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to the side to run the thick toy along the plump, pink folds between her thighs.
    Sweet fuck.
    The buzz of the vibrator and a soft moan of pleasure had Nick bolting for the apartment door. He’d done the right thing, brought her home without taking her up any of her sugar-fueled offers, but one more minute and he was going to break one of the only rules he had and convince her to replace the fake cock she was sighing over with a very thick, very hard, very real substitute.

Chapter Four
     
    PHOEBE CONVINCED HERSELF THAT taking the day off to buy a dress was a perfectly justifiable course of action. After all, tonight was the annual Confectionary Ball, where all of the artisan bakers, restaurateurs, and candy makers in the city congregated to toast the holidays and not-so-subtly one-up each other over cocktails.
    I’m a representative of the North Pole. I have to look good.
    That, and she needed a little more time to contain the epic mortification that paralyzed her every time she thought about the previous night. Even now, in an upscale department store dressing room in her underwear, Phoebe flashed hot and cold, thinking about how she’d thrown herself at Nick Kringle.
    Thinking about his tongue in her mouth and his luscious cock in her hand.
    “Oh God,” she groaned, crumpling the blue silk sheath dress she had just peeled off.
    Phoebe had forced herself to call him this morning to check on the factory. He was clipped on the phone, but she was relieved to hear that Spokes had taken care of things and that Nick had launched a full scale investigation into what had happened. Nick was scrupulously polite – of course she should take the day off. There was a long silence as Phoebe scrambled for a non-humiliating way to express herself and get off the phone as quickly as possible.
    “Are you…feeling better?” Nick finally asked, gruff but oddly tentative.
    “Yes. Thank you,” managed Phoebe, clearing her throat, “And thank you for getting me home.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    “The elves are doing a great job of cleaning up the sugar, so it should be…safe…for you by this afternoon.”
    “I appreciate it,” she squeaked, and hurriedly said goodbye before she made an even bigger fool of herself.
    Phoebe tossed the blue silk aside and reached for a strawberry red dress on a hanger, the satin-edged crinoline rustling cheerfully as she tugged it on. She gritted her teeth at the sensation of the lining sliding over her curves. She wasn’t the mindless sex addict of the night before, but her skin was still sensitive beyond reason. And her pussy…Though she was exhausted, the soreness was already passing, thanks to her fabulous quick-healing elf genes, but Phoebe had a pretty good idea that one wasn’t supposed to subject one’s pussy to hours and hours of mindless self-pleasure. Her vibrator would never be the same.
    Most of the night was a little hazy. Phoebe remembered Nick taunting her with caramel goodness and a sexy, wicked charm that she had no idea he possessed. She remembered the taste of his skin mixing with the warm sweetness of candy, and the thrilling feel of his muscled body crushed tight to hers. She remembered an argument. Then there was an explosion, and suddenly the air was filled with the most mouthwatering, impossibly irresistible sugary magic that turned her libido up to eleven, consuming her with the need to fuse herself to Nick Kringle until he satisfied her greedy, mindless craving for male flesh. Sugar made her hot, but it was usually a general horniness, not this specific, laser-focused want she’d felt last night.
    He’d felt so good, his mouth a carnal delight, his cock so big and wondrously hard and hot in her grip. He’d scooped her up, taken her home, and…left.
    Phoebe frowned at her reflection in the mirror.
    Nick Kringle wanted her. He’d made that abundantly clear. He wanted her for hot, meaningless, probably kinky sex. Her clit throbbed and her toes curled just thinking