Twelve days.
Twelve authors.
Countless ways to orgasm.
**Mature content -- for 18+ only**
This holiday season, twelve talented and self-anointed Smut Queens come together to give Wattpad readers a special thank-you gift for all the love and apprecia...
This is an excerpt from the original story I wrote for 12 Days of Hawtness. The story kind of exploded in size, word-count wise, due to Grayelle taking over the scene, and it needs a bit of work editing wise, more time than I had to meet the deadline for this collab. So, instead I'll publish it during the period I am on hiatus over Christmas and New Years. It's set in the time of Caged (the only way I could write a piece for the collab without jarring myself out of plotting and writing Caged - so unfortunately I chose to jarr you xD ), and the best way to read this, is to think of it (like I did) as an outtake, a moment that never happens in the book.
Jett, may or may not have stolen several bus-worths of mortals to have a party at House Crowther. He may have even stolen a famous DJ - cos you know, it's a party and all. ;-D
Enjoy :)
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GRAYSEN
JETT JERKED HIS head back, his nose crinkled, looking slightly offended. "I did it more for myself. I've always wanted to do something like this." He turned around and started pointing out mortals with the hand holding his drink. "Like seriously, that dude over there is a plumber. That chick with the fanny pack ..." His eyes widened once more and slid to me as he raked a hand across the crown of his head. "Gods, did you know that 'fanny' doesn't mean the same thing in New Zealand? The Kiwis were mocking me, moooocking me ..."He blew out a breath, shook his head, and resumed pointing at the girl. "Anyways, I digress—she's a dental hygienist. Oh, and that guy feeling up your girl is a wannabe model. He's a little short if you ask me, but he's pretty enough. And that girl, the bridesmaid, she's a graphic designer for a greeting card company. She makes little cards for all those mortal holidays and celebrations." He broke out into a crowing laugh. "Santa Claus," he snorted, bringing a fist to his mouth. "A fat fucker fitting his way down a chimney. Like the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
But my mind had snagged on feeling up your girl and I hadn't heard a thing he'd said.
He clapped a hand on my shoulder, jolting me back to the here and now. "Bar's that way," he said, pointing toward a cluster of partiers, waiting in line at a makeshift bar where our staff were serving drinks. "If you want a hit of something harder, see Caidan."
And then I saw my sister, Ferne, with her arm looped around Ezra Qillisan's as he guided her around the outskirts of the dancers.
Ah, shit.
"Don't you dare tell me you invited the Qillisans," I snarled at Jett, my hand rising and forming a fist. The Qillisans I had no problem with. But one of the Quillisan sisters always had those creepy sidekicks with her—the Lyon sisters. Three of them. Their names started with J, and fucked if I could remember their names or tell them apart. Jacinda-Julia-Jojo-fucked-if-I-knew but every time I saw them afterward, they were on me like a human octopus wanting a repeat performance. It was one night years ago I'd come to regret. Cliché as all fuck, and totally not worth the nightmare afterwards.
