you’d like more information about me or my books, go to www.beverlyrae.com.

Book preview

NAUGHTY HOLIDAYS

(Four Naughty Paranormal Tales of Sexy Fun)

By

BEVERLY RAE

Naughty Holidays Copyright © 2015 by Beverly Rae (all rights reserved)

Published by Rae Publishing

Cover by S. Forgey

WARNING:

This book is copyrighted intellectual property. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people whether in ebook, print or any other format. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

PLEASE NOTE: This work contains graphic sexual situations and language and is intended for readers 18 years and older.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is solely coincidental.

All books were previously released and have been revised for this publication.

Santa, Send Me a Convertible (Baby Blue)

I Could Just Eat You Up!

The Virgin Angel (My Angel)

Mistress Sheila and Her Four Naughty Elves.

Santa, Send Me a Convertible

Chapter One

Hot Cars and Hot Lovin’

Oh, my God, will you take a look at that?

Angie Bradford grabbed her best friend’s arm, whipping her around to face the object of her amazement. Sasha Rolls, I’m in love. Hell, no. This is too wild for mere love. What I’m feeling is all out, crotch-wetting, tongue-dragging lust. Angie’s pulse beat out a complicated rhythm, playing a background for her shortened breaths.

Ow, bitch! Sasha yanked her arm away and glowered at Angie. What do you think you’re trying to do? Tear the tattoo off my arm?

Do you see him? Don’t you see the body on this hunk? Placing a hand over her heart, Angie gawked at the wonder in front of her. Hurry before you miss out. Don’t you want to run your hands all over him? Or better yet, sit on him? Don’t you want to feel the hum of his hard body underneath you? Hell, it’s enough to make me climax.

Damn. Sasha scanned the mall’s interior. I don’t see him. Where? So he’s totally hot? Black, white, brown? Built, bear-like, or lean and wiry? Your kind of hot or mine?

"Hot isn’t the right word, Sasha. He’s down right combustible. Everything I could ever want. He’s got the body, the eyes, the cocky attitude. Oh, man, come to mamma, sweet man."

I swear, Ang, if you don’t point him out right now, I’m going to throttle you.

Sasha’s threat ran through one ear and straight out the other. Oh, baby, how I’d love to ride him. Ride him hard and fast until we’re both sweating from the exertion. I hope his stick is big and strong—because he’s going to need it when I get my hands on him. She fisted her hand and moved it back and forth.

Damn it, girl, there are too many people in here. I can’t find him. Take me closer. Sasha’s spiked hair shook as she bounced from one foot to the other in front of Angie, trying to see.

Angie craned her neck trying to see past the frustrated Sasha and finally gave up. Clutching her friend by the shoulders, Angie turned her friend around, pushed her forward, then followed on her heels. Are you blind? God, he’s even the perfect color.

Color? So he’s black? Cool. Just my type.

Angie hurried ahead of her friend then kept tugging her friend toward the middle of the shopping mall until she’d pushed her against the red velvet cord keeping spectators at a distance. The metal bars holding the cords in place rattled, threatening to topple over. Other people cast disgruntled glares in their direction, but Angie focused on the object of her desire.

Unhooking the perimeter cord, she forced Sasha forward again, this time throwing her against the car in the middle of the enclosed area. Damn it, Sasha, don’t damage him.

You pushed me. Sasha scanned around her. Who are you talking about? I still don’t see him.

"Isn’t he incredible? He’s got it all. Savanna Beige leather interior and fully-loaded with all the right extras. Not to mention a manual transmission with a thick shift. Plus, he’s decked out in my favorite color, Baby Blue Metallic. This is the car of my dreams."

Wait. You’re talking about a car? Damn, you got me all stoked for some gorgeous hunk only to pull a bait and switch with a stinking car?

A stinking car? Angie’s attention broke from the car and riveted on her friend. Ignoring the angry glint in Sasha’s pink eyes—her latest contact color—she dropped her jaw and shook her head, trying to deny the blasphemy her friend had spouted. "This is no ordinary car. This is a Porsche 911 Turbo S Cabriolet. A baby blue Porsche 911 Turbo S Cabriolet. A convertible baby blue Porsche 911 Turbo S Cabriolet."

She ran her hands over the hood’s smooth surface. He’s gorgeous and he’s all mine. Or at least, he will be.

Sasha snickered. Uh-huh. You must’ve gotten one hell of a raise from Leo. Or married a millionaire last weekend. How else could you ever afford a vehicle like this?

Flicking an auburn curl away from her face, Angie smiled and dropped the bomb. Well, since neither one of those things happened, I’m going to have to get this honey another way. The good old American way. Sasha, I’m going to win him. Cocking her head to one side, she brought Sasha’s attention to the sign posted nearby.

Sasha frowned, squinted, and read the announcement out loud. "’Announcing the Ultimate Holiday Spirit Car Giveaway. Enter now. Prove you have the Ultimate Christmas Spirit and win the Ultimate Car. Win a Porsche 911 Turbo S Cabriolet! Automobile donated from Kastandi Luxury Motors and Midland Mall. Winner to be determined by a panel of judges. Pick up a flyer for details.’"

See? Angie crossed her arms and challenged her friend. Do you comprendé now, mi amiga? All I have to do is prove I have the best holiday spirit and soon I’ll be cruisin’ down the highway on Christmas Eve in my brand new baby blue Porsche. Besides, who deserves a new car more than I do? Mine gave up the ghost last night. She tossed an auburn curl away from her cheek and reached past Sasha to snag a flyer.

Sasha’s nose ring swung back and forth when she twitched her mouth. Color me gloom and doom, but do you really think you have a chance in hell of winning? Come on, Ang. You’re a good person and a super friend, but you’ve got to do something spectacular for those judges to choose you. See? She pointed at the explanation on the paper and read. ’To win, each contestant will show their holiday spirit through a selfless act of the kindness.’ Somehow, I don’t think having a broken down wreck will sway them much.

She didn’t want Sasha’s pessimism to sink in. To win, she’d have to keep an optimistic, never-say-die attitude on the situation. Hey, I give to charity, don’t I? And how about the time I served food at the shelter on Thanksgiving Day? Sticking out her chin, she pasted on a confident grin and carefully opened the driver’s side door.

A rush of emotions flooded her as she slid behind the wheel. Joy and excitement mingled with desire and her body tingled. Her hands shook as she reached up to take the steering wheel and she slid them over the leather-encased wheel. A small sigh of bliss slipped from her lips. She felt almost as elated as in the throes of an orgasm. Oh, Sasha, he feels wonderful. Exactly like I knew he would.

Her friend’s features scrunched up as she leaned against the car’s door. You know, most people refer to machines like cars as women, not men.

Angie flipped down the vanity mirror and admired the way her big brown eyes complimented the beige interior. No doubt about it, she looked good in this car. Hell, she looked terrific in this car. Her laugh echoed in her ears. Damn, even her laugh sounded better in this motorized baby.

Other people can call their vehicles anything they want. Mine is male. All male. She winked, knowing her comment would get a reaction. Besides, I don’t swing both ways. I only ride men.

Right on cue, Sasha let out a wild cackle, turning everyone toward her. Like hell you do. I remember one of your fantasies involving you and a couple of very well-endowed women.

Sliding down in the seat, Angie hissed, Crap, bitch, bring down your sound level. I think Grandma and a few hundred other people heard you. She tossed a smile at the older lady shooting her a disdainful glance. If you’ll remember correctly, my fantasy included several men, too, ya know.

Miss? I’m going to have to ask you to get out of the car.

Angie and Sasha swiveled together toward the voice. A middle-aged man wearing a polo shirt emblazoned with the words Kastandi Luxury Motors fixed his narrowed eyes on them. He fisted his hands on his hips and spread his feet apart, ready for action. His entire posture shouted, I’m the Man. Don’t fuck with me, little girls. Angie and Sasha glanced at each other before returning his fierce expression.

Excuse me? Sasha’s do-you-want-a-piece-of-me tone raised the man’s eyebrows. Nothing says she can’t sit in this car.

Angie, knowing what could happen if Sasha lost control of her temper, grabbed the handle and started to get out. Not ready to give in, Sasha prepared for a confrontation. She pushed the door shut, keeping Angie stuck inside.

Tension, as thick as pea soup fog, rippled through the air between the two adversaries. Motor Man’s lips spread into a thin horizontal line and he motioned for Angie to get out. "I say she can’t. The ropes surrounding the car say she can’t. This is a very expensive automobile and we can’t let just anybody play around in it."

Angie could sense the hairs standing up on Sasha’s neck, right over her black leather choker.

Play around with it? Are you talking about the car? Or your miniscule dick?

Uh-oh. Now she’s gone and done it.

Angie cringed when Motor Man’s complexion changed from fake rub-on tan to bullfighter red. Uh, Sasha, let me out. Let’s not get into any trouble, okay? I don’t want anything messing up my chances of winning.

Sasha kept her sights on the man, but shook her head in response to Angie. What do you mean by just anyone? Are you saying my friend isn’t good enough for this piece of overpriced metal? How much are you guys trying to make on this heap of nuts and bolts?

Angie opened her mouth to speak, but lost her nerve when she noticed Motor Man grinding his teeth and reaching for the cell phone hooked at his large waist. His throat bobbed up and down while he struggled to find the correct, non-inflammatory words. She strained to hear his whispered, yet harsh, words.

A Porsche is worth every dime of the price. You know the old saying, ‘If you can’t afford it, don’t ask the price.’ Now, I’m going to ask you girls to get away from the automobile or I’ll be forced to call Security. He flipped open his phone to show he meant business.

Angie grappled with the handle and shoved against the door, forcing Sasha into Motor Man’s protruding stomach. Both of them jumped apart, sneering at the other, reminding Angie of two alley cats ready to scratch each other blind.

Not giving her friend any time to respond, she jerked her legs out of the car and brought her body to a standing position in one swift movement. No, don‘t. No security necessary. I’m out. See?

Ang, I have this handled. Sasha stamped on the floor like a little child having a tantrum. Yet Angie didn’t care if she sat down and cried on the floor. She wasn’t about to let her friend stir up any more trouble. Who knew? One of the judges might be watching.

No. He’s right. After all, I wouldn’t want anyone messing up my new car.

His sarcastic chuckle hit her, twisting her neck into knots. She bit her tongue to squelch a retort. Instead, she clutched her rhinestone-embroidered purse to her side, took Sasha’s hand in hers, and dragged her to a safe distance. Come on. Let’s let the big scary man watch over my car.

* * * *

Jack Carrington watched the pretty girl with short curly hair snag her off-beat friend by the hand and drag her to a nearby bench. Letting out a huge rush of air, he relaxed, surprised to find he’d held his breath. In fact, he’d taken in his last breath right before she’d sat down in the car. In his car.

Not that he couldn’t imagine the sexy, fiery woman in the car. He could easily picture her in the back seat, her head pushed against the soft leather of the car door and her even softer legs wrapped around his waist. He studied her, liking the way she crossed then uncrossed her legs. She grinned at her friend and he couldn’t help but grin, too.

Damn, some babes are too weird for comfort. For a minute, I thought the girl with the porcupine hairdo might haul off and whack the guy. Carl Metters, Jack’s best friend, took a chunk out of his sandwich. Too bad. It would’ve been one hell of a fight. I think she’d have taken him.

Jack shrugged, uninterested in Carl’s opinion of the girl’s fighting ability. Even if her friend was hotter than hell. He’d better forget about her. I’ve got to own that car. After all, am I or am I not the best damn paramedic in the city? Hell, the best in the state.

Muffled words stumbled out of Carl’s mouth. You betcha. Swallowing, he added with a grin, Next to me, of course.

Jack snorted. Yeah, right. And being the best paramedic— Refusing to bend to Carl’s ego, he continued, —in the whole damn state makes me the best driver in the state. So, by all rights, the best driver should own the best car. He jabbed his finger at the Porsche. That car.

Carl engulfed another huge bite. When you’re right, you’re right, my friend. Except, of course, about who’s the best driver. Thought you slipped that one by me, didn’t you?

Come on. Coffee sloshed over the edge of Carl’s cup as Jack tugged him through the throng of people milling around the mall’s lobby. He made a beeline toward the sign and flyers. Let’s find out how I’m going to get this car.

He perused the flyer and relief flooded through him. I’ve got this in the bag, man. Who has more of the ultimate holiday spirit than a man who works every holiday in the service of others? And I ask you, who’s more deserving of a new car than a life-saving paramedic?

Carl, called Jaws by his fellow paramedics for both his skill with the mechanical Jaws of Life and his eating prowess, chewed on. Sure. No problem.

Good. Jack ached to touch the shiny blue surface, but remembered the guard’s reaction to the pretty brunette. Instead, he cooed to the car, much like a doting father would to a child at bedtime. Say hello to Papa, baby.

Excuse me, but don’t get your hopes up, bud. Baby Blue is as good as delivered. To me.

Jack swung toward the lilting voice and came face to face—or rather her face to his chest-with slitted dark eyes. Those sparkling pools of cocoa ripped all thoughts of the car from him. Suddenly, he fell into their waters without a care for their unknown depths. What’d you say?

"Take me. Throw me in your new car and fuck me hard, Jack."

Wait. Had she really said that? Huh?

A sculpted eyebrow shifted upward over a cute button of a nose scattered with adorable freckles. Her face, a perfect oval, presented a magnificent cream canvas for her rosy lips, stretched thin in a direct challenge. My Baby Blue. You’re talking about my car. I’m going to win Baby Blue, so you may as well save your time and forget about entering.

I wonder if she’s as fiery in bed as she right now. Or maybe she has to be in a car to go wild? Yeah, I’d rather think of her in the back seat like before. But wait. I wonder what she’d be like in the back of an ambulance? Some women go crazy doing it with the siren blaring.

Baby Blue? His mind refused to cooperate except to note how the material of her uniform hugged her full breasts. Full yet perky breasts. From what he could see, they were the perfect size for his hands.

Knock it off, Jack. She’s just a girl. One hell of a sexy girl.

The words Foto Fancy called his attention to her left breast where her name tag Hi, I’m Angie hung sideways. He gave up trying to fight the attraction and studied the curve of her breasts peeking out from under her top.

Yeah, I named him. She snapped her fingers under his nose, breaking the hold her chest held on his brain. Ya wanna stop slobbering over my boobs and get your head— she jerked her chin higher, then fastened her gaze on his eyes, —the head on your shoulders, I mean—into the conversation? I don’t care what you do with the other head pointed my way just as long as you keep it zipped up tight.

He shook his head, unsure why he was doing so, and concentrated on her soft glowing face. Her glowing, glowering face. He was all for a girl having spirit because they were usually the most adventurous in bed, but maybe she had too much. It might be better if her attitude matched her angelic features. At least a little. Still, why not have a little fun with her? What makes you so sure you’re going to win? You don’t seem like the Mother Teresa type to me.

The rise of her chest with her sharp intake of air made him do the same. God, her tits are incredible. I’d love to nibble on those headlights. His gaze slid lower. I’d shuck all those clothes and check under her hood.

Angie glared at him. I’ll win her because I deserve her. Baby Blue and I are meant for each other.

How could he make her take another big breath? He swallowed, caught up in his craving to see her chest heave again, and almost forgot to follow their conversation. Maybe if she takes a big enough breath, the buttons will pop off.

Carl snickered and punched Jack in the arm. Don’t be so sure. We’re paramedics and you know how people love paramedics. We’re heroes, you know.

Shut up, Carl. Let her talk. I want to hear her voice again.

Carl squared off in front of the prickly-haired girl who stood next to Angie. Munching on the candy he always kept stored in his pockets, Carl attempted to match the intensity of the other woman’s expression and failed. Uneasy about what the strange girl might do, Jack elbowed Carl, breaking the staring standoff between them.

Ha! Heroes? I don’t think so. Glorified orderlies is what you are. Spike, as Jack nicknamed her, planted her feet, crossed her arms, and sneered at Carl.

Carl sputtered at the insult and muttered a curse under his breath. Seizing the moment to get the conversation on civil ground, Jack jumped in, taking the heat off his friend. Besides, he couldn‘t let her get away with the glorified orderly comment, could he? Really? Then I guess if you were injured in a car wreck you wouldn’t want any glorified orderly saving your pretty little butt and getting you to the hospital in the nick of time?

Damn, she’s cute when she’s hunting for a come-back. He forged ahead, keeping her off balanced for as long as possible. So Angie, I guess you’re the Good Samaritan Extraordinaire, huh? Tell me. Where do you do your good deeds? He gestured at her name tag. "At Foto Fancy?"

A quick thrill surged through him at her blush. The pale pink hue made him happy even though he couldn’t pinpoint why. He wondered if she’d blush in bed and he fought the sudden desire to throw her over his shoulder, drag her home, and find out.

Angie’s glare intensified. None of your damn business.

A cold chill ran through him and he faced Spike, determined to break the strange fixation Angie held over him. She was an amazing girl, but he had to keep his mind on the business of winning his car. Spike sported the same uniformed top and an identification tag claiming her name to the world.

Sasha, I’m not the one getting all riled up here. You and Angie started this conversation. Don’t blame me if Carl and I hold our own against your attacks.

Glancing at Carl, he noticed he’d stopped eating. For the first time in recent memory, Carl held a piece of food and didn’t immediately shove it into his mouth. His burly friend stood awe-struck, waiting for Sasha to say something else.

Who started the conversation doesn’t matter much. Who finishes it does. Sasha gave Carl a strange look before fixing her glare squarely on him.

Shit, Sasha’s a real ball-buster. But why’s Carl sniffing her out like a dog in heat? Good old conservative Carl isn’t attracted to the crazy bitch, is he? Jack darted his gaze between the two, not ready to admit what his intuition told him. Sure, Sasha’s body put most girls’ physiques to shame but she couldn’t hold a candle to her friend. Angie would make any testosterone-filled male beat his chest and holler like a caveman who’d just found his mate. He didn’t dare glance down and see if his johnson was flying high.

Determined to get on better footing, he splashed on his best smile and showered all his charm on Angie. How about we agree to disagree? After all, we’re not going to be the only ones going for the prize, are we? He hoped his patented I’m-dealing-with-a-possible-nut-case tone would help to ease the tension between them.

The ripple of emotions cascading over her features told him he’d struck gold with his argument. He hurried on for the close. Besides, we’re not the judges, so our opinions don’t count. How about we wish each other luck and go on our way? Or maybe let me buy you a drink? I’m Jack Carrington and this is Carl Metters.

He knew he’d gone too far with the drink bit. When would he learn to recognize an impossible case when he saw one? Her face hardened, tightening her lips into an even thinner line.

I wonder what else she can do with those lips?

"Are you kidding me?