naughty bits

AN ANTHOLOGY of SHORT EROTIC

FICTION

naughty bits

AN ANTHOLOGY of SHORT EROTIC

FICTION

JENESI ASH

JINA BACARR

EDEN BRADLEY

JODI LYNN COPELAND

LACY DANES

DELILAH DEVLIN

GRACE D’OTARE

CHARLOTTE FEATHERSTONE

ALICE GAINES

MEGAN HART

SARAH MCCARTY

ALISON PAIGE

CATHLEEN ROSS

KIMBERLY KAYE TERRY

TRACY WOLFF

CONTENTS

THE INVITATION

Lacy Danes

INVITE ME IN

Delilah Devlin

SOUL STRANGERS

Eden Bradley

GILT AND MIDNIGHT

Megan Hart

NO APOLOGIES

Tracy Wolff

ANYTHING YOU WANT

Jenesi Ash

THE QUEEN’S TALE

Grace D’Otare

LETTING GO

Sarah McCarty

COME BACK TO ME

Kimberly Kaye Terry

FOREVER YOURS

Charlotte Featherstone

PSYCHIC SEX

Cathleen Ross

DARK MOON GATHERING

Alison Paige

HOT FOR IT

Jodi Lynn Copeland

TOKYO RENDEZVOUS

Jina Bacarr

THE WELL-TUTORED LOVER

Alice Gaines

The Invitation

LACY DANES

YOU LEFT ME A GIFT. MY SHAKING

FINGERS SLIDE ALONG the red silk ribbon and

into the loop of the bow. I have never expected a gift, and

you know how much I love surprises. Pinching the tail of the

bow in between my thumb and forefinger, I pul the ribbon

loose and slide the card from the top of the rectangular box.

My stomach flutters as I ease the stiff paper from the

envelope. I close my eyes as goose bumps race over my

skin. What wil it say? What is in the box? My hands shake

and I flip the card open as I raise my eyelids to take in your

words…your wishes.

My slut,

Wear this gift and meet me on the trail at dusk…

the trail where we initiated our wilderness

exhibitionism. Wear shorts and a shirt, an easily

lifted jacket, hiking boots, no bra or panties. Bring

water and a very warm blanket.

Master Eric

A hike is something I have always enjoyed and a scene

in the woods something I relish. My pussy throbs as images

of you handcuffing my arms around a tree and fucking my

ass flood my thoughts. Yum. What could you possibly have

purchased for me to wear into the woods?

I hastily grab the box and spin about, sinking down onto

the chair beside the table. I slowly lift the lid to reveal a

bright blue velvet bag. The sleek fabric excites me and my

nipples pebble as I pul the pouch from the box. Inside is an

object of heavy weight. The shape, as my fingers smooth

along the outside of the bag, is of an egg with a stem and

handle. A plug. I uncinch the pouch and dump the gift into

my hand and grin. Chil s of delight race up my neck.

A three-inch art glass plug sits in my palm. The red and

black colors swirl from tip to the flanged base and in the

wide stopper end, etched into the glass, are the words

Owned by E. My heart soars and I grin. My fingernail traces

each letter; they look as if you handwrote them yourself.

How did you do that?

Indeed, I am yours. You own my heart and I wil do al you

wish of me. Running my fingers over the polished surface,

the image of sliding the smooth glass into my pucker, my

flesh being stretched, readying me for your onslaught,

makes me quiver. I fidget in my seat as heat curls between

the globes of my ass. A smile of excitement stretches my

lips and I can’t sit stil . I can’t wait to see you, and see what

you have in store for me. Time I go get ready…

What lies at the end of this hike—or what I hope does—

thril s me. I grin and remember your instructions as my skin

tingles in excitement and arousal. I am dressed as you

requested. Shorts, shirt, jacket, no bra or panties. My

makeup is as you like. Red lips, eyeliner…everything done

to perfection. I feel beautiful, sexy in my short shorts and

tight top. I am slightly overdone for the wilderness but know

how I appear wil please you, and that is al that matters to

me.

I start to whistle a giddy little tune as I walk. The gravel

path crunches beneath my feet as your gift tugs the skin of

my bottom. The plug, snugly inserted in my ass, fil s me and

each step rocks the egg within me, arousing my body as I

walk down the trail.

My pussy quivers remembering the last time I walked

this path. Remembering you using your new crop on me,

then fucking me as I trembled, floating in a euphoric haze

looking out at the serene lake.

I pass the location where you kissed me on the bench,

and I remember the clips tugging my sensitive nipples as

we walked, talking about videos and movies we had

watched, about our hometowns, and about al of our favorite

foods and pastimes. We are so alike yet so opposite.

I come to the smal clearing, the tree where we were

caught with our pants down. I grin, wanting to relive that

moment, to stay cuffed to that tree as the woman passed

instead of you uncuffing me before she could see us. A

smal giggle bursts from my lips. God, I love to be watched,

caught…it is a thril like no other.

My feet take me deeper and deeper into the wilderness

and I come to the place where our first scene was

performed. You stand by the rail watching me, your blue

eyes fil ed with intense desire, excitement. My body

trembles just looking at you. Your short black hair and

wicked smile. Your broad shoulders and stocky build. You

are the most handsome man I know. But it goes so much

beyond your looks. Your mind and your soul are what

captivate me.

Your mouth quirks up as I reach your side. “Greet me

properly.”

My lips curl into a smile. “Yes, Master.” I drop to my

knees, my eyes fil ed with adoration never leaving yours,

then smooth my hands up your thighs. My fingers trail over

your zipper and slide the fly down. You stand absolutely stil ,

hands clasped behind your back. I want to shake you, to

make you moan, to lose the control you always hold in

check—but I wil never cross that line.

My mouth waters, wanting to take you into my sweet

depths, to swal ow you up and make you hard. I free your

cock from the confines of your pants and press the plum-

shaped tip to the soft glossed lips of my mouth. My tongue

slides out and circles the head of your semifirm penis. The

smel of your sex shoots straight to my wet labia, making

my cunt gape with need. Saliva pools under my tongue and

as I slide your prick into my mouth, the slickness slips down

your cock coating you with my moisture.

You taste delicious. The salty spice of your skin tingles

my taste buds and I flick my tongue against the smooth

ridge of your head. The skin is loose but quickly fil s,

tightening over your wide penis.

I nestle your dick in my mouth then pul back out to the

tip. Sliding back down your length, your crown gently

touches the back of my tongue. I hesitate, afraid I may gag

on your thickness, and again pul back up to the tip, swirling

and gently nibbling on the rim with my teeth. You moan. The

sound of your pleasure emboldens me; I want so

desperately to hear more and more of that sweet delicious

sound as you capture your pleasure and in turn I receive

mine. Licking my lips I move back to suck the large tip

deeper into my throat. To create the sensation I know you

so love.

You grasp my chin. “No. Stand.”

Damn.

The unyielding grip of your fingers on my jawbone

washes through me and I tremble. Even the lightest touch

from you on my skin makes me shake but when you firmly

grasp me, my vision hazes and I begin to float in the

euphoric bliss that goes back ages in time. Dominant man

in control of his spirited woman. I stand without hesitation,

my eyes clouded with nothing but the vision of pleasing you.

Of giving you al my power to do with as you wish.

You smile at me, devotion and excitement swirling in the

depths of your gaze.

God, you make my knees weak.

You lead me, your fingers entwined with mine, into the

woods, away from the lake and the pretty view that we

enjoyed on our first encounter. Deep into the trees we walk,

neither one of us saying a word. I wonder what you have

planned but know I wil enjoy it no matter what it is.

We reach a set of trees that are equal in size and

spread about five feet apart. There is a large grouping of

boulders off to one side by which you have placed your

backpack, and a flask.

“Give me your pack.” You hold out your hand to me.

I hand over the bag, which contains the water and warm

blanket you requested.

You grasp them in one hand and with the other you grab

my hair. Tingles shoot through my scalp and you pul my lips

to yours. The warmth of your mouth devours mine; the taste

of Red Bul on your tongue as it plunges in, tangling slowly,

warms me to my toes. The flavor I wil forever associate

with you.

My nipples are pebble-hard and I groan, wanting to

touch you, to feel your skin beneath my hands, but I stand

absolutely stil as I have been trained by you to do.

You slip my jacket from my shoulders and off of me. I

shiver, but more from excitement than the cold. I only want

to please you, to excite you and bring you pleasure.

You walk me to the trees. There your fingers wrap my

palm and you raise my arm, placing a fur-lined cuff about

my wrist. The cuff is attached to the tree by rope. You do the

same with my other hand, smiling a very devious smile.

God, I love that smile. It is the smile that inhabits my every

dream, my every memory of us. I tug on my arms to see if I

have any room for escape. The cuffs dig into the base of

my hand but don’t slip over.

“No escape.”

“Yes, Master. You know me, I had to check.” I grin at you.

You laugh as a blindfold emerges from your pocket and

you slip it over my head. The soft fur underlining slides

down my forehead and the last thing I see is your lips

grinning at me.

Oh dear…what do you have planned?

My heart pounds and my breath hitches in my throat. I try

to relax but it is impossible—my arms and legs begin to

shake in anticipation of the unknown act you are about to

press upon me for your pleasure, for my pleasure, for us.

Cold metal strokes my forearm, a single caress. Too

quick for me to discern what it is exactly. Then the cold

traces my shoulder and up my neck.

“Hold stil , my slut. I wouldn’t want to cut you.”

Cut? The word slides panic straight to my gut.

A knife.

I inhale sharply and my body trembles involuntarily. I try to

hold as stil as possible as the blade traces the col ar on my

T-shirt, flowing like an eroticized paintbrush down between

my breasts. The cold steel excites everywhere it touches.

The hem of my shirt lifts and pul s from my body. The

knife reaches the place where fabric no longer is a part of

me and I hear the material tear. It is a sharp knife. My

stomach flips on the knowledge you could cut me at any

moment. I inhale slowly and my trust in you calms my

beating heart.

The knife cuts through the cotton, splitting the shirt from

just below my breasts to the hem. My arms jump and shake

and you pul the two tails of shirt, tearing the rest apart,

exposing my breasts to the air. The difference in

temperature tingles along my skin and your fingers graze

my nipples. I moan, arching towards you, wanting you to

pinch and suckle my peaked flesh. “Please.”

“Beautiful.” Your deep voice is ful of love and warms my

heart. “Stay stil .” The cool tip of the knife touches the tip of

my nipple then gently flicks it. A pinprick of pain is instantly

soothed by the warm wetness of your tongue swirling about

the bud.

“Ahhh.” My pussy throbs and my legs part trying to ease

the ache sharpened by your domination. Your mouth’s

caress leaves my puckered tip and your hair brushes the

underside of my raised arm as you duck under it. I suck in a

breath as my body shakes. The knife continues…

You cut up the backside of my shirt, then slide the

separated pieces up my arms and off my cuffed hands. The

cool air washes my heated skin and gooseflesh rises.

There is a tug on my waistband, the button pops free and

the zipper fal s. You push the shorts down my legs and they

pool at my feet. Yes, indeed. My pussy needs you.

“Kick them free.” Your voice sounds as if you have

stepped quite a distance from my body.

“Yes, Master.” I wiggle my feet wanting to expose my

hungry wet flesh for your pleasure. My legs continue to

shake as I first work one foot free, then the other and kick

my shorts from my body.

I stand nude for what seems like eternity, only the cold

air touching my skin. I swal ow hard and wait…wait to see

what it is that you wish of me.

You pul my hair back and the knife scrapes like

sandpaper up my neck from nape to chin. I shake

uncontrol ably as you hold the blade under my chin.

Your tongue snakes into my ear, swirling the curve and

then dipping into the cup. “Such a sweet thing you are.

Bound and total y at my wil .” You pul from me and I am left

panting for breath as my pussy spasms, wanting any part of

you to touch the sopping wet flesh.

The cold blade traces up the inside of my thigh. I jump.

“Hold.”

I stiffen, my breath tight. My muscles aching to tremble

as the press travels up the inside of my leg to the crease of

my buttock cheek and thigh. You hold the steel there and

your other hand rubs the cheeks of my ass as if I am a

skittish dog in need of a gentle hand.

The metal turns from cold to the temperature of my body.

You gently slide the base of the blade over to touch my

labia.

I groan, my pussy overflowing and twitching with juices.

The blade slowly parts the folds of my sex, spreading the

lips wide. I hold absolutely stil . Your finger slides into my

cunny.

I scream, my inner muscles clamping about your finger,

but I don’t dare move—the knife stil holds my sensitive

flesh. You remove your finger. The blade releases my labia

and I hear you place your fingers into your mouth and suck

them. My tongue traces my lips in a search for my tart

flavor, but finds none.

“The best fruit this blade has opened yet.” I feel the smile

in your tone.

I am proud I have pleased you. A sigh of contentedness

and relief presses from my lungs.

Your footfal s sound and I sag slightly on my arms

al owing the rope and cuffs to support me. Your voice cal s

from behind me, not far, but not close. “Arch your back and

display your ass to me.”

I hear the rustling of tree leaves as I widen my stance

and thrust my ass back in the direction of your voice.

Swoosh…

Swoosh…

“This wil do quite nicely.” Your tone holds a note of

humor.

What this is I have little time to consider.

Swoosh…

A long thin switch cuts across my buttocks, hard. I suck

in a startled breath and tense my body, readying for the

next blow.

Swoosh…

The rough wood cuts across the backs of my thighs. I cry

out, half startled, half from the pain. Tears spring to my

eyes, my lungs tighten and my shoulders press up to my

ears as prickling heat radiates up my body to the core of

me.

“Yes, indeed. Quite wel . Don’t you agree, my sweet?”

Heated arousal washes over me at the tone of your

voice and I begin to relax. The muscles of my shoulders

sag, and al the air flows out of me. “Indeed, Master.”

The switch hits again, this time more gentle. The tip taps

and taps my buttocks and thighs, slowly increasing in

intensity and frequency. Warming my skin, readying my

muscles for the more intense strokes I know wil fol ow.

I pul on my hands. I twist against the leather cuffs that

restrain me and stomp my feet. The hits get harder and

closer together and I cry out, “Fuck!”

“Indeed. Take a deep breath and breathe, my love.” You

pul in a sharp lungful of air and I know before the sound of

the switch cuts through the air this wil be a harsh one. I

tense, readying for the heat and pain.

Swoosh…

The switch harshly caresses my ass.

I inhale through clenched teeth, and slip…slip into that

state I so crave. My muscles liquefy and peaceful calm

washes over me. I stand absolutely stil and quiet as a shy

child, hanging in the blissful haze as the leather cuffs and

rope hold me.

Swoosh…

The switch cuts again with the same harsh intensity. I

moan at the heat and tingling in my ass as my pussy

gushes and fevered arousal courses through me.

Swoosh…swoosh…swoosh…swoosh…

I rock and sway to each knee-weakening hit.

You stop. I hear your heavy breathing behind me. Your

fingertip gently traces a welt on my ass. I lift my head just a

fraction then drop it back down. Your footfal s on the dirt

indicate you are coming around to the front of me. The

warmth of your breath caresses my ear.

“How are you doing, my love?”

I lick my lips and swal ow. “Quite wel , Master.”

“Exactly what I wanted to hear.” Your finger traces my

lips and my tongue slides out and snakes about it. “Stand

up straight.”

“Yes, Master.”

I shift, pul ing my ass in and straightening my shoulders.

The sting that hits my breasts is soothing, a sensation I

know wel and love. The little rubber flogger I purchased for

you for our one-year anniversary. The pricking warmth of

each hit sends pleasure waves straight down my stomach

to my clit. The tiny hardened button throbs as you continue

flogging each breast and my shoulders.

I flinch as the lash changes focus to my thighs. Each hit

stronger, the tips brush, sting, and arouse me.

“Part your legs.”

“Yes, Master.” I slide them apart and the flogger slices

across my labia with a thud. I jump, suck in my breath, and

quiver with pleasure as my muscles and my pussy clench.

The flogger hits again and the pleasure shoots straight

to my womb. I scream as bliss grabs me and I spil juices

onto the tails.

You reach in between my legs and the rubber handle

pushes up into my weeping cunt. I groan. Deep. The

sensation wracks my body as my pussy opens to you and

your probing.

You slide the flogger back out and then in again, the tails

brushing my thighs with each fuck of the handle. Your thumb

rides against my clit as you push the handle deep.

The fire rushes through my body and I reach for the

climax thundering in my veins. In and out the handle goes,

sliding in my slick juices. My wetness is audible. I am

soaking for you.

Your thumb glides in the same relentless rhythm against

my button. I tremble and my toes curl in my boots as my

hips arch toward you. “Please, please, Master. May I? May I

please?”

“Come for me, my love.”

With your words I shatter.

My body convulsing, my pussy clenches the flogger

handle in wave upon wave.

You lean in and suckle my breast. Tingles shoot through

the tissue and I come again, shaking for you as I feel your

lips smile against my skin.

You remove the flogger and slide the blindfold from my

eyes.

I blink and stare at you, my handsome master, fil ed with

love and devotion.

You smile. “You did very wel .” Your eyes are thick black

pools of arousal. You walk around behind me, trailing your

fingers along my stomach and side. The gentle caress on

my oversensitized skin tickles and I jump and shake, pul ing

away from you as I giggle.

“Ticklish, eh?”

“Yes, Master.” I close my eyes and try to relax the

thundering in my veins.

Your finger gently traces one of the switch marks on my

ass. The caress is fil ed with love, wonder and pride.

Strange how a simple touch I can’t even see expresses al

of that. I know I wil have the marks from this scene for days

to warm my thoughts and make me smile thinking of you, of

this moment, of our love.

As you slide your finger about the wide base of the glass

gift in my ass, I shake. The tips of your fingers forage

beneath the ridge. The press of your flesh against my slick

bottom renews the arousal in my veins. My breath quickens

and I whimper.

Slowly you slide the bulb-shaped plug out. My anal ring

stretches over the wide part of the egg and sensation

spirals hot and cold through my ass, cunt and gut. I hear a

ting as the glass hits the ground.

My muscles are liquid and you place your cock at my

pucker. Your hips rock forward. A tiny single push in, and

my body gives way to you, yielding over your large width

without hesitation.

I groan at the sensation of being fil ed with you, being

joined in this primitive dance of us.

You moan and pul your cock back out to the tip.

Your fingers grasp my hips and you fuck me. You thrust

hard; my body shakes and sways against you. My ass

jiggles with each slap of your groin against my plush

bottom. Each slip of you into me, you groan.

Sensations like no other overload me as your thick cock

stretches me. I shake and gasp for breath. You press deep

and my pussy squirts gush after gush from my core. The

slick fluid slides down my legs and they tremble. My god, I

want your dick in my cunt…your cunt.

You grab my hair and arch my head back. Your hips slow

the rapturous pounding I so adore. Slipping from my ass, I

feel you wipe your cock on something. You slide down my

crack and directly spear my pussy. I suck in a pleasurable

whimper. Aggressively you renew the onslaught of my cunt

hole. “Oh yes. Yes, Master. Fuck me.”

“Um-hum. Is this what my cunt wants?”

“Oh! Oh yes, Master.”

I gush and shake violently against you in pleasure. I love

the way you fuck me, the way your thick prick glides

effortlessly in and out of me, joining more than our bodies.

Our souls intertwine and fly.

Wanting to feel every inch of your glorious cock, I clench

the muscles of my pussy about your invasion. You groan

and your dick twitches within me. A tel tale sign you wil

come soon. I grin, wanting that. To hear you cry out as you

seek and find bliss.

You pul out and I gasp at the loss of you. I feel the tug of

the straps on the cuffs and my arms lower. You step in front

of me.

Your hand rises to my shoulder and your loving gaze

caresses my face. I know what you want and I instantly drop

to my knees. Your cock is glistening with my juices and

steely hard. I want to taste you, your essence mixed with

mine as I swal ow you up.

I spit into my palms and place them on the shaft of your

cock with a tight grip. Licking the tip, I slide the crown into

my mouth. My body and mind are calm and languid from my

flogging and thorough fucking; my muscles loose. The only

thought in my mind is you; my love for you and pleasuring

you so that you are in the same state of contentedness.

My lips part further and skim al the way down your cock

to my hands. I slide back to the tip, my hands squeezing

tight up your length in my mouth’s wake. I want nothing more

than to make you come, to feel you spurt deep in my mouth

and drink the essence of you.

I suck your cock with vigor, pouring al my love, al my

passion into the act. Your legs shake against me. Your

hand snags into my hair and you begin fucking my mouth in

tune with my motions.

Your cock goes deep, touching my throat again and

again. You groan and the hand in my hair clenches. “I’m

going to come.”

I continue sucking and sucking you. I want this—I want to

hear you cry out and know I was the one that caused your

greatest pleasure. The smooth hot skin of your cock glides

effortlessly in and out of me as saliva drizzles down my

chin.

You groan, “Uh-un-uh-uh.” Spurt after delicious spurt of

custard slides down my throat. I swal ow the tart stingy taste

of you and greedily continue to suck you for more. Your

hand grasps my hair and you hold me stil as you slide your

cock from my mouth.

You stand absolutely motionless, breathing hard. I lick

my lips and swal ow, then place my hands on your thighs. I

gaze up at you.

Your eyes widen and you smile. “Amazing, my love.”

Your hand rubs my head.

A smile turns my lips, too. I have thoroughly pleased you.

“Stay right there.” You turn and walk to my bag. Pul ing

the warm blanket out of the pack, you come back to me and

hold out your hand. “Stand, my love.”

I grasp your hand and you help me to stand, then wrap

the blanket about me. I stare, unable to take my eyes from

you. My master. I love you so intensely, more deeply than

anyone before in my life. The connection we have woven

together is nonesuch.

“So how was your day? Did you finish al the paperwork

for your patients?” You undo the cuffs and rope from the

tree. My gaze never leaves you—your fluid, strong

movements as you do even the most mundane of tasks.

You are beautiful.

“Yes, I came home and then saw your gift sitting on the

table.” Exhaustion hits me and I start to shake once more.

“Indeed, a delicious gift, was it not?” You gather up the

toys and put them in the backpack, then with it over your

shoulder you walk to me.

“How did you get the words in the glass, Eric?”

“Sil y. I had it special y made for you.” You lean in and

kiss the tip of my nose. “You are mine. Owned by E.” Pride

and possession flashes in your eyes.

“Indeed, you own my heart, Eric. I love you.”

“I love you. You are mine. You did very, very wel . Let’s

go home, get some food and cuddle.” You wiggle your

eyebrows and chuckle. “And of course make love again.”

I giggle, and tears wel in my eyes and my lower lip

trembles.

You lean down, wrap your arms about me, and pick me

up. “Shh.”

I slump against you, content to my bones. Your strong

arms about me as you carry me out of the woods stop my

trembling. I feel safe. Safe to be me, who I am deep in my

soul. To be vulnerable and yours.

“I wil take care of you always.” You kiss the top of my

head.

I nuzzle into the scent of you. Your warmth surrounds me

and your heart beats ful of love beneath my ear. You

squeeze me close and kiss my cheek. I sigh, knowing that

your love for me wil be forever a constant in my life.

Invite Me In

DELILAH DEVLIN

YOU MUST INVITE ME IN.

I awoke from my dreams, emerging through the dark

strata to find my heart pounding against my chest, soft

cotton sheets tangled around my limbs. I noted the hour on

my digital clock—midnight. Listened to rain pinging on the

tiles of my balcony. Yes, I was awake.

Invite me in.

The voice wasn’t a part of any sensual dream. I felt it like

a physical caress. The rasp of his words and insistent tone

slithered sinuously along my hip, wrapped around my spine,

crept upward like the glide of a warm palm to lift goose

bumps on my naked skin—until, at last, he whispered in my

ear.

Open to me.

I recognized the deep tones and slight inflections of his

in-discernible accent. I’d heard it before, several nights

ago, echoing in my mind.

Even then, I’d known he was different. Never had a voice

reached me without my seeking it first.

Perhaps that was the reason his dark, primal passion

resonated so deeply inside me. Only, I knew that wasn’t the

whole truth. I shied away from the fact I found him every bit

as irresistible as did the woman next door who had more

men passing through her door than the Saints’ locker room.

He was back—the one with the wicked kisses and silky

caresses—and soon he’d be sliding into bed with her.

Although why, when she’d barely satisfied him the last time,

I didn’t understand.

I told myself I was on a deadline, I couldn’t afford to lose

sleep—but her delight was palpable. What was it about him

that made him such an overwhelming temptation?

Curious, I relaxed the defenses I instinctively threw up to

ward off the sensations that swept through my body when

people nearby began to lose themselves to passion.

For once, I waited eagerly for the intrusion of carnal

thoughts drifting in the ether. I reached out, finding the

slender threads of their spirits as they lifted, intertwined,

and fol owed them back into her room. Because I could only

meld with one, I chose her.

Her eagerness flooded me with heat. Already, her

breasts tingled and tightened…as did mine.

He stepped closer. I knew because she inhaled sharply,

dragging in the fragrance clinging to his cheeks and

dampened hair. His scent, redolent with the aroma of fresh

rain and heated male musk, slowly fil ed my nostrils.

In moments, his lips glided across her mouth, fastening

to suction softly before he thrust his tongue inside. He

tasted of mint and coffee, and something else I didn’t

recognize because he moved on too quickly, sliding his

firm lips along her jaw and lower.

Her sighs deepened, her slender frame trembled. He

pushed her down to the mattress and covered her, head to

toe, a blanket of solid muscle and masculine heat.

Anticipation shortened our breaths and made our hearts

pound faster. He reached out to snag her wrist. His thumb

swept back and forth as he pushed her hand above her

head and pressed it into the pil ow—a silent command to

submit.

Could he feel her pulse leap beneath his gently chafing

thumb?

I could. My own pulse skittered, and then rushed

screaming through my body to plump the folds of my sex,

he brought me to the brink that fast.

Something about him drew me helplessly into her

bedroom, kept me trapped beneath his long, rangy frame,

my mind and body opening to the wicked delights he rained

upon her warm skin.

I closed my eyes and let the fingers she trailed along his

body tel me how sleek and hard his muscled back and

flanks were.

When she plunged her hands into his thick hair, I learned

its silky texture and length. When he leaned over her to kiss

her mouth, I felt it sweep forward to brush my cheeks.

The weight of his body crushed the breath from her, and

made me gasp with pleasure. The pressure of his clothed,

rigid cock burrowing between her folds drew a lusty wash of

liquid arousal from her body…and mine.

My legs splayed open. My knees came up to hug the

sides of his hips and encourage him closer, deeper.

“Too many clothes…” Her soft words intruded…or were

they mine?

A hot, hard palm cupped a naked breast; his thumb

scraped a ruched nipple. I arched my back to press against

his hand, demanding a rougher exploration. When his lips

latched onto a nipple and drew hard, I gasped.

My hips rol ed, beginning a rhythm that slowed the beats

of my racing heart, and my hands fel to the pil ow beside

my head as I let him lead me— no, lead us— toward

completion.

“I need you naked… please…inside me…” I whimpered.

Already the wal s of my vagina clenched and rippled,

readying for his penetration.

He murmured, nuzzling my neck until I turned my head to

the side to al ow him to trail a wet kiss along my skin. His

teeth scraped, eliciting a moan, his lips drew on my skin,

suckling hard for a moment, and then I felt a sharp, piercing

pain—

A scream ripped the air. Mine? Hers? My eyes

slammed open in the darkness, the thread unraveling as I

jackknifed upward to sit at the edge of my bed.

What the hel had just happened?

A shadow passed in front of the French doors that led to

the balcony outside my bedroom. Had a cloud passed in

the balcony outside my bedroom. Had a cloud passed in

front of the moon? My French Quarter apartment was three

stories up; my fire escape ladder secured.

Invite me in!

Ice-cold terror doused the heat coursing through my

body. The words hadn’t been spoken aloud. This time I

could be sure neither my ears nor hers had heard them. His

voice echoed inside my mind—harsh and angry. The doors

were glass and slender slats of wood—if he chose, he

could force his way inside.

If not tonight, I’ll be back tomorrow night, and the

next…. You will open to me.

I sat stunned, aware of my nudity, aware of the sensual

snare he’d laid on her bed… for me. But wasn’t this what I’d

secretly hoped for? A chance to experience his brand of

dangerous passion for myself?

After al , I’d filtered my neighbor’s activities over the

months, al owing in just what I needed to fil my muse. Only

with this man had I been tempted to linger and fil my wel

with my own lust.

He waited, as though sensing my internal battle. And

what had he done? At the last moment when I’d felt him

pierce her skin, I’d also felt the bloom of an orgasm, so

intense it had frightened me more than the thought he might

have somehow wounded her.

I reached for my thin silky robe and shrugged my arms

inside, cinched the belt around my waist, and approached

the doors. My stomach clenched, my body trembled—I was

afraid, but also fil ed with a sense that this was inevitable.

As I stepped closer, I straightened my shoulders—I

wasn’t exactly without weapons of my own. The closer to

the doors I drew, the more I gave myself over to the

remnants of the simmering sensuality he’d fed me. My hips

loosened and swayed, my breasts tightened, my thighs slid

together and apart, building a frictional heat only one thing

could assuage.

His shadow loomed, tal with broad shoulders and a

narrow waist. I already knew how soft the skin was that

stretched over his lean, muscled frame.

Closing my eyes for a brief moment, I turned the lock

and opened the doors.

His hot, surly gaze swept over me, then locked with

mine. “May I come in?” he whispered roughly.

He’d gotten me to comply with his demand, and yet he

hesitated—he needed my permission to enter my room.

A soft rain fel , dampening his dark shirt and misting my

face and the vee of skin exposed above the neckline of my

robe.

I canted my head and stared at the hard edges of his

face—the sharp, high cheekbones and square, stubbled

jaw. His brows were furrowed, drawn in a fearsome frown

as dark as the midnight hair brushing the shoulders of his

cotton shirt.

Empowered by his need for me to obey, I was oddly

unafraid. Staying just inside the door frame, I leaned

against the edge of the door, pretending a nonchalance I

was far from feeling.

“How did you get here? Fly?” I asked, turning my gaze to

the five-foot span between her balcony and mine.

The corners of his lips curved upward, slight and

mocking.

A frisson of alarm made me shiver. Had he? I was

something other— was he as wel ?

“Stop thinking,” he murmured, his hands reaching up to

grip the top of the door frame. “You brought me here.”

I lifted my chin. I realized that was a mistake when his

gaze dropped to my lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking

about.”

As the moments stretched, my mouth grew dry, my

nipples pebbled against the thin fabric sticking to my skin.

“You were with us,” he said softly. “Both times. You’re the

only reason I returned.”

I didn’t pretend not to understand. “Are you angry

because I peeked?”

“No…intrigued.” He leaned back his head and drew a

deep breath, which lifted his wel -defined chest.

I’d felt the weight of al that masculine mass crushing my

breasts. I licked my lips and imagined how much more

powerful the sensations would be without the filter of

another’s body between us.

His lips twisted. “Are we going to do it out here?”

I cleared my throat. “Do what?” I asked after I’d pried my

tongue loose from the roof of my dry mouth.

One dark, elegant eyebrow rose. His gaze kept its

steady glare.

I straightened from the door. “Are you punishing me for

intruding?”

“That’s an odd way to describe the kind of pleasure I

bring. Perhaps you only get off sucking someone else’s

pleasure.”

Christ! He knew what I was. “Better that than taking their

blood.”

“We al do what we must to survive.” His expression

grew impossibly darker. “Invite me in.”

My heart pounded harder, faster. Oh, he frightened me

al right—but I was more frightened of myself. I’d learned to

harness my curse, use it, control it. I lived a solitary life for a

reason.

Maybe this was recompense for stubbornly distancing

myself from others, letting in only what I needed, when I

needed it—on my own terms.

I took a deep breath and stepped back. “Come in,” I

whispered.

To give him credit, he didn’t immediately pounce. He let

go of the door frame, shot me another al -encompassing

glance and stepped past me, into my bedroom.

Once inside, he seemed to grow larger, darker. His

movements, at once fluid and purposeful, drew my attention

and robbed me of breath. Soon, I’d know his touch, his

kisses, firsthand.

I moved to close the doors, but he glanced back and

shook his head. “Let the storm inside.”

I already had. His eyes, so dark and fathomless, pul ed

me deeper into the room. “Stop it!” I said. “No tricks. You’re

here—you have what you want.”

A harsh, rasping laugh lifted the hairs on the back of my

neck. Then before I could make up my mind whether to step

closer or flee, he moved—so quickly his movements were a

blur. His hands slid around my waist and he lifted me off my

feet, stepping forward until the wal behind me halted his

progress.

He held me up, my body inches from his, but close

enough to feel the heat of his skin and his sweet breath as

it washed over my face. “Decide now, succubus. Wil you

feed me?”

“You have the advantage. Why even ask?”

“Because I’m going to ravage you, and I want you ready

—committed. I want everything you’ve taken.”

Not just my blood? Would he take my strength as well?

I trembled and leaned back against the wal , watching his

mouth as it tightened.

I licked my lips, considering. I’d never shared the power

of the passions I drew from others. I’d kept them, using

them to fuel the stories I wove. What would it be like to

release them, share them with another?

I closed my eyes for a moment. In al the months I’d lived

here, no man had ever stepped inside this room. Except for

a delivery boy every now and then, no one had even seen

the inside of my apartment.

Yet here I was, trapped against a wal with a man

towering over me, demanding I submit to his lust.

Damn, was there even a choice? I’d been lonely and

alone for so long.

I made my decision, then lifted my hands to slide them

over the damp cotton covering his hard chest. “So, you

intend to ravage me?” I quipped softly.

Grim satisfaction fil ed his stark features. His chest rose

beneath my palms. His heartbeat, just beneath my fingers,

hammered against his chest. “Take off your robe.” But he

didn’t move away, just let go of my waist while he waited for

me to obey, chal enging me to complain with his watchful

gaze.

I scowled and wriggled, sandwiched between the wal of

his chest and the plaster behind me, until the robe slipped

to the floor. Already, my nipples were erect, chafed into

arousal by the movements that brought my breasts into

contact with the fabric of his shirt. “I better not be the only

one naked here.”

A grin curved his lips. His hands slid between us, the

backs rubbing my breasts and bel y as he unbuttoned his

shirt and shrugged out of it. Then he toed off his boots, one

a time, while at the same time sliding down the zipper of his

black pants, slowly, letting me feel the heat of his hands and

bel y, then the weight of his thick cock when it sprang free.

My breaths grew ragged. Cream seeped between my

legs to dampen my labia and inner thighs.

His nostrils flared, no doubt picking up the proof of my

arousal. When he’d managed to push down his pants and

kick them to the side, we stood for a moment, skin to skin,

savoring the freedom and the anticipation.

Again, I smoothed my palms upward, fol owing the

curves of his muscled arms up to his shoulders, and then I

thrust my hands into his hair, combing it with my fingers as I

waited for him to move.

He let me wait a long, excruciating minute while our

deep breaths rasped our chest together and apart. My

knees began to shake, my bel y quivered, and final y, he

lifted me again, higher against the wal .

His mouth opened on the blushing skin of my chest,

pressing wet kisses on the upper swel of my breasts,

gliding his tongue between them, then suckling the ful curve

beneath.

My legs moved restlessly, until I wrapped them around

his upper abdomen and squeezed. My pussy opened,

sliding along his hot skin and I rol ed my hips, letting him

know he could hurry it up a bit and I’d have no complaints.

However, he seemed content to tease me, drawing out

the pleasurable sensation of his mouth gobbling up my

breasts.

“My nipples,” I pleaded between clenched teeth. “Suck

them! Please. ”

He nuzzled them with his nose, licked his way around

one dimpled areola without ever touching the tip, and then

glided across to torture the other breast in a similar fashion.

I gripped his shoulders hard. “If I’d known you were so

damn slow to take a hint, I’d have drawn you a map.”

Laughter gusted against my breast, and at last, he

latched his lips around one spiked tip and drew hard.

My toes curled, my hips tilted toward him, my whole body

tightening as he suckled. It was almost enough. It was

almost heaven.

I thrashed my head back and forth on the wal behind me

before final y blurting out, “Please, enough! I need you

inside me.”

His teeth clamped down, nipping me gently. “When I

say.” But he let me slide down his body until I felt his cock

nudge at my center.

My breath hitched when the blunt, velvet tip pushed

against me. His size didn’t surprise me. He’d stretched the

inner wal s of a woman who dated linebackers. But my

body wasn’t prepared for his girth. Hot, exquisite pressure

built as he pushed. I bit my lip and begged him with my

gaze to help me take him.

His eyes held mine as he slipped a hand between us

and thrust his fingers through my soft curls. He parted my

lust-slick folds, guided his dick into me, slowly, letting me

swal ow him an inch at a time, until we were both breathless

and sweating.

I’m sure he was surprised by how tight I was, given what I

was. He’d wanted to thrust inside, wanted to ream me with

that thick cock, but he clamped his jaws tight and groaned,

tunneling only so deep before withdrawing, and coming

back for more.

I couldn’t help the shaking that trembled along my limbs

and jerked my bel y against his. No more than I could help

the reflexive pulsing radiating along my channel.

When his first inches grazed my inner wal s, he started

the slow, rhythmic push and pul , my liquid heat drenching

him and easing his way. He stroked into me, sliding my

body up and down the wal , an unhurried, crawling wave of

motion that calmed the quivering inside me.

As I fol owed his powerful thrusts, friction built between

his cock and my vagina in a slow-burning fire. I clenched my

inner muscles around him, riding his thickly veined shaft as

it moved in and out.

The ridge of his plump crown abraded the sweet spot

deep inside me, the one so few men ever found, and I

arched my back, surrendering to the coiling heat licking at

my core. At that point, I felt a leaching away of the barrier

between his mind and mine, as the passions I’d stolen

began to swirl inside me and spil over to douse him in

glorious heat.

A low, feral growl erupted from him and he ground inside

me, deeper this time, his jaws flexing as his hips strained.

I knew there was more, knew he held back. I wondered

at the strength of wil he possessed to resist the crashing

waves of sensuality that battered us both.

In that instant, I lost al my fear of him as a man and a

vampire. He could have ravaged me and made me love it

anyway, but he’d taken me slowly, with care and precision,

careful not to harm or frighten me.

“It’s al right,” I whispered. “I can take al you want to

give.”

“Be quiet,” he ground out. “You’re so damn tight. I’m

going crazy here.”

“Then fuck me,” I whispered in his ear. “I’m ready.” God,

I’m ready. I bit his earlobe. I squeezed hard around him as

he stroked inside, released to let him withdraw, then

squeezed as he rammed himself inside again. The friction

was divine.

was divine.

Impossibly, his cock expanded, grew longer, blunter.

“You’re playing with fire,” he said, ramming deeper this

time.

I sucked in a jagged breath and smoothed my sweaty

cheek against his shoulder. “Do me. Do me like you’ve

never done a woman before. Give me everything.”

His lips stretched in a slow, wicked smile. “Think you’ve

seen everything?”

“I’m al owing you to fuck me against a wal , aren’t I?”

“Such a baby. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Suddenly, we slid up the wal together. Alarmed, I

wrapped my arms around him and gasped as his soft,

wicked laughter sifted through my hair.

“Brace yourself against the wal .”

I unwound my legs from his waist and let them drop.

They dangled in the air. The only thing holding me up was

the strength of his cock buried halfway inside me and his

hard chest pressed against my breasts.

He grabbed my hands and slid my palms down and

outward along the wal . I felt anchored somehow and lifted

my knees to press my feet flat against the cool plaster. It

was better, but I knew if he pul ed away, I’d go crashing to

the floor. “Nice trick,” I said breathlessly.

“I’m only getting started.” He kissed me, rubbing my lips

hard, tangling his tongue with mine as he started to fuck in

and out of me again, stroking deeper, until at last, the base

of his cock was grinding into my clit.

I forgot I was suspended in the air, forgot I was at a

vampire’s mercy. Nothing had ever felt as decadent and

vampire’s mercy. Nothing had ever felt as decadent and

delicious as the thickness gliding in and out of me, tugging

at my tender, heated tissues, glistening with the liquid

spil ing from my body as he rol ed his hips, grinding deeper,

spearing my womb.

Heat coiled tighter in my core as he stroked and circled.

The muscles of his back and shoulders bunched beneath

my hands. Sweat slicked his skin and mine everywhere we

touched. He widened his knees, nudging mine even farther

apart, then gathered his body and plunged inside over and

over, the thrusts deepening, sharpening.

I came apart, unraveling in a sinuous, writhing dance,

driving my hips against his. I lacked rhythm, lacked any

finesse, trying to fil the desperate need to stay in that

moment, hold onto the explosion of color and emotions that

rocked me as his wild thrusts grew brutal.

He rol ed us over and over, his arms encircling me to

prevent me from hurting myself. My back to the wal , now

his, every rol al owing his cock to slide and circle and press

at a different angle each time. Flashes of the pale gray bed

below and the curtains bil owing inward on a breeze,

interspersed with the dark shadowy ceiling. Only when he

came to a halt did my orgasm final y wane, al owing me to

catch my breath.

I gasped.

I was looking over his shoulder at my bed—ten feet

below us.

I drew back my head and smacked it against the ceiling.

“Ouch!”

His chest heaved against mine, his gaze spearing me

His chest heaved against mine, his gaze spearing me

as harshly as his cock had moments ago.

I wet my parched lips with the tip of my tongue, trying to

gather my scattered wits after my trip to the moon. “That…

was—” I stopped and caught my breath “—different.”

“You need to expand your vocabulary. Learn some more

descriptive adjectives.”

I raised an eyebrow, trying to mimic his sardonic look.

“Need a little praise, do you?”

He snorted. “No, I don’t need any praise. I know it was

good. I’m swimming in your pleasure.”

I wrinkled my nose. “That was kinda crude.” I wriggled

against him. “You’re getting a little heavy.”

A mocking eyebrow rose. “Actual y, love, you’re on top.”

“You know this doesn’t make a bit of sense.”

“I’m dead. The laws of physics don’t necessarily apply

here.”

I boldly placed my hand between his legs. “Not al of you.

Why didn’t you come?”

“Are you complaining?”

“No, I’m just surprised,” I answered, but there was that

insecure part of me that wondered whether I hadn’t been

able to satisfy him. “I mean, you’re carrying on a

conversation. In my experience, men are decidedly

nonverbal when they’re aroused.”

“Your vast experience?”

I blushed. He knew better. “Wel , not so vast, I guess,

unless you count…”

“Vicarious pleasures?”

“That’s a nice way of putting it. Stil , you didn’t come.

After being with her, and then me, I just thought…” His slow

smile made me feel stupid, which angered me. I jutted out

my chin. “Why didn’t you take a bite of me? I was there for

you, opening to you, ready.”

“I’m not done yet. That was just to get you to relax a bit.”

“I’m pinned to my ceiling. How am I supposed to relax?”

However, I was strangely content.

“Sorry, are you uncomfortable?” He careful y pul ed out of

me, and we fel in a heap to the mattress below, bouncing

once before settling.

I leaned up on my elbows and pushed back the hair

fal ing in my face. “Not nice,” I said, as I crawled off his

body.

“I never claimed to be nice.” His hand clamped on my

thigh. “And I’m not through.”

His words stopped me. As much as the arm that

encircled me and dragged me down on top of him.

His cock gouged my bel y as I lay over him.

“Maybe I’m done.”

“Like I said. That first time was for you. To calm you.” He

sprawled beneath me, an arm under his head, looking

completely at ease, total y in control.

Already, my blood thrummed against my temple, my

nipples beaded, my pussy tightened. The way his gaze

bored into mine, I knew whatever wicked delights he had in

store for me would probably make me cringe in

embarrassment. “You know,” I said, deliberately stal ing, “I

just realized I don’t know your name.”

“Do you know the names of al the people who’ve shared

“Do you know the names of al the people who’ve shared

their passion with you?”

“That’s different. They don’t know I’m there. And I don’t

do it because I’m some sort of sick voyeur.”

“And I don’t feed my hungers just to get off.”

“Neither do I!”

He lifted a finger to trail along my cheek and down my

neck.

I thought I hid the little shiver of delight he elicited with

that simple touch, but his mouth curved with male

satisfaction. “You’re dying to know what I’m going to do

next.”

I opened my mouth to issue a scathing denial, but he

pressed his finger against my lips. “Shut up. Rol onto your

back.”

I swal owed, hating that he had me aching and ready to

do anything he wanted, but I rol ed away and lay facing the

damn ceiling.

“Some sex is pure magic without any tricks,” he said,

coming up on his knees to crawl toward me.

Already my chest rose and fel faster, and the quivering

started, something I’d never done with any other man. Not

that I was stil afraid.

I shook with need.

Moonlight sifted through the curtains, striking the harsh

planes of his face, il uminating his body in silver light. The

ridges of his muscled chest and abdomen stood in stark

relief. The length and thickness of his cock had me sucking

in my breath.

His eyes trailed over my body as wel , and I wondered if

His eyes trailed over my body as wel , and I wondered if

I’d been too lazy lately, too devoted to my writing. Spent too

many late nights pounding at a keyboard instead of

pounding pavement to keep my body tight and strong.

He smoothed a hand over my breasts, pausing to circle

one taut nipple, then glided down my bel y to trail his fingers

through my curls.

One thick digit slid between my folds and I opened my

legs, inviting him to play. He feathered the edges of my

inner lips before thrusting the finger into my opening.

Instantly, my pussy clamped around him, making a moist

sound that drew a slow smile from him.

Then he leaned low over my sex, and I knew what he

was about to do would be too much, too intimate, but I

couldn’t force a complaint past my lips. Instead, I groaned

as his tongue swept out and curled around the thin inner

lips, lapping up my cream.

The flavor of me seemed to please him, but I had to

know what he real y felt about me, had to see myself

through him.

I opened my mind, sifting through the threads until I found

him.

He turned to nip my inner thigh. “I didn’t give you

permission.”

“Please. I’ve never done this before.”

His head lifted and his gaze locked with mine. “You can’t

tear away like before, if something frightens you.”

“I promise.”

“I’l want you to feel everything I feel.”

I nodded and lay back, closing my eyes. Then I was

I nodded and lay back, closing my eyes. Then I was

there, with him, bending over my pussy, inhaling my

fragrance, tasting the juices that slid along his tongue. I felt

the tightening of his bal s as his arousal spiked higher, the

urgency building in his bel y. How did he resist climbing

over me and thrusting toward my core?

And then I couldn’t think, could only fol ow and feel. His

fingers toyed with me, two thrusting in my channel, another

sliding over my hooded clit.

I gasped; my hips rol ed. I opened my thighs wider and

groaned when his stubbled cheek caressed my inner thigh,

plunging downward to rub against the moisture coating my

sex.

When he thrust another finger inside, I felt the gush of

arousal greeting his entry, felt the silken wal s clasp and

relax to milk his hand.

He leaned closer stil , and his lips closed around my clit

to suck it hard into his mouth, while at the same time a thick

thumb glided south and circled my anus.

“Christ, no!” I cried out, but I felt his hand shake as his

excitement rose along with mine, and I surrendered,

understanding he wasn’t in control any longer, wasn’t simply

pul ing strings or playing some head game with the little

succubus.

He wanted me. Wanted this with me. He needed my

arousal to spike with his.

When his thumb pressed inside my tight little entrance, I

felt his cock jerk at the way I moaned and rol ed my hips. I

was out of control, beyond shame, heading straight to the

precipice whether he was with me or not.

When he curved al his fingers and drove them inside

me, my bottom came off the bed, curving upward, begging

him to thrust deep.

With a twist of his hand he was inside me, his knuckles

scraping my wal s, the bal of his fist crammed so tight and

high, I keened, wailing in an agony of need. I was close.

My hands clawed at the bedding, but my vampire wasn’t

finished with me yet. His tongue swirled on my hard little clit,

then he turned and burrowed his face into my inner thigh

just to the side of my outer lips.

I felt a tingling start in his gums, then a slow glide as his

incisors lengthened. I knew what he was about to do, but I

lay breathless, on the edge of an orgasm I knew would

thrust me beyond the strata I traveled in my dreams.

When he bit, I screamed—a strangled, choking sound

cut short as soon as I tasted the blood that seeped into his

mouth, mixing with my cream to coat his tongue and slide in

a sensual stream down his throat.

His voice rumbled around a murmur of pleasure so great

he fought the urge to thrust against the bedding and spend

himself.

I wasn’t nearly as strong. My body exploded, writhing

against his mouth, anchored only by the hand thrust deep

inside my body.

As waves of pleasure rushed over him, I understood at

last the hunger that drove him. His heart slowed, his body

warmed with the infusion of blood. Strength renewed, he

disengaged his fangs and laved the tiny wounds he’d

made, closing them completely.

When he lifted his head to catch my glance, I opened my

arms.

He scooted quickly up my body, his cock sliding home

inside my slick, silken wal s. I wrapped myself around him,

holding him tight against my body, sharing my warmth, my

sex, my stolen passions with him.

He thrust three times, and then groaned loudly in my ear.

His cum bathed my channel in creamy heat. He continued

to rock against me for long moments afterward.

When I could form words again, I asked, “So why were

you so angry with me for being there with her?”

“You don’t know?” he murmured against my shoulder. He

lifted his head and sighed. “When you were drawing on her

lust, you pul ed me along with you. I felt everything she did.

Heard everything you thought. When I bit her, I was offering

you a gift.”

“And I refused your gift. Sorry, I didn’t understand what

you wanted from me.”

He cupped my face between his hands. “You do now.”

Again, his gaze, so dark and intense, held mine.

I dragged in a shaky breath. He’d touched me, deep

inside, where no one ever had. He understood what I was,

and wasn’t freaked.

Then again, he was something special, too. “I stil don’t

know your name.”

One side of his beautiful mouth lifted in a wry grin. “Don’t

you know everything that’s important?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m a woman. I want shoe

sizes, cel and home phone…”

“Birth date and social security number…”

“Do you have one?”

“Of course. I don’t spend al my time lurking on women’s

balconies.”

“Darn.”

His thumb slid across my lower lip. “Want me to lurk on

yours?”

I licked the pad of his thumb and wrinkled my nose. “You

have an open invitation.”

His nostrils flared and his cock twitched where it lay

tucked between my legs. Soon, he’d know everything there

was to know about loving a succubus.

Maybe this was the start of something. Had I found a

friend? Someone to share my isolation?

I sighed, content for now to share my bed, my blood, my

passion with him. But just maybe, I’d found a love of my

own.

Soul Strangers

EDEN BRADLEY

THE WARM WATER OF THE GULF OF

MEXICO SWIRLS around her ankles, soothing the

weariness from her bones. It had been a long drive down

from Corpus Christi to Veracruz. She hadn’t meant to stop

here, hadn’t real y known where she was going; simply

going was the important part.

She had wanted to be alone, and here she is,

surrounded by the solitude of a nearly empty beach,

populated only by a few strangers. And since they are

strangers, they don’t matter, don’t intrude.

She has been entirely alone for three days—on the

drive, then wandering this beach, taking short swims,

sleeping in her hotel room. The room is real y a smal

cottage on the beach, the sand coming right to her door,

where she has to wipe her feet with a towel before going

inside. Stil , sand is scattered over the worn tile floor, buried

deeply in the fibers of the colorful woven rugs.

The place smel s of the sea, and a little of mildew and

something faintly dark and exotic. She doesn’t mind. She

loves the scent, even the undertone of mildew; it reminds

her that she’s far from home, from her life. The bed, which

is perhaps a bit too soft, cradles her as she sleeps at night

and during her frequent daytime naps. She has been

sleeping endlessly in her room here on the beach. Stil ,

she’s tired. Her limbs are fil ed with a languid heaviness

she cannot shake. Nothing seems to energize her—not the

bril iant Mexican sunsets, nor the endless hours of sleep,

not even the power of the ocean.

What is it she needs?

She moves deeper into the blue-and-green water,

looking out to sea where the late afternoon sun touches the

tips of the waves in glinting bits of silver. The ocean surges,

swel s, caresses her knees, her hips, like the soft hands of

a lover she has never known.

There is movement next to her and she turns to find a

man standing nearby, waist-deep in water. Al she can see

of him is his torso, his head. Sunlight gleams off his wide,

tanned shoulders, one of which is covered by an intricate

tattoo, but she can’t make out the design. She can see the

shadowed planes of a finely muscled back, a narrow waist.

Her body gives a surprising shiver. He turns, almost as

though he is aware of her looking at him, and smiles

bril iantly.

She smiles back and suddenly he is moving toward her.

She can see now he has a striking face, one of those faces

that is beautiful and masculine at the same time. His

features are a bit irregular but his jaw is strong, his mouth

lush and sensual. His eyes are the color of the earth, that

same deep brown she finds when digging in her smal

garden at home. But she doesn’t want to think of home

now. No, al she wants is to be here, watching this man.

His body is al hard-packed muscle and he moves with

grace through the weight of the water. He pauses several

feet away. But he is stil close enough that she can make

out the smooth texture of his skin. Her eyes are brought

back to his tattoo, which she can now see is a tiger drawn

against a background of tsunami waves in classic

Japanese style. She finds herself wanting to touch it.

Water seems elemental to the moment. Except that he is

al earth, this man. This stranger. And when he speaks, his

voice is a deep rumble that is very much of the earth.

“You’re new here.”

It is a statement, yet she feels the urge to answer. He’s

American and it seems the hospitable thing to do.

“I came the day before yesterday.”

He simply nods, moves in closer. She cannot take her

eyes off him. When she does glance up, his gaze is

focused on her face. The sun is glaring but she can see his

eyes, dark and earthy, and they make her tremble inside.

Why does she feel as though he can see right through

her?

She is suddenly very much aware of the water rushing

like silk between her thighs as the waves surge, then

retreat. The bare skin exposed by her turquoise bikini, the

same shade as the ocean out beyond the waves, makes

her feel naked beneath the stranger’s gaze.

She watches him. He licks his lips. She wants to kiss

him so much her own mouth waters. He takes another step

closer, until he is standing so near she swears she can

smel the salt on his skin.

She doesn’t dare move, to break the spel of this

moment. They are doing nothing more than watching one

another. She doesn’t want to have to speak. Her whole

body feels raw with yearning. She just wants to touch his

skin; she doesn’t want to think about why.

A wave rol s in, splashing against the smal of her back.

With his elemental gaze stil locked on hers, she can

imagine it is his hand that caresses the tender flesh there.

And again, she feels as though he can see right into her, as

though he knows who she is deep inside.

“Swim with me,” he says.

They splash out into the waves, and he dives through

them, coming up dripping, like some fantastical merman.

But he is some fantasy creature. Her mind is making up

stories about him already—erotic stories, sensual

daydreams. His hands al over her naked skin, on her

breasts, between her thighs. His mouth on hers, moving

over her flesh…

She dips below the water to cool off. When she

surfaces, smoothing her long brown hair from her face, he

is right there. He puts a hand on her arm, just a smal

feathering of fingers she can barely feel, yet it goes through

her like an electric shock. Her nipples come up hard

beneath the wet fabric of her bikini. Her sex goes warm.

She wants him to touch her again.

She moves closer, letting the waves bring her right up

against him. His body is every bit as hard and strong as it

looks. And his solid erection presses into the soft flesh of

her bel y.

In her mind is one word: Yes.

His hand grasps her shoulder, slides down her arm, and

the next wave crushes them together, her breasts pressing

against his hard chest. She looks up, sees his mouth,

wants to kiss him stil . And as though reading her mind, he

lowers his head and his mouth comes down on hers.

His lips are lovely, soft, salty with the ocean. When he

parts her lips and slides his tongue inside, she melts al

over. Her sex grows molten with need, and she kisses him

back, hungry for whatever he offers. He fil s her mouth; his

tongue is hot, wet. She needs more.

Pul ing away, she presses her lips to his neck, slides her

tongue down his throat and hears a smal moan from him.

Her body pulses in response. Moving her mouth, she licks

the tattooed skin of his shoulder, swirls her tongue over the

design there. Salt—the salt of sweat and of the sea. And

something else, something almost sweet, vanil a-like,

beneath the salt. Something which is simply a part of him.

His hands go into her hair, his fingers curling, but he lets her

move freely.

She pul s back to see the landscape of his body, the

angles and curves of him. Reaching out to touch him, she

finds his nipples hard beneath her fingers. She wants to pul

them, one at a time, into her mouth, and she does, while the

strength of the ocean moves them around.

His hands slide down her sides and slip beneath her

bathing suit top. Finding her nipples with his fingertips, he

caresses, pul s, teases, until her sex is throbbing with heat.

She moves back to his mouth, licks his lower lip, takes it

into her mouth, sucks on it. He pinches her nipples, hard,

and she breathes out, “Touch me.”

His arm comes around her waist, pul ing her into his

body. His hand snakes down between them, beneath the

water, pushes aside the edge of her bikini bottom. And

delves inside, finding her swol en folds. She can hardly

stand it, his touch, the warm rush of the water, the heady

scent of him in her nostrils. He moves his fingertips over her

clitoris, which is hard and alive and needy. He begins to

rub.

She is aching, nearly hurting. Reaching beneath the

water, she pul s his engorged cock from his trunks and is

thril ed with the size and the weight of it. And even more

with the feel of the heavy steel ring embedded just below

the head. Immediately fascinated, she runs her fingertips

over the cool metal, playing with the ring, tugging on it a

little.

She strokes him in cadence with his hand between her

thighs. He is guiding her legs with his free hand now,

wrapping them around his waist, so that he is holding her,

weightless, in the water.

Sensation builds. Blood pounds through her veins, her

pulse beating into his mouth where it is sucking on the flesh

of her throat. Her sex beats in time, a low, thrumming

rhythm, matched by his pulsing cock in her hand. She loves

the way he fil s her palm, that she can barely wrap her

fingers around him. But she doesn’t want him inside her yet.

She wants them to come into each other’s hands first.

When he pushes a thumb inside her she almost loses it.

She grasps his cock tighter, strokes harder, hangs on until

she hears him moan again, feels his body tensing al over.

She moves her hips into his hand, trembles as he presses

onto her clit, taking her up and over the edge. Pressure is

building inside her, like a vessel fil ed to overflowing. He

moves his hand faster. Pleasure swims through her veins,

through her head, overtaking her. And as her orgasm

washes over her, she pumps his cock, feeling the hot rush

as he comes into her palm. She shakes with the force of it,

thrusts her hips, presses harder into his fingers. And he

doesn’t stop, stays with her, while her sex clenches, while

pleasure arcs through her sex, through her body.

Her hand is sticky with his come, but soon the cleansing

ocean water washes it away, leaving her feeling a little sad.

She clings to him, her sex stil pulsing and warm, her breath

a ragged panting in her own ears.

And al around them, the ocean moves to its own eternal

rhythm.

With his fingers, he wipes her wet hair from her face.

Such a tender move from a stranger, but with his softening

cock stil in her hand, he is hardly a stranger, is he?

They stay together in the water, letting the ocean rock

them, her head against his chest, until the sky begins to

streak with pink and amber. Neither seems to want to let

go, to end the experience.

Final y he asks her, “Are you tired?”

“No, not tired at al .” And for the first time in days, she

realizes this is true. She feels the energy in her body like a

banked fire he has sparked to life.

He is quiet a moment, then he whispers, so softly she

can barely hear him above the pounding of the surf, the cal

of ocean birds, “Take me to your room.”

She looks up at him, nods her head. Slowly, she

unwraps her body from his, uncoiling like a long strand of

seaweed, the tension gone from her body. She feels a

sense of release. And yet, a new and exquisite tension is

building simply from the soft tone of his voice in her ear. At

the implication of what might lie ahead tonight.

He takes her hand and fol ows her out of the sea. On the

beach, she grabs her towel from the sand, her straw hat,

the book she brought along to read, but which she wasn’t

able to concentrate on.

Together they move across the sand. At the door to her

room she turns to look at him. His skin is beaded with

water, the tips of his short, light brown hair stil dripping.

She offers her towel to him. He takes it, but rather than

drying himself he smoothes the towel over her skin: her

shoulders, down her arms, across her stomach. When he

kneels to dry her calves, moving up her thighs, her sex

gives a hard squeeze.

Yes…

In a moment he is on his feet again, roughly rubbing

himself dry. He lifts his chin, motioning for her to open the

door. She pauses, and he smiles at her.

His smile is bril iant, radiant. As beautiful as the rest of

him.

She turns the knob, opens the door and they slip inside.

She drops her hat and her book on a smal painted table.

He moves past her, looks around, then drapes the damp

towel over the back of a chair. She shivers a little in the

cooler air of the cottage, watching him move, the sleek

motion of hard-packed muscle.

She takes a step toward him.

“Wait,” he tel s her. “I want to look at you. To watch you

for a moment.”

She stops, waits. He runs a hand down his stomach,

over that narrow trail of dark hair leading from his navel and

into the band of his black and red trunks. Yes, she wants to

see him as wel , wants to see his naked flesh, his pierced

cock. Her nipples are going hard once more, the lips of her

sex fil ing, swel ing.

When he presses a hand to the front of his trunks, she

can clearly see the outline of his hardening cock beneath

the wet fabric.

Oh, yes…

And then he slips his trunks off and stands before her,

naked. His body is a marvel, al hard muscle and smooth,

tanned skin. His cock is so beautiful, her hands ache to

touch it. Her sex aches with the need to feel him inside of

her. And the wicked metal ring glinting in the dying sun

coming through the shuttered windows.

Her throat goes dry. Her sex goes wet. She squeezes

her thighs together.

“Your turn,” he says.

With his dark eyes on her, she brings her hands up to

cup her breasts through her bathing suit top; she cannot

wait for his touch. Her nipples are so hard they hurt. His

eyes are riveted to her hands moving over her breasts, and

she moves the triangles of blue fabric aside, squeezes her

nipples, tugs on them, pleasure burrowing deep into her

system. Everything is amplified by his brown eyes on her,

by the lust clear on his face.

He moans softly. Whispers, “Beautiful.”

It has been a long time since she’s felt beautiful. But

now, with him, she does. And it is a sort of relief she can’t

explain, even to herself, whispering beneath the desire.

But she doesn’t need to think now. She only needs to

feel.

Pul ing her bikini top off, she keeps her gaze on him. His

mouth has gone soft, his eyes glittering. And he is stroking

his cock, his fingers moving lightly over that rigid flesh.

She has never seen anything hotter in her life.

She slides her bikini bottoms over her hips, steps out of

them, takes one step closer to him. He moves toward her,

stops a foot or two away.

“Touch yourself for me,” he demands.

She smiles, feathers her fingers over her nipples once

more before moving lower, brushing her mound. When she

slips two fingers over her cleft she is soaking wet, slippery,

like the sea. She can stil hear it, smel that tang of salt in

the air. And it is al a part of the moment—the sea moving

and surging, the scent in the air. It is the power of the ocean

and he is the earth, and between them is fire, building,

burning.

“Put your fingers inside yourself,” he tel s her, and she

does it, spreading her thighs a little and dipping into that

wet, waiting hole.

Pleasure moves through her, at her own touch, at his

dark gaze on her. At the way he takes a gasping breath

and clamps his fingers over his beautiful cock.

He reaches out and takes her hand from between her

thighs, raises it. His lips open and he takes her fingers into

his mouth, the damp heat enveloping her.

This must be what his cock feels like, sliding into a

woman. Sliding into her.

Her sex clenches.

“I need to feel you,” she tel s him. “I need your hands on

me. Your mouth. Your cock.”

“Yes,” he says, his voice low, ful of smoke and need.

Her hand stil in his, he leads her to the bed. The sheets

are mussed from her nap earlier in the day, the pil ows

dented. He lays her down on her back and kneels over her.

She shivers, waiting.

Lowering his head, he kisses her, lightly, and she can

taste her own juices on his lips. Then he is moving lower,

his mouth al over her skin, sucking one rigid nipple into his

mouth.

“Ah!”

She can hardly believe how close she is to coming

already. Her hands go into his damp, thick hair, holding him

close to her breast. He is sucking so hard it hurts. But it

feels too good for her to care.

Yes, suck harder….

Pleasure, warm and sweet, washes over her body, a trail

of heat from her breasts to her sex. Her clit is throbbing.

“Touch me,” she says demandingly.

He moves lower and spreads her thighs wide with his

hands. And then his mouth is on her, his wet, clever tongue

sliding over her pussy lips, pushing inside. And she is

squirming, panting. Pleasure is driving into her body,

making her shudder. And when he pul s her clit into his

mouth and sucks, she comes, bursting, her hips lifting up off

the bed.

“Ah, yes, fuck me!”

His fingers drive into her, and pleasure coils anew in her

bel y, tight and hot, then crashes over her like a pummeling

wave. And she shatters, coming and coming, her hips

bucking into his mouth, his hand.

She is stil shivering when he raises his head. He is

smiling. He lifts her and moves her up on the bed, then asks

her, “Condoms?”

She nods her head, but it is a moment before she can

speak. “In the smal silver case, next to my suitcase.”

She watches as he leans over next to the bed where her

open luggage sits on the floor, clothes spil ing out onto the

tiles. He finds the silver cosmetics case, unzips it, and after

a moment of digging, pul s out the folded strand of foil

packets left over from the last trip she’d taken with her ex

before…

She isn’t going to think of that now.

He is opening a packet with his teeth, and this seems

purely sexual to her, animalistic. But perhaps that’s simply

because her body is stil trembling with the aftershock of

orgasm. Or the keen anticipation of knowing his cock wil

be inside her in only moments.

Yes.

He kneels over her on the bed, but before he can sheath

himself she reaches up and takes the silver ring between

her fingers, tugs on it.

He groans.

“It’s cal ed a Prince Albert piercing?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve never seen one before. Not in person. Did it hurt?”

He laughs. “Yes, it hurt.”

She smiles, doesn’t tel him she likes knowing that for

some reason.

“Wil it feel different?”

“You’re about to find out.”

He slips the condom onto his cock, and she spreads her

thighs for him.

“Yes, that’s it. Wider.” His voice is low, strained.

He is kneeling between her legs, and she loops them

over his strong thighs. He slips one hand under her ass and

pul s her up, onto his shaft, entering her.

He pauses, the head of his cock inside her, and she

swears she can feel the curve of the metal ring, a lovely

added texture. Her sex is pulsing with pleasure, her whole

body is pulsing; a steady beat of lust centered at that point

where the thick metal ring, the head of his cock, pierces her

body.

She shifts, trying to take him deeper. His hand comes to

her cheek, caresses her jaw, then he is holding her face a

little too roughly. And he slams into her, one deep, hurting

thrust.

“Oh!”

She goes loose al over, her body turning to pure liquid

fire. Pleasure, pain, it’s al the same as he pul s back, rams

into her again. Then he is fucking her, his cock sliding in

and out, hard and hurting and so damn good she is ready

to come again in moments.

The first wave makes the wal s of her sex clench around

his swol en cock.

“So fucking tight,” he murmurs.

And then he is driving harder into her, and she is coming

apart, her climax pounding into her, overwhelming her. She

is lost, drowning in pleasure, shaking with the force of it.

And he is stil fucking her, fucking her, driving her

orgasm on. Moments later he tenses, shivers, cries out as

he comes, one hand gripping her ass, his nails biting deep.

The other hand stil holds her face, so that she is forced to

look at him. And she loves the way he just comes apart, his

mouth so ful and soft as he groans, his eyes closed, his

head fal ing back.

And stil his hips are moving, his cock stil hard

somehow. And she is coming again, her body tensing,

clenching. He senses what is happening, reaches down

and takes her clit between his fingers, pinching, tugging.

Pleasure, intense, freeing, surges through her, driving

deep. And she is left panting and weak. And as sated as

she has ever been in her life.

He pul s out of her and she expects him to move away.

But after tugging the condom off, he rol s onto his side,

pul ing her close. Her head against his chest, she can hear

his heart hammering beneath her ear. His body is warm.

He smel s more like the ocean than ever.

They sleep. When she wakes it is ful y dark. She has no

idea what time it is. It doesn’t matter.

She slips from the bed and brings a bottle of wine—a

fruity red from Chile—back to the bed, along with a plate of

fruit and some pastries she bought that morning from a

vendor on the beach.

Moonlight washes through the half-open shutters, blue

and silver in the dark room. And she can see that he is

awake, watching her.

“Hey,” he says, his voice rough with sleep.

“Hey.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“No. Stay here with me. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” He sits up in the bed, takes the wine from her,

uncorks it and drinks from the bottle before passing it back

to her.

She has set the plate on the bed, and he takes the knife

she laid on the edge of the plate and peels an apple, then

cuts it into pieces and offers her one. She bites into the

apple, the cool sweetness fil ing her mouth. She fol ows it

with a long sip of the wine. Everything seems utterly sensual

to her: the fruit, the wine, the scent of sex in the air, the heat

of his body next to hers. And outside the windows, the

pulsing beat of the ocean crashing on the shore.

They sit on the bed and feed each other, pul ing the

pastry apart with their fingers. It’s sweet with honey. They

wash it down with the wine. And when they’re both ful , he

pours a little of the wine on her naked skin, then licks it off

until she is wet and aching, begging him to fuck her again.

He turns her onto her stomach this time, pul s her up onto

her knees. She is shivering, as he uses his fingers to part

her pussy lips, at the sound of a foil packet tearing.

He enters her with his fingers first, sliding right inside.

She surges back onto his hand, pleasure shafting through

her in long, rippling waves.

“You’re so wet, so ready.”

“Yes…”

He pul s his fingers from her and in a moment the head

of his cock is pushing inside her. He is so big, fil ing her

inch by inch, the ring sliding against her G-spot. His arm

wraps around her waist, his other hand going into her hair,

grasping tight, pul ing her head up. She feels taken over,

commanded. And she gives herself over to it, to him, as he

begins to fuck her, moving slowly at first, then harder, faster.

Pleasure seeps into her system, flooding her bel y, her

arms, her legs. And her sex is clenching, swol en, ready to

explode.

When his hand moves down, massaging her wet cleft,

pressing onto her clit, she comes, hard. Waves of pleasure

wrack her body, stinging, swift as the ocean current. And

she is shaking, nearly sobbing with the power of it.

She is surprised when he pul s out of her, left empty,

bereft. But his hand is there, his lovely, soft fingers, pushing

into her, pul ing out, wiping her juices al over her pussy lips

and back, over her anus. He leans in and plants wet kisses

down her spine, and she arches her back, loving the

sensation. She is hypersensitive al over, her skin, every

part of her body, from coming so much, from his touch. He

parts his lips, swirls his tongue over her lower back, and at

the same time he slips one finger into her anus.

“Shh, relax,” he whispers.

And she does. This is the first time that hole has been

breached, but at this moment, it is utterly sensual. With his

other hand he teases her clitoris into a hard nub once more.

She can hardly believe her body is stil able to feel

pleasure. But it moves through her in a warm wash of

desire, longing.

He presses his finger deeper. “Breathe,” he tel s her, his

voice quiet, soothing. There is sex in his voice, his own

desire held tight.

She does as he asks, breathing in, pul ing in that scent

of ocean and sex and him. And she is shivering once more.

He moves his finger in, slides it out. She has never felt

anything quite like it, a sense of ful ness, and yet, she wants

more.

“Fuck me. Please.”

He plays her anus with his finger for another few

moments, making her surge back, taking more of him in.

“Please,” she begs again.

His hand moves away and she feels the head of his

cock at that tightest of holes. And she is wet again,

trembling with a need that rages through her. He spreads

her buttocks, pushes the tip of his cock in. And at the same

time, he rubs her clit in smal circles with his thumb, pushes

a few fingers into her sex. Pleasure, wild and keen, cuts

into her like a knife. She cries out. He answers by pushing

into her deeper, fingers and cock al at once. Inch by

exquisite inch, tel ing her to breathe, to relax.

But she is already liquid al over. Liquid and wanting

everything from him. Anything.

He takes it slow and it seems to go on forever, his cock

working its way into her ass, his thumb circling her clit, his

fingers dipping inside her.

Just when she is beginning to think he is too tentative

with her, he steps up the pace, sliding in and out of her ass,

her pussy, fil ing her, stretching her. Lovely, painful. She is

dizzy with sensation, in a state of overload. But al she can

do is thrust back against him, pleasure infusing her,

emptying her mind. She is nothing more than these

sensations, this body being fucked in every possible way.

And she is loose and free in a way she has never been

before.

This is what she’s needed, what she’s been searching

for, she thinks fleetingly, even though she didn’t know it until

this moment.

Pleasure builds, deepens, rol s over her body in long

waves. Excruciating. Sharper, heavier, until she is

completely weighed down by it. She col apses on the bed,

but he is stil fucking her, relentless, his hand working her

mercilessly. She is coming again, shards of pure pleasure

stabbing into her. She is sobbing, crying out, shaking so

hard her teeth are clattering together. Coming so hard she

can’t think of anything at al but the exquisite sensations

moving through her body, a body which no longer belongs

to her, but to him.

He tenses, growls, pumps into her ass. And it hurts, his

pumping cock—and to know that it’s over, this experience.

He lies on top of her. He is shivering as hard as she is.

He wipes the tears from her cheek, doesn’t say a word.

They lie together for a long time, and at some point, they

sleep.

Dawn comes as it always does on the Veracruz beach,

with an edge of chil to the otherwise warm and sultry air.

But he is warm beside her, the sound of his breath a quiet

sigh.

She lies on her back, remembers why she needed to

leave Corpus Christi. Remembers her broken heart, which

is no longer broken.

Her stranger has healed her, somehow. He is like some

magical creature, except that the physical reality of him is

al too real—his sleeping form next to her, the lovely ache in

her body.

As she watches him, his eyes open. They are that same

elemental brown. He is so much of the earth, and of the

water. She reaches out, runs her fingertips over the waves

tattooed behind the tiger on his shoulder. Yes, he is of the

water, too. Their time together is made up of the elements

and suddenly she needs to be back in the water with him.

She feels desperate, a little sad.

“Come with me,” she whispers.

He nods, sits up, runs a hand over his stubbled jaw.

Smiles at her. And she knows everything is al right again.

She takes his hand and leads him, naked, out onto the

beach and down to where the surf crashes on the sand. The

sun is just coming over the horizon, an arc of fire in the

deep, silvery sky.

They move together into the water, and it is soothing,

womblike. The waves surge, wash away, caressing her

skin, her naked sex. He pul s her deeper, until the water is

waist-high. He holds her there, moves his hand between

her thighs, pushes his fingers inside her. She spreads for

him, reaches down to torment his cock. She runs her

fingers over the cool metal of the ring piercing the head of

his cock, tugs on it.

He moans, buries his face in her hair, pushes his cock

into her hand. And they float in the water as they did that

first time. Only yesterday, and yet it seems a mil ion miles

away.

He works her with his hand, fingers deep inside her, his

thumb pressing on her clitoris. His hips thrust into her fisted

hand, her fingers tight around his beautiful cock. They move

together, breathe together, long, gasping pants as they

build toward climax.

Pleasure, swift and sure, thrums through her body, taking

her higher and higher. And the warm ocean al around

them, rocks them, the wild scent of it in her nostrils.

As her body begins that first lovely clench, he murmurs,

“I’m coming.”

“Yes,” she answers.

And their bodies buck and writhe with desire unleashed,

as wild as the sea. His come floods her hand, hot and thick

as honey, while she comes apart. Loose and shivering, her

climax moves through her like the waves, rol ing,

thunderous. As powerful as the tides moving on the earth.

She wraps her legs around his waist. He kisses her

cheek, her forehead. And they stay there while the sun

comes up, burning golden, then pink, then final y a white

glow in the deep blue sky. They are quiet as the world

around them awakens, the seabirds sweeping in over the

waves. Al she can hear is the ocean and the sound of his

breath in her ear.

He pul s back final y, watches her face quietly for a

moment. Then he says, “I’m leaving today, heading down to

Cozumel to do some diving.”

“I hear it’s very beautiful there.”

“It is.” He pauses. “Come with me.”

She smiles, shakes her head. “I can’t. I need to go

home. Need to get back to…my life. Deal with some

things.” She only realizes as she says it that it’s true.

He nods. “Do you even want to know my name?”

“No. I’m sorry but…”

“It’s al right.”

“You’re not angry?”

“What about this time with you is there to be angry

about?” He reaches out, runs a finger down her cheek.

“You’re like something out of a dream. Maybe it’s meant to

be this way. Dream time.”

“Yes.”

That’s it exactly. He understands.

A wave crests, splashes against them. She blinks the

water from her eyes, looks up at him. He leans in and licks

the salty water from her lower lip, smiling. His eyes have a

languid cast to them, but they are stil dark, bottomless. And

stil seem to see right through her, into her soul. She shivers

again, but this time it is not physical pleasure but something

deeper.

He knows her; she is sure of it. And it is both comforting

and terrifying at the same time. It is why they are here

together, as though a force that is far beyond them both has

determined that this moment should be.

She won’t question it further. Whatever else may happen

doesn’t matter. She is satisfied with knowing this much.

Gilt and Midnight

MEGAN HART

YESTERDAY AND LONG AGO, IN A

KINGDOM FAR FROM here but right next door,

there lived a handsome young man and his equal y beautiful

young wife. She had hair the color of sunshine, eyes like a

summer sky and skin like rich cream. Her name was Ilina,

and the young man loved her more than anything else in the

world.

Ilina, for her part, loved her handsome young husband.

Pitor was strong, with muscled arms and legs that had no

trouble chopping wood or building fences. His hair, the

color of the forest’s deepest shadows, hung to his

shoulders in ripples like silk, and his eyes shone like the

night sky littered with stars.

If Ilina had one smal wish, it was that Pitor could be as

satisfied with their humble cottage and plot of land as she

was, but though her husband worked long and hard, he

hated the labor that brought them their food and the roof

above their heads. No matter how Ilina tried to soften the

smal rooms with her handwoven tapestries or delicately

embroidered pil ows, night after night Pitor looked around

their home with dissatisfaction on his face.

“I love you,” she told him. “No matter if we eat on gold

and silver or on wooden trenchers, Pitor, I love you.”

But Pitor would not be satisfied, no matter what Ilina did.

And each day when he came home from chopping wood in

the forest, he grew angrier and more sul en. Nothing Ilina

did could move him to smile.

A time of drought and misfortune came upon the land.

Pitor had to travel farther and farther into the woods to find

trees he could chop for profit, until at last one day he’d

traveled so far he couldn’t make it home before dark.

Though he ached to return to his beloved Ilina and knew

she would worry for his safety, he knew how foolish

traveling in the dark would be. He made himself a smal

camp and prepared to spend the night. He dared not even

burn one smal portion of the wood he’d gathered, for not

only would it be taking food from Ilina’s mouth to use the

wood he intended to sel , but the risk of deadly fire in the

dry forest was too great. Instead, he pul ed his cloak around

himself and hunkered down, unable even to sleep lest a

beast attack him in the night.

Nevertheless, weariness overtook him, and Pitor’s eyes

closed. He dreamed of his love, of her touch and of her

kiss, and woke with his cock straining the front of his

trousers.

“Ah, sweet,” said a voice from the shadows. “What a

prize you hold between your legs. How I long for a man to fil

me up with what you’ve got.”

Convinced he was dreaming, Pitor sat up with a shake

of his head. Laughter curled like smoke from the darkness.

A woman stepped from behind a tree. The sight of her sent

fear and desire coursing through him in equal amounts, and

Pitor sprang to his feet, his hatchet ready to defend against

her.

“You know me?” The woman’s dark hair swirled around

her face.

Pitor’s breath heaved. The closer she stepped the more

aroused he became, until al he could think of was

satisfying the carnal urges flooding him.

The woman was upon him, astride him, before he knew

how to object.

“Who are you?” he cried, stricken, for he’d never been

unfaithful to his wife before.

“You don’t need to know.”

He turned and was on her before she could escape, the

blade of his ax to her throat, but she only laughed. To his

shame, his cock twitched and rose at the sound of it. She

reached between them to grab and stroke him ful y erect.

“You should be better satisfied with what you have,

woods-man, else you lose it al . Let me show you what you

could have.”

Pitor jerked away from her and lowered the ax. “I love my

wife.”

The woman stood, her eyes flashing in a face stil

covered with shadows. “Come with me and be my love, and

we wil walk the forest as monarchs.”

He shook his head. “No!”

She tilted her head. “No? Then fuck me once with that

sweet prick, and I’l reward you for your efforts.”

Pitor’s hand trembled. “No reward you could offer me

would be enough for me to betray my wife.”

“Not even the life of your child?”

Pitor gasped aloud. “I have no children!”

Ilina had lost several pregnancies at great harm to her

health. He knew she stil longed for a babe, but he hoped

for her sake she wouldn’t catch again. The woman in front

of him clucked her tongue to the roof of her mouth.

“Fuck me, and your child wil never know hunger, nor

poverty. How is that for a reward, and for so simple a task?

One your body craves already?”

“You can promise me that?”

“That and more,” promised the woman, and Pitor was

lost.

As he sank into her warm, slick flesh, Pitor groaned,

“Ilina!”

“Ah, yes,” said the woman atop him, the woman who

smel ed and felt so familiar now.

Pitor groaned again as ecstasy swept him. “Ilina!”

The woman slowed her movements, rocking against

him. She bent to whisper in his ear. “I am your Ilina, if you so

desire.”

Pitor’s hands gripped her hips as he thrust inside her,

over and over, until his seed boiled out of him and he fel

back, spent. The woman laughed and withdrew, leaving him

cold in the night air. Pitor blinked, stunned at how she’d

once again become a stranger.

“Don’t travel so far from home, next time,” she advised,

and was gone, leaving Pitor to return to his wife.

She had meant to keep it secret from him until she knew

for sure the babe grew inside her without difficulty, but Ilina

didn’t regret tel ing Pitor about the child their love had

planted, because the moment she did, the gloom and

anger Pitor had al owed to overtake him vanished.

For months, Pitor returned each night to his Ilina with a

smile as bright as diamonds. He made sure to bring her the

finest fruits they could afford, even forsaking his own hunger

to provide his wife with the best delicacies to tempt her

failing appetite. Stil , as Ilina’s bel y swel ed, the rest of her

withered. She kept a smile on her face, though, while the

babe inside her wriggled and squirmed.

The midwife was not pleased with the way the babe had

stolen so much of Ilina’s strength. “It’s not right,” she told

Pitor when Ilina had fal en into an exhausted, feverish sleep.

“The labor has begun, but it’s not progressing. They’re

kil ing her.”

“They?” Pitor, white-faced and sick, clutched his hands

together and tore his gaze from his wife long enough to

look at the midwife.

“Your wife is carrying twins.” The midwife said no more

when Ilina woke and began to scream.

when Ilina woke and began to scream.

Ilina’s daughter was born in blood and sweat and

screams, and the midwife placed her into Pitor’s arms at

once while she sought to stanch the flow of crimson from

between Ilina’s legs. Pitor held the squirming, naked infant

and watched his wife die in front of him, and then he

handed the child to the midwife and left the cottage.

She found him in the garden, the place where his

beloved Ilina had spent so many hours tending to her

flowers. The midwife had cleaned and wrapped the child,

who lay quiet in her arms, but when she offered the babe to

her father, Pitor turned his face.

“Take them away.”

The midwife, a goodhearted woman who had seen

many births and deaths but none so surprising as this one,

offered the child again. “There is only one. I was wrong.”

She had never been wrong before and was uncertain if

she was truly wrong now. One child had been born, yes, but

the girl was unlike other babies. The midwife pul ed the

blankets away from the child’s face to show Pitor, who

would not look.

“See,” the midwife said. “Her eyes? Her hair?”

Pitor shook his head. “My wife is dead. Take that

creature away.”

The midwife looked into the face of the sleeping infant.

The hair was silver gilt on one half of her head and black as

grief on the other. The child’s eyes were the same; one

pale blue and the other a deep, midnight black. Two

faces…yet one.

“What do you want me to do with it?” asked the midwife

“What do you want me to do with it?” asked the midwife

quietly.

“I don’t care,” said Pitor. “You can kil it, for al I care.

Now go away, and let me bury my wife.”

So the midwife crept away into the night, the bundle in

her arms, and left the man to take care of the woman he’d

loved so wel .

The midwife, who had already raised more than her

share of babies, did not want to raise another. Not even

one that cooed so prettily or waved its dainty hands in the

air. One that didn’t cry like other babies, but wept only from

its dark eye and never from the pale.

The midwife’s husband, who was as good a man as the

midwife was a woman, did not want to raise any more

children either. “I’m too old to start over,” he complained.

“We’ve done even with dandling our grandchildren on our

knees and wait now only for them to bring us their children

to love. Why do we need to adopt some ragamuffin child?”

The midwife did not disagree. “I’l take her to the

noblewoman on the hil . She has long yearned for a child of

her own and has had none. Maybe she wil adopt this one.”

So thus it was the unnamed babe with the mismatched

eyes went to live in the large stone house on the hil .

The noblewoman, who was not nearly as beautiful as

Ilina but whose husband loved her just as dearly, cal ed her

new daughter Miracula because of the miraculous way in

which she’d been brought to them. Never was a child more

cosseted and pampered, or more loved, than little Mira was

by her adopted mother and father.

By the time she reached womanhood, Mira had become

known as the most beautiful girl in al the land. Her hair

flowed down to the backs of her knees in ripples of silver on

one side and ink on the other. To any who looked upon her

perfect features, the different colors of her eyes only

enhanced the thick darkness of her lashes, the crimson of

her lips and the sweet pink blush of her cheeks. Her body

had grown lush and firm, with rounded breasts and

buttocks, and hips just right for a man’s hands to hold.

Her father’s fortune only made her al the more

desirable, but though many sought the hand of the

nobleman’s adopted daughter, none were al owed to court

her.

“She is a child, stil ,” insisted her father to her mother,

who knew better but didn’t wish to disagree. “She’s not

ready to be married, to go off and leave us.”

“Someday,” said the noblewoman, patting her husband’s

hand, “she wil have to.”

For though she loved her daughter very much, the

noblewoman knew how it was to be a young woman without

a suitor, and how her daughter must long for the time when

she could be courted as al the other young women were.

“They only want her money,” grumbled the nobleman.

“They seek her fortune as much as they do her heart.”

“That, too, might be true,” said the noblewoman. She

looked out the window to where Mira walked in the garden,

alone. “But someday, my husband, we won’t be able to

keep her to ourselves any longer. Won’t it be better if we’ve

chosen a husband for her? One who won’t take our beloved

daughter too far from us?”

The nobleman thought of this, but harrumphed and

garrumphed and would not give in.

And in the garden, Mira bent to smel the flowers, al

alone.

Winter stole across the world like an il icit lover, taking

the light and leaving darkness behind. Inside the stone

house on the hil , there was food and drink aplenty, and

warmth and al manner of entertainments. The nobleman

and his wife hosted friends from near and far to help relieve

the lethargy of the cold season.

Mira, no longer the child her father wanted her to be,

wished the house were silent instead of fil ed with the

shouts of card-players and the snuffle of hounds. She

preferred the scent of snow to the savory smel s of roasting

fowl and baking bread. She even liked running through the

now-dead garden, though it left her shivering, better than

sitting in front of the blazing fireplace wrapped in a goose-

down cloak. Only the year before she had longed for these

long nights with a house ful of company; the twelve months

that had passed had turned her into someone new. Now,

though her parents gestured for her to join them and their

guests, she snuck away down dark and chil y corridors to

find a place in the attic to sit alone.

She blew on the frost-covered windows to look down to

the barren gardens below. They weren’t empty, as she’d

expected them to be. Footprints marred the smooth

whiteness of snow-covered plots. And in the corner by the

gate, a huddled figure clawed at the ground. Mira watched

it scrabble in the vegetable plot. Perhaps seeking the

remains of a gourd or something else? Had some poor

vagrant stolen into her garden to look for food?

Pity moved her, and Mira left the attic to sneak past the

rooms ful of merrymakers. She crept to the garden without

shoes or even a cloak to keep her warm, so intent was she

on finding out who she’d seen from her window above. The

snow bit at her toes and the wind gnawed her fingertips, but

it was nothing compared to what the traveler must have felt.

“You must come inside,” she insisted to the scarf-

covered face. She couldn’t tel even if the visitor was a man

or a woman, so bundled and wrapped in layers was the

figure. “Get warm. Have something to eat.”

When they went inside, however, Mira’s father was not

pleased at his daughter’s kindhearted gesture. There was

no room at his table for a beggar, be it woman or man. Not

even in his kitchen, not even to eat the scraps unfit for dogs,

and he made the bundled visitor go back into the snow

even before it had time to unwrap one of its many cloaks.

“Father—” Mira protested, but the nobleman wouldn’t

hear her plea.

“I wil go,” said the beggar, whose face was stil hidden.

“But you should know who you’ve turned away.”

The guests who’d gathered around the scene gasped

when the beggar pushed back its coverings to reveal the

face of a beautiful, if cruel-eyed, woman. Everything about

her was dark. Her eyes, hair, even the blush of her lips and

tongue were dark rather than red. She looked around at

them al before settling her eyes upon Mira.

“Your daughter has far better manners than you, old

man,” said the dark fairy. “She wil be your salvation, as she

tried to be mine.”

The nobleman was too smart to try to beg forgiveness

from the dark fairy. “Don’t take her!”

The dark fairy laughed; in the garden the flowers

shivered beneath their blanket of snow. “I don’t want her,

old man. Just as you would like nobody else to want her

either.”

“Please,” begged the noblewoman, stepping forward.

She was no less wise than her husband, but women know

the ways to deal with one another and the dark fairy was

stil a woman. “Please don’t punish our daughter because

of our foolishness.”

The dark fairy laughed. “Worry not, lady. I won’t make

your daughter hideous to the eye, nor make it so toads fal

from her lips with each word. No, lady, I shal grant your

daughter a gift, instead, for the generosity she attempted to

show me. And in giving her the gift, I shal punish you.”

The dark fairy clapped her hands and the guests drew

back as one, each hoping not to draw her attention. The

dark fairy smiled and waved her hand. Her veil of cloaks

and scarves fluttered.

“You shal be desired,” she told Mira. “And you shal

desire.”

“That’s it?” cried the nobleman, perhaps not so wise as

he believed himself to be. “That’s the curse?”

The dark fairy drew her hood back over her face and

opened the door. Snow swirled inside and melted on the

floor. The gathered company shivered in unison.

“Until your daughter finds completion, old man, you wil

slowly lose everything you have. Pray hope she finds it

before you are beggared and must rely upon the

unkindness of strangers.”

With that, the dark fairy was gone.

The nobleman reached out his hand to Mira, who didn’t

take it. Nor did she reach for her mother, who wept with

fists pressed to her mouth. Mira looked around the room, at

the men and women gathered there, and something

swel ed inside her that she’d never felt before.

Heat flared inside her bel y and lower, between her

thighs. She pressed a hand to herself there, and the other

to the swel of her breasts where more heat rose. She bit

back a gasp at the look one of her father’s friends was

giving her. His eyes burned dark with an emotion she

couldn’t name, but that she felt echoed in her own.

Then she knew what it was, that fierceness, that burning,

that flush on her skin and the flare in her gaze.

Desire.

It began at once.

It began at once.

Without regard to her parents or the guests assembled

in their hal , Mira went to the man staring at her and let him

put his mouth on her. Nobody stopped her. Nobody said a

word when he took her by the elbow and led her upstairs

and rid her of her virginity. Her mother wailed and her father

gnashed his teeth, but neither of them stopped it.

Neither of them could stop it.

Mira’s first lover was not handsome, but he was bold,

and he fucked her so thoroughly that first time she couldn’t

walk the next day. Yet despite the hours of intercourse, the

kisses he rained over her body, the things he did to her,

she didn’t feel complete. In fact, when it was final y over and

her lover stole away from the sweat-soaked bed, al Mira

felt was emptiness.

Clearly, this would not do.

Already her parents’ guests had fled. The staff, no longer

loyal to a house accursed, left as wel . The hearths lay cold,

the fowl uncooked. Her father had locked himself in his

counting room, counting out his money. Her mother had

pricked her thumbs with every spindle in the house, but

could not sleep.

Mira washed the scent of the man from her body and

discovered that a fingertip slid against the pearl hidden

inside her soft folds could bring her pleasure so intense it

weakened her knees. Was this, then, completion? She

stroked again and dipped a finger inside her heat much the

way her lover of the night before had used his cock to fil

her. She moaned and bit her lip, grasping the edge of the

wooden bathtub, as pleasure coursed through her.

wooden bathtub, as pleasure coursed through her.

And then…nothing.

Frustrated, she stroked harder, pul ing on her nipples.

Heat rushed through her veins and she sank to the rush-

matted floor of the chamber. She pumped her hips upward

against her now-grasping touch, and stil the sense of

something building inside her grew and grew without

cease. Without release.

She could not eat, nor sleep, for the fire consuming her

took up so much of her attention. Yet instead of turning her

il , this fever only made her al the more beautiful. She saw it

in her looking glass. Her hair was like shining silk. Her

eyes, each as lovely as a jewel. Her mouth, ripe and plump

and ready for kissing.

In the past her father had hoarded his gold, but now he

received an uncommon summons from the king to pay

some taxes to which he’d never before been held. He wept

as the messenger carried away bag after bag of clinking

coins. Her mother sought the solace of the wine barrel. This

was but one day after the dark fairy’s curse, and Mira knew

she had to find her completion soon or everything she’d

known her entire life would be lost.

She made it known that she was now entertaining

suitors, and as bad news travels fast, so did this. On the

fifth day after the fairy’s curse, men had begun lining up

outside the gate. Most of them, she assumed, had come for

a chance to wet their pricks inside her, though a few of the

more intel igent would have known that the man who

managed to satisfy her would gain more than a wil ing

cunny in which to spil his seed, but a vast portion of her

cunny in which to spil his seed, but a vast portion of her

father’s rapidly diminishing fortune, as wel .

Mira cared little for her father’s fortune. She cared more

for his happiness, and her mother’s, for though they had not

bred or borne her, she loved them as dearly as if they had.

Truth be told, she loved the line of men waiting to fuck her,

too, for the fairy had been right about desire being a gift.

And stil , no matter how many men entered Mira’s

bedchamber and touched her, no matter how many urged

her body to writhe and squirm beneath talented tongues

and fingers and cocks, not one of them left her with anything

other than emptiness when he’d gone.

By the tenth day after the fairy’s decree, the line had

dwindled as fast as her father’s fortune. The men who now

waited at the gate were those a little needier, a little less

affluent. Men to whom a pretty wife who’d lain with a

hundred men and a bit of a fortune were better than a farm-

roughened wife and no fortune at al . Mira took them as

she’d done the ones in fine leather and velvet, and like their

richer predecessors, none left her complete. One by one,

the men left her chamber, grumbling that there could be no

man who would finish her.

“Daughter, don’t kil yourself to find the one,” Mira’s

mother urged, voice slurred, dress askew. “A fortune can

be rewon.”

“Tel that to my father,” Mira said from her place in front

of the mirror, where she searched her mismatched eyes for

any sign of something different. Something new. “He’s the

one kil ing himself, sitting in the counting room enumerating

his coins and gnashing his teeth at each one he must

relinquish.”

She turned to her mother. “Both of you believe you can

do nothing to change the dark fairy’s curse, but I know I

can.”

Again, she looked at her face. She’d become a woman,

with a woman’s secret smile. She touched her bare

breasts, the tight pink nipples. The floss between her

thighs. The box that would bring her pleasure if only she

could find the right key to unlock it.

“And I want to,” she said.

Winter eased into spring with little fanfare. Mira’s

parents had done little to fight the fairy’s curse. It pained her

to see her beloved mother and father give themselves so

quickly to despair, and she was determined not to let them

wither away. The line of men waiting to sample her beauty

had dwindled to nothing, no more than one or two a

sevenday.

Until one day, as Mira sat in the warming garden where

the flowers had just begun to show their heads, two men

arrived. One as fair as sunshine, the other dark as

shadows. They reached the gate at the same time, one

from each direction. From her seat on the stone bench,

Mira could see them both, but at first neither looked at her.

“Gerard,” said the dark-haired man.

“Alain,” greeted the fair-haired man.

Mira got to her feet. Both had put their hands to their

belts, one to pul a dagger and the other a short sword.

Neither moved after that, each watching the other, until the

dark-haired man gave a slight nod and stepped aside just

enough to let the one cal ed Gerard pass. Both of them

came through the gate, and both stopped when they saw

her.

“Madame,” said Gerard with a half bow. “We seek the

lady Mira.”

“Many have sought her,” Mira said. “What makes the two

of you any different than the hundreds of others?”

Alain stood an inch or so shorter than Gerard but stil

towered tal over Mira. He held out his hand for hers, and

she took it at once. “I’ve heard she’s been gifted by the

dark fairy.”

“Everyone knows that.” Mira tugged away her hand, stil

tingling from his touch.

“Ah,” said Alain with a half bow nearly identical to the

one Gerard had already bestowed. “But not everyone else

has received the same gift.”

Mira looked at them, from one to the other. “And you

have?”

“Lady,” answered Gerard. “We both have.”

Most of the other men had arrived intent on seducing her

at once. Some had been kind, a few considerate, but none

of them had wasted their time with conversation. Alain and

Gerard, however, fol owed Mira into the large dining hal

where they set about laying a fire in the long-neglected

hearth.

“Wine, lady?” Gerard’s question seemed more

command than request, and Mira found herself scurrying to

the sideboard in search of a bottle.

Alain watched her, his gaze like sapphires. “Where are

your servants, lady?”

“Gone,” Mira said as she poured three glasses of almost

sour wine. “My father can’t afford to pay them any longer,

and they fear the dark fairy’s taint. My good mother has

taken to her bed. And my father has gone mad.”

She expected the blunt statement to take the men

aback, but neither looked surprised. She offered glasses,

one to Alain and one to Gerard, and both took them.

Gerard drank his at once with a grimace, but Alain waited

for Mira to sip before he drank.

Gerard gave a low grunt and put his cup on the long

wooden dining table that had hosted so many guests over

the years. “Come here.”

Mira did at once, though she stopped far enough away

from him that he would have to reach to grab her, if that was

his intent. Gerard didn’t reach for her. He studied her.

“You are beautiful,” he said. “The fairy didn’t give you

that.”

Mira shook her head. “No, sir, I don’t believe so.”

She looked at him. His pale hair fel to his shoulders,

loose. He had the sharp features of a hawk and the body of

a warrior beneath his simple, solid clothes. She shivered,

thinking of his muscular arms around her, of his thick legs

pushing hers apart. He would not be gentle, she saw this

already, and her pulse beat faster between her legs.

“Would you have me?” he asked her, his voice low and

rough.

Mira’s mouth parted, and she looked toward Alain, who

had not yet put down his glass. “What of your companion,

sir?”

Gerard laughed. “What of him?”

“You both arrived at the same time. You both want the

same thing. How am I to know which of you can provide me

with what I need if I don’t sample you both?”

From another woman these words would have made her

a doxy, but Mira had long ceased caring. The dark fairy had

gifted her with desire, and it built and built inside her every

day without cease. Her mother was trying to sleep away her

life and her father had gone insane because of it. She

would fuck a thousand men if it meant she’d find the one to

complete her.

Gerard gave Alain a chal enging look. “Would that you

had traveled a mile faster, brother of my heart. You might

have been the one to fil this lady’s bucket.”

Alain put a hand over his heart and bowed his head to

Gerard. “Would that you had traveled but a mile slower, oh

my brother. For then, indeed, I might have been the first to

reach her.”

Mira looked at them. They had history, of that there was

no question. “You are brothers?”

Without looking away from Alain, Gerard said, “We have

different parents.”

Without looking away from Gerard, Alain replied, “We

have fought at each other’s side and won. We’ve shared

much, Gerard and I.”

They both looked at her, but it was Gerard this time who

held out his hand. “Lady, take me to your room, and I wil

give you what the dark fairy promised would save you and

your family.”

Mira, having no reason to decline, took his hand and led

him to the stairs. Halfway up, she looked back. Alain stared

after them, but only she saw him press his lips to the tips of

his fingers.

Gerard wasted no time with pretty words. He took Mira

in his arms the moment the bedchamber door closed

behind them. His breath smel ed of wine, a heady aroma

more tantalizing than the taste of it had been. His mouth

took hers without preamble, nudging open her lips to al ow

his tongue to slide inside. Mira gasped into his kiss, and

his arms tightened around her.

“She truly did gift you with desire,” Gerard murmured,

tracing the line of her jaw with his mouth. Into her ear, he

whispered, “You create it and feel it, both. Do you not?”

“Yes.” Mira shivered as his large hands roamed her

body and cupped her buttocks through the simple linen

dress she wore. Without maidservants to wash her clothes

and help her dress, she’d gone without a shift or girdle

beneath, and it was almost as if she wore nothing at al .

“Yes, sir, I feel it.”

“You want me to touch you, as the other men have

touched you?”

Mira sighed as his hands squeezed and one began

tugging up her dress, inch by inch. “Oh, yes.”

“Tel me, lady,” Gerard said and bit into her soft flesh

with a fierceness that urged a cry from Mira’s throat. “Tel

me how they fucked you.”

She told him of men with hard, hot cocks who had used

her mouth, her cunt, the tunnel of her breasts, the sweet

back passage of her ass. How they had made her feel like

she was meant to burst, how she had exploded with

pleasure over and over, only to be left aching for more at

once. Aching and empty.

Incomplete.

“And why should you be different,” she half sobbed as

his roaming hands found her slick crevice and parted her

folds to al ow one of his thick fingers to slide inside.

“Because I have to be.” Gerard, one hand stil moving

inside her, used the other to tear her gown from throat to

hips.

Mira’s breasts thrust forward as she arched her back.

She rode Gerard’s hand harder and harder as he thrust

another finger inside her. His mouth found her sweetly

aching nipples. When he suckled one, she cried out. Her

fingers dug into his shoulder. She rocked her hips, seeking

release.

But Gerard would not give it to her. “The others made

you come, but none of them finished you.” He growled the

words and withdrew his hand so swiftly from her body Mira

stumbled. “Stand there, stil . Don’t move.”

She did, though, taking a step on trembling legs toward

him.

“I said,” murmured Gerard in a voice gone low and

dangerous, “do not move.”

This time, Mira stayed stil .

Gerard removed his belt, laid aside his scabbard, pul ed

his shirt over his head and tossed it unceremoniously to the

floor. His body beneath was indeed that of a warrior,

scarred and hard, with tight bronzed nipples and golden

fleece around them and in a line disappearing into the

waist of his breeches.

Watching her, he eased down his breeches and kicked

them aside to stand before her naked. His cock,

surrounded by its fluff of amber curls, rose straight and

proud. Mira’s pearl beat with the pounding of her heart and

her passage tightened in a brief spasm. She moaned, but

stayed stil as he had ordered.

“The others. Did any bind you? Beat you?”

“No!” Shock sent heat soaring into her cheeks.

Gerard stroked his cock even more ful y erect. “Turn

around and put your hands on the post.”

His gaze flickered to the foot of her bed. Some of the

men had taken her on the floor, or across the table. None

had told her to hold onto the bedpost. Mira hesitated, but at

the flare of heat in Gerard’s eyes, she did.

She waited, trembling. Her hair had fal en from its coils

and lay across her breasts. Gerard threaded his fingers

through it, twisting the gilt and midnight together. His hand

covered her breast.

“Move your legs apart.”

She did, her muscles tense with waiting. Gerard slid his

other hand between her legs from behind. His thick fingers

probed her slick folds, finding the bead of her clit and rol ing

it. Mira pushed her hips forward, wanting more pressure,

but Gerard withdrew almost at once.

When she stil ed, he slid his hand between her legs

again. His fingers dipped into her wetness and caressed

her heat. His cock probed the softness of her buttocks from

behind, and Mira pushed herself back against him. Again,

Gerard withdrew.

“Please.” Mira moaned the single word.

“Please, what?”

“Please, touch me.”

“Is that what you asked them?” Gerard bit lightly at her

shoulder, and Mira jerked away from him with a gasp.

“I didn’t have to!” Her chin lifting, she pushed at him. It

was like pushing at rock, but he stepped back. Her chest

heaved with each breath, and the surprising sting of tears

burned her eyes. “They al just did it! Al of them just did it!”

“Perhaps, then, that’s your problem.” Gerard made no

move toward her. His cock rose proud and strong in front of

him. It begged for Mira’s touch, the heat of her mouth, but

she didn’t move toward him.

“You want me to beg? Is that it?”

Gerard shrugged and moved to the chair in front of the

fire, where he sat without regard to his nakedness. Or hers.

This, more than anything, moved Mira to anger.

“Please,” she said through gritted jaws. “Please touch

me, sir. Please fuck me.”

“No.”

“Then why did you come here?” she demanded,

crossing to him. Fury made her want to strike him, but Mira

didn’t dare.

Gerard looked her up and down, caressing her so

thoroughly with his gaze it weakened her legs and tightened

her nipples further. “To make you complete. Isn’t that what

the dark fairy said you needed?”

“What did she say you needed?” The words came out

broken, edged with glass, on the verge of cruel.

Quick as the sunshine from which his hair had been

woven, Gerard grabbed her wrist. He pul ed her forward

and put her across his lap like a recalcitrant child. His big

hand came down across her buttocks, the smack not hard

enough to bruise, though Mira cried out at the sting. Heat

spread across her flesh and her hips pushed forward,

pushing her cunt against Gerard’s thigh.

“She told me I needed to complete someone.” His other

hand pressed her tight against him so she couldn’t move.

“By beating me?” Mira cried, voice hoarse, even as her

hips rocked.

“This is not a beating,” said Gerard. “This is an

appreciation.”

Heat covered her buttocks and spread to meet the fire

already burning between her thighs. As Gerard’s hand

caressed her skin, Mira sagged against him. Her legs

parted, inviting him to fil her with his fingers again, but he

didn’t, not even when she wriggled and strove to get free of

his grip.

Beneath her, his cock pressed. His breathing had grown

harsher, his grip tighter as she struggled. Yet he did nothing

but rest his hand upon the heat his spank had left on her

skin.

“I am making you appreciate my touch,” Gerard said in a

low voice. “Feel the heat of my hand. Focus on that, not my

cock. Not your cunt. Focus on the sound of our breathing.

On the brush of your hair against your face.”

Mira closed her eyes with a grimace. Her hips rocked

again on Gerard’s thigh, but without much result. None of

the others had done this. Al had taken her, some rougher,

some with gentler hands, but al had done it.

Gerard held her until her struggles ceased. Every line of

Mira’s body had gone hot, as though he’d drawn a stick

from the fire along her skin. She moaned into her fist as his

hand shifted, the fingertips brushing the underside of her

buttocks. He moved them lower, to tease her bottom lips.

He felt how wet she was for him, how his touch had already

teased her so close.

“Please, Gerard,” she whispered. “Please touch me.”

When at last he did, once more fil ing her with a phal us

created from his fingers, Mira’s cry of relief rang around the

room. His thumb rubbed at her pearl while his fingers

moved inside her, and the ache that had built inside her, up

and up, reached its peak and crashed.

Mira’s climax washed over her, no, thundered over her,

and she jerked with it. She cried out his name, once. Twice.

When the throbbing between her legs eased and she

caught her breath, Gerard released her from his lap. Mira

stood, her hand on his shoulder to keep herself from fal ing.

She drew in air scented like Gerard and sighed it out

again. She wanted to weep. Her body had succumbed to

his ministrations, she had reached her pleasure…and

stil …

“I am empty,” she said in a dul voice. She turned from

him. She waited for the door to open and close behind him,

for her body to cease its trembling. For her breath to fil

again with air that smel ed of smoke and stale bed linens.

“Lady,” said Gerard. “Did you think it would take but

once?”

Alain listened for the sound of the lady’s cries as Gerard

took her to orgasm. He knew too wel the taste and touch of

the man upstairs, and his cock rose in his trousers at the

knowledge of what he would be doing to the woman. Once,

they had shared everything, even women.

It had been a woman who drove them apart.

The dark fairy, who had no name any mortal knew, had

stalked Alain through the forest and seduced him not once,

but twice. She had used his cock for her personal joy,

writhing on him and milking him of his seed even as he

fought to remember where he was. Who he was. The dark

fairy had cared little for Alain’s mind. Al she wanted was

his penis and mouth. His hands. She’d have continued

sucking him dry had Gerard not come looking for him.

She’d seduced Gerard, as wel , and Alain could stil recal

the sound of their cries as she’d taunted Gerard into

fucking her harder and harder.

Then, for fun or spite, she had caused them to quarrel.

Not with swords, for at that they’d have been too wel

matched. It would have ended in death for the pair of them.

No, she’d urged them to battle with their words.

Accusations, old hurts, imagined slights and falsehoods

had torn them apart.

Alain and Gerard had not known each other as children,

though that had ceased to matter a mere three days into

their acquaintance. They’d both been assigned places in

the King’s Guard, an elite division of the Royal Army.

The first thing Alain had noticed about Gerard was his

hands. Big, strong hands, scarred from work and battle.

Gerard had been demonstrating his skil with his

broadsword, using the flat of the blade to smack at his

opponent. The sun had come out from behind a cloud,

highlighting Gerard’s hair into shimmering gold and Alain

had, quite literal y, lost his breath.

“You there,” Gerard had said with a crook of his finger.

“Get your ass over here and let me beat it.”

Even now, recal ing Gerard’s surprise at not winning that

first fight, Alain smiled. Arrogant from never losing, Gerard

hadn’t paid enough attention to the newcomer and had

ended up on his back with Alain’s blade at his throat.

It was the last time he didn’t pay enough attention to

Alain.

They’d forged the deepest of bonds, the pair of them

matched so wel physical y there were none who could

stand against them. They fought hard for the king, and they

made merry with equal fierceness…for themselves.

Alain had long known his cock rose without hesitation at

both the curved softness of women and the hard, muscled

planes of men. Physical love between men wasn’t

forbidden in the King’s Guard, where it might be weeks

before a man could find a woman, but it wasn’t exactly

encouraged, either. Alain, who felt no shame at his

proclivities, also felt no need to fight to defend them. He’d

surely kil anyone who came up against him, and while his

blade had tasted the blood of many of the king’s enemies,

he had no desire to spil that of his comrades.

Gerard had never shown signs of liking cock, and Alain

had never made a move to push their friendship into that

place. They fought, they wrestled, they shared a room and a

bath. They often visited the brothels together or sampled

some of the same tavern wenches. Gerard had a heavier

hand with his women than Alain, who had no desire to bind

or beat his bedmates. When Alain sought the company of

men, he did it discreetly, and without Gerard. It was the one

thing they didn’t share.

Until the night Alain came home from an encounter with

one of his favorite male partners to find Gerard waiting for

him.

“Where do you go?” Gerard had asked in a deceptively

gentle voice that didn’t fool Alain.

“I didn’t know I owed you an accounting of my time,”

Alain had replied mildly.

Gerard had drawn his brows. “You stink of fucking.”

“I’l wash.”

Gerard’s hand had flown out to grab Alain’s wrist as he’d

passed. “I don’t smel a woman’s sweetness on you, Alain.”

Alain had looked down at Gerard’s fingers gripping his

wrist but made no move to pul away. “No.”

They had trained together so often Gerard’s move

shouldn’t have surprised him, but then perhaps Alain had

chosen to be surprised. Gerard had turned him and

pressed him forward, both hands tight on his wrists, in the

time it took to draw a breath. Alain hadn’t struggled.

Against his back, he’d felt the familiar breadth and width of

Gerard’s body.

Gerard had pushed Alain toward the room’s rough-hewn

table and pinned his hands to the splintered wood. He’d

kicked his legs apart and pressed harder against his back.

Alain had closed his eyes, breathing hard, making no offer.

“You like it this way?” Gerard had breathed in Alain’s

ear. The touch of Gerard’s hot breath had sent a shudder

down Alain’s spine and stil he said nothing, made no move

to get away, though he easily could have.

Gerard’s hand had let go of one of Alain’s and moved

around to cup Alain’s hardening cock. “Your prick is hard,

my friend.”

Gerard hadn’t fumbled with the ties of Alain’s trousers,

nor had his touch hesitated when he took Alain’s hard

length into his palm. He’d stroked, hard, in the way only

men knew how to do, until at last Alain had pumped his hips

forward with a cry.

“Yes,” he’d said. “Yes, Gerard, I like that.”

He’d groaned when the bluntness of Gerard’s thick cock

nudged at the passage of his ass, and cried aloud when

Gerard had eased his way inside. Gerard had fucked him

fast and hard, jerking Alain’s prick at the same time, until

they’d both exploded into pleasure.

“You can share everything with me,” Gerard had said

then, and until the dark fairy came along, they had.

Alain’s cock had risen at the memories and now

pressed uncomfortably against the front of his breeches.

He turned at the soft noise behind him to see Mira, her

lovely skin flushed and that marvelous hair hanging in

tangled curls around her face.

“He sent me to fetch him some ale.” Her voice was

scratchy, hoarse.

“My lady,” Alain said kindly, for he knew wel enough how

Gerard’s touch could leave one shaken. “Would you sit?”

He pul ed out a chair for her, and she sank into it as

though her legs had been about to col apse. He brought her

mul ed wine and a hunk of bread from the sideboard, but

she neither drank nor ate.

“My lady,” said Alain gently and waited until she looked

at his face. “What do you need?”

“I don’t need wine and bread,” she snapped suddenly,

her intriguingly mismatched eyes flashing. “I need

fulfil ment!”

He’d been certain she’d find it with Gerard, and yet the

moment she said the words Alain knew she spoke the truth.

A smile tugged at his lips. Now it was his turn to try.

Mira’s buttocks stil held the heat left behind by Gerard’s

hand, but she refused to squirm on the hard seat of her

chair. The humiliation of what he’d done—and without lifting

the curse!—brought heat to her face equal to that in her

bottom. She scowled at the dark-haired man in front of her.

“Bring me a dipper of cold water from the wel ,” she

demanded and pointed out the window to the garden.

“That’s what I want.”

She felt certain he’d balk at her imperious tone, perhaps

even take her in hand the way Gerard had, but Alain only

ducked his head and strode to the doorway on his long,

long legs. The wel of which she spoke hadn’t been used for

a long time because the winch used to lift the bucket from

its depths had rusted. Even so, the water drawn from it was

the sweetest she’d ever tasted, and she wanted it now.

More than that, she thought as she watched him

disappear through the door, she wanted to make someone

suffer, even the tiniest bit, to make up for the way she had

suffered upstairs.

But she hadn’t suffered, real y, had she? Even now,

thinking of the way Gerard had ordered her to hold tight to

the bedpost while he plundered her body from behind

caused Mira’s nipples to tighten and her pulse to throb

harder between her legs.

As the beloved only child of doting parents, Mira had

never been spanked in her life. No one had ever even

raised their voice to her. Yet, she mused, her thighs

raised their voice to her. Yet, she mused, her thighs

slipping apart enough to dimple the fabric of her gown

between them, there had been nothing parental about

Gerard’s treatment of her.

The other men had fucked her in al manner of ways, but

none had commanded her so. Thinking of it now sent a

shiver through her. Her sex, stil wet with her own slickness,

clenched hard enough to force a smal moan from her lips.

“My lady.”

At the sound of Alain’s reverent voice, Mira’s eyes flew

open. She’d arched back in the chair, her hips lifting at the

memory of Gerard’s touch, but having Alain witness her

reaction to those thoughts didn’t quench her arousal. She

studied him, the pail from the wel brimming with water.

“I brought your water.”

She didn’t know what made her do it, except that al at

once she lost al grasp of the difference between memory

and reality. Gerard had commanded her but now she would

command Alain; al of it seemed to make sense the way

light wil suddenly shine through the one clean spot in an

otherwise filthy window.

She kicked the bucket of water from his hands. It hit the

floor with a thump and split into several pieces. The cold,

clear water, sweet as honey, splattered Alain’s boots and

breeches. Frigid droplets hit her bare toes and calves, but

her gasp wasn’t from their smal sting. It came when Alain

went at once to his knees, his head bowed.

“My lady, I have displeased you.”

Mira had been protected and indulged her entire life, but

just as Gerard’s treatment of her didn’t echo anything

parental, neither did this new desire sweeping her have

anything to do with her previous experiences. She had

always taken her clean clothes and prepared food as a fact

of her existence and considered the servants who’d

provided them a part of her family, like her parents. She’d

never demanded anything from them.

The sight of Alain on his knees sent waves of pleasure

through her so strong her head spun. Her legs parted

further and she inched her skirt to her knees. Her fingers

fisted in the fabric and she imagined how it would feel to

bury them in the thickness of his dark hair.

“Tel me how I might serve you, lady,” Alain murmured,

“and I shal do my utmost to please you.”

“I would have your face between my legs.” The words

rose to her lips as haughtily as any queen might have said

them, and emboldened by her own tone, she added,

“Pleasure my cunt with your tongue.”

The dark fairy’s gift had stolen any shyness from Mira,

but even so it was the first time she’d ever said such a thing

aloud. Her heart pounded. She’d begged Gerard to touch

her a mere hour before and now she ordered his comrade

to do the same. Opposite ends of experience, yet both had

made her heart trip faster in her breast.

“If it would please my lady to do so,” Alain said without

hesitation, “then it wil be my pleasure to serve her.”

His strong hands, only slightly smal er than Gerard’s but

with the same delightful cal uses, slid up her thighs and

pushed her skirt to her hips. She was bare beneath. She’d

washed upstairs, but her sex glistened anew with her

arousal. The smooth bead of her clitoris protruded sweetly

from its hood of flesh and her soft curls.

Alain used his thumbs to stroke along her folds and

brought them together, one on each side of her clitoris.

Mira hissed out a gasp and her hips rocked forward again.

“Your mouth,” she ordered.

He obeyed at once, dipping his head to press his lips to

her flesh. His tongue, hot and wet, stroked her folds and

anchored itself on her clitoris. He worked her flesh with his

lips and tongue, and her desire coursed through her like

flames consuming paper.

She fisted her hands in his hair and held him tight as his

mouth moved. His tongue flickered, fast, then moved in

slow, deliberate circles that had her writhing.

“Fuck me with your fingers,” Mira gasped when Alain’s

tongue alone wasn’t enough to send her over the edge.

Alain did as she ordered. His fingers were longer but not

so thick as Gerard’s, and in her ecstatic delirium Mira

wondered if their cocks would be as disparate. He pushed

two fingers deep inside her, curving them slightly upward as

his tongue kept its steady pace. Bright sparks of fresh

pleasure shot through her, and again when he pressed

deeper and his knuckles provided additional pressure on

her back passage.

She moaned his name, and again, louder. She closed

her eyes and threw back her head to al ow the ecstasy to

take her over entirely.

“I want you to fuck me,” she gasped. “Fuck me, Alain!”

Her climax shook her, the pleasure so intense she went

briefly blind. Her toes pointed, her thighs fel open, her

hands clutched at nothing. The words spewed from her

mouth, yet she knew what she said and meant it.

“Be careful, lady,” said a familiar male voice, dipping low

with amusement. “For if you command it, Alain wil feel

compel ed to obey.”

Mira opened her eyes as the vestiges of ecstasy

seeped out of her. Alain stil knelt before her, his mouth

glistening and his eyes hot with desire, but it was to Gerard

she gave her ful attention. Her heart stil pounded from her

climax but now the pitter-pat stepped up at the sight of the

man who’d so recently mastered her. What would he do to

her? To both of them?

Gerard spoke in a voice that could never have been

cal ed kind but was at least not cruel. He put his hand on

Alain’s head the way a man wil touch his hound to prove

his ownership and its loyalty to him. “It’s in his nature, you

see.”

Mira swal owed hard, though her mouth had gone dry at

the flare of lust in Gerard’s blue eyes. In front of her, Alain

remained on his knees, his head slightly bowed beneath

the weight of Gerard’s hand. He didn’t look frightened. She

watched as he licked his mouth of her sweetness.

“How does she taste, Alain?”

“Like sweet honey, Gerard.”

Gerard’s smile sent a frisson from the base of Mira’s

spine al the way to the sensitive flesh of the back of her

neck. The curve of his lips affected another part of her as

wel , the soft and slick center between her thighs.

“Alain made you come, lady?”

She lifted her chin, almost defiant. “Yes.”

Gerard’s hand stroked down Alain’s hair. “His tongue is

most talented, is it not? And yet you screamed for his cock,

too?”

Even now, her body twitched and shivered at the

thought. The dark fairy had blessed her with desire, and it

had grown tenfold since Gerard and Alain had walked

through her garden gate. She covered herself with her

hand.

“Yes,” she said.

“You are not yet complete,” said Alain.

She shook her head. Alain got to his feet, shrugging off

Gerard’s hand. “I can complete you, lady. Al ow me to serve

you.”

“The lady seeks to serve,” Gerard said in a deceptively

kind tone. “She is natural at it, Alain.”

Alain turned to face the other man. “You didn’t complete

her, Gerard. The weight of desire hangs heavy on her

shoulders. Her burden has not yet been lifted, and nor has

ours.”

Gerard stared at Mira. “I haven’t yet had my ful way with

her, Alain. Once I have—”

“Once I have,” Alain interrupted, “the curse wil be lifted.”

“You?” Gerard turned his face to Alain and laughed. “I

know wel how your mouth can service, Alain, but you’re not

the one for this lady. I can feel it.”

“I feel it,” Alain said in a low, dangerous voice, and while

in the past he might have served Gerard the way he’d

served Mira, it was clear to her that whatever rift had been

torn between them had not yet healed.

“Wil you ask the lady to choose?” Gerard asked in a

frightening voice.

“I wil not choose!” Mira cried so loudly the china in the

cupboard rang. She got up from the chair, her skirts fal ing

around her bare feet. “It is not for me to choose! It is for you

to complete me!”

She pointed at each of them. “It is not a contest of who is

the manlier!”

Alain ducked his head at her words and put his hand

over his heart. “My lady—”

Gerard, however, had drawn his sword with a growl. “It is

a contest, lady, for just as you seek completion and the

breaking of the fairy’s curse, so I seek it. Alain!”

Alain had drawn no weapon but Mira, heart thudding

again, had no il usions he was not as ready to wage battle

as Gerard. “Yes, brother of my heart.”

“Outside.”

“Yes, Gerard.”

Again, Alain inclined his head, but though it gave the

appearance of him fol owing Gerard’s command, Mira was

not fooled. Alain was his own man. Her breath hitched

faster in her chest when Alain fol owed Gerard out into the

garden.

When they fought over her.

The room was not the best he’d ever been given, but it

was clean and bright, and the bed was softer than any had

ever been in the barracks of the King’s Guard. The basins,

one fil ed with hot water and one with cold, were of finer

porcelain, too, as were the cloths Gerard now used to wash

the worst of his wounds. Alain’s blade had some time ago

become nicked, and the cuts it gave were ragged. He

hissed as he smoothed the water over his bleeding flesh.

It gave him no smal pleasure to hear the same pained

noises coming from the room Alain had been given.

Though the rooms were separated by a door, it hung open.

Gerard could hear Alain’s measured pacing as he bathed

and dressed his own wounds. He might have taken more

pride had he known his comrade’s injuries to be worse than

his own, but Gerard was no fonder of lies told to himself

than he was of untruths told to him by another.

Neither had held back in their fight to prove who was

better suited to bring the lady Mira her completion, but, as

in al else, they were so even in skil neither had been able

to win. They were not a pair of matched ponies to draw a

carriage, he mused as he watched Alain’s shadow

lengthen and shorten in the doorway. Rather they were as

firmly opposite as the sun and moon. Like a lock and a key,

Alain and Gerard were fair to useless without one another.

“Alain!”

The shadow paused and in the next moment, Alain’s

familiar form appeared in the open doorway. “Yes, Gerard.”

“Come here.”

Alain did at once, and though he refused to show any

sign of it upon his face, Gerard ached inside for the days

before the dark fairy had come between them. No woman

ever had, not even the prettiest. No man had, either. Yet the

dark fairy, on a whim they’d never understood, had taken

the core of their friendship and used it to tear them

asunder.

“I have missed you,” Alain said simply, and Gerard hated

and admired him for his ability to put voice to his emotions.

“It’s been overlong since we were able to practice

together.”

It was just like Alain, Gerard mused, to make it as though

they’d been exercising rather than trying to kil one another.

He wanted to keep from smiling but felt his mouth curve

anyway. “Aye, brother of my heart, I have long regretted our

distance as wel .”

Only Alain knew him wel enough to know there was

more to what he felt than what he said. Of al the lovers

Gerard had ever taken, only Alain had also been his friend.

He reached to grab Alain’s wrist and tug him forward, and

Alain stepped toward him without resistance.

“We have never let a woman come between us before,”

Gerard said. “Only that bitch of a fairy has ever separated

us. Let us not al ow this like-cursed lady to widen the gap.”

“Mayhap,” Alain said as he ran his hand through

Gerard’s hair, “she can help us bridge it, Gerard.”

Alain had ever been the one of them to think more

thoroughly, and Gerard had always been the one to take

action. Together it had made them formidable foes to any

who opposed them. Now Gerard would listen to his friend,

to his brother of the heart, and they would take their action

together.

“The fairy cursed us al three with desire,” Gerard said.

“Al the same curse. Might we al have the same cure?”

“I think we might.”

Alain’s fingers tightened in Gerard’s hair briefly as

Gerard’s hand on his wrist pul ed him yet closer. It was not

often that Gerard was the one looking up, but he did so

now. Alain’s gaze held a hotness he recognized. His cock

had become thick and pushed the front of his breeches.

Alain gasped aloud when Gerard tugged open the laces

of his breeches and drew forth his erect cock, and louder

when Gerard slid the hot flesh between his lips, for it was

not often Gerard’s pleasure to provide this service. Gerard

opened himself to take in Alain’s length, sucking hard.

Alain’s hips bumped forward as Gerard’s hands found his

ass and gripped. The muscles of Alain’s thighs jumped and

twitched as Gerard sucked and licked al the way down to

the root and up again, paying special attention to the crown.

One hand left Alain’s ass to grip the smooth foreskin and

slide it back and forth as his mouth worked.

It might not have been Gerard’s habit to suck Alain’s

cock, but he did it wel nonetheless, for he knew just what

Alain liked. In moments Alain’s guttural growls were

becoming the slow, deep moans that signaled his release,

and now it was Gerard’s turn to seek his own pleasure.

Without preamble he removed his mouth from Alain’s

erection and stood so suddenly Alain had no time to react.

With his fist gripping Alain’s prick, Gerard captured Alain’s

mouth in a harsh, demanding kiss. It would leave them both

bruised, but the smal pains were as nothing compared to

the damage they’d already caused each other, and Alain’s

moan and the throb in his cock told Gerard he didn’t mind.

“You think you deserve to spil ?” Gerard growled into

Alain’s ear, his own cock as hard and thick as granite at the

thought of what was to come. “Do you real y think I’d take

your seed down the back of my throat?”

Alain had his triggers and Gerard knew them al as wel

as he knew how to make him come. “No, Gerard.”

Gerard let his hand drift along Alain’s cock before letting

go of it. “How long has it been since anyone’s taken a strap

to your ass, Alain?”

“Too long.” Alain’s voice pushed from gritted jaws, and

Gerard heard the truth in it. “Not since you, Gerard. That last

time.”

That had been a long time then, for the dark fairy had

cursed them more than three moons before. Until this

morning with Mira, it had been just as long since Gerard

had beaten anyone, though he’d taken countless women to

his bed while seeking to break the curse.

Gerard gripped Alain’s chin in his hand and looked hard

into the other man’s eyes. “It’s been too long then.”

He ordered Alain to take his position against the

plastered wal , his hands at shoulder height and fingers

spread. They had no safe word. They didn’t need one. The

position of Alain’s fingers would tel Gerard how much pain

he was able to take—today, with his previous injuries, it

might be very little. The wider apart his fingers, the more he

could take. If he closed them together, Gerard would know

to ease off.

Just as using his mouth to service Alain was not his

habit, neither was undressing him, but Gerard knew Alain

was so close to coming, his cock already so hard, that

bending to remove his breeches would only give him

additional pleasure. Gerard intended to keep Alain

balanced on the knife’s edge for a sufficient time, so he

was the one who pul ed off Alain’s breeches until Alain

stood naked.

Gerard admired the lines of Alain’s back and ass as he

pul ed the sturdy leather strap from his bag. The leather was

supple and oiled and fit his fist exactly. He tugged it

between his two hands to snap it, and his cock twitched at

the way Alain’s muscles jumped, though he showed no

other sign he’d heard.

“By the time I’m done,” Gerard said, “your back and ass

are going to be on fire, Alain.”

“Please,” Alain murmured.

Gerard laid the strap in even lines along Alain’s skin. His

cock stiffened further at the red stripes and the low,

strangled grunts of Alain’s ecstasy.

Alain’s head hung and his entire body quivered with

exhaustion and stil he did not push his fingers together, but

it was Gerard’s duty to know when Alain could take no

more even if Alain himself could no longer tel , and he put

aside the strap. He ran his hand over the heated flesh of

Alain’s back and delighted in his hiss. He slid a hand over

Alain’s ass and felt the muscles twitch and jump. He pul ed

a bottle of soothing oil from his bag and poured a palmful

and repeated the motion. Alain’s body tensed at the

contact of the smooth oil on his flesh, and his hips pumped

forward recklessly as he moaned.

He was so close Gerard knew it would take very little to

send him over the edge, and for a moment he thought of

al owing his friend that final release, but his own nature

made him grin slyly instead. He ran his fingers, slick with

oil, down the crease of Alain’s buttocks and teased the hot,

tight circle of his anus with one finger. Alain bucked and

cried out, but his hands never left their places on the wal .

“Such a good soldier,” Gerard murmured as his finger

probed slightly deeper. “So good at fol owing orders.”

Alain’s low, gasping chuckle sounded tortured, but he

said nothing. He pushed back a bit against Gerard’s hand.

From a true slave Gerard would have not tolerated the

insubordination, but Alain was not his slave even though

they sometimes played at that game.

“You want this?” Gerard eased his finger into Alain’s hot

passage. “Or would you like my cock there, instead?

Fucking you? How long has it been since anyone’s been

inside you, Alain?”

“As long as it’s been since anyone’s strapped me,” Alain

managed to say, though his voice shook with effort.

“Please, Gerard, for the sake of our friendship….”

Gerard could be cruel, but this was not about cruelty, and

he reached to stroke Alain’s cock with his oil-fil ed palm.

Once, twice, and Alain was crying out and pumping into

Gerard’s fist. Once more and his seed spil ed, hot and

fragrant, into Gerard’s hand.

“Now,” Gerard said when Alain had ceased his jerking

and moaning, “use your mouth on me the way you did for

her.”

Alain turned and fel at once to his knees. He took

Gerard’s prick deep down his throat and sucked. He used

his hand in tandem, stroking and caressing Gerard’s bal s

in the way that made his mind go blank of any thought but

the supreme pleasure between his legs.

It took only moments for Gerard to explode into ecstasy,

and when he did he shouted Alain’s name. As Alain got up

from his knees, Gerard put a hand on his arm to keep him

from turning immediately away.

“I have missed you, as wel ,” Gerard said.

Whatever had happened between the two men, the last

to come through the gate for a fortnight, they had somehow

repaired their bond. Mira had expected them to leave when

both realized they were unable to bring about the end to the

dark fairy’s gift, but as the days passed and Gerard and

A la i n ingratiated themselves into the household, Mira

realized they intended to stay. More than that, they were

wooing her, each in his own way, and neither was

competing with the other for her affections.

In the past, of course, guests of the house had sought to

court her in proper fashion as befit her status as the

daughter of a very wealthy man. No suitor would have dared

do more than walk with her in the garden, much less have

been so bold as to kiss her, and anything more intimate

than that was strictly forbidden.

The fairy’s curse had changed al that. The first men

who’d come seeking her had been satisfied to fuck her and

move on when they failed to break the curse, but Alain and

Gerard were not like any other men she’d ever met in her

life.

Gerard set her to tasks such as polishing his boots and

serving him his food, and his hand could be heavy when

she didn’t serve to his pleasure. The first time he’d tied her

hands and feet to the posts at the foot of his bed and

strapped her, she’d wept tears of pain and anger even as

her cunt wept with arousal, yet she hadn’t sent him from the

house. Her body had grown to crave Gerard’s discipline, as

harsh as it could be, and he brought her to climax over and

over with the flat of his hand or the leather strap he wielded

with such proficiency. He fucked her thoroughly as wel ,

when she pleased him, and denied her that ecstasy when

she did not.

With Alain, however, Mira played the mistress without a

second thought. He was as eager to serve her as she was

to submit to Gerard. Alain took whatever abuse she offered

him, whether it be her refusal to al ow him to achieve

orgasm when he used his mouth to satisfy her, or the

performance of countless meaningless tasks meant only to

prove she control ed him. He made love to her with

worshipful hands, when she al owed it, and Mira found his

touch as satisfying as Gerard’s even if it was in a total y

different way.

Both men pursued and pleased her over and over, yet

no matter how many times her body sang with desire,

something was stil missing. She waited for one of them to

finish her completely, to break the dark fairy’s curse, but no

matter how many times she submitted to Gerard or

governed Alain, nothing seemed to change.

Her father’s fortune continued to slip away in

summonses from the king, extra taxes, smal disasters to

the house. Her parents sought their comfort in elderberry

wine and madness, leaving Mira to run the much-

diminished household with no advice.

Summer had passed and turned to autumn, and stil a

space in her soul remained empty and bleak. She began to

despair of ever saving her parents or ridding herself of the

fairy’s cursed gift. Her two lovers might fulfil her body, but it

wasn’t enough.

“It’s not enough,” she said aloud to the last nodding

flowers in their beds.

The flowers didn’t reply, though the wind tossed their

heads and ruffled their petals as prettily as if they were the

dresses of innocent maidens. Mira hadn’t been innocent for

the passing of several moons, and she wept now for that

lost innocence and the life she should have had. She sank

onto her knees in the browning grass and fragrant earth

and buried her face in her hands.

“My lady, what ails you?”

Mira lifted her head at Alain’s low voice. She wiped her

face as he crouched beside her to cradle her. He took a

fine linen handkerchief from his pocket and dried her tears,

and not for the first time, Mira realized Alain was no

common soldier. He had wealth of his own, and status.

Under other circumstances he might even have been of a

high enough class to court her properly.

“If not for the curse,” she bit out through a fresh veil of

tears.

Alain didn’t ask her to elaborate. Instead he bent his

mouth to hers and kissed her through the salty wetness. His

tongue slipped between her lips until she opened her

mouth.

As always, that gentle touch set her body aflame with

desire, but Mira struggled this time against the pleasure

coursing through her. It would be fleeting, that ecstasy, and

leave her with naught in the end.

“What can I do to please you?” Alain asked and cupped

her face in his hands. “Only tel me and I’l do it.”

Mira shook her head. “If you could do it, Alain, you’d

have done so already.”

Al he could do was kiss her, which he did, and touch

her, which he did as wel . His hands slid up beneath her

skirts and found her bare and ready for him, as she always

was. Mira muttered a curse under her breath when his

fingers stroked her pearl and the first spasms of climax

began building inside her. It was so easy to give in to her

body’s longings. Nearly impossible, in fact, to refuse them.

Alain brought her to the edge of orgasm with only a few

practiced strokes, and when he slid a finger inside her to

stroke from the inside as wel , Mira shuddered and tossed

her head back with a sigh.

“Wel , wel . What a pretty sight.”

Mira bit down on the strangled cry seeking escape from

her throat and looked up. Gerard stood watching them, an

unreadable expression on his handsome face. His lips

tilted, final y, when Alain’s stroking hand tipped Mira into a

helpless rush of orgasm that jerked her entire body. She

didn’t look away from Gerard’s eyes the entire time.

Though she had made no secret of the fact both men

shared her bed and her body, none of them had ever

mentioned it aloud. She’d wondered privately if Gerard and

Alain had worked out some sort of system so each could

have their turn with her, for they’d never overlapped or

intruded upon the other until now.

“Alain,” Gerard said in the voice that made Mira shudder

anew with fresh longing. “Have you pleased our lady?”

Alain withdrew his fingers from Mira’s center and slid

them along his lips. “I think so, Gerard. But only just once,

so far.”

Gerard’s lips skinned back from his teeth in a grin so

feral and frightening Mira let out a startled squeak. “We’l

have to remedy that, won’t we?”

They meant to take her at the same time, she saw, and

her heart threatened to fly entirely out of her chest, so

fiercely did it pound. She’d experienced every intimacy a

woman and man could share with both men in front of her,

but the thought of them both taking her, both touching her…

both fucking her! She shook at the thought.

“What do you suggest?” Alain asked and pinned her with

his gaze.

Gerard came up behind him and cupped the back of

Alain’s neck in a gesture so intimate Mira’s breath lodged

in her throat. She’d known the men were close, and had oft

wondered at their friendship, but the way Gerard touched

Alain gave proof to what had only been a thought. They

were lovers, too.

She’d heard of men who preferred the company of their

own sex, yet she knew both of these men to be fervent and

skil ed lovers. Gerard’s smile grew broader at what must

have been a puzzled look upon her face. Alain reached to

stroke her cheek, perhaps in reassurance.

“We only want to please you,” Alain said.

Gerard nodded and crooked his finger to her. So

accustomed to obeying him had she become, Mira

stepped at once toward him. Gerard kissed her as skil ful y

but with less tenderness than Alain. When he probed

without warning between her thighs, she cried out. Her

knees sagged a little, but Alain caught her.

“We wil take care of you, my lady,” he said. “Don’t fear.”

“I’m not afraid.” Mira wet her lips. Something kindled

deep within her. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

“Take off your gown,” Gerard ordered.

Mira didn’t hesitate, though the garden was bright with

sunshine and would provide no shadow to hide her

nakedness from the eyes of anyone passing. Gerard had

commanded it, and so she did it, her nipples already

peaked and throbbing and her sex dewed. She tugged

open the laces of her gown and dropped the material to the

ground, then stepped out of it.

“She is so beautiful, Gerard.”

“She is, indeed, brother of my heart. She is indeed. I

want you to get on your knees for her and pleasure her with

your tongue.”

Alain ducked his head in acquiescence and Mira parted

her legs to al ow him access. His tongue, hot and sleek,

dove straight to her center and licked and swirled on her

until her hips began to rock. She kept her balance with one

hand on Alain’s shoulder, but the other drifted from breast

to breast, pinching her nipples as Gerard watched, his eyes

gleaming.

The front of his breeches tented and he pul ed the laces

free to push them down over his strong, muscled thighs. His

shirt came off over his head until he stood as naked as she.

The sun was kind to him, casting him in glittering rays of

gold, as if he’d been covered in gilt.

Alain stil knelt between her legs, his midnight-black hair

streaming over his shoulders. Mira climaxed under his

tongue as Gerard watched. Alain kissed her and drew back

as Gerard came forward to claim her mouth. When he

pul ed away, Alain had stripped as wel .

Side by side, their differences only proved how wel -

matched they were. Dark and light.

“Key and lock,” Mira said aloud. “Both of you.”

“And you the door that makes us worth our function,”

Alain said as though teasing, but the instant he spoke the

words Mira knew them as truth.

“Get on that bench,” Gerard told her. “Alain is going to

make love to you now.”

“Oh, yes,” she breathed and settled herself at once onto

the carved wooden bench overlooking her favorite

flowerbed. Far from being too hard or uncomfortable

against her bare skin, the smooth, sun-warmed wood

caressed her as she lay back and opened her legs for

Alain.

He slid inside her with ease, both of them groaning when

he sank to the hilt. He paused before thrusting, but when he

began his motions were slow and steady. The bench was

hi gh enough off the ground that he could stand, knees

slightly bent, to press into her. His hands gripped her hips

as he thrust, and when Mira cried out one of them left her

curves to stroke her clitoris in time to his thrusts.

The pleasure swept over her in waves so strong they

brought tears to her eyes. Alain moved inside her as Mira

blinked away the blur and murmured words of

encouragement…and love.

It was love, she realized with a wonder even the mind-

fuzzing pleasure couldn’t conceal. She loved Alain for his

tenderness and gal antry, and her orgasm swept over her

as she cried the words over and over.

Alain shouted out his reply as his hips rocked inside her

and slowed. They stared into each other’s eyes, smiling,

and Mira only looked away when she saw Gerard appear

over Alain’s shoulder.

“I love you, too, Gerard,” she said and gave a low cry as

Alain’s thrust began another surge of climax building inside

her. She loved Gerard for his command and discipline of

her.

Each of them gave her something different, something

she’d craved without knowing it. She loved them both, and

at last understood how to break the curse.

Gerard and Alain seemed to have come to the same

realization as Mira, for Gerard again cupped the back of

Alain’s neck with one large hand. Watching the men kiss

sent a thril through Mira unlike any other she’d

experienced. It would have been easy to fear their fondness

for each other, to worry she’d have no place with them, but

Alain had said she was the door and now, more than ever,

Mira felt it.

Gerard kissed Alain but briefly, for Alain stil thrust ever

so slowly in and out of Mira. Gerard moved behind Alain.

His hands gripped Alain’s hips, and in a moment Mira felt

the added pressure of Gerard’s thrust inside Alain. The two

men moved in perfect tandem, in and out. Alain cried out,

his fingers on Mira’s clit pausing their circling, and it was

the hesitation in the stimulation that sent her over the edge

once more.

Together, the three of them fucked. Together, they made

love. And when Gerard cried out first her name and then

Alain’s, and Alain shuddered and grunted with his climax,

Mira tipped once again into a spiral of ecstasy so great al

she could do was let it sweep her away nearly to oblivion.

When they had untangled themselves from her and from

each other, Mira kissed and embraced the two men who’d

come through her garden gate and changed her life forever.

One fair, the other dark. Gilt and midnight, her own dual

nature split into two lovers, each providing the final piece of

what she needed to love.

More than that.

Each what she needed to be complete.

No Apologies

TRACY WOLFF

CHAPTER ONE

HE WAS STARING AT HER. THOUGH SHE

DIDN’T look—why ruin the game so soon—she felt the

heat of his dark chocolate gaze cruising down her neck to

her partial y bare breasts and beyond, taking in every detail

of her new dress and the body that lay beneath it. She’d

thought of him when she’d chosen the red silk. Imagined his

expression the first time he saw her in it and the

unbelievable pleasure she would feel as he slowly peeled

her out of it.

He shifted in his seat and a shiver of pure liquid lust shot

through her at the simple movement, though she caught it

only out of the corner of her eye. She shouldn’t be this

attuned to him—it just wasn’t normal, no matter what

wicked, wonderful things she’d let him do to her body for

the last three months. And, she admitted, she’d let him do a

lot. She’d given him everything he asked for and more; so

much more that it disturbed her sometimes.

She didn’t know how to deal with this…obsession.

Annalise cringed at the word, but could think of nothing else

to describe the craving she had for Gabe every moment of

every day. No one else could satisfy it, no matter how hard

she’d tried to find someone who could. And God, how she

tried—every chance she got. Nearly every night he wasn’t

with her she made sure she was flat on her back beneath

someone else. A momentary diversion, a last-ditch effort to

stop the need he built so explosively, and effortlessly, within

her.

She refused to turn out like her mother—her beautiful,

youthful, completely insane mother. Living with one man

while chasing after another, changing marriages like

underwear—until her life was nothing but one long nervous

breakdown. No thank you. Been there, seen that.

Yet her feelings for Gabe remained more powerful than

she liked. Obsession. Need. The words whispered through

her until al she could think about, al she could feel, was

Gabe.

The distance between their tables was negligible in the

sleepy little restaurant. He sat halfway across the room,

immersed in a business discussion of stocks and

commodities and so many other things she couldn’t care

less about, but Annalise felt each of his glances like a

caress.

Though she refused to look up from the menu she was

oh so carelessly perusing, his pul battered her defenses.

Enveloped her until she was wet and aching and ready to

let him fuck her right there in the middle of Emilio’s

exclusive dining room. Yet, when she’d risked a glance at

him earlier, he’d looked completely unruffled. How could he

turn her into a raving, sex-crazed lunatic and stil manage to

stay so untouched?

Fuck it. She reached for her wine, took a healthy sip.

Two could play his game. After al , she’d been doing it for

more years and with more men than she could count. She

had to remember that Gabe was just one more.

Deliberately she uncrossed her silk-clad legs, one slow

inch at a time. Leaning back in her chair slightly, she let her

knees fal open—nothing too graphic in dear Emilio’s little

restaurant—just enough to reveal a smooth expanse of leg

and a hint of the shadow near the apex of her thighs.

She used one slender finger to toy with her water glass

—a careless slide around the rim, a little dip into the cool

water, an absentminded skim across red lips. She studied

her menu—though she knew it by heart and he knew she

did.

But it gave her an excuse to ignore him as his eyes

forged a blazing path up the long legs he loved to kiss.

Legs made even longer by the Jimmy Choos with the five-

inch heels she had just spent way too much of her last

paycheck on. But the second she’d seen them it had been

love at first sight.

Annalise couldn’t help grinning. What did it say about her

that she had a more emotional and lasting relationship with

her shoes than she did with any man? Even Gabe.

Smart, she decided as she glanced down at the sparkly

crimson miracles, admiring the sheer beauty and

craftsmanship that had gone into her most recent purchase.

Investing in her shoes instead of a man definitely made her

smarter than so many of the women she competed with on

the dating scene.

She glanced up as her waiter approached. “Can I get

you another chardonnay, Annalise?” Angelo asked, laying a

familiar hand on her shoulder and leaning down to speak

quietly in her ear.

Taking the last sip, she handed him her glass with a

flourish. “You bet, sugar. But just one more—I’m driving.”

He glanced across the restaurant. “Gabe’s busy tonight,

huh?”

“Oh yeah. You know Gabe and his one-track mind.”

Though she was doing her best to distract him. Leaning

into Angelo, she gave a breathy laugh and laid a wel -

manicured hand on his forearm.

He nodded, his blue eyes darkening as she stroked him

through the thin fabric of his suit. “If he’s busy for the rest of

the night, I get off at ten-thirty.” His hand slid from her

shoulder to the smal of her back.

Annalise grinned up at him—she couldn’t help it, he was

just so irrepressible. And one of her favorite fuck buddies

for just that reason. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” she

murmured, turning in to him so that her breasts brushed

against his arm.

“Too long,” he answered, his voice deepening as her

nipple hardened against his muscular bicep. Gabe and his

hot stare had her in such a state of arousal that just that one

quick brush against Angelo had her nipples standing at

attention.

But she had bigger plans and, with a sigh of regret, she

eased back from him. “I’ve got something going tonight,

sugar. But if you’re free on Monday…”

His grin was frankly sensual. “I’l cal you.”

“You do that.” She gave him a slow smile and a wink

before letting her hand drop, oh so leisurely, from his arm.

“And I’l take the pasta primavera whenever you get a

chance.”

“You got it.” After an intimate shoulder squeeze, he

headed toward the kitchen, a noticeable spring in his step.

Annalise grinned before she could help herself. Men

were just too easy. Or at least, most men were. She spent a

minute watching Angelo walk away, giving both Gabe and

herself a chance to process the interaction.

Not that Gabe real y needed much time to process, she

mused. His fury was a living entity, crossing the space

between them and skewering her without a word. She was

playing with fire and she knew it—but the pleasurable pain

that came with the burn made the game impossible to

resist.

Besides, Gabe’s possessive nature was beginning to

grate. She’d made it abundantly clear before they’d gotten

together—and in the months since—that they weren’t

exclusive. They weren’t serious. And they certainly weren’t

emotional y involved. She didn’t do emotions and hadn’t for

eight long years. And Gabe had agreed when she’d laid out

the rules.

Agreed, hel , he’d been right there with her—looking for

a good time with no strings attached. It’s what had made

them so perfect for each other. He knew she had guys on

the side—she let things slip every once in a while,

sometimes refused to see him because she already had a

date, occasional y answered cal s from other men when she

was out with him. Just little clues, enough to make sure he

knew that she wasn’t harboring any happily-ever-after

fantasies like so many of the other women in his life. And

he definitely had other women—she wasn’t naive enough to

think that he didn’t. Nor did it bother her—why should it

when he always had more than enough left to give her what

she wanted?

Refusing to be a coward—she’d done nothing wrong,

after al —Annalise slowly lifted her head and let her blue

eyes meet his nearly black ones across the dining room.

Sparks leapt between them, as they had every day since

they’d first laid eyes on each other three months before.

She’d been having dinner with some friends at a trendy

La Jol a restaurant and he’d been involved in yet another

business meeting. She’d brushed past his table on her way

to the ladies’ room and had fal en instantly in lust. Not that

any sane woman could blame her. The man was yummy—

with a capital Y. Beautiful mocha skin covering incredible

muscles. Dark, sexy eyes that promised more pleasure

than it should be possible to feel. And those strong, work-

roughened hands that had delivered on al the promises his

eyes had made and many more to boot.

They’d spent the first two days of their acquaintance in

his bed, and she’d come so many times in the first twenty-

four hours that she’d lost count some time after number

twelve. Much of their subsequent acquaintance had been

spent in bed as wel —at his place and hers.

Taking a long, cool drink of water, she smiled sassily at

him. Tried to appear unaffected by the rage sizzling—hot

and dangerous—in his eyes. It was setting fire to the very

air around them until she felt like she could barely breathe,

the oxygen trembling in her suddenly shaky lungs. Anger,

possession, lust—and other emotions she couldn’t begin to

name—shot across the room from him to her. Her nipples

—already pressed against the thin silk of her dress—

tightened to the point of pain. She knew he could see them,

but she was too far gone to care. It took al her control not to

spread her legs and beg for it.

But she refused to back down—even if the prize was the

hot and satisfying sex he was the absolute best at

providing. Besides, they’d get there eventual y. The

attraction between them wouldn’t al ow anything less.

Leaning back in her chair, Annalise let her head drop

back and ran her hands through her long black hair. The

action thrust her ful breasts forward, making her erect

nipples even more obvious. She stretched, a long, feline

movement that inched her dress farther up her thighs and

revealed the lace tops of her thigh highs and the smooth,

pale skin above them.

Angelo let out a long, low whistle as he dropped off her

second glass of wine. “You’l have him whimpering in a

second, babe,” he whispered in her ear. But a searing look

from Gabe had him hightailing it back into the kitchen

before she could answer.

Need shivered through her—hot, aching, alive—and she

pushed away from the table before she lost it completely.

Grabbing her skinny purse with one hand, she ran the

thumb from her other hand over an aroused nipple. Once,

twice, in plain view of anyone who cared to look. She didn’t

care who else saw as long as Gabe was watching.

As she turned toward the bathroom, the heat skating up

her spine assured her that he was indeed watching her

instead of concentrating on whatever his clients were

saying. She wasn’t the least bit sorry.

CHAPTER TWO

AS ANNALISE CLOSED THE RESTROOM

DOOR BEHIND her—Emilio’s had one of those big

private bathrooms—she was thankful it was at the end of a

hal way. It saved them from looking too obvious if Gabe

chose to fol ow her. She laughed before she could stop

herself. Like he had a choice.

Kil ing time, she reached into her clutch for her favorite

lipstick. Fuck Me Red, she reflected as she slicked the

sassy gold tube over her lips. The makers had labeled it

Valentine Red, but Annalise liked her name better.

She had no use for valentines. A good fuck, on the other

hand, was just about her favorite thing.

After dropping the lipstick into her purse, she stepped

back to get a good look in the ful -length mirror to the side

of the sink. Red dress, red shoes, red lips. Maybe she

should make red her signature color, she mused, her mind

shooting back to the heroine’s red gown in the drippy

movie Kate and Iris had talked her into watching the night

before. She sneered, refusing to remember the

sympathetic tears that had sprung to her eyes before she

could stop them. She’d batted them away before her best

friends could see them—she never would have lived down

the chink in the harder-than-diamonds aura she’d spent the

last eight years of her life cultivating.

But the red dress did look hot, she admitted. It brought

out the spark in her blue eyes, showed off the natural shine

of her long dark hair. And it looked great against her pale

skin. Flashy without being slutty; eye-catching without

bringing down the house. Or the beasts, she admitted as

she turned left and right, checking out her look from every

angle. She’d run into her share of animals on the San

Diego dating scene in the last few years and while she was

a good-time girl, she drew the line at partying with swine.

What smart girl didn’t?

She glanced down and the sequins on her Jimmy Choos

winked up at her. God, she loved these shoes. She’d

bought them for Gabe—he loved the way she looked naked

except for a pair of stilettos. He loved even more the way

she wrapped her legs around him and dug the heels into

his ass. Just enough to pinch—a little pain to sharpen the

pleasure. Her favorite kind.

Plus, he towered over her very respectable five-foot-

seven-inch frame—the heels made it just a little easier for

him to fuck her in unusual places. Like restaurant

bathrooms, she smirked to herself.

Suddenly the door crashed open, hitting the wal with a

loud bang she refused to react to. Instead, she let her

slightly mocking gaze meet Gabe’s infuriated one in the

bathroom mirror.

“What the fuck are you playing at?” Gabe demanded. He

was enraged—she glanced downward—and hard enough

to pound nails through concrete. Certainly hard enough to

pound on her for a while. She grinned despite the menace

fairly dripping off him, fighting the urge to lick her lips in

anticipation.

“Hey, lover. What happened to your clients?” She kept

her voice low and sassy, just the way he liked it best.

“Discussing my proposal.” His eyes narrowed

dangerously as he studied her. “I decided to give them a

few minutes alone.”

She nodded sagely, her reflection mocking him. “Smart

move.”

“Now answer my question,” he al but snarled, grabbing

her arm and spinning her to face him.

Annalise shrugged, giving him a look brimming with

mischievous innocence. “No game. Just a simple pasta

dinner.” And an overwhelming need to see him, not that

she’d ever admit it.

It absolutely kil ed her that she’d wanted to see him so

badly that she’d crashed his business dinner to do it. When

had he stopped being just a guy she liked to screw and

become a guy she couldn’t get through a week without?

“Bul shit,” he sneered as he slammed her back against

the mirror. She could feel his cock—long and thick and

hard—pressed against her mons and she fought the urge

to spread her legs and ride him. It wasn’t time yet. “You’ve

been playing with fire since the moment you walked in.”

She shrugged. “Wel , I do like the burn.”

With a sound that was part angry and part turned-on, he

leaned into her until every inch of him was touching her from

shoulder to thigh. He spread her legs with one careless

push of her knee and settled between her thighs. Where

she’d wanted him al along.

And then his mouth found hers. Hot, hard, shockingly

possessive. Reckless where he was normal y careful.

Violent where he was normal y tender. But tenderness

wasn’t what she wanted or needed tonight. Right now, she

needed to feel the burn.

Wrapping her arms around Gabe’s neck, she pul ed him

closer even as she lifted herself toward him. The mirror was

cold against her partial y-bare back, but Gabe was

scorching hot—the combination of two such different

sensations excited her to a fever pitch before they’d even

started.

Opening her mouth under his onslaught, she let him

devour her with his lips, his tongue, his teeth. Let him feed

on her as if he would never get enough. She wanted to

surrender everything she had to that mouth, everything she

was.

He pressed deeper and deeper, demanded more and

more. Her head whirled, her knees trembled—and Annalise

realized suddenly, as his tongue raided every corner of her

mouth, that it would never be enough. This would never be

enough. She would die wanting this man inside of her. The

realization was as unexpected as it was devastating.

“Don’t do it again,” he growled, his hands cupping her

breasts while he squeezed her nipples between his thumbs

and index fingers. Hard.

She wanted to whimper but pride wouldn’t al ow it. Even

so, she had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from crying

out when he began to move, his hot cock thrusting between

her legs.

“Do what?” Her voice was shakier than she liked.

His fingers tightened on her nipple, bringing her to the

very edge of madness. “Play me against another guy like

that.”

She arched her back, pressing her nipple more firmly

i nto his hand. “Is that what I was doing?” She sounded

breathless but was too far gone to care.

“You knew exactly what you were doing.” His fingers

tightened punishingly, giving her the pleasure-pain she so

desperately craved. And then she was melting, burning, so

wet and creamy she didn’t know how long she’d last.

Letting her head fal back, Annalise took as much of the

insidious pleasure as she could handle without coming.

Then she pushed him away, using every ounce of strength

she possessed to get the job done. Gabe was a brick wal ,

hard and heavily muscled, but he let her shove him back.

He stood there, chest heaving, cock twitching, eyes

blazing with a fury and lust that were intertwined and

suddenly she knew. The game wasn’t over. It would never

be over.

She took a deep, steadying breath. Maybe she was

caught by these riotous emotions, this incredible,

overwhelming lust for him that dominated every moment of

her every day. But two could play by the rules Gabe was so

brutal y establishing.

Reaching down, she pressed a hand firmly against

Gabe’s beautiful y aroused cock. He thrust himself into her

fingers over and over again, and she grinned. Oh, yeah—

he needed this as much as she did. Maybe more. She

continued stroking him through the fine silk of his trousers.

She loved how big he was, how long and thick and

desperate he was for her. Before she was done, he would

be begging to be inside of her.

Turning, he pul ed her into his arms as he lowered his

mouth to her ear. “Let’s go find the car,” he murmured.

“The car?” she asked, pretending ignorance as she

reached between his legs and cupped his bal s in her

hands, her fingers slowly massaging him. She knew her

eyes were almost as glazed as his, but she couldn’t help it.

Having this big, strong man at her mercy was the biggest

turn-on she’d ever had.

“I’ve got to be inside you, Annalise. Soon.”

She licked her lips even as she wrapped her arms

around his neck and pressed against him. “Here. Now.”

“Right now?” His cock jumped against her stomach,

growing harder and thicker—though she would never have

imagined it possible.

She could tel he wanted to protest, to tel her al the

reasons why sex in this bathroom with a restaurant ful of

people outside was a very bad idea. But her words had put

a picture in his brain—just as she had intended—and his

unruly cock was more than wil ing to accommodate her.

Thank God.

She kept her triumph to herself as she nodded and

pul ed him back against her. “Right now.” She opened his

belt and unbuttoned his pants. She gasped when his cock

sprang free of the confining clothes—he was always ready

to go, but tonight he seemed larger than usual.

Annalise grinned as she dropped to her knees. Her own

personal plaything—huge and hot and dying to be inside

any part of her body it could reach. She shivered as her

own arousal quickly spiraled out of control. What else could

a girl ask for?

Leaning forward, she delivered one long, leisurely lick—

from the base of his cock to the very tip. He shuddered and

stiffened against her, his hands suddenly fisting in her hair.

Curling her tongue in, she used the underside to stroke him

on the torturously slow return journey.

“Annalise.” His voice was hoarse, strangled, the hands

in her hair tightening almost to the point of pain. But she

didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. She wanted him to come, to flood

every part of her until she no longer felt so alone.

Before he could protest, she took him in her mouth. He

was so huge that she struggled for a moment until, with a

sigh, she let her throat relax and his cock slid deep—al the

way to the base.

“Fuck, Annalise.” The words were whispered, urgent,

and sent a shot of pure molten heat directly through her

cunt. She was already wet, her thighs slippery with desire,

and her muscles were clenching rhythmical y—desperate

for Gabe’s cock to slide inside and put out the fire that was

rapidly burning out of control.

His hands in her hair tightened even more and the

almost pleasurable sting turned her on as nothing ever had.

Or maybe it was the situation—fury mixed with passion.

One hel of a potent aphrodisiac.

She was barely aware of her own hand creeping

between her thighs in a desperate attempt to stem the

ache. She pressed her fingers against her clit—just to get a

little relief as she didn’t want to come yet—but her hips

moved of their own volition, arching and twisting against her

hand as blinding pleasure shot through her.

Her other hand slid around to cup his ass, pressing his

throbbing cock even more deeply down her throat. She

sucked firmly and rhythmical y while her tongue stroked

every inch of him it could reach. She loved how his breath

hitched, how his ass tightened, how curses slipped, softly

but unchecked, from his lips as he thrust against her again

and again. He was usual y such a gentleman that seeing

him with the civilized veneer ripped away was a total turn-

on. Even more so was knowing that she was the one who

had made him lose it so completely.

Suddenly, he stopped, tried desperately to pul away.

“Annalise, stop. I’m going to—”

She grabbed him with both hands, pul ing him deeper as

she hummed low in her throat. No way was she giving up

her prize this close to the finish line.

“Fuck!” He came, flooding her, his cum shooting in

spurts into her mouth, down her throat. And stil she didn’t

stop, intent on sucking him dry and into firm arousal again.

After al , she wasn’t close to finished with him yet and they

stil had a few minutes before his clients missed him. The

way she was feeling, thirty seconds was about al she’d

need.

“Baby, stop,” he groaned softly until she pressed her

fingers on a spot just behind his bal s. God bless the

Internet and al the information a girl could find on it—he

hardened instantly, thrusting helplessly against her.

“Goddamn, how’d you do that?”

She licked her lips and shot him a sultry look. “A girl’s

got to have her secrets.”

He eyed her grimly. “And you certainly have yours.”

Grinning, she released him slowly and let him pul her to

her feet. “My turn.”

The look he shot her was wicked, as were the fingers he

slid slowly over her incredibly tight nipples. He squeezed,

hard, and she gasped, her back arching to give him better

access.

“Touch me.” Annalise guided his hand under her skirt

and up to her hot, wet folds.

His fingers found her, stroked her clit. “You’re not

wearing any—”

“Nope. Just a pair of thigh highs and a spritz of

Paradise.” She grinned despite her growing arousal. “No

pun intended.”

His black-magic eyes darkened even more. “You sat

there and let that idiot touch you, knowing you had nothing

beneath this dress?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?” She strove

to sound normal when what she real y wanted to do was

beg him to fuck her, to fil her, to give her what no one else

had been able to.

“Damn right it is,” he growled as he thrust one long, thick

finger into her. Fol owed it with a second. “You belong to

me.”

She moaned low in her throat, arched her hips and

pul ed him deeper inside of her. “I belong to myself. Now

fuck me before I explode.”

His answering laugh was low, aroused, and more than a

little bit threatening as her words speared through him and

brought his excitement back up to fever pitch. “I don’t think

so. You’re done cal ing the shots.” He thrust another finger

into her, roughly, and she saw stars. The wal s of her vagina

clenched tightly around him and a series of smal

explosions started deep inside her. He ground the heel of

his hand against her clit while his fingers moved in her.

She moaned, her head fal ing back even as her legs

opened to give him better access. She knew he was

watching her, assessing every expression flitting across her

face. But as his other hand squeezed her nipple just to the

point of pain, she didn’t care.

One more quick press of his hand against her clit and

she was coming, biting desperately on her bottom lip to

keep from screaming as wave after wave of mind-numbing,

bone-jarring pleasure swept through her.

He groaned as she clenched around him and he used

those talented fingers of his to take her higher and higher.

The pleasure went on and on—a liquid pul from her tits to

her cunt that electrified everything in its path.

When the contractions final y began to subside, he

pul ed out of her with a groan. She whimpered, her hips

moving desperately against him until he slipped his hands

under her ass and lifted her against the wal . His cock

pressed urgently against her, wetness already leaking from

its head.

“Wait,” she cried breathlessly, reaching into the very top

of her stocking and pul ing out a condom. “You need this.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Always prepared,” he murmured.

“Always,” she answered, her hips moving urgently

against him.

“But was it for me?” He pul ed back, moving his cock

away from her though his strong hands kept her suspended

against the wal . “Did you put that condom there for me,

Annalise?” He traced a finger over her overstimulated

nipples. “Or would any guy do? As long as he had a dick?”

She met his eyes, suddenly as furious as she was

aroused. “Get over yourself, Gabe.”

He lifted an imperious eyebrow. “I am over myself. The

question is, are you?” He bent down and roughly took her

nipple in his mouth. His teeth closed around her and she

screamed, arching wildly off the wal , desperate for him.

“Don’t do this,” she whimpered as he held himself away

from her, their only points of contact the hand holding her

against the wal and his teeth nipping sharply at her breast.

“You started it, baby. I’m only finishing it.” His tongue

soothed the little hurts his teeth had inflicted.

“Then finish it!” she shrieked, grabbing his tightly shorn

curls with both hands and trying desperately to pul his

mouth to hers. He avoided her, refusing to give her what

she wanted.

“Tel me,” he demanded as he shoved two long fingers

into her.

“No.” She moved against his hand. She was so close—

He pul ed out abruptly. “No!” she wailed, too far gone to

care that she was practical y begging.

“Tel me.” His voice was hoarse with restraint, but she

could see the resolve in his dark chocolate eyes. She

would get nothing from him without the truth.

“It was for you.” She pushed her hips out from the wal ,

blindly, desperately seeking him. “I put it there for you. I

came to Emilio’s looking for you.” She glared at him, more

furious and aroused than she’d ever been in her life. “Are

you satisfied?”

“Not yet,” he grunted, yanking the condom from her non-

resistant fingers and making short work of rol ing it on.

Then, with one hard thrust, he buried himself to the hilt. She

went off like a firecracker, would have screamed the place

down if he hadn’t found her lips with his own.

“Fuck, Annalise. You’re wicked.” Again and again he

pounded into her wil ing body.

“I know.” She pushed against him. “Harder, Gabe.

Please. Harder.”

He glanced in the mirror and she turned her head to do

the same, loving the picture they made. Her long, pale legs

were locked around his waist. Her head was thrown back,

her nipple in his mouth. His dark head and mocha-colored

skin made a beautiful contrast to the fair skin of her

breasts. One of her hands was wrapped around his

shoulders while the other slipped between them to stroke

her clit as she pleaded with him for more. He gave her what

she wanted, thrusting harder and deeper than he ever had

before and her eyes closed, the visual stimulation suddenly

too much along with everything else.

As Gabe fil ed her completely, as he pounded into her

as hard and as fast as possible, it came to her. She could

love this man—if she wasn’t careful, if she didn’t take a few

steps back, if she didn’t watch herself, she could fal for

him. Hard. She, Annalise Gal agher, queen of the love ’em

and leave ’em crowd, was on the verge of fal ing head over

heels.

The shock of the realization, the utter horror of it, nearly

cooled the fire raging inside of her. But Gabe sensed her

sudden withdrawal and, with a stroke of his finger and a

shift of his hips, brought her right back to crisis point.

Deliberately she clenched her muscles around him,

massaging him even as he pounded into her. “Annalise,” he

gasped, his teeth sinking into her shoulder, holding her in

place like an animal claiming its mate. “I can’t last much—”

The pleasure-pain of the bite was al it took to send her

over the edge. With a low keening cry she shattered, her

muscles milking him until he too let go of his control and

came apart in her arms.

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN THE LAST SHUDDERS PASSED,

ANNALISE RESTED her forehead against Gabe’s.

Mission accomplished. She’d set out to remind him of what

he was missing without admitting how much she’d missed

him, and she’d done one hel of a job if she did say so

herself. Not that it had been exactly difficult. He was the

most passionate, responsive man she’d ever known. What

she hadn’t expected was the strong emotional response he

pul ed from her more and more often lately. But she could

handle her feelings—would handle them—like she always

had. By ignoring them until they went away.

He slid her slowly down his body until her Jimmy Choos

hit the tile floor. With a cocky grin he stepped back and

disposed of the condom before fixing his pants. Ignoring

him, she pul ed her dress down and turned toward the

mirror to study her reflection. She felt branded, exposed,

her emotions completely bare for his scrutiny. What was it

about this man that tore her open? How did he touch a

heart she’d spent years forgetting she even had?

Her own vulnerability hit her and suddenly she wanted to

be anywhere but where she was.

Gabe straightened the back of her dress. “This shouldn’t

take much longer.” He glanced at his watch. “I’l meet you at

your place in about an hour.”

She shrugged carelessly, refusing to let him see how

confused she felt. “If something better doesn’t come along.”

There was no one better than Gabe, but she’d burn in hel

before she let him know it. It never paid to let a guy get too

cocky—pun total y intended—and right now, Gabe looked

about as cocky as a man could get.

His eyes darkened at her words, anger stil sizzling right

below the surface. But she ignored the warning sign—

something reckless had grabbed ahold of her, making her

push at him harder than usual, making her flex her claws.

Demanding that she prove she was stil a badass, despite

the emotions tying her stomach in knots.

Maybe it was that damn movie and the chink it had put in

her normal y impenetrable armor or maybe it was this

strange tenderness for Gabe that wouldn’t go away.

Whatever it was, it wouldn’t let her back down—even as

Gabe’s hands tightened threateningly on her upper arms.

“I’l be at your place in ninety minutes—tops. Be there.”

“Oooh. I just love a man who beats his chest,” she

murmured, brushing a careless hand over his nipple. “Or

anything else for that matter.”

“You don’t want to push me on this, Annalise.”

Their eyes met and locked, the power struggle that had

been in evidence from their very first meeting rearing its

ugly head again. Part of her wanted to back down, to give

just a little. But she had no give in her—Michael, the lying,

cheating, scum-sucking bastard—had ripped it out of her

eight long years before.

“And you don’t want to push me.”

His grin was mocking. “Try me.”

He turned and left before she could think of a comeback.

Goddammit.

Furious, frustrated, and completely unsure of what to do

next, Annalise headed back to her table. Once there, she

asked Angelo to box up the meal that had arrived in her

absence. Tossing a couple of twenties on the table, she

gathered up her wrap and doggie bag and headed for the

car, making sure not to glance in Gabe’s direction even

once. But she felt his eyes on her anyway.

Outside, she took a few deep breaths and leaned a

steadying hand against the old brick building that housed

Emilio’s. What had she gotten herself into? Fal ing for

another highly sexual, dominant guy? One who drew

women’s eyes wherever he went? How could she have

done this when she’d sworn after Michael that she’d never

give another man that kind of power over her? How could

she have not learned from her mistakes?

“Hey, Annalise, you okay?”

She glanced over to see a couple of the valet-parking

attendants looking at her with concern. She must be in

worse shape than she thought. Fishing in her bag for her

valet ticket, she answered, “Just fine, boys.” She handed

her ticket to the tal , blond one. “You guys look swamped.”

She nodded toward the ful parking lot.

“Never too busy for you,” he answered with a grin as he

took the ticket, letting his hand linger on her own just a little

longer than necessary. She returned his smile and added a

wink. Mickey was a cutie and she remembered fondly a

couple of hours she’d spent on top of him late last spring.

He’d been a young, but enthusiastic lover.

Though she was stil sticky from Gabe, for a split second

she thought of taking Mickey up on his unspoken offer. Just

to prove to Gabe that he didn’t have any power over what or

who she did. Just to prove the same thing to herself.

But she wasn’t in the habit of fucking men to make a

point—even to herself. She fucked them for a good time.

Sometimes just for a few moments of blessed oblivion. But

she’d never been the kind to cut her nose off to spite her

face.

So it was with a sigh of regret that she climbed into her

two-seater, electric-blue BMW. She waved to the boys and

slowly pul ed Fancy Pants into traffic.

The girls laughed at her for naming her car, something

they thought she should have outgrown by the ripe old age

of thirty-four. But for years, her only salvation had been

whatever car she was driving. When things got too tough,

she could grab the keys and simply fly away for a while.

Fancy Pants was a far cry from the rusty old Chevy she

used to drive, but no less a friend for al her dressed-up

parts. She had come a long way from the one-bedroom

walk-up she used to share with Michael. She shied away

from the memories—eight years wasn’t long enough to

forget how it had felt to walk in on him and her perennial y

youthful, pathetical y dependent mother getting it on.

Annalise snarled despite herself. Could her life have been

any more Jerry Springer?

She’d pul ed out of the restaurant parking lot with every

intention of going to the Gaslamp Quarter and partying until

two, so it was a surprise when she found herself turning

right onto Harbor Drive and heading toward Coronado. But,

she supposed, it shouldn’t have been. She loved driving

along the bay, watching al the tourists with their kids and

cameras. She wanted nothing to do with that life, but it was

interesting to observe on occasion. Besides, nothing beat

the smel of the ocean.

And, she admitted with some difficulty as she took the

left onto Harbor Island, she was too wound up to hit the

clubs just yet anyway. In the mood she was in, she might

end up doing something stupid just to prove a point.

So she drove—for hours—before she ended up at her

favorite spot along the ocean, watching waves that had

originated thousands of miles away rol in over and over

again. Reminding herself how inconsequential her little

problems were in the grand scheme of things and that she

should be grateful for every day, and everything, that she

had. Eight years wasn’t so long that she had forgotten what

it was like to wake up so emotional y devastated that she

couldn’t get out of bed until she’d worked out a suicide

plan.

Dawn was slowly streaking the sky when she final y

made it home. Carrying her precious Jimmy Choos in one

hand—the beach had left her feet wet and sandy—she

limped up the staircase to her apartment. Al she wanted

was a long shower and some sleep. She’d cal Gabe later,

much later, as she wasn’t in the mood to have the argument

she knew they were due for after she’d deliberately stood

him up.

Lost in thought and drooping from exhaustion, she

flipped on her apartment light and let out a startled scream.

Gabe was stretched out on her sunny yel ow sofa, his shoes

off and his eyes blazing with anger and something else that

looked a lot like disgust.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “How did

you get in?”

“Iris took pity on me and let me in, after watching me sit

in the hal for two hours waiting for you.” His eyes were dark

and dangerous, his ful lips compressed into a thin, grim

line. “Where the hel have you been?”

Closing her eyes, Annalise nearly swayed with

exhaustion. She didn’t have the energy for this, didn’t have

the strength right now to keep up the party-girl facade she’d

spent so damn long cultivating. But when she opened her

eyes again, none of the misery she’d combated on the

beach showed.

“Out.”

“Yeah, I got that impression.” He stalked toward her, a

gorgeous tiger of a man—al long limbs and careless

grace. Intense eyes and bared teeth. A low growl rumbled

from his chest, making her eyes widen and her heart beat

faster.

Standing her ground in the face of his aggressiveness

was one of the hardest things she’d ever done. But

Annalise planted her bare feet and refused to budge, even

when he got so close that she could feel his breath on her

forehead.

“Where have you been, Annalise?” He repeated the

question, his voice lower than she’d ever heard it, and a

shiver of unease—and God help her, arousal—shot up her

spine before she could stop it.

Angry with him, furious with herself, she ignored his

unspoken warning. “That’s real y none of your business. I

went out, had some fun and now I’m home and ready to

sleep.” She gave him her most disdainful look and started

past him. She’d almost made it to her bedroom door when

he grabbed her wrist and spun her around, pressing her

against the living room wal .

His pelvis pushed insistently against hers and his hand

rested at the base of her throat. Neither was anywhere

close to painful, but the inherent threat was enough to stiffen

her spine and harden her voice. “Let me go.”

“Did you fuck him?” Those sorcerer’s eyes blazed

angrily, even while his lips hovered just a hair’s breadth

above her own.

“What do you care?” she tossed back. “As long as I fuck

you too?”

The hand near her throat tightened warningly, though his

grip remained painless. “Did you let that fucking waiter

touch you? Put his hands on you? Put his cock in you?” His

breath was coming in short pants. “Or was it someone

else?”

She shoved against him, but it was like trying to push a

mountain—his muscles were like granite under her hands.

“Let me go!” she demanded loudly, her voice rising despite

her best efforts to keep it even.

“Not until you tel me, damn it. Who was it?”

“Gabe—”

He shook her then, not hard enough to do any damage,

just enough to get her attention. “Tel me.” He was wild, out-

of-control, his possessive instincts dangerously aroused.

She wanted to lie because it was easier. Wanted to tel

the truth, though he would never believe her. But when she

opened her mouth to speak, nothing came out. She shook

her head, shrugged, looked down at the thick, cream-

colored carpet beneath her feet.

“Damn it, Lissy, just tel me.” The rage was gone and in

its place was a sad acceptance she’d never seen from him

before.

Her resolve broke at the sadness in his voice and at the

sound of her nickname on those beloved lips—he was the

only man to ever care enough to give her a nickname.

Unless “Oh yeah, baby, do it again” counted.

“I was driving, Gabe. Just driving. Sorting some stuff out

in my head.” She gestured to her sand-covered feet. “I

ended up at that spot in Coronado we found a couple of

months ago.”

He let out a long, shaky breath, his dark skin paling

considerably. But those watchful eyes continued to study

her for a moment before closing as he sagged in relief. He

bent his head, rested it in the curve between her neck and

her shoulder, and she was shocked to realize he was

trembling.

“Gabe?” Her arms came up and wrapped around him

before she could stop herself. “What’s wrong, sugar?” Her

lips grazed his ear. “Why are you acting like this?”

He shook his head, took a couple of deep, steadying

breaths before stepping away from her. “I’m sorry. I

shouldn’t have…” He gestured at the wal before shoving

his hands in his pockets and turning away.

“Shouldn’t have what?” she asked. Suddenly the tables

were turned and it was she fol owing him around the

apartment.

He whirled to face her, somehow even paler than before.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I—” His voice trailed off.

“You didn’t.” Her voice was clear. “If you had, you

wouldn’t stil be standing here.”

Those black-magic eyes studied her for a moment,

looking for the woman behind the mask, searching for the

soul she didn’t know she stil had. And then he said, simply,

“I love you, Annalise.”

CHAPTER FOUR

SHE STARED AT HIM WIDE-EYED,

FEELING LIKE SHE’D just been run over by an

eighteen-wheeler. “Gabe—”

“I know.” He nodded at her skeptical look. “I real y do. I

didn’t mean to, I did everything I could to avoid it, but it’s

true. Somehow, despite my worst intentions, I fel in love

with you.”

Annalise shook her head, backed away. She didn’t do

love. Not now, not anymore. “I—”

His smile was sad. “I know. I shouldn’t have said

anything. I never meant to tel you.”

“Gabe—” She was beginning to sound like a broken

record, but she had no idea what to say. He’d completely

blindsided her.

He grabbed his keys off her coffee table before leaning

down and brushing a kiss against her cheek. “Get some

sleep. I’l cal you in a couple of days.”

A couple of days? He was going to drop a bombshel

like that on her and then leave—for a couple of days? Was

he insane?

“Don’t go.” It was ripped from her just as he turned the

doorknob.

Gabe stiffened, then turned to face her. “I don’t want or

need your pity, Annalise.”

“I know.” She stared him directly in the eye, her gaze

rock-steady though her stomach pitched sickly. “I want you

to stay.” She reached for him. “Please stay.”

He studied her from across the room, his eyes hopeful

but his mouth grim. “I don’t think that’s a good idea until you

figure out what you want.”

“I don’t know what I want. I don’t know how I feel.” She

swal owed. “Al I know is that I don’t want you to go tonight.”

She glanced outside at the blossoming daylight. “This

morning. Whatever.”

“That’s more than I expected,” he murmured, striding

across the room and yanking her into his arms. Then his

mouth was devouring hers, his tongue teasing and tasting,

thrusting and stroking, until her eyes crossed and her knees

turned to jel y. He tasted like he always did—like rain and

the ocean and a raging inferno that burned her alive. But he

tasted sweet, too. The mixture of the familiar and the new

nearly drove her over the edge.

Her hands reached up and tangled in the thin silk of his

dress shirt. She needed him inside of her, needed the long

moments of oblivion he always provided. Just a little while

where she wouldn’t have to think.

Her hands slid down his arms to cup his ass as she

pressed firmly against him. Gabe moaned low in his throat,

his hands pul ing her even closer into the shelter of his

body.

She loved the feel of him, the hardness of his muscles,

the roughness of his hands, the surprising softness of his

skin everywhere else. Breaking away from his kiss, her

fingers scrambled frantical y at the buttons of his shirt.

But he stil ed her, his hands finding hers, his thumb

stroking the urgency from her fingers. “Let me take care of

you this time,” he murmured, guiding her slowly backward

toward her bedroom.

Tears stung her eyes, but she batted them determinedly

away. This was no different than al the other times, she told

herself. It was just sex. Just scratching an itch.

But as he lowered her to the bed, she knew better. This

was everything she’d run from for eight long years,

everything she’d hidden from in the arms of friends and

strangers alike. She knew she should protest, that she

should push him away. But she simply didn’t have the

energy to do so. Or the heart. For once, she wanted to let a

man make love to her. To love her. Only her.

Gabe stretched out beside her, elbow bent, head resting

on his upturned palm as he studied her. Those wonderful

eyes had gone completely black, an intense heat burning

deep inside of them. His desire was palpable and a shiver

of excitement skittered up her spine. She licked her lips,

and even she didn’t know if she did it to be provocative or

because it was suddenly necessary.

“I need you.” His voice was soft, seductive. A silken

whisper stroking along her skin. A velvet caress igniting

every nerve ending in her body. “I need al of you.”

“Yes.” It was a whisper, as confusion and excitement

surged through her with every breath. His face was serious,

focused exclusively on her. His body was hard, completely

unyielding against the softness of her own. But it was his

eyes, so ful of hunger and desire and need for her—and

her alone—that made her pulse quicken and her inner

thighs grow wet. It was that hunger that also began the slow,

inexorable task of melting the first of the many layers of ice

she’d built around her heart.

He reached out, cupped her breast in his strong hands.

Let his thumb run in light, seductive circles over the already

aroused nipple. Annalise arched against his hand,

increasing the pressure, and she could have sworn she

heard electricity crackle around them. That one simple

touch seared through her, through veins and muscles and

organs until she began to fear spontaneous combustion.

She moaned low in her throat and reached for Gabe,

pul ing him over her, onto her, wanting to feel every inch of

his body pressed against every inch of hers. He stared at

her out of eyes burning with need, studied her, watched her,

waited for her.

Cupping his face in her hands, she looked deep into his

eyes. “Please.” She arched her back, spread her legs,

tugged at him until his cock was pressed against her. “I

need you. Please.”

She saw the moment he slipped the restraints he’d

placed on himself, saw lust, raw and needy, explode within

him at her words. Grasping the front of her dress in his

strong hands, he shredded it from neckline to hem with one

downward tug. She gasped as the cool air hit her hot body,

arching her back, and he took one of her ripe, raspberry-

colored nipples in his mouth.

She screamed then, her hips moving restlessly against

his, the muscles of her vagina contracting again and again.

She wanted more, needed more, but he held her there,

pinned by his weight and suckled while her body caught

fire. Each swipe of his tongue made her moan, each graze

of his teeth took her higher and higher until she could think

of nothing but him, desire nothing but his hot possession.

Forever.

She was wet and slick, her thighs drenched and her clit

aching for his touch. He ground his cock against her, once,

twice, and she came—her body going off like a firecracker

on the Fourth of July.

He reached a hand to her other breast and squeezed

the nipple tightly. The painful pleasure took her higher and

she convulsed again, her orgasm going on and on.

And stil he wasn’t done tormenting her, tasting her,

driving her completely mad. His hands tugged at her hair

until her mouth met his for one long, passion-drenched kiss.

And then he was moving, his lips grazing across her cheek,

stopping momentarily to blow on the sensitive spot behind

her ear. He turned her onto her back, and stripped the

ruined dress from her. Roughly. Deliberately. Then he

leaned forward and bit the nape of her neck. And lit her up

al over again.

She screamed again, her hands fisting in the bloodred

sheets beneath her. “Do it,” she begged. “Please, just do

it!”

“Do what?” he answered, pressing his cock against her

ass as his wicked, wonderful mouth worked its way over

her shoulder and down her arm.

She cried out, unable to stop the sound or the sobs of

desire that then wracked her body, one after another. She

arched against him, helped him settle more firmly between

her thighs. He rewarded her with a sharp nibble along her

spine while his hand crept around to her clit and began to

stroke her firmly.

Every muscle in her body stretched tight and she rode

his hand, too far gone to care that she was begging him

with every movement she made, every sound she uttered.

“Fuck me,” she demanded, burying her face in the sheets to

stop herself from screaming. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”

It was a litany, her new mantra, and she didn’t care how

desperate she sounded. She was desperate. He was going

to kil her if he kept this up.

“Where do you want me?” He turned to her side, ran his

tongue over her suddenly dry lips. “In your mouth?” he

asked, before licking his way to her breasts. “Between your

tits?”

She whimpered and bucked against him as her need

shot out of control. “Yes,” she gasped. “Yes!”

He straddled her, his eyes gleaming. “But I haven’t

finished listing your choices.” He drew first one nipple and

then the other into his mouth as his talented fingers rubbed

teasingly over her breasts.

He rol ed her over, worked his way down her spine one

teasing lick at a time. Without warning, his teeth sank into

her ass, nipping her before his tongue soothed away the

sting. Straddling her, he grabbed a wrist in each hand,

spread-eagling her before she knew what was happening,

holding her in place while he explored every inch of her

back.

“Is this what you want?” His voice was darker, more

seductive than usual as he traced the line of her ass

teasingly. “Do you want it here?”

He fol owed the line around until he found her, hotter and

wetter than she’d ever been. He pul ed her onto her knees

and slid his hand under her to get better access to the slick,

hidden folds, his fingers running back and forth against her

slit over and over again. Dipping inside just enough to

make her crazy, rubbing her inner lips just hard enough to

have her gasping for breath and pressing back against

him.

“This is what you want, isn’t it, baby? You want me right

here, between your thighs.” He thrust one finger inside of

her hard, fol owed it with another, and another. Her inner

muscles clutched at the fingers greedily and Annalise

screamed at the pleasure he brought her.

“That feels so good,” she gasped, moving her hips in

rhythm with his questing fingers. “You feel so good.”

She looked over her shoulder at Gabe, saw a dark

intensity shining in his eyes that she’d never seen before.

For a minute he looked wicked, wild and she knew that she

should be afraid. But she was too far gone to worry, too

aroused to do anything but ride out the unbelievable

sensations he drew from her body without any effort at al .

“It’s about to feel better,” he murmured, shifting so he lay

beneath her, her legs on either side of his head.

His tongue—his wicked, wonderful tongue—darted out,

caressing her inner folds again and again. Annalise spread

her legs wider, seeking something more, something

deeper. With a groan, he clutched her ass and spread her

legs as wide as possible, thrusting his tongue deep inside

her.

She came instantly, screaming and bucking wildly

against his mouth. He held her in place, his iron grip

unbreakable as he continued to lick and suck her through

the first climax and into a second before he relented.

Settling next to him with a low, satisfied moan, she was

focused inward as aftershocks of incredible ecstasy

continued to rack her body. Sweat gleamed on her brow as

she sucked air into her oxygen-deprived lungs and her hips

moved restlessly against the bedspread, searching for

Gabe.

He was right next to her, smiling, as he reached a hand

out to stroke her hair. To toy with the pearl necklace she stil

wore. “You didn’t give me a chance to take it off when you

ripped my dress off me.” Her smile was lazy, her voice

content even as she reached for him. “Your turn.”

“Not yet.” He shook his head, his eyes as turbulent and

mysterious as the ocean she could see from the balcony of

her apartment.

Her hand found his erection and she pumped gently as

she ran her thumb back and forth over the tip. “Now.” She

leaned forward and took him in her mouth, savoring his low

groan as much as the feel of him against her lips, in her

mouth.

His hands fisted in her hair, anchoring her in place as

she slid her tongue up and down the length of him. She

glanced up and found him watching her, his hot eyes

fol owing her every movement as she slid her lips up and

down his cock. She swirled her tongue around him before

pausing, deliberately, to flick at the drop of moisture he

couldn’t hold back.

She tried not to react as he ran a finger lightly down her

cheek, treating her as if she was fragile, as if he feared

breaking her. Those damn tears sprang to her eyes again

and she lowered her lids, refusing to let Gabe see her at

her most vulnerable.

Determined to beat back this rising tenderness for him,

Annalise took his entire cock in her mouth and encouraged

the involuntary thrusting of his hips against her. Reaching

beneath him, she grabbed his ass and held him to her as

her teeth lightly scraped the underside of his cock.

He nearly shot off the bed, and she relished her ability to

turn this strong man on. To turn him inside out and make

him forget everything but how much he wanted her. Needed

her.

But those were dangerous thoughts, so when he sat up

abruptly and flipped her onto her back, she didn’t fight him.

Instead she looked into his passion-glazed eyes and

licked her lips, savoring the sweet and salty taste of him on

her tongue. Sweat was trickling down his forehead and

over his chest as he fought for control of his raging body.

She loved knowing that she had pushed him right to the

limits of his self-control. But she had to know—

“Why did you stop me?” she asked, eyeing the rampant

proof of his desire for her.

“When I come, it’l be inside you.” His voice was harsh,

rusty with need.

“Sounds good to me,” she purred, turning behind her to

the nightstand and the condoms that rested there.

He took advantage of her turned back, reaching up and

unhooking her necklace before she realized it. She turned

back, eyebrows raised. “What are you doing?”

His grin was wicked. “I have a better use for these.”

“Better use?” As his words sank in, she knew her eyes

widened in surprise. “Real y? That’s not just a myth?”

“Definitely not. Now lay down.”

She fol owed his directions, her eyes both wary and

excited as he began arousing her al over again. His lips

were everywhere at once—her face, her breasts, the back

of her knees, her shoulders, her ankles. Every place he

touched caught fire and soon she was thrashing against

him, as desperate for him as he seemed to be for her.

Gabe reached a finger between her thighs, tested her

readiness. When it came away soaked, he grinned before

toying with her for a little longer. “Are you ready?” he asked,

rol ing the pearls slowly over her breasts and stomach.

Her eyes met his, clung, and she knew he saw the

beginnings of trust there. Taking a deep breath, she tried to

relax, to ignore the sudden nervous flutterings in her tummy.

She was out of her element, out of control. Uncomfortable

doing something she’d never done before with this man

who was pushing for everything.

Before Gabe she had thought she’d tried everything

once—why then did it surprise her that Gabe was the one

showing her something new? It shouldn’t, not when he’d

already shown her more about who she real y was than

she’d ever wanted to know.

Taking a deep breath she reached for him, running a

hand over the short, tight curls on his scalp. “Yes.”

Her eyes met his and clung. As if he sensed her sudden

uneasiness, he stopped for a moment and lightly kissed her

cheek and the corner of her mouth. “I love you, Annalise.”

And then he began slipping the necklace, pearl by pearl,

inside of her, murmuring encouragement until only a few

remained outside. “How’s that feel?” he asked, brushing

soft kisses over her abdomen and upper thighs.

Annalise wiggled her hips experimental y, more nervous

and more turned on than she’d ever been in her life. The

pearls shifted inside of her as she moved and she gasped,

awed by the pleasure the simple movement sent shooting

through her. “Wow,” she answered, looking into Gabe’s

bold, beautiful eyes.

His grin flashed, dark and dangerous. “Good.” And he

then thrust a finger inside of her without warning,

manipulating the pearls against the wal s of her vagina as

he did so.

She gasped, arching off the bed as a wave of ecstasy

more intense then anything she’d ever felt before rocketed

through her. The pearls were everywhere, touching every

single spot inside of her. Gabe found her G-spot with his

finger and rol ed pearl after pearl against it until she

screamed with frustrated abandon.

“I can’t take it, Gabe. I swear I can’t.”

His grin was dangerous. “You want me to stop?” His

voice was low and teasing, his eyes glazed and sexy.

“Yes.” Her hips arched against his hand. “No. Oh God, I

don’t know. Do something. Do something!” Her hips jerked

with each word, her voice growing louder and louder as he

continued to torment her.

“How about this?” Gabe leaned down, blew against her

clit and Annalise jolted, her hips coming completely off the

bed.

“Finish it,” she begged. “Please. Don’t leave me like

this. I can’t take it. I can’t—” Her hips jerked against him,

again and again, as her head thrashed back and forth on

the pil ows. “Gabe!”

He grinned, watching as she undulated against the

sheets, desperate for release. Then he closed his mouth

over her clit, sucking until she was at fever pitch. Her hands

grasped the sheet greedily, her legs moved restlessly

against him, and tears poured, unnoticed, down her

cheeks.

She’d never felt anything this intense before, never

imagined that pleasure could be like this. Insidious, never-

ending, taking her higher with every breath she drew.

Orgasm beckoned, the ecstasy so intense that nothing else

mattered. She couldn’t think, couldn’t worry, couldn’t control

herself at al and she didn’t care. Al that mattered was the

pleasure, and the man giving it to her with every move he

made.

Suddenly Gabe reached between her legs and slowly,

slowly, began to pul the string of pearls out. One bead at a

time, letting each slip against her clit as he did so. She

began coming with the third pearl, clutching his hair and

screaming his name loud enough to wake half the

apartment complex. But he didn’t stop—he continued to

draw the necklace out slowly, steadily, making sure each

bead rubbed both her G-spot and her clit as it came out.

When the last pearl was removed she was stil coming,

stil screaming. He rol ed her onto her stomach and pushed

into her from behind. Thrusting into her again and again,

harder and harder, he rode her through the contractions

rhythmical y milking his cock. She felt his orgasm

approaching and the tension magical y built within her

again. He twisted his hips, slammed into her at a new and

different angle and she shot unexpectedly over the edge

again. Then, and only then, did Gabe final y let himself go.

He poured every ounce of himself inside her and she

couldn’t help hoping, praying, that she could give him just a

little of herself back.

CHAPTER FIVE

GABE WAS ASLEEP. HE’D GIVEN HER

THE MOST moving sexual experience of her life and

now he was sprawled across her bed, snoring. Annalise

snorted softly before gently untangling herself from the arm

and leg he had draped over her in an effort to keep her in

place. Like she’d ever give a man even that much control.

After slipping into a short, leopard-print robe, she

headed toward the kitchen to mainline some caffeine. It

was ten on a Sunday morning and she should have been

sound asleep—particularly after the sexual marathon of the

night before.

But her mind refused to quiet—every time she closed

her eyes she saw herself sinking deeper and deeper into a

nightmare she couldn’t escape from.

After fil ing the tank of the coffeemaker with water and

switching it on, she sank onto one of her kitchen chairs to

wait. Gabe wasn’t like Michael. She knew that, absolutely.

She could never have been with him, even once, if he was.

But just because he wasn’t an amoral al ey cat didn’t

mean he wouldn’t eventual y betray her. Already he’d gotten

a foothold in her heart and mind, something no man had

been able to do for eight long years. Not since she’d thrown

whatever she could grab into a tattered duffel bag and

climbed into her Chevy with no other plan than to get as far

away from her fucked-up family life as she possibly could.

How could she ever face herself if she let a man rip her

hard-won confidence to shreds? Again?

Annalise heard a sound behind her and whirled around,

her body tensed for a battle she hadn’t had to fight in

almost a decade. Thoughts of Michael invariably brought

back the pain and anger, leaving a metal ic taste in her

mouth and a chil on her skin that she could normal y

escape.

“What are you doing up?” Gabe’s voice was husky with

sleep, his eyes half-closed as he settled himself across the

table from her.

Even dressed in boxer shorts and more than half asleep,

he was attuned enough to her to miss her. She had to fight

the urge to take a bite out of al that inviting skin. It was the

same color as her favorite treat—hot chocolate—and the

desire to taste him, to drink him in, was almost

overwhelming.

What was wrong with her? She was usual y done with a

lover the second he so much as intimated the L word—in

her experience it brought nothing but pain. But with Gabe,

something was different. Everything was different.

“Nothing.” She shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He raised one sardonic eyebrow. “I guess I didn’t do as

good a job of tiring you out as I thought I did.” He reached a

hand across the table and stroked her arm with one gentle

finger. “We could head back for round two.”

She snorted. “More like round fifteen. And even if I was

up to it, I can’t see how you could be.”

His smile was almost mischievous. “You’d be surprised.”

She glanced down and was, indeed, surprised. How

could he stil have a partial erection? He’d come at least six

times in the last six hours, not nearly as many as she had,

but stil . He was a guy in his late thirties—didn’t he know his

body wasn’t supposed to be able to do that? “Holy shit,”

she commented, reaching a hand out to touch, shocked by

how hard he was. Again. “Didn’t anyone ever tel you, guys

can’t do that?”

His shrug was self-deprecating. “Yeah, wel , you bring

out the beast in me.”

She twisted her hand around until her thumb rested on

top of him. Then she began the slow, firm stroking she

knew he liked. “Is that what I do?” she asked almost

breathlessly as he arched into her hand once, twice, a third

time.

“Annalise, stop.” His hand covered hers, tugged it away

from his suddenly raging hard-on. “Come here.”

He pul ed her up from her chair in one smooth motion.

Before she knew it she was curled on his lap, her knees

drawn up to her chin and his arms wrapped around her

while he rocked her slowly. His chin rested on the top of her

head and his hands, his gentle, wonderful hands, stroked

her back through the thin fabric of her robe.

“You think too much,” he said quietly.

She glanced up at him in surprise. “Moi? I think you have

me confused with someone else, sugar. I’m the original

good-time girl. If it feels good, do it—that’s my motto.”

It was his turn to snort. “You wish.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She drew just far

enough away to look up at him through her lashes.

“It means I’ve never known a thirty-four-year-old woman

who knew so little about herself.”

She shoved him away—a knee-jerk reaction she

couldn’t stop. “Don’t do this,” she said, her voice

surprisingly smal as she got up and reached for a coffee

cup. “Don’t ruin it.”

“I’m not ruining anything,” he commented as he reached

for her. “Why can’t you see that?”

She shook her head as she thrust a cup of coffee—

black, one sugar—into his hands.

Since when did she care enough about a guy to

remember how he took his coffee? The realization shook

her up so much that she bobbled the coffeepot as she was

pouring herself a cup. The outrageously hot brew streamed

across her hand and the pain was so unexpected that she

couldn’t move for a few, long seconds. Couldn’t stop

pouring the coffee. Couldn’t stop the burn.

“Shit.” Gabe sprung to his feet and grabbed the mug and

coffeepot away from her, even as he used his hips to guide

her to the sink. “What are you doing to yourself?”

She looked at him, dazed, so lost in her own torturous

thoughts that she barely registered the pain or the blisters

quickly forming on her thumb and the top of her hand. “It’s

nothing.”

He growled low in his throat, turning on the tap and

thrusting her hand under the streaming cold water in one

smooth movement. “What’s the matter with you?” he

demanded as he held her hand under the water. “Do you

real y like suffering so much?”

“It’s al I know.” The words slipped out before she could

censor them and hung there, between them, for long

moments. She prayed for the floor to open up and swal ow

her—but it wasn’t to be. He was pressed firmly against her

back, his arms around her while he kept her hand trapped

under the running water. How was she ever going to turn

and face him after that stupid admission?

She let out a halfhearted laugh. Fol owed it with a

careless toss of her jet-black hair. “I didn’t mean that the

way it came out. I’m just being my melodramatic self.”

“I think you knew exactly what you were saying.” His

answer was grim as he reached into the cabinet above the

sink for some Neosporin and a bandage. “When are you

going to stop hurting yourself?”

They weren’t talking about her stupid little burn anymore.

But she couldn’t admit—to him or herself—how close he’d

come to the truth. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that.” He covered her blisters with the

Band-Aid and then headed to the bedroom without a

backward glance.

“Where are you going?” she asked, ignoring the panic

skating up her spine.

“To work.”

She entered her bedroom right behind him. “It’s

Sunday.”

“Then I’m going home.” He pul ed on the dress trousers

he’d been wearing the night before. “Don’t ask me to sit

around and watch you self-destruct. I can’t do that.”

“Now who’s being melodramatic?” she demanded,

blocking the door when he would have barreled through it.

One look from those burning eyes seared her, and

strangely, froze her in place. “This isn’t melodrama. It’s

pain. I’m surprised you don’t recognize it—and my need to

get as far away as possible.”

“I don’t run away.” She was insulted and it showed in her

voice.

He snorted. “Wel , you sure as hel don’t stick around.”

“This is my apartment. You’re the one running.”

He shook his head in disgust. “You were running even

before you got out of bed this morning. You know it and so

do I.”

The truth knocked the air from her lungs. “You don’t

understand.”

“I understand plenty. I’ve been involved with you for three

months, Annalise. You think I haven’t gotten to know you,

the real you, despite your best intentions?” He snorted

again. “Give me a break. I know you better than you know

yourself.”

“That’s bul shit.” She was suddenly, inexplicably furious.

How could he be saying these things to her? How could he

mean them?

“You don’t believe that for a minute. If you did, you

wouldn’t look so scared. When are you going to grow up

and stop playing at being a badass?”

“I am a badass. You’re just too besotted to realize it.”

“You’ve got the most tender heart I’ve ever seen—you

just hide it behind layers of protection so you can’t ever be

hurt. Explain to me how that’s living, Annalise, because I

just don’t get it.”

“It’s better than the alternative.”

Their eyes met for the first time since the argument

began and al the fight seemed to drain out of Gabe. He

looked…defeated, something she’d never seen from him

before. “I guess it is.” He sank onto the bed and slipped his

shoes on without bothering with socks. Then he stood and

headed for the apartment door. “I’l cal you.”

“I’l hold my breath.” There she was, the sarcastic inner

bitch she’d spent so many years cultivating. Why had it

taken her so long to show up this morning?

“Annalise.” For one moment his eyes softened and he

reached for her. But she shrugged him off.

“Go home, Gabe. We’re done here.”

He turned on his heel and walked out without looking

back once. He didn’t even have the courtesy to slam the

door on his way out.

Her knees trembled and she slid slowly down the wal

she’d been using to prop herself up ever since he’d said he

was leaving. Wel , she’d done it. She’d driven him away.

Good riddance, she decided, right before she rested her

face on her knees and sobbed like a baby.

CHAPTER SIX

IT WAS A DREARY MONDAY EVENING,

FOLLOWING AN equal y dreary day. Rain pounded

the pavement—a rarity for San Diego at this time of year—

and everyone on the street was scrambling for some kind

of cover. Except for her. Since Gabe had walked out of her

apartment eight days before, she’d had a hard time getting

excited about anything.

Annalise meandered along the downtown sidewalks,

lost in thought, barely noticing where she was going or how

wet she was getting. She hadn’t seen or heard from Gabe

since he’d walked out of her apartment less than eight

hours after tel ing her he loved her. She snorted. So much

for love.

But it wasn’t Gabe she was angry at. No, she was mad

at herself for believing him. For starting to trust him. For

ignoring al the hard-learned lessons and warning signs that

she’d gathered through the years.

No, it wasn’t Gabe’s fault that she’d put aside everything

she knew and had started to fal for him. Had almost started

to fal for him, she corrected herself, stepping off the curb to

cross the street and narrowly missing a huge puddle as she

did so. Seconds later, a car making a right hand turn hit the

puddle and sprayed it al over her anyway.

Annalise ground her teeth in irritation. What had

possessed her to walk to work this morning? She never

walked to work. Never. So why today, of al days, had she

chosen to start her campaign to get into shape with a mile-

and-a-half walk to work?

Because she’d thought the walk would take her mind off

Gabe, she admitted rueful y. Normal y she loved downtown

—al the people on the streets, al the cars honking and

driving by in such a hurry. It was hard to concentrate on

feeling sorry for herself when she was surrounded by so

many other people doing so many different things.

But it hadn’t worked. Gabe was stil front and center in

her mind and it was driving her nuts. She’d worked too hard

to bury her vulnerabilities in the last few years to backslide

because some guy told her he loved her and then walked

away. Could she be more of an idiot?

As she waited for the light to change so that she could

cross yet another puddle-ridden street, a car pul ed over

right in front of her. Her heart sank to her knees when she

realized it was a dark-blue Acura.

“Need a ride?” Gabe asked as he rol ed the window

down. “You’re getting soaked.”

Getting soaked? She was soaked—al the way through

to her bra and panties. Didn’t it figure that she’d see Gabe

again when she looked as bad as it was humanly possible

to look? What the hel had she done in a past life to

deserve this kind of crappy karma?

She wanted to refuse, scared of what she might let slip

on the ride home. But at the same time, she didn’t want him

to think she was afraid of him. Didn’t want to let him know

that he’d managed to hurt her, despite her best intentions to

the contrary.

So she tossed her rain-soaked hair behind her shoulder

and shrugged. “Sure.” He leaned over and opened the

passenger door for her—always the gentleman—and she

slid into the car. “I’m going to ruin your leather,” she

commented as she closed the door.

“I doubt it,” he answered with a grin. “Cows get wet al

the time.”

“Thanks for the ride. I decided today was as good a day

as any to start getting into shape, so I walked to work.” She

grimaced. “I should have checked the weather first.”

“It’s San Diego. Who actual y checks the weather?”

Annalise grinned at him before she could stop herself.

“Exactly.”

He looked her over, his eyes dark and approving

despite her impersonation of a drowned rat. “Besides, you

look great to me.”

She laughed. “Wel , what woman doesn’t look great with

mascara running down her face?”

See, this wasn’t too bad. She just needed to engage in

a little harmless conversation until he got to her building and

then she never had to see him again. Never had to wonder

how he was doing.

What was left of her heart cracked wide open at the

prospect. Damn it, when had she turned into such a girl?

And how did she make it stop?

“I’ve missed you.” The words slipped out before she had

a clue she’d been thinking them.

“What did you say?” Gabe glanced at her abruptly, those

black-magic eyes of his dark with confusion.

She shrugged again, cursing herself. Then looked him

straight in the eye and lied. “Nothing. Just rambling.”

He stopped at a light and silence stretched between

them for a minute. “I missed you, too.”

“I could tel .” Shit, shit, shit. What was happening?

Someone had hijacked her mouth and nothing was coming

out the way she wanted it to. She was supposed to say

something about how busy she’d been, about how she’d

barely noticed he hadn’t cal ed. What she wasn’t supposed

to do was sound like a miserable, whiny little girl who

wasn’t getting her way.

“Annalise.”

“Look, just forget it,” she said. She gestured to her

building, less than a block ahead on the right. “Drop me

here and you can make the turn for your place. Thanks for

the ride.” She gathered up her briefcase and reached for

the door handle.

But Gabe didn’t stop, not at the corner before his turn or

even in front of her building. Instead he cruised down to the

next street and made a left, heading out of downtown and

away from where they both lived.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you somewhere we can talk.”

“We are talking!” She knew she sounded panicked, but

she couldn’t help it. Her defenses were too low for her to

stand up to him for long. “I want to go home.”

“Tough.” He kept his eyes on the road and drove for

about ten minutes before she realized where he was taking

her.

“No, Gabe. I don’t want to go there.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t.” He couldn’t take her to Coronado, to the

smal , secluded spot she had begun to think of as theirs. He

just couldn’t.

But he ignored her protests, and didn’t say another word

to her until he’d parked the car next to the private little cove

they’d found two months previously. Before he could say

anything, she asked, “So do you want to fuck me one last

time? For old times’ sake?” She unfastened the first button

on her sheer pink blouse, just to let him know how little she

cared. “I don’t have much time, so we should probably get

right to it.”

“Stop it!” He knocked her hand away. “I’m sick of

games, Annalise. I’m sick of pretending that nothing that

happens between us matters.”

“I’m just being honest, Gabe. Isn’t sex what you brought

me here for?”

“You don’t know the first thing about honesty. You’re too

busy proving how tough and unfeeling you are to let anyone

see the real you.”

She pushed her wet hair out of her eyes, went nose to

nose with him before she could think better of it. “This is the

real me, Gabe. I’m sorry I don’t live up to your stupid

expectations.”

He studied her for a minute, shook his head. “I don’t

believe you.”

“Wel , that’s your problem then. I never promised you a

damn thing.”

“You’re right, you didn’t. I was just too stupid to realize it.”

His mouth turned grim. “But things change. We’ve been

playing this stupid one-upmanship game since the day we

met. And it was fun for a while. But I want more from you

now. I need more.”

“I’ve given you more than I’ve given anybody else. Why

can’t that be enough?”

“Because it isn’t.”

His eyes held hers, and she realized that she was

trapped, unable to look away. Unable to walk away. “I don’t

have anything else to give,” she whispered.

“That’s bul shit. What you mean is there’s nothing else

you wil give.”

“Do you have to push?” She looked at him imploringly.

“Can’t we just do this for a while?”

“What exactly do you want to do?” His eyes snapped fire

at her as the tight leash he was keeping on his temper

slipped.

“You know,” she shrugged, gesturing with her hands. “Do

—”

“What?” Gabe demanded, before slamming out of the

car.

“Do what?” he asked again as he came around to the

passenger side and yanked her out of the car and into his

arms.

“Do this?” He let her slide down his body, then turned her

so that she was facing the car, her hands planted firmly on

the hood. He pushed her pants and underwear down to her

ankles with his right hand while he thrust the fingers of his

left as far into her as he could go. As he found her G-spot

and began to stroke he asked, in a voice made husky with

desire, “Is this what you want to do for a while?”

She struggled against him, furious that he could make

her want him with one stroke of a finger. But each

movement she made brought him deeper, pressed him

harder, made her wetter.

“Gabe, stop!” she demanded, her voice high and

panicked as she moved restlessly against his hand. How

could he turn her on so completely that she would fuck him

right here, out in the open, while cold rain lashed at them

from every direction? Where was her self-control? Where

was her pride?

Leaning forward, he grazed her long, elegant neck with

his lips while he used his free hand to fumble his belt and

zipper out of the way. She felt his cock against her bare ass

and couldn’t prevent her whimper any more than she could

prevent the blind instinct that had her pressing back against

him. Searching for completion and to hel with pride and

everything else that was keeping them apart. She loved him

and if this was al they could ever have, then so be it.

Annalise cried out as he bent her over the hood of the car

and surged inside of her with one powerful thrust of his

hips.

She moaned deep in her throat and spread her legs,

desperate to have him as deep inside of her as he could

go. It had been a long few days without him, without anyone,

and the relief of having Gabe inside her was total y

overwhelming. She tried to speak, but couldn’t form words

around the high, hungry sounds clawing their way out of her

throat with each surge of his cock inside of her.

Reaching behind her, she raked her nails down his bare

ass as she tried to pul him even closer. “Harder,” she final y

managed to gasp. “Please. Harder.”

He heard her strangled gasps and responded with even

more pressure, even harder thrusts until she feared he

would rip her apart. But he felt so good and she’d missed

him so much. She needed everything he could give her and

more.

His left hand moved between her legs while his right one

remained on the smal of her back, keeping her bent

forward for the best access. He spread her open, stroked

the spot where they were joined as she pressed against

him, desperate for release.

“Come on, Lissy. Come for me. Let me feel you, baby.”

He reached for her clit, stroked his thumb over it once,

twice, a third time. She shattered, screaming his name as

he rode her through her orgasm. Wave after wave of

sensation crashed through her, weakening her knees and

sending slivers of electricity to every part of her body.

Her muscles clenched rhythmical y, milking him with

every contraction of her strong body. She felt him pul back,

felt him as he fought his fast-approaching orgasm with

everything he had. He wasn’t done yet, and she

understood. She wasn’t ready for this one, perfect moment

in time to end either.

Taking a couple of deep breaths through his mouth, he

reached under her shirt to rub her nipples through her bra. “I

can’t,” she gasped, pushing weakly against him. “No more,

Gabe.”

“More,” he said, squeezing her nipple between his

thumb and index finger, feeling her muscles clench around

his cock in response. “There’s always more. I can’t get

enough of you, Lissy. More and more and more.”

He moved his hand down and with his index finger gently

tapped a pattern on her clit. She moaned his name, her

head lol ing forward even as her questing body arched into

his caresses.

“That’s it, baby. That’s it.” He continued the pattern,

watching as her hips moved more and more urgently

against his hand. “I love it when you come. I love watching

you and feeling you. I love being inside of you when your

muscles clench around me again and again.”

He bent his head to her neck, licked the line of sweat

dotting her nape. “I love your hard nipples and your hot little

clit.” He brushed his lips over her lobe, his tongue sweeping

against the sensitive spot behind her ear as he whispered

to her.

Annalise moaned deep in her throat, her body moving

feverishly against his even as tears of need streamed down

her face. His words were enflaming her, taking her closer

and closer to another climax, something she would have

sworn was impossible only minutes before.

“I love that you’re always hot for me, always wet and

wil ing. I love to fuck you, to thrust inside you and feel you

clench around me.” He pul ed out slowly then slammed

back into her. “I love how you take al of me, how you always

want more.” His mouth fastened on the juncture between

her neck and her shoulder, sucking ravenously.

“I love how you seduce me, with your wild ideas and your

open responses. I love how you let me fuck you anywhere. I

love thinking of new places and new ways to fuck you.” He

pinched her clit with his thumb and middle finger, leaving

his index finger free to stroke the sweet bundle of nerves

again and again. “I love you.”

“Gabe, stop!” she sobbed, her entire body shuddering. “I

can’t take it. I can’t.”

He squeezed her clit a little harder and was rewarded by

a high-pitched scream as she thrust her ass even harder

against him. “You can take it. And more. Can’t you, baby?”

His hips moved harder and faster against her as his control

slipped another notch. “Can’t you?” He moved his right

hand from her back to her nipple, flicking his thumb over the

hard peak again and again. “Because you love fucking me

as much as I love you.”

“Yes! Yes! Gabe, please!” She was screaming, sobbing,

wilder than she’d ever been before. He thrust into her again

and again, and she knew he was claiming her, branding her

as his so that no matter how far she ran she would always

remember that she belonged with him. As he pounded into

her, she knew he took a part of her with him. Knew that

she’d never forget the feel of him inside of her while his

voice and hands took her someplace she’d never been.

He shifted so that he hit her G-spot with each thrust of

his hips and she screamed. She was completely his at that

moment, completely at his mercy, and she knew he realized

it. She should be frightened of the control he had over her,

but she was too aroused to care about anything but her next

orgasm. She was going to die if he didn’t give in, if he

didn’t come soon and stop this total y incredible, absolutely

amazing torture. Desperate, she closed her legs, trapping

Gabe between them, and then clenched her vaginal

muscles as tightly as she could.

She was rewarded when he groaned deep in his throat

and thrust against her one final time before spil ing himself

inside of her. His orgasm triggered her own and she

screamed his name, again and again, completely caught

up in the physical and emotional storm ripping her body

apart.

When it was over, when they final y came back to

themselves, Annalise tried to pul away from him. But he

wouldn’t let her go, his body keeping hers pinned against

the car while his fingers toyed endlessly with her nipples.

“I’m not letting you go, Annalise.” He thrust against her,

more to make his point than for any sexual gratification.

“You’re going to have to get used to that.”

She turned her head, met his steady gaze with one of

her own. “You can’t keep me if I choose to go.”

He pressed more deeply into her, as if he could lock

them together for al time. “So choose to stay,” he said,

putting his hands on her hips and pul ing her ass backward

as he thrust forward as hard as he could. She gasped and

he did it again. And again. “Stay with me, Lissy. Choose

me.”

She swal owed, her eyes stil locked to his. “I’m scared.”

He snorted. “So am I. Do you think you’re easy,

Annalise?”

Her smile, when it came, was self-deprecating. “I’m

pretty much the definition of easy.”

“Not anymore you’re not.” He pul ed her up so that her

back rested against his chest and he could wrap her

securely in his strong arms. “I love you and I need you to

stay with me. Please.”

His eyes were dark and vulnerable, his love for her right

there for her to see. She stared at him for a moment,

soaking up al the emotions pouring out of him and into her.

And then she nodded, because there real y was no other

choice she’d rather make.

Anything You Want

JENESI ASH

I HAVE THREE LOVERS.

Jealous?

You shouldn’t be. Sure, they have money (otherwise, why

would I be with them?) and the sex is nonstop. The men

treat me right and shower me with gifts, but, you know

what? It’s damn hard keeping them happy.

It’s even more difficult keeping them a secret from each

other.

I have the system down pat. For the past year, Monday

nights are for Calvin. At twenty-eight, he’s younger than me

(although he doesn’t know it!). Tal , athletic, and very

energetic. He has more money and more kinks than

anyone I know. One would automatical y think he’s a

keeper. Ha. Ever try to fuck a hyperactive guy? You should

see the skid marks on my back.

Wednesdays are for Dennis, and they have been for

about eighteen months. He’s not so hot, and he’s not so

rich. He has a receding hairline and the beginnings of a

beer bel y. I have a strong feeling he’s married—he has that

henpecked look about him—but I fol ow the “don’t ask, don’t

tel ” rule.

Normal y I wouldn’t give Dennis the time of day, but

there’s something to be said about being the highlight of

his week. Hel , who are we kidding? I’m the luckiest thing

that’s happened to him in his life.

But that’s not why I hook up with him every Wednesday.

The guy comes in handy. He can cal in a favor for anything

at any time. I would think he was part of the Mafia or

something, but he’s just not that interesting.

And then there is George. George is the oldest of the lot.

He reeks of sophistication and success. I would love for

some of that to rub off on me, but after seeing him every

Friday for two years, I can safely say if it hasn’t happened

yet, it’s not going to.

George was my first provider. He bought the condo for

me in downtown Seattle, and on special occasions he

gives me some kick-ass jewelry. Not that I would know this

at first sight, but I had the baubles appraised by a guy

Dennis knows. Calvin pays for my utilities and food as wel

as my “incidentals.”

Yeah, you got that right. I fool around for food. I figure it’s

no different than going out on a date because the fridge is

empty. Only with this setup our expectations are clear and

up-front. No confusion. No hurt feelings. I’m a sure thing and

so is my dinner. I like this kind of deal and I’ve long decided

dating is for amateurs.

Wait. Was that the doorbel ? Uh-oh…What day is it?

Shit! I have no clue. My gut twists sharply. I wrap my

arms around my stomach and stare at the door. I hate when

this happens. That’s the downside of being a moonlighting

mistress.

Is it Wednesday? I frown as I try to recal . No, I think I’ve

already seen Dennis this week. It’s so hard to remember.

We do the same thing every freaking time.

Dennis isn’t the only reason I have bouts of déjà vu. Not

having to work outside my condo makes the days bleed

together. Not that I’m complaining! These moments of

panic are stil better than al those years in dead-end,

minimum wage jobs.

I hurry toward the entrance, fix an inviting smile on my

face and grab the doorknob. My heart is pounding against

my chest. Sometimes I have weird dreams of al three guys

showing up at the same time. Not that it would happen; I

made sure of it. But the possibility, no matter how remote,

stil gets my blood pumping.

Swinging the door open, my first thought is that there is

only one man in front of me. Whew. I pause, connecting the

name with the lover.

I’m very proud that I have never cal ed out the wrong

name. Okay, I admit that I use the same endearment for

each of them. It’s safer that way, especial y when my mind

wanders during sex.

“Hel o, love!” My smile grows and it’s probably wobbling

with relief when I see George. I lean forward, letting my high

and ful breasts brush against the sleeve of his fine

cashmere coat. I place a gentle kiss on his lips and slyly

dart my tongue in his mouth, tasting a hint of cigar. I usher

him inside. “I’ve missed you.”

Okay, not entirely true. So what? It’s what they al want to

hear and my job is to create a fantasy. And it’s not like I

can’t stand being around George. I like him. I like having

sex with him. I like getting paid to have sex.

I probably shouldn’t admit to any of that, especial y the

last part, but it’s true. Would I spend my Friday nights with

him if money wasn’t involved? I don’t know.

“I know I’m late,” George says in his usual brisk tone. He

steps inside and takes off his coat.

“Would you like something to drink?” I ask as I close the

door behind him. He’s into red wine, but do I have an open

bottle ready? No. I’l have to improvise.

“No, thanks, baby. I can’t stay the night.”

I pout and look at him through my long eyelashes.

I’m real y good at pouting. It’s one of my most effective

weapons. You wouldn’t believe the stuff I can get out of men

just by protruding my lower lip.

“I know, I know.” George cups my cheek with his hand,

cold from the winter night. “You hardly get to see me as it is.

It can’t be helped. I’m a busy man.”

I quickly lower my eyes, hoping I’m the picture of

disappointment, but my mind is whirring. Does George truly

believe I wait al week for him with bated breath? That I live

for these precious hours? Is he for real or is this part of the

fantasy?

Men are so gul ible, I think as I watch George heading

straight for the bedroom. Hmm…he’s not stopping for a

chat or cuddle. He real y is in a rush.

Sometimes I suspect George has me on the side simply

because he can. I’m like the fire-engine-red Ferrari parked

in his garage. Expensive, high-maintenance, and designed

to make people envy him.

And, like al status symbols, successful men don’t have

time to maintain and enjoy them. That Ferrari is rarely taken

out for a spin, and George can only fit me in his schedule

once a week.

I don’t have a problem with that. Real y, I don’t, but I know

I better make these visits worth every penny. If I’m not raring

to go at a moment’s notice, I bet he’l trade me in for a

cheaper model. Or worse, someone with al the bel s and

whistles.

It can happen. I might get paid to have sex, but that

doesn’t mean I’m the most knowledgeable person about

the subject. Being a kept woman isn’t about knowing

ancient sexual secrets, I remind myself as I strol into the

bedroom. It’s al about attitude. I am to act as if I exist solely

for his pleasure.

I step into the bedroom and see George loosening his

necktie. “Sit on the bed,” he tel s me.

Maneuvering around him, I’m about to perch on the edge

of the mattress when he stops me. “Wait,” he says. “Your

hair. It’s wrong.”

I instinctively reach up and touch my hair. It’s loose and

skimming my shoulders. Oops. George prefers my hair up.

Not like a bun or twist. He wants to see ponytails or braids,

the higher the better.

“Hold that thought!” I rush into my bathroom and sort

through my barrettes and rubber bands. I hurriedly gather

my hair in high, messy pigtails using plastic holders. They

are bubble gum pink and tacky. I can’t believe someone as

elegant as George likes them.

I try not to glance in the mirror because I know I look

ridiculous. I quickly return to the bedroom and I see George

standing by the bed, his hands on his hips. He’s frowning.

I’m in trouble.

Lowering my head, I place my hands behind my back

and shuffle toward him. “Sorry,” I whisper, but I don’t real y

feel that way.

“Sit on the bed.”

I gingerly sit on the corner of the bed. George stands in

front of me. “Spread your legs,” he says gruffly.

I fol ow his order, but I take my own sweet time doing it.

After being with George for this long, I can read his moods.

He wants me to act shy instead of naughty today. It’s my

goal to give him anything he wants.

George steps between my legs. He reaches out and

places the palm of his hand on the top of my head. His

touch is tender as he strokes my hair. I glance up at him,

but he’s not looking at me. He’s watching our reflection

from the mirror above my bed.

“Undo my belt,” he says hoarsely.

I slowly unbuckle his belt, my fingers fumbling. It’s not

easy pretending that this is the first man’s belt I’ve

encountered, but I have my routine. Once I pul the leather

from George’s belt loops, I reach for his zipper.

By this time, George is reverently fondling the plastic

ponytail holders in my hair. “Take off my pants,” he

whispers roughly.

I drag the zipper down and peel away the expensive

fabric. I cup his stirring penis that is concealed in his silk

boxers. He’s hot to the touch.

“Come on, baby. You know what I want.” George grips

my ponytails in his fists. I wince, but the bite of pain adds to

my arousal.

I slip my fingers under the waistband of his underwear

and push it down his hips. His penis is right in front of my

face. I lick my lips with anticipation as I inhale his hot,

musky scent.

Stroking his penis with my fingertips, I know the

sensation is too light and teasing for him. He thrusts his

hips closer. “Suck me,” he says, his voice almost a growl. “I

want you to take every inch.”

I grasp the root of his penis with one hand and squeeze

him. The way he flinches gives me a perverse sense of

satisfaction. I show no expression as he twists my pigtails

around his fingers and yanks my head back.

“Do I need to feed you myself?” he asks. His low,

commanding voice makes me wet.

“No,” I tel him and wrap my lips around the tip of his

penis. I love the taste of George. Salty, warm and male. I

swirl my tongue and suckle while I pump the base of his

erection.

George keeps playing with my hair and murmurs

encouragingly as I slowly make my way down his penis. It

doesn’t take long before his length is deep in my throat and

my nose is firmly pressed against his wiry pubic hair.

I now have my hands on George’s testicles. I fondle the

sacs, enjoying how he twitches beneath my touch. He’s

panting and vibrating with need. I can feel his muscles

bunching and shaking.

George yanks my pigtails hard, maneuvering my head

just the way he wants it as he begins fucking my mouth. I

groan as his tempo increases. His thrusts grow choppy and

uncontrol ed.

He grunts and suddenly pul s out. I squeeze my eyes shut

as he bel ows, his hot semen splattering on my face. I

remain stil , my mouth stil open, as the sticky come drips

from my nose and chin.

George’s hand trembles as he pats me on the head. His

praise tumbles over me as my body pulses for completion.

“Go and clean up,” he suggests. “And then you can see

me off.”

It looks like I’m in charge of my own satisfaction for

tonight. I stumble into the bathroom and strip off my clothes.

M y shower takes longer than necessary as I grab the

handheld showerhead and turn the speed onto massage.

Aiming it close to my swol en clit, it doesn’t take long to go

over the edge.

I clench my teeth and swal ow back the moans. Black

spots dance before my eyes as my legs wobble. I want to

sink to my knees and continue, but I know George is

outside, waiting.

With great reluctance, I finish washing and turn off the

shower. I grab my bathrobe and pul it on, loosely tying the

sash. The gap offers glimpses of my firm breasts and my

Brazilian cut. Just enough skin that wil make George do a

double-take. It doesn’t matter if he just sampled me; I’m a

firm believer in advertising.

When I get out of the bathroom, I see that George is

waiting for me in the condo’s entry. Al traces of my lust-

driven, out-of-control lover are gone and replaced by the

sophisticated gentleman in a hurry.

“I’l see you next week,” he promises as he leans down

for a swift kiss and a possessive grope of my breast.

Before I can say a word, he’s gone.

I close the door behind him and lock it. I turn off the lights

and check the windows, deciding I’m ready to cal it a night.

I wander into my room and notice how everything is quiet

and undisturbed. That doesn’t stop me from stripping the

clean sheets off the bed.

The champagne silk is beautiful, but I see them more as

a prop to set the mood. I toss them in the hamper and grab

my favorite sheets from the linen closet.

The bright red poppies design is too feminine for my

lovers, so I save this bedding just for me. It’s a private ritual

I have. The sheets signify the start of my weekend. I remake

the bed, take off my robe, and dive under the warm covers.

The next two days are strictly for my pleasure.

Before I know it, my alarm clock wakes me up. I reach

out and slap it into silence. I have a lot of plans for today

and I should hop out of bed and hit the ground running.

Instead I stretch slowly, opening my eyes as the morning

sun filters past the drapes and into my room.

I look up at the ceiling and see my reflection. I’m

sprawled on my bed, taking up every inch. For a brief

second, I see why these guys are wil ing to pay for an

invitation to my bed. My dark hair fans out on the pil ow. The

sheets are down around my waist, revealing my breasts.

I watch as I leisurely slide my fingers along my

col arbone. My hand drifts down to cup my breast. The

nipple is rosy and puckered. I pinch it, watching it redden. I

pinch harder and gasp as the intense pleasure zips through

my veins.

My breasts feel ful and heavy. I fondle them, plucking at

my nipples until they sting. I stare at my reflection. I’m not

the prettiest woman, or the sexiest, but I work with what I

have.

I drag my fingers down my stomach. I look good, but

that’s because I spend a lot of time taking care of myself. I

pamper my body. It’s al a part of the package, for the men

and for me.

Even now, as I’ve been doing this for years, I’m not sure

what made me place a price on my body. What made me

think men would pay top dol ar for me? Flattery? Curiosity?

Or did I like how powerful it made me feel to be paid when

they could go elsewhere to get the same thing for free?

I dip my hand underneath the covers and cup my sex.

Parting my legs, I watch the sheet move as I rub my fingers

along my wet slit.

Al I know is that once I had set an outrageous price for

sex and George agreed to it, there was no looking back. I

can stop at any time, but I don’t want to. I want to enjoy

every minute of this agreement while I can.

I kick the sheet away and watch my reflection. My vulva

is slick and puffy. I massage my clit, circling my hips as I

enjoy the sensations.

Reaching for the bedside table, I pul open the drawer as

I furiously rub my clit with my other hand. I don’t want to stop

as the pleasure builds inside me. My hand curls around the

vibrator and I switch it on. The intense pulsing makes me

moan in anticipation.

I place the juddering tip against my clit. I grit my teeth.

The feeling is so pure, so white-hot, that I cry out as the

wave of pleasure scorches through my body.

Spreading my legs wider, I dig my heels into the

mattress. I watch the mirror in a haze as I guide the vibrator

into my pink and juicy vagina. The toy barely penetrates me

and I’m rocking my hips.

The headboard butts against the wal as the sheet pul s

away from the corners. I watch my breasts jiggle and

bounce as my hips rise off the bed. I can’t help but be

fascinated at how my body responds.

A flush spreads from my chest and creeps up my neck.

My reflection suddenly wobbles. I squint at the mirror. My

image lurches. It’s closer. Too close!

I tuck my knees and rol off the bed. I hit the carpet and

I’m stil rol ing, hearing the mirror fal from the ceiling and

shatter.

For a second or two, I just lie there on the floor, my face

turned toward the wal . What the hel just happened? The

sound of broken glass stil echoes in my ears. I gulp for air.

My throat, raw and hot, clamps shut.

I slowly get on my feet, brushing my arms and legs to

see if I got hit. So far I’m lucky. Kicking the vibrator out of

my way, I feel an aching twinge in my leg thanks to the fal .

I turn and stare at the jagged shards scattered across

the bed. They grab the sunlight making me wince. The giant

poppies suddenly look like pools of blood. My favorite

sheets, I want to wail, they’re ruined.

Okay, so I’m not sounding very reasonable. Who cares?

I was almost kil ed! I could have been cut into ribbons! I

stare at the ceiling, wondering how this could have

happened.

The ceiling looks smooth and innocent. I don’t see any

cracks or signs of trouble. Warning skitters down my spine.

Something isn’t right. I need a closer look.

I grab my robe and give it a good shake in case it has

bits of mirror clinging on it. I put the robe on, my hands

shaking as I tie the belt tightly. I find my slippers. The men

love the way I walk in the impractical mules, but right now

the ridiculous heels protect me from any sliver of glass. I

slide them on and careful y step onto my bed.

Pressing my fingertips on the ceiling, I look for what

caused the mirror to fal . There is nothing wrong as far as I

can see. I look at where the mirror used to be fastened.

How could al of the bolts fail at the same time? What are

the chances of that?

Maybe someone didn’t leave it to chance.

I shiver at the thought and immediately discard the

possibility. No one is trying to kil me. I’m being paranoid.

Unreasonable. There is a simple explanation, and I need to

find it.

I study the spots where the mirror used to be fastened.

There is no sign of stress or fatigue. Rubbing my fingertips

against the bolt holes, I feel the freshly disturbed grains of

plaster.

Someone had loosened these bolts.

I pul my hand away and scurry off the bed. I back away

until my spine hits the wal . Wrapping my arms tightly

across my chest, I can’t stop looking at the broken mirror.

My skin suddenly feels too tight as I stare at the pointed tips

that could have sliced right through my flesh.

Someone tried to hurt me.

No, it’s worse than that. Only three men had the

opportunity to do this. That means one of my lovers—one of

my protectors— tried to kil me.

Ungrateful scum. Sick bastard. I oughta—

But which one did it? And why? I try to consider the

possibilities, but it’s like a metal door slams shut in my

brain. It’s almost as if I’m too scared to dig deeper.

Police. I need to cal the police. I hurry out into the living

room to get the phone. I stumble at the threshold as reality

hits me.

Am I crazy? Cal the police? And say what? Excuse me,

officer, but one of the guys is obviously not happy with my

sexual services. Can you tell me which one? I can’t tel

them the truth! They’l arrest me for sure.

I sink onto the couch and hold my head in my hands. I

can’t turn to anyone. I’m on my own with this. What am I

going to do?

Dump them. The answer is instant and comes from the

gut. Dump al the men. Right now. If I can’t trust any of them,

then it’s time to retire.

I look at my condo, absently wondering what I can take

with me. Tears prick my eyes. It isn’t fair. I invested my time

and energy and now I have to walk away with nothing to

show for it. Al because of one man.

Frustration and anger bloom inside my chest. I don’t

want to quit. For once in my life I’m cal ing the shots. I’m in

charge of my destiny and I can’t go back to letting someone

else dictate my actions and choices. If only I could figure out

which one would do this to me.

There is one way I could find out. I rise from the couch

and slowly make my way back to the bed, surveying the

mess. I can clean up the broken glass and replace the

mirror this weekend. Act as if nothing happened.

And then when Calvin shows up, I’l lure him into the

bedroom and watch his reaction. I’l do the same with

Dennis and George. The guy responsible wil give himself

away the moment he tries to save his hide.

That is, if I don’t mess up. I have to have sex with these

guys, knowing one is trying to hurt me. Kil me.

I lean against the door frame, imagining myself naked

and vulnerable as the kil er hovers above me. Stretched out

on the bed before him as he makes his move. My stomach

rol s, but I remain stil until the nausea subsides. I’m not

going to run. I can’t hide. I need to face him down.

This isn’t one of my better plans.

Too bad it’s the only one I have.

It’s Monday night and I’m a nervous wreck. I watch Calvin

over our intimate dinner. He’s charming and attentive. Wel ,

as charming as a computer nerd with no social graces can

be.

He’s getting better. I al ow him that. I can get him to sit

through a meal before he pounces on me. He can now

carry on a conversation that doesn’t have to do with sex. It

helps that Calvin wants me to be a sophisticated,

glamorous creature, but that doesn’t stop him from claiming

me with the crudeness of a barbarian.

As I watch him toss the napkin onto the table, I realize

that one day he is going to restrain his insatiable sex drive

and become a legendary lover. Al that he needs right now

is practice and a patient teacher.

That would be me.

I should be proud of this moment, feel a sense of

accomplishment for polishing this diamond in the rough, yet

al I can do is keep track of the silverware. I’m counting

forks and knives while knowing where his hands are at al

times. This hyper-awareness isn’t going to save me. Calvin

is clever enough that he could gut me with a spoon.

I should have planned a menu fil ed with finger foods. I

I should have planned a menu fil ed with finger foods. I

should have fed him myself. I want to thwack my hand on my

forehead. Why didn’t I think of that sooner?

“Are you listening?” Calvin asks.

My gaze col ides and locks with his. “Yes, love,” I say

with a smile. “I…just realized I didn’t have your favorite

dessert.”

His eyes take on an unholy gleam. “I know how you can

make it up to me.”

My smile stays put but I feel my stomach free-fal ing. Oh,

boy. Here we go. I can do this.

Wel , I thought I could. After al , I went through the

checklist and left nothing to chance. My bedroom is

spotless and I paid triple for a new mirror to be instal ed on

the ceiling in record time. I planned countless scenarios in

my head on how to get my lovers into bed and watch my

back at the same time. I think I have it al figured out, but

when it comes right down to it, I’m a basket case.

Calvin scoots back from the table and hooks one arm

over the chair. His T-shirt pul s against his lean and wiry

body. I stand up and my legs are shaking.

“You know,” he says as he musses his spiky short hair

with his fingers. “I think you’re overdressed.”

Damn. Okay, sure, my halter dress isn’t a suit of armor.

It’s not going to protect me, but I want to hide behind

something. I want to refuse his unspoken request, but that’s

not going to lul him. I need him cooperative and in a good

mood as I guide him to my bed.

I look at him in the eye and reach for the knot at the base

of my neck. I tug it free and the black dress slides off my

shoulders and breasts. I can feel Calvin’s gaze focusing on

my pointed nipples.

Pushing the dress over my hips and dispensing with my

skimpy underwear, I stand before him wearing nothing but a

pair of high heels. “Is this better?” I ask. My voice comes

out in a rasp. I want to clear my throat, but that isn’t going to

get rid of my nervousness.

“Come closer,” he tel s me.

I force myself to comply. I want to believe that Calvin isn’t

the one who wants to hurt me. I want them al to be innocent.

It’s quite possible that I’m wrong. It could be that the

mirror was a freak accident, despite what the instal ers said

as they replaced it. Calvin wouldn’t have tampered with the

mirror, I argue to myself. He’s a software guy, not hardware.

And Dennis? The man doesn’t like to exert himself.

George might have had the opportunity to do it—hel , they

al did—but he’s not the type who uses power tools.

I jump when I feel Calvin’s hand cup my ass. I look down,

startled, just as he places his other hand on my breast. His

chest rises and fal s as he strokes my skin.

“Closer,” he says, his eyes never leaving my breasts.

I’m tempted to tel him that my eyes are up here, but I

don’t trust myself enough to tease. I straddle his lap. His

hard dick creates a tent in his jeans. I wiggle my slit against

the denim. Pleasure sparkles under my skin.

Calvin squeezes and kneads my ass. His touch is

almost too much, but as long as both hands are on me and

not on the cutlery, I won’t complain.

He’s showering kisses on my face and neck. Wet, fierce

kisses that make my sex swel . His good manners are

slipping fast as he sloppily licks my ear and stabs the tip of

his tongue in the canal. He’s breathing hard and I can hear

the satisfied growls deep in his chest.

I know I need to get him to the bed now if I want to entrap

him. “Love,” I say as I get on my knees, slowly rising off of

the chair, “take me to bed.”

“No.” He shakes his head vigorously and his fingers dig

into my ass to stop me.

My heart trips a beat. Why is he so adamantly opposed

to the idea? The hot fear congeals into ice and slams into

my chest. Goose bumps dot my flesh.

“I got you right where I want.” His tone is low and flat, as

if the words were dragged from the recesses of his mind. I

stop breathing as my muscles tense. I’m paralyzed with

fear.

He plunges his face between my breasts.

“Perfect,” he says in a muffled groan, nuzzling deeper.

I want to sag and fal down as my pulse skips and

stumbles. I should have known. He was talking about sex.

The stubble from his chin scrapes my skin, but I don’t

flinch. I don’t move. I feel like I’ve dodged a bul et and don’t

know where to run for cover.

Calvin opens his mouth and stuffs one crest as far as it

wil go. His teeth nip my flesh. He closes his eyes and I can

see the pure bliss etched in his face. He lets go and I know

he’s going to make a lunge for my other breast. I turn

slightly.

“It’s too uncomfortable here,” I tel Calvin, lowering my

voice as if I’m confiding something naughty. “The bed is

better.” I tug at his shirt, silently indicating that he should

fol ow me.

“Table’s closer.” He suddenly leans forward, ready to

clear the table with one sweep of his hand. I barely stop him

in time.

“The table is not big enough,” I say in a rush.

“Not big enough?” he repeats dul y. He looks at my

breasts and licks his lips. His eyes are glazed with lust.

My window of opportunity is closing fast. I can see the

signs. Calvin is right where I can guide him. But once the

level of needs rises, there’s no stopping him.

“What do you have in mind?” He captures one of my

nipples between his teeth and sucks hard.

The violent pul goes straight to my clit. I arch my back

and let out a guttural groan as my sex creams. I’m ready to

ride his dick hard and fast. It’s a struggle to remember the

plan. “Anything you want,” I tel him shakily.

He stops sucking, but his hands grip my ass tighter than

ever. Calvin lifts his head and looks straight in my eye.

“Anything?”

I swal ow roughly. I know what I’m agreeing to, and I

usually hold back on this because Calvin is so rough.

“Anything,” I promise in a whisper.

Calvin shoots out of his seat with such speed that the

chair crashes to the floor. I know I should take his

enthusiasm as a compliment, but I’m too busy holding on

for dear life. One of his arms is across my thighs while the

other holds me tight against his chest. My high heels clatter

to the ground as he carries me to the bedroom before

throwing me on to the bed.

I bounce on the mattress and grab for a corner before I

fal off. As the world rights itself, I rol onto my back and

stare up at the mirror.

Wel , I thought, that answers that. He’s not too concerned

about shaking the wal s and letting the mirror come

crashing down. But he’s not on the bed, either. Cal me

suspicious, but he might try to do me without getting in the

hot zone. Men have a tendency to be greedy that way.

“Where’s the lube?” Calvin asks as he strips off his

clothes. I’m surprised he doesn’t tear them into shreds at

the rate he’s going. I sit up and reach for the bottle in my

bedside table.

“Lube me up,” he says. He stands by the bed with his

legs braced apart, his dick hard and curving upward.

I have to get him on the bed. I squirt the lubricant in my

hand and curl my fingers in what I hope is a seductive

manner. “Come here, love.”

He eagerly crawls onto the bed and groans

appreciatively as I liberal y coat his dick. I hand him the

bottle so he can apply it to me.

I reluctantly turn around and get on my hands and knees.

My stomach tightens as my heart pounds in my ears. I

instinctively tense as he rubs the lube in my anus.

My hesitation isn’t because of the anal sex. I like it, and

can reach an orgasm unlike anything I’ve ever achieved, as

long as the guy doesn’t shove his dick in me and starts

rutting.

No, my reluctance is placing myself in this submissive

position for someone who might want to kil me. I can’t see

what Calvin’s doing. I shiver at the thought. At least I know

he’s naked and not concealing a weapon.

I can also tel that he’s enjoying his duty a little too much.

I squirm as he teases my tiny rosebud with his fingers. He

spreads my cheeks and I force myself to relax.

“Careful, love,” I say. “Nice and easy.” But does he

listen?

I feel the crown of his dick pressing against me. I take a

deep breath just as the thick, mushroom head eases in.

Already he’s stretching me. It’s uncomfortable and stinging,

and my body is determined to reject him.

Arching and dipping my spine, I push against Calvin.

Bad move. He slides deeper and I can’t remember to

breathe. My entire body is tingling. Burning. I want to pul

away, but my ass is clamping snugly around his dick.

“Slower,” I say through clenched teeth, but I know my

instructions are useless as he holds my hips tightly. He

draws back, his dick retreating, only for him to pause and

plunge deeper.

I bite back a scream. My body is shuddering as the pain

and pleasure mix into a potent combination. Calvin retreats

and advances with choppy, wild thrusts. Faster and faster. I

bunch the sheets under my fists, but I can’t find anything to

hold onto.

The bed shakes under my knees as the mattress slides

more to one side. My breasts swing wildly as Calvin humps

me with ferocious speed. I’m dizzy, I can’t catch my breath,

but my entire world is centered on his dick.

I close my eyes and the sensations sharpen. My clit is

pulsing heavily, and my sex is so drenched I can smel it.

Moisture drips on my thighs. If Calvin would pinch my clit or

sink his fingers in my vagina, I would shatter and

disintegrate.

He does neither. Instead he gives a mighty shove into

my ass and I col apse onto the mattress. He fal s on top of

me, his dick driving deeply inside me.

Our groans mingle as his hips thrust against me, his

bal s slapping against my ass. Calvin brackets his arms at

my side and sets a demonic pace. My breath sputters out

of my lungs as he sinks his teeth into my shoulder.

I rear back and the last resistance inside me snaps. I’m

about to come. I can feel it swirling, building power. It’s

going to be dark and brutal, and I can’t wait.

As Calvin’s flesh slapped against mine, I realize that

he’s not the one trying to kil me.

At least, not with the mirror.

His stamina, however, wil be the death of me.

If it’s Wednesday, then I’m with Dennis. I lean my head

on his shoulder and let his body heat envelop me. His dress

shirt is soft under my cheek and I inhale the faint scent of

his cologne.

He lowers his head and brushes his lips along my

forehead. I hum with contentment, knowing that by the end

of the night I wil have been kissed and petted al over.

Dennis can’t get enough touching and affection, and, I

confess, I find it addicting, as wel .

We’re slow dancing to the music on the CD player, our

hips gently swaying to the beat. His hands glide over my

spine and I shiver. I made sure to wear a backless dress

tonight so he could caress my bare skin.

I can feel the changes in his body as he gets aroused.

Dennis likes to take things gradual y, which is a nice

change of pace from Calvin. I’m stil walking gingerly and

not my usual y graceful self.

As much as I appreciate Dennis’s slow and steady

pace, it’s not always the easiest approach. It can take al

night before he finds satisfaction. I have to be on the top of

my game and lavish so much attention that I’m exhausted

afterward. He’s lucky I don’t charge by the hour.

I tilt my hips against his and feel his cock. It’s time to

take him to the bedroom. It’s been hard not to hurry him

along tonight. Dennis can’t be rushed. If I try—and I know

this from experience—then we are back to square one and

have to start al over again.

I step back and capture his hand in mine. “Come to

bed,” I say with a smile. I walk toward the bedroom and I

feel the resistance in him.

Looking over my shoulder, I see the indecision flittering

across his face. I wonder if I stil rushed it. Should I have

given him another couple of minutes?

“Let’s do something different tonight,” he suggests.

I try to hide my surprise as a curl of warning slithers

coldly down my spine. Dennis who wants to do the same

thing every time we meet now wants to veer from routine? If

that isn’t suspicious!

I do my best not to fol ow my instincts, which consists of

pointing my finger at him and accusing him of murder in his

cold, black, devious heart. Instead, I gently drop my hold on

his wrist. “Are you sure?” I ask as sweetly as possible while

I take another step back. “What do you have in mind?”

Dennis looks at his feet and rubs the back of his neck

with his hand. “I dunno.”

“I’l do anything you want,” I remind him softly. Except for

rol over and die, but he’l find that out soon enough.

He doesn’t respond. Most guys would have instantly

come up with the dirtiest, nastiest, in-your-dreams

suggestion. Dennis, on the other hand, gives a furtive look

over my shoulder.

Guilty! The man is guilty! Time to cal in the cops.

I try to stop this train of thought. I could be jumping to

conclusions. It’s been known to happen. It might be a

coincidence that he wants to shake things up on the very

day I need it to be business as usual.

But I doubt it.

My feet step on the threshold to my bedroom. I picture

the bed behind me. What would be the one thing I can do

that would make him launch for the bed like a heat-seeking

missile?

It has to be something good. I need to be sure. If he

doesn’t jump for the offer, then I know he’s the one who

tampered with the mirror.

“Hey, I have an idea,” I say as my blood pumps hard

through my veins. “Would you like to tie me up?” I walk to

the bed and flop on it. I’m spread-eagled on the bedspread,

my legs going as far wide as my dress wil let me.

Dennis hangs back. I notice he’s stepping into the room.

I need to sel this harder.

“My hands wil be tied to the bed and I won’t be able to

move,” I continue cheerful y. “Sounds like fun, huh?”

He shakes his head and I see his gaze dart to the

ceiling.

“Just imagine. I’l be tossing and turning—” I act it out,

exaggerating my moves so the headboard butts against the

wal “—and I wil be at your mercy.”

“No, I don’t think so. Why don’t you get off the bed and

—”

I rise on my elbows and tilt my head. “Did you hear

something?”

Dennis freezes and looks up. “No.”

“It’s a strange noise. Was it the bedsprings?” I rock my

body hard from side to side. “No, that wasn’t it.”

“Sweetheart, get off the bed.” He steps into the room

and then takes another step back. His attention doesn’t

leave the mirror.

“Maybe it was when the bed frame knocks against the

wal .” I jut my hips up and down, moving the bed as hard as I

can. “There’s that sound again,” I lie. “Do you hear it?”

“Get off the bed now!”

I swing my legs over the mattress corner and sit up.

“Don’t worry, Dennis,” I say coldly. “This isn’t the mirror you

tampered with.”

The tension in the room suddenly arcs and quivers.

Dennis drags his stunned gaze onto me.

“That one came crashing down a couple of days ago. As

you can see—” I rise from the bed and motion at my body

like a game show hostess “—I got out in time.”

“And…George?”

I stop in my tracks. How does he know about George?

Panic claws in my chest and I try to hide my true thoughts.

“George?” I ask idly.

“Did he get hurt, too?” Dennis persists.

Is that what this is about? He knows that I have another

lover? He knows George’s name? Should I act dumb or

play it straight? I don’t know. I’m flying blind and I don’t like

it.

I also don’t know if he’s aware of Calvin. That might send

him over the edge. “George wasn’t here when it happened,”

I answer careful y.

He looks up at the mirror and frowns. “Then how did…”

His voice trails off as he wrestles with the laws of physics.

I shrug and fold my arms across my chest. “I don’t know. I

was lying on the bed minding my own business. But that’s

not the point. Why would you do something like this to me?

We were good to each other.” I thought he worshipped the

ground I walk on, but if I say that out loud it’s going to sound

conceited.

Dennis tilts his head back and wearily closes his eyes.

“You don’t understand.”

I scoff at that and put my hands on my hips. “I understand

plenty. You’re consumed with jealousy. Did you ever think of

confronting me? No. Instead you went off the deep end.”

Dennis slowly opens his eyes and I get a sense he didn’t

hear a word I said. “What does George know?”

I rol my eyes. I want to scream out my frustrations. For

the first time since we’ve been together, I’m tel ing Dennis

how I feel, and al he cares about is George’s opinion. Men!

They’re the lowest. They’re—

Wait a second. It’s like something clicked in my brain. I

gasp as the truth hits me like a slap in the face. This isn’t

about me. It’s about George!

I don’t realize I’m talking out loud until Dennis nods. “It’s

true,” he confesses. “I wanted to hurt George.”

“What about me?” I stare at him incredulously. “Didn’t

you think I would have gotten hurt, too?”

Dennis casts a questioning look in my direction. “You

thought the mirror was planned for you? Why would you

think that?”

I storm over to where he stands. “When someone tries to

kil me, I take it personal y.”

He holds his hands out as if to ward me off. “You aren’t

my target.”

“I know, I know.” In Dennis’s eyes, I was the not-so-

innocent bystander. I know I should ask why he wants to hurt

George, but you know what? At this moment I am too

pissed off to care.

Don’t my feelings or my life matter? After eighteen

months, don’t I matter? My stomach clenches. If I have to

ask it, I already know the answer.

ask it, I already know the answer.

Dennis approached me because of George. He had sex

with me to get into my condo. Every time we were in bed,

he hadn’t been watching our reflection. Dennis had been

coming up with a plan of action. I shudder with revulsion.

I can’t believe it. This is the guy who adored me. He

couldn’t get enough of me. I thought I was the highlight of his

week and instead I was…in the way. No, not even that. I

was simply there.

How could I have read Dennis so wrong? What else am I

wrong about? Am I less than George’s status symbol? Do I

even rank in his mind when he’s not here?

And what about Calvin? Does he see me as a teacher,

or is that a whimsical thought of mine? Does Calvin even

see me, or does he only look at the tits and ass.

Why did I think I was the center of attention and that their

lives rotated around me? I thought that I held the reins,

dictating the schedule and the price. The truth is that they

could have cared less.

Al this time I laugh over my lovers’ misconceptions, but

the laugh is on me. I’ve been living in a fantasy world. I saw

things the way I wanted to see.

I rearranged my life to be with these men and risked

everything, but they are never inconvenienced. I put my

pleasure secondary to theirs, believing that by doing so, I’m

in control. I thought I was someone special, but it’s al a lie.

I’m a plaything. Someone easily discarded, easily

dismissed.

I slowly walk out of the bedroom. My legs feel like lead.

My head is in a fog.

“Where are you going?” His voice sharpens, piercing my

troubled thoughts.

“I’m cal ing the police.” I say it as if I’m in a trance.

“What?” He is suddenly at my side. “No, you can’t.”

“And then I’m cal ing George.” He has to be warned.

He’s going to dump me, but at this moment, I feel like

saying good riddance to him.

“No, sweetheart.” Dennis pul s at my arm. “You can’t do

this.”

I have the phone in my hand. “Watch me.” I don’t look at

him. I feel so used and insignificant.

“We can come to an agreement.”

I stare at him. Is he for real? Does he think I can be

bribed for my silence? My body has a price tag, so he

thinks my life does, too?

“I’l give you anything you want.” Desperation blurs his

voice.

I turn on the phone. “I’ve heard that before.” I should; I say

it al the time.

“No, real y.” He fal s to his knees, pul ing at my arms. “I

mean it. Anything. Name your price.”

He’s pleading. Begging. It’s a new look for him. For any

of my lovers, now that I think about it.

And I realize that this is what’s missing in my life.

I like sex. I like getting paid for sex, but what I want more

than anything is what I thought the sex gave me. Power. I

had assumed the money represented my power. The

higher the price, the more control I had.

Boy, was I wrong. I don’t want Dennis’s money. Wel , I

Boy, was I wrong. I don’t want Dennis’s money. Wel , I

do, but not at this moment.

I want him to see me as a dangerous, don’t-mess-with-

me woman. I want him to know that I have him by the bal s

and I won’t hesitate to squeeze them off.

It’s an odd feeling. For once, my lover’s main concern is

pleasing me. He wil do anything I want at the risk of his

own pleasure and convenience. He wil strip his pride and

ignore everything else to make sure I’m satisfied.

Right now, I am the most important person in his life. The

absolute power heating my blood is sweeter than any

aphrodisiac I know.

The tables are turning and I’m liking it. I shouldn’t. What

he’s suggesting is breaking a few laws. Probably some

morals, too, but I’m just guessing.

Possibilities and options cram into my brain. I should tel

the authorities, but where’s my proof? I should warn

George, but would he do the same if he were in my

position?

Oh, who the hel am I kidding? I’m not thinking seriously

in these terms. What I real y want to know is how long can I

enjoy this before it becomes too risky? How far can I go

before I lose the power I hold over Dennis?

“Sweetheart?”

I remember feeling like this when I first named my price

to George. Wild and strong. Important. Whatever I say, my

answer wil rock his world.

I hang up the phone with a decisive push of the button.

“Before we discuss anything,” I say in a firm, no-nonsense

tone, “I want to make one thing clear. I’m not your

sweetheart.”

Dennis swal ows hard. His nerves are shredding and

he’s holding his breath. He knows I’m not going to let him

off easily.

I study his upturned face. I like the view from up here and

it’s going to take a hel of a lot to take me down.

I arch my eyebrow. “My name is Anna.”

The Queen's Tale

GRACE D'OTARE

“SHALL WE HAVE A STORY?” DEVLIN

SUGGESTED, AS ANOTHER enormous clap of

thunder rattled the rooftop. He traced the curve of his

wife’s bare shoulder with the tip of his finger. “A bedtime

story. Something distracting. Something to keep us warm

on a wicked night.”

“What sort of a story?” Maeve turned her head, hiding

her eyes but not her smile. His wife knew exactly what he

had in mind.

“Oh, an erotic story, to be certain.” Dev’s finger traced

her collarbone to the hollow in her throat. And then down.

A thousand and one times he’d touched her, and still he

felt the heat. “Those are the ones that warm and distract

me best.”

It was a challenge. It was a game—a game he and his

lovely Maeve had played before. Never quite the same,

but always exciting.

Maeve plumped the pillow behind her and sat up. The

candlelight caught the twinkle of her glass, half-full of

sherry. Dev watched her take a long swallow and lick her

lips. The storm whistled outside. She made a point of

snuggling deeper under the bedclothes, tucking the sheet

around her.

“Tonight I’m Scheherazade?”

“And I’m your king.” He tugged at the sheet, until it

spilled around her waist. “Entertain me, madam, or suffer

the consequences.”

“Well, let me think…”

Queen Philomena waited.

Not patiently, and not without anxiety. As she came to

the end of the rug, she turned on her heel, flipped her skirts

behind her, and began to pace the opposite direction. She

had chosen to wear a simple gown so that once the time

came, it would not be necessary to summon an abigail for

assistance.

“A who?” Dev whispered, his hand creeping under the

sheet.

“A maid,” she explained. “Stop that.”

“Stop that, Your Highness.”

“Oh!” She caught her breath. “Your Highness, that sort

of thing will make it very hard to concentrate.”

“‘Very hard’ seems fair to me. Go on then.”

Queen Philomena waited…and wondered.

Perhaps the gentleman would consider it an insult? He

might think she did not value his…service, if she did not

wear something appropriate to her status.

She would have to address the situation directly. Frank

discussion and a thoroughly negotiated agreement was her

best hope of resolving any delicate issues that might arise.

Or so the king, may he rest in peace, always said.

Philomena touched her wedding band as she thought of

him. It slipped easily around her finger; nerves always left

her hands cold and dry.

“Your Majesty,” her handmaid cal ed. “They are here.”

“Show him—them—in.” Philomena smoothed the front of

her gown and assumed the face of the queen.

Three soldiers entered the room.

She suffered a moment of panic. What was she to do

with three of them? Was she supposed to choose?

One of the men seemed familiar—a freckled young man

who’d served on the court guard the last year or two. The

second man was very large, tanned and weathered, the

sort whose military career had been served in the rough.

His face was plain, but his eyes were kind and ful of good

humor.

The third man was a shock.

He was fair, in al manner of the word. Sunny hair and

sky-blue eyes. Almost pretty, Philomena thought, except

there was too much intel igence in the candor of his gaze.

He was scant inches tal er than she. Not quite as large in

height or frame as either of the other two men, but

somehow Philomena felt his presence more forceful y. He

was certainly the soldier in charge.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” she said, as the queen

ought.

Al of them bowed respectful y.

“Thank you for…attending me,” Philomena began. “Has

my lord chamberlain spoken with you?”

The third man answered. “Yes, Your Highness. May I

introduce Joseph, my sergeant major.” He waved a hand at

the rough-hewn man. “And you may already know Thomas,

of your own house guard? The lord chamberlain suggested

a smal , personal guard might be best this evening. Al

others have been dismissed.”

There was no smile on his lips, but Philomena saw it in

his eyes and heard it in the tone of his voice. She turned to

hi d e the coloring of her cheeks, and fiddled with the

contents of her open lap desk.

This would not do. She must be committed. She must

hold to her resolve, or she would begin her next life with

regrets.

“Yes. That seems wise.” Closing the portfolio of

documents she had vacantly reviewed for the last hour, she

cal ed, “Thank you al , gentlemen, for your discretion in this

matter. That wil be al .”

She heard heels click, boots crossing the marble floor,

and the thunk of the heavy oak door as it closed.

Philomena peeked over her shoulder.

This time, the smile teased the corner of his mouth. “Did

you expect me to take my leave also? Wouldn’t that have

been counterproductive to Your Majesty’s desires?”

Desires.

The word slipped like steel from a scabbard.

Philomena’s heart raced; her throat tightened.

“Indeed.” Philomena inclined her head. “Your name, sir?”

“I am Dante.”

“Dante. Welcome. Before we begin…our business, I

would like to come to an understanding on certain things.”

She smoothed her gown and sat, very upright, on the

chaise near the fire. The door between the sitting room and

the boudoir was partway open and the sight of the bed

made it hard to think. Waving him to a slipper chair across

the rug, she managed, “Please. Be comfortable.”

He sketched a bow, recognizing the honor of being

asked to sit in the queen’s presence, and settled himself on

the silk chair, legs wide, black boots gleaming al the way to

the knee. Normal y, she kept her gaze firmly fixed at eye

level. What was normal about this situation? She stared.

His thigh flexed. Her hands burned to feel that muscle flex

and tighten again.

In a soft voice, Dante repeated her words. “An

understanding?”

“Yes, yes. Forgive me. What was I saying?” She folded

her hands in her lap. “I believe my lord chamberlain has

explained the requirements of the situation?”

“Your Majesty is to be married tomorrow and—” he

paused to remove a speck of lint from his trousers “—

seeks amusement before her vows are spoken.”

Philomena coughed. “Amusement? Is that how he…no.

No. That is not the message I asked to be relayed. I…wel ,

let me see if I can…explain.”

She rose and began to pace the length of the carpet,

yel ow silk slippers peeking out as she kicked her hem.

This was no time for words. It was time for action. Reaching

into her hair, she removed first one pin and then a second.

A curl of dark hair fel over her shoulder.

“I am to be married tomorrow, that much is true. For my

country’s good, I wil be married to King—” She wiggled her

fingertips and tried to recal the man’s name.

“Benvenuto?”

“Yes! That’s him.” Philomena shook her head, her hair

loosening. It felt…good. Free. Normal y, she braided it

again for sleep and went directly to bed. Tonight would be

different. Tonight, she would remove every restraint.

“How ridiculous of me. I ought to remember the man’s

name. I am marrying him tomorrow after al .” Repressing

her giggles felt like being tickled on the inside.

Philomena shivered. Squaring her shoulders, she toed

off her slippers. Lifting her skirt to the knee, she set her foot

on a little crewel-covered footstool. She unclipped her

stockings, one by one, and rol ed them down her legs.

Dante did not answer. He watched her careful y, but his

expression was somewhat colder than before.

Philomena tried to explain. “There were several men in

contention for the job, you see? The treaty was the

important thing. The lord chamberlain and I always referred

to them by their…advantages. King Trade Agreement. King

Fishing Rights. Benvenuto was King Western Border.”

“If you would permit a question,” her soldier asked, in a

rather choked tone. “Why him? Why not one of the others?”

“For the good of the country, of course. My marriage wil

cement an al iance protecting our most vulnerable border.”

One, two, her stockings floated to the floor beside her

slippers.

Oh, my. She’d never walked barefoot on the sitting room

rug. Her toes wiggled into the darkest reds of the pattern.

So soft…for the first time that evening, she spoke without

tightness in her throat. “It wil give the mountain folk access

to the sea and trade opportunities. This marriage wil

create a great good for my people.”

“You care so much for your people, you’d marry a man

whose name you barely recal ?”

She offered him a sympathetic smile. “You are a soldier,

sir. You offer your body and your life every day. Could I do

less?”

Philomena sat down on the rug, crossing her legs like a

girl. She removed the golden bracelets from her wrists, her

ear bobs and the necklace at her throat, dropping each into

a pile in her lap. Her rings were the last to go. She

hesitated at her wedding band.

“You are too young for such sacrifice,” he said.

She tried not to laugh. “I am more than twenty, sir. And

joined in holy matrimony to His Majesty, the king, God rest

his soul, at the age of thirteen.”

“Good lord.” The man paused and she could almost hear

the clicking of his mental calculations. “The man was close

to ninety when he died.”

With a clank, she dropped her wedding ring into the pile.

Tomorrow, she would wear another. Tonight, she would

wear none.

“And wel past seventy when he consummated our

marriage.”

“Thirteen,” Dante mumbled under his breath, his eyes on

the pile of jewelry in her lap.

“Do not think il of the king. He was a good man—he

waited until I was of an age to carry a child without danger

before he…initiated marital activity. Then he became il and

such activities were no longer of great interest.” Philomena

took hold of the lace at the front of her dress and pul ed.

There. Another tie undone.

“We found other joys, other comforts.”

“But, if you have no interest in—”

“I did not say, I had no interest,” she interrupted, slightly

flustered. “But tomorrow such choices wil be taken from my

hands. I wil make vows and I wil honor them, sir, make no

mistake.”

He studied her with those blue, blue eyes. “I believe you

wil .”

Philomena took a deep breath. Something in her eased.

“His Majesty, God rest his soul, taught me much. How to

understand my people. To be a good ruler. But there is one

thing he was unable to teach me….”

“Yes?”

She stared down at the gap in her bodice. Without

lacing, her breasts shifted freely. The brush of silk brought a

nearly painful tightening of her nipples.

In a voice too breathless for a queen she answered,

“The ways of love. Physical love.”

“How long?” Dante asked gruffly. He leaned forward,

shifting as if his seat were suddenly uncomfortable. “How

long since you enjoyed the marriage bed?”

“Six years.”

How could eyes so blue hold so much heat? “Forgive my

casualness earlier, madam. You have every right to a night

of…enjoyment, before you commit yourself again.”

“I wish more than enjoyment, sir.” The longing in her

voice pinched her pride. “I wish understanding. I wish to

know what my people feel when they marry in the flush of

youth.” With shaking hands she slipped her arms out of her

dress and let it puddle around her on the floor. “When they

choose a lover freely, when they enjoy al the pleasures of

the body…for one night I would like to be a woman. No

more. No less.”

Was it her words or the sight of the queen in her shift that

pushed him back against his seat?

“And are you certain you do not wish to wait for your new

husband to show you these pleasures?”

She hid her face in both hands and laughed. “Oh, Dante,

when you have attended as many state dinners as I…Kings

are old men who have battled long and hard. Most are

stooped with woes. This is the way of the world. I hope to

respect and, perhaps someday, care for my husband, but

physical love is not a luxury a queen can expect.”

“I see.”

“You are a soldier. My lord chamberlain has asked you

to…perform a duty for queen and country.” Philomena

cleared her throat. “If it is a duty that seems distasteful to

you—”

“Distasteful?” It was his turn to laugh. “Not at al , madam.

Not at al . We shal find our way tonight, together.” His whole

body seemed to relax with his laugh. In a simple, fluid

motion, he removed his jacket and hung it on the chair’s

back and popped the studs of his starched col ar and cuffs.

He grabbed his shirt behind his neck and pul ed it up and

over his head, tousling his hair. “Consider me entirely at

your disposal.”

The man was bare to the waist and smiling. An

unnerving sort of smile. The type of smile a queen rarely

saw.

Another swoop and tickle rol ed up her spine.

“Come here, Your Majesty.”

Philomena rose from the carpet, leaving her gown and

jewels where they lay. “Turn around,” he asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Turn around. I need to get these boots off.”

Confused, but pleased by his respect for her modesty,

Philomena did as he requested. From behind, he took hold

of her hips. With a firm yank, he pul ed her rear backward at

the same time as he lifted a large, booted foot between her

legs, hiking her shift nearly to her knees in the process.

“What are you doing?!”

“Grab that heel and pul ,” he ordered, good-naturedly.

“Good God, woman, have you never helped a man off with

his boots, either?”

“The king—God rest his soul,” she muttered, gingerly

grasping his ankle, “did not wear boots.”

She tugged once to no effect. Wanting this

awkwardness finished, she grabbed him tightly and felt the

long, hard muscle of his calf flex inside its leather casing.

Her breath caught in her throat. “Sir, your boots are too

tight.”

“The fit is meant to be tight.”

His hands splayed across the curve of her hips.

Philomena felt the pressure of each fingertip distinct from

his wide palm. There was a teasing quality to his voice that

roused her nerves.

“A tight fit feels best on a long ride.” With that, he set his

second, stil -booted foot against her backside. “Pul !” he

ordered, and slapped her haunch with a loud smack.

She jerked upright, the heel caught in her shocked grip.

“That’s the way!” Dante congratulated with a hearty pinch

to the same tingling spot. His empty boot thunked to the

floor.

Philomena tumbled forward, whirling around to face him.

She clenched her hands, too embarrassed to actual y rub

the spot that stung.

“I beg your pardon!”

“My lady.” Dante’s head tipped forward, but there was no

meekness to his bow. “You wished to know how a woman

experiences ‘the pleasures of the body.’ A woman is meant

to be…touched.”

Philomena stared. What had he meant to say before

he’d settled on the diplomatic use of the word “touched”?

“I am your queen, sir. First. Last. And always.” She had

never found the words so difficult to say. Without her

dressings and jewels and coiffed hair, she felt oddly

vulnerable—but a queen was more than clothes and jewels.

“I wil not be pawed like a common bar wench.”

He looked straight into her eyes as few men ever did.

Again, she felt that disconcerting ripple.

With the voice that opened Parliament and welcomed

enemies of the state to her dinner table, she added, “Make

no mistake, Dante. I expect to surrender to a king

tomorrow, but tonight, I shal rule here. Do you accept my

terms?”

He took her hand and bowed low to meet it. His breath

warmed her knuckles. His thumb stroked the skin on the

edge of her hand. Turning her palm, he licked the plump

curve at the base of her thumb.

“What—”

Before she could speak another word, he sucked that

tender morsel between his teeth. Wet warmth melted into a

sharp ache, which was suddenly soothed by the press of

his lips. Once. Twice.

“What was that?”

“A kiss,” he whispered, hovering over her hand. “Only a

kiss.”

“That was not a kiss,” she argued in a girlish voice. “The

old king kissed me many times.”

That blue-eyed smile chased after her again. Warmth

drizzled down her spine.

“There are many kinds of kisses, Your Highness,” Dante

said. “This is a kiss.”

Courtly and charming, he bussed the back of her hand

lightly.

“And this is a kiss.”

Cool and formal, he slid his hand up to clasp her elbow,

then pul ed her closer for a continental touch of cheeks.

“And this.”

Cupping her head with a gentle hand, he slowly, sweetly,

pressed his lips to the center of her forehead.

Philomena’s eyes drifted shut.

“This is also a kiss.”

His lips parted, barely brushing hers. Licking became

tasting, tasting became toothy nibbles and a hungry growl

for more. His fingers massaged restlessly though her hair.

Philomena felt as though her nerves existed in an

exaggerated state where he touched her, hand to head, lips

to lips, breasts pressed against his chest. She could not

pul back.

“Enough,” she whispered. “Enough.”

“More.” He opened wider, breathing his desire right into

her, a warm liquid over her crystal ine interior. His

enormous, burning hand gripped the curve of her behind

and hauled her closer.

No petticoats, no corset, nothing but a thin silk chemise

—she felt everything. Every seam, every button, every edge

of his flesh.

“Good heavens.” Her heart fluttered. “What is that?”

“Your Highness?” he answered with a very unsubtle rock

of his hips.

Philomena pul ed back. She waved in the general

vicinity of his trouser buttons. “That.”

He winked. “Evidence.”

“Evidence?” She glanced down, then quickly up again.

She took another step back. “Of what?”

“My wil ingness to serve, of course.” His face was

flushed, his breathing obvious. He looked like someone il

with fever.

“Are you certain you’re quite wel ?”

“Not…quite.” He took a step toward her.

“There does seem to be an excessive amount of

swel ing.” She kept the words formal, polite, as if she were

commenting on a horse to one of the groomsmen, while

she moved to the far edge of the carpet. The old king’s

weapon had never achieved quite the same amount of

upright vigor, as far as she could recal . “Does it pain you

much?”

“‘It?’” he smirked. “Is that any way for a grown—queen—

to talk? Understanding begins with words, Your Majesty.

That is not an ‘it.’” His voice dropped, husky and dark. “That

is my cock, also sometimes dick, or wil ie, roger, john

thomas—”

“Yes, yes. We’ve met—Richard, Wil iam, et cetera.” She

waved a hand, stuttering. “Does he, I mean, your—”

“Cock?” he inserted careful y.

“—hurt?”

“You’ve no idea.” He took another purposeful step

forward.

What next? Philomena scrambled behind a chair.

“Stop!” She held up a firm hand. She needed to regain

control. “Wait. Don’t move.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Dante stalked forward.

“Guard!” she cal ed out, instinctively.

The door swung open almost instantly. Joseph and

Thomas appeared a second later, swords drawn.

“Get out, you idiots,” Dante said. “We’re fine.”

“Restrain him,” Philomena ordered. She pointed to

Dante’s shocked face.

Joseph glanced back and forth between them, seemed

to struggle with a grin and then turned to his partner. “You

heard your queen. Rope or chains, ma’am? Or you want us

to each take an arm and let you have at him? He can be a

right pain in the arse sometimes. I don’t wonder you’ve lost

patience already.”

“Joseph,” Dante warned.

“No, thank you,” Philomena stuttered. “Use whatever you

think best.”

“Queen Philomena,” Dante interrupted. “You don’t want

to do this.”

Everyone in the room felt the threat. Joseph broke the

tension with a booming laugh.

“Wel , she might not, but I know I do. Story to tel the

grandkids, you know.” He winked at Philomena. “I’ve just

the thing, your ladyship.” He reached behind the flap of his

great coat and pul ed out a pair of shiny silver bracelets,

linked by a short length of chain. “Hands out, Captain. Are

you going to snap to or are we going to have to tel the lord

chamberlain that he should send another man for this job?”

“Philomena,” Dante said.

Embarrassed to the core, she fel back on old habits. “I

did not give you permission to use my name.”

“We’d better gag him for you too,” Joseph suggested.

“It’s his mouth that always gets him into trouble.”

Philomena touched her lips, thinking of the kisses

Dante’s mouth had demonstrated. When she realized he

was watching, her face began to burn.

Joseph took advantage of the distraction and locked

one side of the wrist manacles in place while quick-

stepping the man into a headlock.

“That’s my boy!” he laughed, as Dante swung his head

back and narrowly missed slamming the bridge of

Joseph’s nose. “Grab his other hand, Thomas! If you’re not

too busy just standing there?”

Thomas jumped into the fray.

“Behind the back is better—oomph—ow! Blasted—

never mind. That’l do.”

The handcuffs were snapped into place. Grunts, fleshy

smacks and thudding violence had Philomena cringing. A

length of sturdy rope appeared from inside one of Joseph’s

bottomless jacket pockets.

“Rope his hands up. No! Top of the bed frame. Watch

his knees,” Joseph grumbled. “Little bugger’s faster than he

used to be.”

“Perhaps we should reconsider—” Philomena started.

“Not at al ! Only another—oof!—moment, Your Majesty.

We’l be out of your way.”

“Don’t hurt—”

“Nonsense. Just a bit of roughhouse.”

Joseph and Thomas both stepped back, slightly out of

breath. “There you are.”

Dante’s arms were loosely suspended over his head,

his manacled wrists roped to the top rail of her bed. The

frame was ancient mahogany; the canopy pole thicker than

Philomena’s arm. They al watched as Dante wrapped his

hands around the rope and swung his weight against it.

The rail held.

“When I get out of here—” Dante lunged toward Joseph

“—you’d better hope—”

“The pubs are stil open?” Joseph winked at Philomena.

“No worries. We’l al stil be celebrating the queen’s special

day. Won’t we?” He tipped his head toward the exit, and

wrapped an arm around Thomas’s shoulder to lead him

out. As he closed the bedroom door, he bowed deeply.

“I don’t like this,” Dante began immediately.

“Nevertheless—”

“Untie me.”

“I think not.”

“You can’t do this to me!”

Philomena blinked.

She was the queen. Of course she could. Point of fact,

she could do much worse, if she were that sort.

“You never answered my question,” she realized. “Did

you?”

“Question?” he snapped in frustration. “What question?”

“Tonight, it’s queen’s rules.” She walked to the door and

picked up the key that Joseph had left on the smal table.

“That is the question you must ask yourself, sir. If you cannot

accept that, I wil release you. And you wil leave this

chamber and never return. Answer me now, Captain Dante.

Queen’s rules. Do you accept?”

He hesitated. His eyes narrowed. Philomena was

certain she heard his breath hiss as he exhaled. But he

answered clearly.

“I do.”

A long sigh of relief slipped out. She felt lighter. The

queen gave way to the girl inside. She didn’t resist the

sudden need to smile.

This beautiful man was hers to play with, feast on, enjoy

for the entire night.

Al of him was pleasing to her, from the cut and curve of

the arching muscles across his shoulders, to the shadowed

hol ow at the center of his chest, down to his navel, and

even there, in the deep vee of his thighs. She squeaked

with her next sigh.

“Do your worst, Majesty. Anything you like.”

“My worst?” she repeated.

“As you can see, I’m helpless to resist.” His words

pleaded weakness, but his stance shifted as if he were

readying for a fight.

“I would like—” Philomena cleared her throat “—to stand

closer. And to kiss you. Again.”

He didn’t answer at first. His arms flexed, pul ing against

the rope and relaxing. “Come then.”

She took one step. Another. Watching him careful y.

She’d seen how he’d used his legs when he was fighting

the other men.

“A little closer, Your Highness.” He nodded toward the

smal padded footstool near her chaise. “Bring that—if you

like.”

Arms raised and tied, he could not bend to meet her

kiss. The stool’s height lifted her to meet him eye to eye, lip

to lip.

The heat of his skin went right through her shift, with a

shocking stil ness.

“What now?” he asked.

“Now…I touch you,” Philomena replied before gently

placing her hands low on his waist. She flexed her

fingertips, testing the muscle over hipbone. Everything in

her that had been stiff and dry with nerves suddenly

softened, dripping with desire.

“And now, I wil kiss—”

“We wil kiss,” he contradicted her softly.

She brought her mouth to his and tried to recreate the

moment before she’d panicked, that rich swirl of lust and

play and wonder and…

The chains clinked as he moved to reach for her.

“Remove the rope at least, my lady. Please. I only want

to touch you.”

When he spoke, Philomena felt him strain to remain stil ,

forced to wait for her. Her heart beat faster.

“Very prettily said, but no. I think…not.”

Philomena skimmed her fingers down his chest. Young

man’s skin…so different from the old king. Dante

resembled the marble statues in the castle loggia, expect

for the fine, pale hair that softened the curves of muscle.

“You’re blushing.”

“Am I?” She continued touching him, one fingertip, then

another, curving down and around, watching his skin react

to her touch. A perfume seemed to rise off his skin, a scent

unlike anything she’d known. Spicy yet delicate. Her mouth

watered, inspired by an unfamiliar appetite. “Have you seen

the statue in the loggia, the one titled ‘Hero’?”

Dante did not answer. His eyes had drifted shut; his

weight thrust forward. Even his bare toes arched against

the floor, his partial y nude body strung into one long line of

tension.

Philomena’s fingers meandered down past his navel to

the buckle of his leather belt.

“It’s a lovely work of art,” she chattered away, distracting

herself from the scandalous task of loosening his belt, then

unbuttoning the top of his trousers. “Confidential y, the lord

chamberlain has caught me observing that particular statue

more than once.”

“I’ve seen it. A statue to celebrate the human form, as I

recal .” He sounded very calm for a man whose body was a

bowstring of tension.

Releasing the final button, his pants dropped with a thud.

He’d certainly dressed for the occasion—he wore

absolutely nothing under his uniform. Philomena celebrated

his form with a gasp of appreciation.

“Nude,” he went on gruffly and jerked against the rope.

“Free of al restraints.”

“Free of clothing alone, in your case,” she teased. “You

bear a—I mean, you resemble the statue,” she stammered.

“Rather disconcerting, to think how wel the lord

chamberlain knows me. The man’s old enough to be my

grandpapa.” At hearing herself babble, her voice crept

higher. “Perhaps you’ve not had the experience of being so

continual y, thoroughly observed…how very alarming it can

be.”

“Alarming?” Dante’s voice, by contrast, seemed even

deeper. He shifted his legs, stepping free of his pants with

obvious relief. His wider stance hol owed the muscle from

buttock to thigh that she’d admired earlier. “Do you find it

alarming?”

“What?” She tried to focus on the conversation. “Wel ,

when it’s the lord chamberlain and my privates—” she

choked on the word “—my private thoughts. ”

“Tel me more,” the handsome stranger tied before her

whispered. “Tel me your private thoughts, Philomena.” He

jerked his arms downward, reaching for her. The silver cuffs

jangled against the rope.

The sound startled her. She stepped back, down off the

stool.

A growl rol ed in Dante’s throat. He tipped his head and

narrowed his eyes as if assessing a target.

narrowed his eyes as if assessing a target.

“Where are you going? I’m chained. Helpless. Come

back, Your Highness. Touch me again.”

“Touch you?” She concentrated on his blue eyes.

“Where?”

“Wherever you like. I can’t stop you, can I? It’s al up to

you.”

Heat whipped up her spine, flushing her face. So many

tiresome things were al up to her. For once, it was

wonderful to be the one deciding. She glanced down.

Swol en and flushed, the tip of him was a deep royal red.

She had never seen anything like it.

“I wish to touch your…cock,” she whispered. Moving

back onto her stool, she tenderly laid her hand, wrist to

fingertip, against the long, hard rise of his penis, pressing

as if it were a wound to soothe.

Dante’s answer was a slice of indrawn breath.

“Stil hurts?”

“Mmm,” he answered, closing his eyes.

“Poor thing,” she murmured.

He rocked his pelvis into her palm, a sound vibrating

from deep inside his chest. He pushed at her so strongly,

Philomena had to reach up and grip his shoulder with her

other hand, steadying herself as she might with a

demanding waltz partner.

The movement brought them chest to chest. Dante

strained forward, nuzzling her ear with a whispered kiss.

Philomena began to curl her fingers one by one around

his thickness. He made a handful, al of it warmer than

she’d expected. She tested firmness and length with a long,

she’d expected. She tested firmness and length with a long,

slow, heart-stopping tug.

Dante strained as far as the rope would al ow to press

his lips to her throat. Philomena recognized the sharp nip,

immediately swal owed by the same hot pul ing comfort

she’d felt on her palm. She released him immediately and

stumbled backward off the stool again, twisting herself in a

circle of confusion, once, twice.

His chains clanked with frustrated restraint. “Your

nipples. They’re darker now…and so tight.” Dante’s voice

dripped honey over her thoughts. “Do they ache? I can help

with that, if you’l come back. Come to me.”

How did he know? Her hands twitched with the need to

press and soothe her aching breasts, to bind them tightly

into her corset, anything to end that burning distraction.

Her expression seemed to amuse him. He shook his

head, half laughing. A shock of blond hair dropped across

his brow. “I know what would help.” Disheveled, he was

even more appealing, more approachable. “Let me suck

them, Philomena. It’s good for the ache. It makes it so much

—” he stretched the rope to its limit, looming over her “—

worse.”

She almost jumped. Embarrassed, she pushed hard at

his chest, setting him back on his feet. “Behave, or I’l cal

the guards and have you gagged.”

“You wouldn’t,” he said, assessing her with a narrow

look.

“Oh, I think I would.” Throwing her shoulders back, she

asked, “But now you have me wondering, would sucking

ease your ache or make it worse?”

She’d heard of such things, hints and jokes and

whispers. That men liked a woman’s mouth as much as

other parts.

His eyes glittered. He seemed to be struggling with the

urge to laugh or lunge for her.

The air prickled with possibilities. Philomena sank down

onto the stool. His penis bobbed right under her nose, a

thick, rosy flower. Taking him in hand, she inhaled the scent

of the dewdrop at the tip. Sugar musk. Sweet spice.

“Just a taste,” she whispered. Her tongue slipped out

and ever so lightly touched the tip of him. The skin was

smoother, softer than the rest of him, closer to the feel of his

mouth when they had opened to each other. She licked

again. Again.

“Perhaps a little more.”

It felt odd to open so wide; a very unladylike amount to

put inside her mouth. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with

al of it. She wiggled her tongue around the ful ness,

surprised that there was no taste, real y, only smoothness,

slicked by the wetness of her own saliva.

Somewhere above her, she recognized the hurried twist

and tug of his arms. There was a swish of rope fal ing, but

she was too busy to care. The heat of his open hands

suddenly hovered over her head in benediction, then

dropped with a faint metal ic jingle as his fingers slipped

behind her neck into her hair, gripping hard.

“Mehhnaaaa…” He exhaled the last of her name with

longing.

No one had cal ed her Mena in years. It was a sweet

name, a pet name, far too undignified for a queen.

Philomena smiled, accidental y popping him free of her

lips.

He groaned and shivered in her hands.

“You like that?” She tried it again, tightening her lips as

she pressed the head of his cock in and out. His hips

began to shift, almost imperceptibly, then more forceful y,

the chuff of his breath marking the motion.

The sound and motion made her giddy as she realized

what he sought to mimic. He liked it; he liked it very much.

One hand awkwardly cupped her head, encouraging her.

Don’t stop. Don’t go. Once more…

She released him, pressed her tongue to trace a wide

path from the stiff root to the smooth tip.

Dante’s hands dropped heavily to her shoulders. He

swayed, his breath cutting the silence with short, sharp

pants.

Nuzzling the smooth muscled cradle of his pelvis,

Philomena wrapped one steadying arm around his thighs.

Her other hand slid up the back of his leg to cup the

weighted muscle of his bottom cheek. She inhaled deeply,

holding him tight, feeling everything low inside her twist with

the luscious scent and feel of this man’s skin. She could not

sit stil .

“Did that make it better or worse, Dante?” she

murmured.

Her eyes were closed but she recognized the jingle-clink

of his chains, right before he caught her under the arms and

pul ed her up in a motion so sure and sudden she could not

resist.

He opened his arms, resting the weight on her

shoulders, encircling her. Startled, she gasped. Dante

pul ed her close, capturing the sound that might have

summoned the guards in a kiss.

Philomena tensed her neck, resisting. She jerked her

bottom backward, rocking the footstool off balance. One

second they were together, the next they were tipping.

His reflexes were better trained than hers, thank

heavens. Slipping free of his linked arms, Philomena

plopped butt-first onto the carpet. Dante fol owed, his grim

expression floating over her before he flipped to land with

an undignified thud alongside her.

“So help me, Mena—” He sounded winded. “When I

get…”

Philomena covered her face with her hands…and

laughed. “I don’t believe I’ve given you permission to speak

to me so familiarly, sir. However, under the circumstances

—”

“Under the circumstances?”

“—I shal make an exception.” She wiped tears from her

eyes. When was the last time she’d laughed so hard?

Ages. Years.

“You honor me, Your Highness.” Dante rol ed onto his

back, studying her painted ceiling as if it held the secrets of

the night sky. His hands were cupped casual y over his

bel y, his erection resting lightly on top of them. He turned

his head and grinned. “Care to honor me again?”

“Perhaps.”

Philomena marveled at his aplomb. What would that be

like? To be so aroused, and stil calm. To enjoy the

sensation for minutes at a time, even with another person

watching. Her own body was creating a panic of

awareness: the piercing tightness in her breasts, the

slippery moisture between her legs, the throb that made it

hard not to flex her private muscles and squirm…

“What next?” She forced the whisper through her tight

throat.

“Next?” He rol ed close, kissed her mouth softly, pushed

up on one elbow and slung his leg over her. “Reach me the

keys, so I can show you.”

“Keys?”

“I need my hands free, Mena, to do what comes next.”

This kiss opened her. His tongue erased the boundaries

between them; thick and wet, it reminded her of having his

cock in her mouth and she couldn’t hold back the sound of

the hungry yearning she felt.

“Oh God, Mena. My hands. Now.”

“No.” She shifted out from under him and sat up. “No. ”

Even handcuffed, he held so much power over her.

Shaking, she pushed him flat on his back. She shifted to

her knees, looked down into his wide blue eyes. “Twelve

years I was married. I’ve never been the one to say how,

when or where. I don’t need your hands. I need your

cooperation.”

She crawled over him, one knee to either side of his

hips, one hand flat over his heart, his wrists chained, hands

open, reaching…She took his cock firmly in her other hand,

and stopped breathing as she notched him into her wet

folds. She meant to go slowly, to give herself time; it felt so

different than she remembered, so ful , warm, harder,

stiffer…

But Dante had other ideas. He thrust quickly upward,

crying out as if he were the invaded party, catching her

wrists in his shackled hands.

Trapping her. Trapping himself.

“Oh, oh my.” Philomena tipped and rol ed, locked in

place above him.

“Again,” he groaned.

Panting, she tried to feel one thing separate from the

rest, to repeat what he needed, to understand the

sensations lighting her body on fire. She pushed back,

sitting up straight, sending his cock higher inside.

Dante’s head tipped back, exposing his throat and

releasing a gasping, guttural “Oh, fuuuuck.”

Philomena nearly laughed aloud—again. Happiness

bubbled through her, making her lighter and lighter inside.

She lifted her hips off her heels and slid down hard and

fast, hoping she might be able to make him do it again.

It worked. Three times in a row, in fact.

Then al at once, they began to gasp together. Lift to

meet each other. Separate with intent. It was the sweetest

feeling she’d ever experienced. Her palms pressed solidly

over the bones and flesh of his hips, she lifted and

fel …“Dante,” she whispered. “Shouldn’t we move to the

bed?”

“Beds are for old, married people. Lovers prefer the

carpet.”

“They do?”

“Or the wal , the closet, the carriage…”

His words fil ed her mind with images as his body fil ed

her with sensations. “But why?”

“Lovers…need…quick…fierce.” Each of his words

punctuated a thrust. “I’l …teach you…Mena. Every…

single…way.”

“How?”

His answer was startlingly swift. The muscles of his

stomach tightened, his thighs flexed. He pushed forward

with his chest, cradling her in the vee of his lifted torso and

raised knees. The moment she’d adjusted her limbs for

comfort, he pressed his advantage and carried her

backward, flat onto the floor, rising on his splayed knees.

Frustrated by his restraints, he pul ed her into him, one side

then the other, locking her tight to his body, her bottom

wedged against the slant of his thighs, her knees wide on

either side of his hips.

Here again, the sensation of him changed. How many

different ways could it feel? Now there was more than his

thickness and heat. She felt the stroke of some sweet,

sharp nerve inside. She felt the pinch of tears.

“More, more. Oh, please…”

“More like this? How beautiful you are, my Mena, my

queen.” Talking while tilting his hips the smal est amount,

just enough, Dante pressed inside. He opened her with his

body and his words. “Look at me here, on my knees for

you. Stil wearing your chains. You’re safe with me, yes you

are, my queen….” His words wove a spel . “Let go.”

He bent forward and, with his teeth, caught the tiny blue

ribbons that held her silk chemise closed. Tugging, tearing

at her last covering, and always tilting, tipping, rocking her

inside.

She hadn’t wanted to be naked in front of him. She’d

chosen to keep that thin garment, mindful as a queen of

every layer of meaning. A warning flared through her

oversensitized body.

“Stop. Wait.” She squirmed and her own motions

shrugged the fabric from her shoulders, exposing her. “Oh

no, don’t. I’m too…”

“You’re beautiful. Let me see. Please.”

He locked her wrists in the circle of his fingers—held

them tight as any handcuffs. He never stopped moving,

stroking her, asking for something she didn’t know how to

give.

“Mena, look at me, on my knees. Begging. Do you feel

me begging?” He straightened his thighs, pul ing her up into

him. His shoulders relaxed, his eyes closed and he thrust,

hard.

And did not stop.

She answered with a sound that mingled exclamation

and warning. It was different again—the sweet and sharp

punctuated by crashing violence. She arched her feet,

digging her toes into the soft carpet, and stil was rocked

with each powerful thrust.

“Let go.” His voice was deep, clear, his words a

command. “Let go. Now.”

No one could resist. No one.

She went in al directions, with a heart-stopping

disintegration, disappearing inside and suddenly beginning

again, al at once, al together.

“Yes!” he shouted, chest thrust forward, head back,

fingers sprung open releasing her, snapping the chain

between his cuffed hands.

The next moments were disorderly.

Philomena heard his footsteps, then the jingle and clink

of keys and metal fal ing on the nearby chest of drawers. A

rustle of linens preceded the soft warmth of a blanket fal ing

around her, a pil ow being tucked beneath her head.

He slipped in behind her, pul ing her bottom into the

warm nest of his body.

“Can we try the wal or the closet next?” she whispered,

fighting to hear his answer before sleep.

“Another time, my queen. Rest.”

“Promise me.”

“Yes?”

“I know we have never encountered one another before

in the palace.” She covered his hand where it lay against

her bel y. “But should you ever by chance come upon me, at

court perhaps or even in some state procession, wil you

turn away? Quickly. Don’t speak to me. Don’t even look.”

She felt him pul back, cold air slipping between them.

“Why?”

“I’m afraid.”

“Of what?”

“I wil be another man’s queen. I’m afraid I wil not

remember my duty, should I ever see you again.”

With a sigh, the distance between them closed. “Fear

not, my queen. Fear not.”

Philomena melted into his warmth and let herself go

again…this time into deep, restful sleep.

“Poor queen,” Dev murmured.

The rain pattered softly now, on the roof. He pulled

Maeve in close, rocking his hips steadily against the

pillow of her ass, nestling his cock along the damp warmth

of her cleft. He could come like this, spooning, her voice

creating pictures in his mind. The longer the story, the

harder it was to resist.

“Only if we end it there,” she answered breathily.

“There’s more then?” He flicked a finger casually, and

grinned when she squeaked.

“Would you like more?”

He thrust and withdrew, slowly. Letting them both enjoy

the wait. “Always.”

The next day was diabolical y beautiful. The sun shone.

The birds sang.

The queen wept.

Discipline supported her. She bathed, dressed and sat

for her hair exactly as always. Exactly as if it did not matter.

The moment she swept into the church, in a sigh of lacy

silk, the organist stopped. The audience rustled to its feet.

Philomena’s eyes fil ed with tears and blurred the

particulars of the faces around her. Her people.

One foot in front of the next.

Duty.

As she stepped up onto the dais, the king she would

marry took her elbow. She nearly resisted.

And then she nearly fainted.

His smile dripped wicked satisfaction. His voice was

pitched for her alone. “It is quite frightening how wel your

lord chamberlain knows you.”

“Dante?”

“King Western Border to you, my dear.” He pul ed her

closer to whisper in her ear. “Tonight, we use the bed. And

you wear the handcuffs.”

Thank heavens her veil disguised the shocking, meltingly

hot blush that kissed her body.

But he felt it. She knew he did.

“Your Highness.”

“Absolutely, Your Highness,” she agreed.

“Happy after all,” he cooed in her ear.

“I like a happy ending, don’t you?”

He rolled over her, crushing her flat beneath him and

reaching over the side of the bed until he found the

slippery silk of a discarded stocking. Her giggle was hard

to hear around the mouthful of pillow. “Very. Allow me to

demonstrate my appreciation for your creativity.”

Dev grabbed one of her hands and knotted the

material around her wrist. He flipped her onto her back,

wrapping the stocking around the spindle of the bed frame

in one smooth motion. Her arm stretched over her head.

He grabbed her other wrist and looped the loose end of

her stocking around it.

She cocked an eyebrow as she watched him go about

the business of tying her to the bed. “That stocking is

Donna Karan.”

“Oh?”

“Silk.”

“Never looked better on you,” he said, letting his eyes

feast on the sight of her. “Handy, too.”

“You’re cheating. In my story, the king was the helpless

one.”

“The king never cheats.” He nipped the tip of her

breast, and sucked it hard, exactly the way Dante had

kissed his queen. “The king makes the rules. Tonight, we

pick up where your story left off.”

Letting Go

SARAH MCCARTY

THE CAR PULLED UP IN FRONT OF THE

DARK CABIN. The white glow of the moon reflecting

off newly fal en snow highlighted the isolation of the log

home set at the foot of the mountain. It was perfect.

Remote. Comfortable. And it was theirs for the weekend.

No work. No pets. Nothing to distract them from each other.

The uncharacteristic shyness that had been plaguing her

the entire four-hour trip came back in spades as Marc

switched off the car’s engine. Which was absolutely

ridiculous. They’d planned this weekend for a month.

Nothing was going to happen here that either of them

hadn’t eagerly anticipated, but now that it was time for the

planning to give birth to fantasy, she was shy to the point of

blushing. She, the woman who never blushed, never

embarrassed. Never lost control.

Becky pretended an interest in the scenery as the

driver’s side door opened. Marc’s gaze slid over her like a

touch, poking at her insecurities, asking silent questions

she didn’t want to answer. Anticipation and nerves fluttered

in her stomach in a queasy combination. She made her

expression blank to hide her discomfort.

Marc sighed. The door creaked open. “We don’t have to

do this, you know.”

She kept her voice just as balanced as her expression.

“Yes, we do.” Because she was so sick of not being who

she wanted to be with him.

“Then why the cold shoulder?”

That got her looking at him. He thought she was brushing

him off? She took a subtle steadying breath, inhaling the

scent of the outdoors…and Marc. Both were clean, crisp

and intangibly tied together in her mind, maybe because

they’d met on a weekend kayak excursion, but more than

likely because the man was as elemental as the forest

around them.

She unclenched fists she didn’t know she’d been

clenching. Good grief! No wonder he was asking

questions. She looked more ready to go into battle than

indulge in a romantic weekend. Becky shook her head at

her own idiocy, her hair swishing around her shoulders with

the movement. She brushed a strand away from her mouth.

“Believe it or not, I’m nervous.”

“Why?”

He didn’t try to make eye contact again, which was

good. If she’d looked at him, pride would have demanded

she lie. “Because I’m afraid I might not live up to your

expectations.”

The back of his fingers brushed down the side of her

cheek. His low chuckle stil sent a shiver down her spine the

way it had the first time she’d heard it. Not for the first time

she wondered what attracted him to her. He was as sexy

and as uninhibited as a man could get, and she had more

inhibitions than…wel , than anyone needed.

“Baby, we’ve been married for two years—do you real y

think I don’t know what you’re capable of?”

She looked at him then, taking in the amusement and

understanding in his gaze. He was so sure this wasn’t

going to be a disaster. “Neither of us knows that.”

His smile was a slow, sexy stretch of the lips she’d seen

many times before. Masculine. Knowing. And confident. He

was always so confident. “I know.”

She clung to that confidence as his hand skimmed her

neck, her shoulder, then her thigh. A pat on her knee

fol owed by a quick squeeze and then he was out of the car,

leaving her alone with her hopes, fears and that borrowed

bravado. Crisp night air swept in on his exit and she

jumped as the door thudded shut.

She shook her head at her own cowardice. They’d

devoted this weekend to obliterating the inhibitions

between them. Inhibitions neither wanted. Becky slung her

purse over her shoulder, watching in the rearview mirror as

Marc walked around the back, a tal muscular silhouette

cast in moonlight. Cowering in the car wasn’t an impressive

start on her side.

She yanked the latch and shoved the door open. Snow

crunched beneath her feet as she stood and stretched. The

night sky expanded before her, a satiny carpet of black

speckled with shining stars and dotted with glowing

planets. She took a deep breath of the frigid air, shivering

as it bit into her lungs.

A cloud wafted across the moonlit sky. She released her

breath, watching the frozen vapor rise until it seemed to

meld with that wispy traveler, becoming more than what it

was, and yet stil less than it would be. For a minute more,

she watched the cloud skate along, free and unfettered,

and then smiled as, with absolute certainty, she knew

everything was going to be al right. There was nothing she

and he couldn’t do. Nothing they couldn’t accomplish. Not

together. Together, they were like that cloud. More than

what they had been before, yet ever growing with

boundless potential. She just had to stop being afraid to let

go.

Anticipation skittered through her veins as she walked

around the back of the car. The view here was as

interesting as the night sky, seeing as Marc was stretched

forward, retrieving a suitcase. The man had the body of a

runner, roped with lean, hard muscle. She slid her hands up

the side of his thighs, smiling as taut muscle flexed under

her touch, gliding them up over his narrow hips, under his

jacket, around his waist.

He jumped at the chil of her hands and then relaxed into

her hug, settling his palms over hers, pressing them into his

abdomen. As always, he communicated so much with a

touch, his thoughts as clear as if he’d spoken. She pressed

her cheek against the smooth leather of his jacket.

“I love you, too,” she whispered. And because she

couldn’t resist, added, “And I swear, I’m not going to be like

this al weekend.”

“Sweetheart, a few nerves aren’t going to send me

running scared.”

“Even if I babble occasional y?”

He turned in her arms, his hands dropping to the hol ow

of her spine. “I’ve never seen you babble. Might be cute to

witness.”

She tilted her head. With a foot difference in their

heights, she had to lean back a bit before she could see his

expression. “Trust me, it’s not a pretty picture.”

That half amused, half indulgent smile was stil on his

face. His head bent. Just before his mouth met hers, he

whispered, “I’l chance it.”

If there was ever proof that the man got her, it was right

there in his kiss. He didn’t just take what he wanted like she

expected, but rather he seduced, his mouth rubbing against

hers in a subtle coaxing that sapped the anxiety right out of

her and replaced it with a warm wil ingness. Wil ingness to

trust him, to do what he wanted, to be what he wanted.

What she wanted.

She opened her mouth and stretched up on her toes,

accepting the thrust of his tongue, the natural dominance in

his hold, tilting her head to give him more, letting him lead

her past the point where caution said stop. Spreading her

legs for the insertion of his thigh between, she checked her

impulse to control the need to rub against him, fol owing her

instinct and his lead rather than her head. With her next

breath she inhaled his groan of satisfaction.

“That’s it. Just let it happen.”

His grip moved to her hips, lifting her up against the

thrust of his cock, pressing down as she worked her hips in

an effort to get closer, to his heat, his cock, to him….

Too soon he was sliding her down his body, setting her

feet on the ground, separating their lips.

“Hold that thought.”

She didn’t want to hold anything but him. The press of

his thumb at the corner of her mouth sent a shock wave of

need through her. Everything she ever dreaded seeing in a

man’s eyes was there in Marc’s: amusement, satisfaction

and, worst of al , a complacent grin that said he knew

exactly how weak she was when it came to him. But her

inward flinch never got a running start because there was

no malice in that grin, just a bone deep satisfaction that

was as arousing as it was comforting because it said more

than anything else that at least one of them knew what they

were doing. And it was completely natural that it was him.

His jacket whispered a protest as she slid her arms free.

His hand cupped her cheek in one of those easy touches

that reached al the way to her soul, catching her before she

could step away. His hazel eyes were dark in the moonlight.

She leaned her cheek into his gloved palm and sighed. “I’m

an idiot.”

His answer was immediate. “Yes, you are, but you’re

mine, and I kind of like you this way.”

She raised her eyebrows. “A neurotic mess?”

His thumb brushed her mouth and a chuckle quirked his

lips before his hand dropped away. “Vulnerable.”

She held out her hand for her suitcase. “Uh-huh. Wel ,

don’t get used to it.”

He paused before dragging the cooler out and putting it

on the snow-encrusted ground. “I’l try to keep my

appreciation limited to the weekend.”

She averted her eyes as he settled a brown box on the

cooler’s white top. “Thank you.”

He closed the trunk and hefted the cooler and box. “My

pleasure.”

Becky fol owed as Marc led the way down the hil to the

cabin, admiring the way his jeans clung to his thighs with

each step delineating the strength beneath. She wondered

if he was thinking the same things she was. She wondered

if his cock was hardening as quickly as her pussy was

moistening. God! She wanted him. Wanted this. And she

shifted the suitcase as she hurried to keep up, she was not

going to al ow anything to stop her from obtaining her goal.

She might have more than her fair share of inhibitions, but

she also had more than her fair share of determination, and

of the two qualities, the second was stronger than the first.

The cabin was cold, the vaulted ceilings and log wal s

harboring the chil of the outside. She turned up the

thermostat on the furnace and set to work on the fire as

Marc made the bed and unpacked the food.

From the corner of her eye, she could see the brown box

on the coffee table, looking lost in the vastness of the room.

The innocent-looking brown box that held al the sex toys

they’d selected together. Anything and everything they’d

seen that they thought they might use. It had been tough to

ignore the expense, but as it seemed the height of

ridiculousness to be prudent when pursuing decadence,

she’d conquered her caution to the point of maybe going

overboard. She battled an unreasonable urge to toss the

throw from the couch over it.

As if there was anyone here to see. As if Marc was

going to have a problem with anything contained in it. The

man had adventure in his bones. She was the one with al

the good-girls-don’t hang-ups. Heck, judging from his

comments as she’d pointed out a few things she’d been

interested in and from the confidence with which he’d made

his selections, there probably wasn’t anything in the box of

which he didn’t have firsthand knowledge. Just not with her.

And that fast, she added another emotion to the

turbulence of the evening. Jealousy that her husband’s past

lovers had been more adventurous than she.

He came up behind her as she stood by the fire. She

shivered as he moved her hair aside, baring her neck. The

heat of his breath touched her first, moist and tantalizing,

brushing across her sensitive nerve endings in an

evocative arc.

“Ready?”

The question whispered against her neck. Goose

bumps sprang up in a silent “Hel , yes,” she couldn’t get

past her throat. She tilted her head, inviting a kiss instead,

shuddering when he gave it to her. His cock pressed

against her buttocks, rock-hard and eager while his hands

slid down her sleeves until his fingers intertwined with hers.

She gripped his hands in hers. “As I’l ever be.”

He laughed into the curve of her shoulder, sending new

goose bumps chasing after the last set, the flick of his

tongue encouraging their tingling spread to her breast and

nipples. His big hands whispered across the front of her

coat, taunting both breasts with the promise of a touch she

couldn’t feel, making her strain for any ghost of sensation.

The tension in her limbs gathered in her pussy, throbbing

with an eagerness that faintly embarrassed her. As if a

woman should consider her attraction to her husband a

weakness.

“Having second thoughts?”

“I’m a little stuck in my ways.”

He turned her in his arms. “At the risk of repeating

myself yet again, I like your ways.”

No, he didn’t; he couldn’t. She didn’t even like them.

“And that’s why you always hold back with me.”

“Is that a complaint?”

She wanted to stamp her foot in frustration. “I’m not the

one who should be complaining.”

Two fingers under her chin brought her gaze up. “The

reason you haven’t heard me complain is because I don’t

have any complaints.”

“You want a woman who lets go, who can let you be in

charge.”

His gaze never wavered from hers. “The only woman I

want is you.”

She dropped her forehead into his chest. The down of

his coat cushioned her landing. “I know.”

His arms came around her shoulders. “So what’s the

problem?”

“I want to be that woman, too!”

There, her not-so-secret secret was out.

His coat rustled as his lips touched her temple. “Have I

ever told you I think you’re a nut?”

She shook her head.

His smile spread against her temple. “I’m fairly sure I

have.”

“Not today.”

“My mistake.” This time it was his thumb that propped

her chin up. “You know I’l give you anything you want, in or

out of the bedroom.”

She knew that. He was a very generous lover. She

turned her head and cleared her throat. To her dismay, her

voice stil held a betraying husk of uncertainty. “I know.”

“And you want this?”

She wrapped her fingers around his wrist and held on.

“The one place I never wanted to be in charge was the

bedroom.”

And it was the one place where she couldn’t seem to let

go. His hand stroked her hair, pul ing her cheek to his

chest, holding her tight. “Ah, baby.”

“I know.” She closed her eyes. “I’m a nut.”

His thumb pressed against her lower lip, bringing her

eyes back open. “No, you’re my wife.”

She angled her head back and wrinkled her nose.

“Who’s a nut.”

“Who’s everything I want.” His gaze didn’t leave hers.

“Just the way she is.”

That wasn’t good enough anymore. At least not for her.

“But what if I don’t want to be this way?”

“Then we change.”

She had so many hang-ups, so many reasons for how

she was, none of them worth holding onto. “What if I can’t?”

“Then we keep trying.”

She took a breath and released his wrist, clutching his

coat sleeve instead. She sighed. “You make it sound so

easy.”

“Al you’ve got to do is whatever I tel you. No right, no

wrong. No need to think.” He arched his eyebrow at her.

“How hard can it be?”

Not that hard. At least in theory. “Marc?”

He reached around her and closed the door to the

woodstove. “Right here.”

“Have I mentioned how much I love you?”

“I’m open to hearing it again.”

The familiar response given with that familiar smile took

away more of her nervousness. This was Marc. She trusted

him with her life. She could certainly trust him with her

sexuality. She linked her hands around his neck and

snuggled her hips into his, giving him a smile back of her

own. “Make it worth my while and I wil .”

His brow arched. “Is that a chal enge?”

She did her best to look demure. “Maybe.”

“That sounded like a chal enge.”

“I would never chal enge you.”

His smile spread. “Like hel .”

“Wel ,” she amended, “not without reason.”

His hands cupped her hips, his fingers stretching to the

sensitive inside of her thighs. With an easy flex of muscle

he lifted her up. Becky wrapped her legs around his hips as

he turned. This close she could see the desire darkening

the green of his eyes, feel the tension humming under his

skin, feel that side of his personality she’d always fought

surge. His gaze held hers, the blue more prominent than the

green as it always was when he was aroused. “It’s risky

business chal enging a man with my nature.”

She feathered her fingers in the hair at the base of his

neck. “Maybe I’ve just decided it’s time to see how much

bite there is to your bark.”

“Uh-huh. Know what happens to women who play with

fire?”

Her hips jostled against his as he walked to the

bedroom, the soft cotton of her sweatpants doing nothing to

protect her from the pressure against her clit. Desire

sparkled through her blood. Excitement shortened her

breath. She loved it when he went al macho on her. “Nope.”

Marc stopped just inside the bedroom door, his gaze

holding hers as he let her slide down his body, the hot

length of his cock caressing the inside of her thighs until her

toes touched the floor. Her held her there, suspended in his

embrace, his cock notched between her legs, pressing

against her through his jeans and her pants as he drawled,

“Their husbands get to see how hot they can make them

burn.”

He let her go. She stumbled, caught between the king-

size bed behind her and her husband in front, daring and

dread rising with equal fervor.

Of course, he saw. He touched her cheek. “What?”

“Don’t let me ruin this.”

He shook his head, the firm line of his mouth softening.

“There’s no way you can ruin anything.”

But she could fail. She grabbed his hand. “Promise me

you’l just do it like we talked about.”

He frowned. “I can’t promise that. Not if you’re not

enjoying yourself.”

“I might be uncomfortable at first, but I swear I’l enjoy it.”

“Let’s see.”

He took her hand in his, pul ing it behind his back, pul ing

her into his arms. The touch of his lips on hers was firm

when she’d expected soft, commanding when she’d

expected reassurance, throwing her off balance. While she

struggled to find the rhythm in the kiss, he caught both of

her hands and moved them behind her back, anchoring

them in one of his, keeping her helpless as his mouth took

charge of hers. Fire streaked from her breasts, her thighs,

her lips, leaping along her nerve endings, the feeling of

helplessness feeding the flames.

The zipper of her coat rasped louder than her heartbeat

as he slid it down. His palm swal owed the smal mound of

her breast, bare beneath her shirt because he’d requested

it, pressing and massaging, stoking the burning ache,

sending it deeper, and al she could do was stand there

and take the pleasure he was giving her. The way he

wanted. Oh God. Her knees buckled. It was so good.

He caught her easily, holding her stil for more of his

touch, his desire. The pinch of his thumb and forefinger on

her nipple made her jump, except she couldn’t go

anywhere, do anything. He was in charge. In complete

control. Her lids fluttered open. He was staring down at her,

the desire burning so brightly in her mirrored in the tight set

of his expression. Along with that realization came another.

He liked her like this. The knowledge settled deep, giving

her the courage to lower her lids, lick her lips, and ask, “Is

that al you’ve got?”

His laugh was more sensual than amused; the answer

he gave short and to the point. “Hardly.”

The pressure on her nipple increased to the point of

pain. His gaze never left hers as she waited, breath

suspended in her chest, womb clenched expectantly,

whether in hope or dread, she didn’t know. With a smal

smile, he released her nipple and turned her around. Becky

stood there, breath shuddering, adrenaline flowing for three

uncomprehending seconds until he said, “Bend over.”

And the conflagration started again, her mind racing

ahead of her actions, picturing how she’d look to him, her

hands braced on the bed, her rear thrust back in a purely

submissive pose.

When she would have shrugged off her coat, Marc

caught her shoulders. “No.”

Subtle pressure bent her over. She caught her weight on

her hands, feeling awkward and vulnerable and as turned

on as she’d ever been as his hand grazed up the inside of

her thigh, pressing her leg to the left in a smooth demand

before repeating the same caress with the other leg.

His fingertips pressed lightly against her pussy. “I’ve

been thinking about this since morning.”

It was a struggle to find her voice. “What exactly is

‘this’?”

His shadow fel over her as he stood, making her vividly

aware of his size, the need to dominate he’d always kept in

check for her. The need she’d asked him to let loose. His

hands on the waistband of her sweatpants were cold. She

jumped. Her pants and underwear fol owed the shiver as it

snaked down to her toes. “Your ass.”

Which told her nothing and suggested everything.

The snap of his fingers against her right cheek had her

jumping again. “Push back.”

She did.

Another tiny slap, this one so soft it seemed to absorb

the sting of the other. In the aftermath, his palm lingered.

“You liked that?”

There was no way she could deny it, even if every

liberated bone in her body demanded that she do so.

Those betraying goose bumps were at it again,

telegraphing her delight. The zipper of his jeans rasped

loudly in the silence. She swal owed hard; the image of him

taking her ful y clothed played like a siren’s lure in her mind.

Hard, deep, his focus on his pleasure. Oh yes. She wanted

him to take her like that. To use her for his satisfaction, to

let her be nothing more than what he needed this once. Not

having to think, to worry, just being there to satisfy him

would be so good.

His fingers slipped between her thighs, cal used and

rough, sliding easily across her shaved labia. His laugh,

when he found her open and wet, held the smile she’d

missed earlier.

“Looks like you’ve been thinking, too.”

“Yes.” She always thought about him.

“Did you prepare yourself like I ordered?”

He could feel that she had, so he must just want to hear

her say it. “Yes.” Admitting that sent another quiver of

delight through her. Took her another step deeper into her

fantasy where her submissive side got free rein.

“Good.”

He eased his cock up the crack of her ass. It slid

smoothly on the lubricated skin, making her shudder and

push back. His thumbs rubbed the inside of her cheeks,

holding her open for the next stroke.

The fat head of his cock caught on the edge of her anus.

Hunger, hot and dark, shot inward. Her cry was involuntary.

He didn’t move, didn’t even seem to breathe for a second

—and then he snuggled the broad head against the tight

opening, teasing her with the promise of the forbidden.

“Step out of your pants,” he ordered darkly, then stood

stil , letting her efforts to fol ow his order work him up and

down the crease.

As soon as she was free, she resumed her position. He

pushed her ankle with his foot. “Wider.”

She complied immediately, feeling completely exposed.

It only increased her excitement. His cock throbbed against

her. The touch of his fingers changed from caressing to

possessive as he moved her around, letting the head of his

cock probe first her ass and then lower; not entering, just

stroking like one might with a finger.

It was pure torment to stand so, bent over, exposed,

wondering where he would take her. When? Would he be

fast or slow? Would he let her come, or would he leave her

hanging, deliciously ful of his semen, pulsing with

anticipation?

He rubbed his cock over her buttocks. Despite her

efforts to stay quiet, a whimper escaped. It felt too good to

tolerate in silence. He rubbed some more. She gave up the

effort to control her breathing. It came out ragged and loud.

He pul ed back and his cock tapped at her anus. “Are

you ready for me?”

He had to know she was. He’d told her to keep herself

always ready for him and she did though he’d never taken

her that way. Mainly because she always froze up. Her

“Yes” was a soft moan of expectancy.

He slid a finger in her ass. The tight ring spasmed,

clutching him hard.

“Oh God,” she moaned, trying to steady her knees

beneath the surge of pleasure.

“I guess you are,” he murmured at the smoothness of his

entry, probing gently. She moaned again and pushed back,

trying to establish a rhythm. He stretched her wider and

introduced another finger. For a moment, she balked,

tightening against the invasion. He paid her no mind, pul ing

his fingers out, dragging against her sensitive flesh as he

withdrew.

“Relax and push back,” he coaxed, easing them back in,

spreading her as he did. “You know you love this.”

She did. She loved it when he played with her ass, no

matter how he took it. Gentle or rough, it turned her on until

she could scream just thinking about him eventual y

claiming it. She took a breath, waited for the next

withdrawal and then pushed back.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Show me how much you like

it.”

She didn’t have much choice. Her nerves were on fire.

Her entire being focused on his fingers and the pace he

was setting, slow and easy when she wanted hard and fast,

every twist, every scissor of his fingers divine torture. When

she was almost screaming with frustration, he pul ed free.

His cock tapped her frantical y throbbing opening. She

jerked up, hips hungrily rearing back, wanting the

consummation. Only to be denied again when he stepped

back. She dropped her head to the mattress, her pussy

aching, ass clenching, feeling so empty she thought she’d

die from it.

Marc nudged her foot with his again. She widened her

stance. It took two more nudges before she was at the level

he wanted, legs wide, tight muscles straining, every sense

attuned to him, wanting him. “Perfect.”

It was the only warning she had before he pushed his

thick cock into her pussy. She bucked and would have

col apsed if he hadn’t anchored her hips with his hands,

holding her steady for the solid penetration.

It wasn’t easy taking him like this—he was a big man

and her inner muscles struggled to accept his width as he

pressed inexorably inward—but it was also arousing as

hel . Feeling his cock drive deep, having him pul her hips

back into his on the grinding descent; hearing his orders to

take him, to fuck him, moaned hoarsely in her ear as his

fingers dug into her thighs, giving her no choice but to do as

he ordered, to pleasure him as he needed. It was her

wildest fantasy, having him use her like she was there for

his pleasure only. And it was now coming true.

She pushed back, taking another inch, his curse flowing

above her just so much sweet music because she knew

she’d drawn it from him against his wil . Just as she knew

the next thrust wasn’t as control ed as the first. Yes, yes,

yes! With every hard thrust she opened wider, took him

deeper.

She braced her arms on the bed, pushing back further. It

wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She wanted him to

pound that thick cock into her, ride her until he couldn’t hold

it anymore. She wanted him to claim her, to make her his in

a total y primitive way that went far deeper than any woman

would consider political y correct. She wanted him to fuck

her without finesse, without control. Just him and her and

the need she inspired in him. She wiggled her hips. A

smart sting on her right cheek halted the movement. “Stay

stil and take it.”

Oh God! She bit her lip as the sting melded with the heat

burning her from the inside out, feeding it. How had he

known? In her dreams he said things like that to her, did

things like this to her, but she’d never told him, never written

it down. How had he known this part of her fantasy she’d

never dared to confess?

His cock continued to plunder her pussy, pushing solidly

in, catching on sensitive nerve endings as her muscles

parted to accommodate his width, dragging and stretching

her flesh as he withdrew, every stroke, every heated inch

destroying the control she prided herself on. The control

she didn’t want in bed. Her clit ached and pulsed, needing

his touch, her touch, anything. Al it would take was the

barest stimulation there and she’d go hurtling over the

precipice she could sense him approaching.

He didn’t give it to her. Just kept fil ing her with his cock,

feeding her need, her desire, building it until she wanted it

to go on forever yet she didn’t think she could bear it if it

did. Continuing until she couldn’t think of anything beyond

the fact that she was his, and she loved him so.

With a thrust so deep it pierced her soul Marc came,

grinding his hips so deeply into hers, his zipper cut into the

flesh of her buttocks. She pushed back, begging for more.

Becky could feel his cock pulse that brief second before it

jerked, tapping against her G-spot, fil ing her with his hot

come, giving her some of what she wanted but not enough.

Not enough to come. She clawed at the comforter and

clenched again. His dark laugh let her know he knew what

she was doing. What he was doing to her.

“You want more?”

She shuddered and admitted the glorious truth. “Yes.”

His big hand worked between them, cupping her pussy.

“Greedy thing.”

She had no defense. She was greedy. She wanted

more. Everything he could give her.

His cock jerked within her, touching that spot. His fingers

snapped against the pad of her pussy, sharp and hard. She

stiffened in shock as wild sensation burned up into her

womb. Before she could sort it out, he was doing it again,

harder, stronger. Delight cut through shock, a mixture of

sweet pain and searing pleasure, too strong to deny, too

overwhelming to sort out. Too fucking fantastic to resist.

“Come for me.”

Low, deep and intent, the order didn’t leave her any

choice. On the next slap she did, bucking and arching her

hips for more of whatever he wanted to give her, open to

the pleasure, the pain or a combination of the two. Just

open…

He was holding her, his arms wrapped around her while

his big body covered her. With every breath she took, she

absorbed his scent, hers, theirs.

His cock flexed within her. They were stil joined. Becky

opened her hands on the mattress, bracing herself—for

what, she didn’t know, just whatever was going to happen

to destroy this moment.

His lips skimmed her temple, her cheek, soft gentle

caresses that melted into her soul.

“Can you feel my seed in you?” he asked, pul ing his stil -

hard cock almost al the way out before sliding back in, his

voice as quiet and as deep as the night around them.

“Yes.”

“It makes you hot, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Tel me.”

The order wasn’t unexpected. The surge of lust at

hearing it, at contemplating obeying it, was. She dug her

nails into the sheet, holding on as the quiver shook her from

head to toe. Her voice, when she found it, was husky and

raw, as if al the screams she’d suppressed over the years

had left their mark. “When you fil me with your seed, it

makes me crazy.”

He stroked her again, slow and lazy. “How crazy?”

“I can’t get enough of it,” she admitted breathlessly. “Of

you.”

She surged back, almost there, but he stepped away.

She was suddenly, devastatingly empty. She groaned a

protest.

A brush of flesh on flesh, and then there was only the

lingering warmth of his seed inside her, keeping her

achingly aroused. She knew she’d stay that way until she

could no longer feel his essence.

“Take off your clothes,” he instructed quietly. “And then

climb into bed and close your eyes.”

A light slap on her rear had her hurrying to comply. The

sheets were chil y. She lay there on her back, shivering with

cold and anticipation until the heat from the fire seeped

through and then it was just anticipation shaking her from

head to toe.

It took her a minute to realize Marc had left the room.

W i t h her eyes closed, every other sense seemed to

magnify, especial y her sense of hearing. She could hear

him in the bathroom washing up, track his move to the living

room, and then back. He stopped just inside the bedroom

door.

She pushed the covers down, the smooth cotton gliding

sensuously across her stomach and thighs. The catch of his

breath was audible. She smiled, drew up her knee and

arched her back, giving him a view of everything that was

his.

“Stil playing with fire, sweetheart?”

“Mmm.” She spread her legs wide, imagining how she

looked to him, wanton and eager. His shirt dropped to the

floor in a soft rustle. His wal et hit the bureau with a heavy

thud. The change in the pocket of his jeans jingled as they

slid down his legs. The mattress dipped under his weight.

It dipped again as he moved closer. His arm brushed

her shoulder. The heat of his body covered her as light as a

touch. His scent enveloped her in a familiar hug.

She sensed his lips before she felt them pressing

against hers. His whispered, “I love you,” wove around her

in a protective spel . She whispered it back, letting the vow

fol ow her breath into his mouth, envisioning it blending with

his until the two were hopelessly intertwined. His hand

curved around her head in a gentle vise, holding her stil for

his kiss. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, keeping

him stil for hers.

Marc separated his mouth a scant inch from hers. “Don’t

open your eyes.”

“Okay.”

His finger traced her lip. “No matter what.”

Anticipation nudged her pulse up a notch. “No matter

what.”

His fingers fanned over the side of her face. He eased

her lower lip away from her teeth with his thumb. “I like your

mouth.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, so she settled for a

“Thank you.”

“I want it on me.”

She touched the fleshy pad of his thumb with her tongue.

“Now?”

“Yeah. Now.”

When she would have slid down his body, he tightened

his grip on her head. “Turn around first.”

The covers wrapped around her as she shifted, then

were tugged away, leaving her with only smooth cotton and

smooth skin to guide her. She fumbled a little without the

use of sight, relying on his hand for guidance. The tendons

in her inner thighs strained as she straddled his chest. He

was a big man al over. Built strong, inside and out. Solid.

Someone she could depend on always. She kissed her

way down his stomach, going with the rise and fal of his

abs, counting the ridges. One, two, three.

Her lips dipped into the wel of his navel, explored and

then moved below, fol owing the thin line of hair beneath.

His hand tangled in her hair. Ignoring the silent demand she

worked lower, not stopping until she found the soft sac of

his bal s. It came as natural y as breathing to kiss them. His

breath hissed in only to be released immediately, sighing,

“That’s good.”

Marc widened his thighs. She nuzzled them gently,

sucking softly on the delicate flesh, before kissing them

again. Against her cheek, his cock stirred. Because she

loved to feel him quicken with life, she snuggled his

semisoft penis against her tongue, cherishing this brief

time when she could hold him in his entirety.

With a tug on her thigh, he drew her across his torso until

she was covering him like a living blanket. That was fine

with her. Having him like this, relaxed beneath her while the

echoes of their previous pleasure wrapped them in an

intimate cocoon was a pleasure unto itself. She scooted

back as his cock grew too big to hold in her mouth, letting

her lips slide up his length until only the mushroom-shaped

head rested inside the taut circle. She twirled her tongue

around the firm tip, compressing with her lips before

sucking lightly, the spike of his hips a hot incentive to do it

again.

He moaned and shoved the blankets clear. The hand on

her head pushed down even as he pushed his hips up.

Becky took what she could, giving him as much as she

could, wanting to please him this way, too. A bead of pre-

come spil ed into her mouth, salty, spiced with that flavor

that was uniquely Marc, seeping into her desire in a lazy

intoxicating wave that gathered momentum as another

deep, masculine moan flowed into the darkness around

her.

God! She loved the taste of him. The feel. She grasped

the base of his shaft in her hand, angling him back. She

kept up a lazy rhythm, her senses focusing on the moment

and everything surrounding it: the heat of his cock, the throb

of his pulse, the stretch in her thighs, the ache in her core,

the weight of his palm. In her pussy, she stil felt the hot

weight of his seed like a loving promise yet to be fulfil ed.

Beneath her, Marc shifted. His chest muscles rippled

along the inside of her thighs as he reached for something.

In her hypersensitive state, she could feel every ridge of

muscle, every expansion of breath.

“Are your eyes closed?”

His voice was husky. Deep. Intent. On nothing more than

the nuances contained in the question, her womb clenched.

She slid her mouth free of his cock. “Yes.”

“Keep them that way.”

The order didn’t require a response. She gave it to him

anyway in a slow breath that wafted across the head of his

cock in a whispery tease. The hard shaft jerked in her grip.

She fol owed the airy caress with her tongue, flattening it

across the broad head, holding it there, holding him there

for a heartbeat before wiggling her tongue in the tiny slit at

the center, then doing it again when his big body jerked in

response, fucking it in tiny pulses that had his breath

hissing in between his teeth. Oh yes, she liked him like this.

She laughed, taking him deep, letting him share in the

reverberations of her pleasure. He pushed high with his

hips, getting her to take a fraction more, reestablishing the

power between them, reinforcing who would give and who

would take. While she struggled to accept his cock,

something cool and smooth pressed against her anus.

“Umph?”

The answer to her incoherent question was an increase

in pressure against the tight ring of her ass. She froze. He

had been in the toy box. Her ass twitched in apprehension

while her pussy wept with need. She pushed up on her

arms. The move pressed her harder against the would-be

intruder. “Stay stil .”

It was a no-nonsense order fol owed by a no-nonsense

push against her butt. Whatever he had chosen felt huge.

She remembered some of the toys they had selected. They

were huge. Her muscles tensed in an agony of indecision.

He pushed the fake penis against her butt again. She

moved forward to his bal s to postpone the inevitable

penetration. She made an involuntary move to close her

legs, but only succeeded in clamping her thighs around his

ribs. His chest hair abraded her clit, making her gasp and

twist.

He laughed, a low, husky, distracted sound. His palm

cupped her rear holding her to the pleasurable friction while

with unrelenting pressure against her anus he forced her

body’s acceptance. “Relax, Becky.”

She tried, but it wasn’t easy. He didn’t desist.

“You can take this. Just relax and push back.”

He didn’t give her any choice. Untried muscles gave up

on the unequal battle. She panted through the foreign

sensation, a combination of pleasure and pain.

More pressure, this time at the back of her head,

keeping her mouth ful of his cock as he slowly breached

her ass with the thick toy.

She breathed through her nose, struggling to relax, torn

between wanting him to stop and needing the dark

consummation to continue. The slow penetration final y

stopped. The rough cal uses of his fingers grazed the

hypersensitive skin of her rear as he asked, “Okay?”

She took a breath, stil ing the panic to try to find an

answer. The dildo stretched her past comfortable but not

ful y into pain, creating contrary signals that her desire

absorbed and translated into something darker, something

deeper, something intriguingly different. She nodded yes.

“Good. Now, I want you to use your mouth and show me

how you want to be loved.”

He was al owing her some control, letting her set the

pace for her seduction. She was intrigued. Tempted and

intrigued. Indecision held her immobile for a timeless,

breathless second. She felt too…stretched for anything

vigorous.

With the slightest of hesitations, she took just the tip of

his penis into her mouth. He throbbed against the inside of

her lips. She eased her head gently up and down. The dildo

moved with the same shal ow motion, forcing her tight

muscles wider and the burn higher, the joy higher stil .

She could handle that, she decided, repeating the move.

It stil wasn’t exactly pleasurable. There were too many

conflicting emotions inside for her to sort out the pleasure

from the other, newer sensations, but she could sense it

waiting, just beyond her grasp. She forgot to caress his

cock, and he stopped.

Darn. She squeezed her eyes tighter and resumed her

movements.

“You want it like that for a while?” he asked.

Feeling vulnerable and exposed, she nodded her head.

“Okay. Rest your cheek on my hip and we’l try this for a

while.”

At first, she couldn’t relax, but the steady massage of the

penetration soon eased the tension from her muscles. The

motion became smoother and easier as she relaxed into

the play. She loved the feeling of being penetrated almost

more than she loved to come, and the sensation was even

more intense, more satisfying this way. And now, with

Marc’s permission, she was able to ful y focus on the stroke

of the toy over her most sensitive nerves, to wal ow for as

long as she wanted in the pure bliss. She lifted her hips

facilitating the easy rhythm.

Her ass began to throb and twitch, and the easy

screwing became more irritating than satisfying. Rooting

with her lips, she found his cock and engulfed him in one

deep swal ow. The dildo echoed her efficiency.

Her satisfied groan danced down his shaft.

It felt good. So damn good.

She took him again, deeply. Her ass relished the same

treatment. Marc caught the rhythm, slow and deep, hovering

on the retreat before plunging back in to linger on the push.

Unlike a cock, the dildo didn’t get too excited and put an

end to the sensation. She was free to enjoy it as long as

she could, letting the burn become an ache that sharpened

to a high-pitched need that spread outward, building in a

wave. She yanked her mouth off his cock, sinking her teeth

into his thigh, biting down as she took more, her ass

clenching down hard, holding tight….

She felt his laugh more than heard it. “Feels that good,

huh?”

Again, al she could do was nod.

“Imagine how good it’s going to feel when it’s my cock

instead of a toy.”

She closed her eyes, imagining it, wanting it. “Oh yes.”

She shifted up and caught the tip of his penis in her

mouth. Just the tip. She closed her lips tightly around it and

slid it in and out, flirting with the idea of penetration, making

him relive over and over the thril of possession.

“Oh God,” she moaned as he forced her ass open again

and again with the same piercing motion. “Don’t stop.

Please.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” Desire roughened his voice to a

hoarse parody of his low drawl and any doubt she had that

he was enjoying this as much as her died a quick death.

“But I think it’s time to change things up.”

His cock slid impossibly deep, hitting the back of her

throat, holding there while she struggled not to gag. The

dildo plumbed her ass with the same erotic efficiency over

and over again, taking her higher but not giving her that

extra something she needed to relieve the screaming

demand ripping along her nerve endings. The hot, burning

need to come. She twisted in his grip, sucking his cock

harder, taking it deeper, faster, needing him to come so

she could.

“Son of a bitch.” Hard hands fastened on her shoulders,

pul ing her up with the same wildness beating inside her.

“Come up here.”

She did, kissing her way frantical y up his chest, nibbling

on his flat brown nipples, savoring the jerk of his chest until

he pul ed her away.

“Tease,” Marc murmured without heat, flipping her onto

her back.

She rested her palms on his shoulders, sinking her nails

into the thick pad of muscle, anchoring the wildness inside.

“Can I open my eyes now?”

“Yes.”

His big hands slid down the back of her thighs. He lifted

first one and then the other over his arms with deliberate

slowness, walking his hands up the side of her torso with

that same determination until he had her wide open and

exposed.

She didn’t understand when Marc reached between

them, holding her gaze with his until, with a twist, her ass

came alive with powerful pulsing throbs. Her eyes flew

wide. The dildo was also a vibrator.

“I always wanted to know what one of those vibrating

beds felt like,” he murmured.

“Oh God!” She dug her nails into his shoulder, her teeth

into her lip as he nudged her with his cock. He tucked it into

the smal slit, forcing her tight pussy open with the same

inexorable pressure with which he’d opened her ass. It was

too much. The overstretching, the throbbing…Becky closed

her eyes and struggled to adjust.

Marc didn’t give her time, just threw them both into the

chaotic wel of need with a slow, steady push. And she took

him, al of him—muscles straining, quivering, parting,

struggling with the near painful tightness caused by the

dildo, nerve endings singing as his groin pressed into hers.

And stil he pushed, as if as close as they were, it wasn’t

close enough. She closed her eyes, savoring the feeling. It

would never be enough.

She had to move, needed to move, but there was no

give in his hold, no leeway in his possession. Al she could

do was clench around him and beg. “Please, please,

please!”

The words fil ed her head, the room. She was begging

aloud and she didn’t care. She needed him, needed this.

“I’ve got you, baby.”

And he did, in every way that mattered. She opened her

eyes, loving the passion in his face, the lust, the pleasure,

knowing that she was giving this to him even as he was

giving it to her. Ten more strokes and he came violently,

slamming hard against her, holding himself high inside her

pussy, his cock jerking with spurt after spurt of hot come.

The power of his release triggered her own, sending her

surging up against his chest, twisting violently in his arms

as overcharged nerves screamed for a reprieve. He gave

her none, forcing her to ride every wave, holding her stil

when she would have ripped free, nipping her breasts when

she swore she couldn’t take anymore, sending her into

another orgasm as if to prove her wrong.

In the aftermath, when everything had subsided to a

quivering ache, he lowered her legs back to her sides, and

suckled her breasts more gently as he whispered over and

over, “I love you.”

Inside her, she felt his softening penis and the hot

warmth of his seed. Her pussy clung to both, the pulsing

arousal inspired by the latter rivaling the toy. With a soft

sigh, he eased out of her, stil loving her breasts.

As always, she protested the loss. He’d come in her not

once, but twice. She’d be achingly aroused al night unless

she cleansed away his seed. She was reluctant to do so,

especial y when he patted her affectionately between the

legs on the way down to turn off the vibrator.

“That was so good,” she sighed.

His smile was a tightening of his lips against her nipple.

“Glad you enjoyed it.”

Her nipple sprang into the cold air with a soft pop as he

released it and said, “Why don’t you turn over? You know

you can’t sleep on your back.”

She turned over onto her stomach, facing him. Resting

her cheek on her forearm, she asked, “Aren’t you forgetting

something?”

His big hand smoothed down her back. His fingers

flirted with the crease of her buttocks before dipping

between. With a delicate push, he re-seated the toy. Her

oversensitive body made more of the movement than she’d

expected, quivering and tightening. His fingers lingered

almost contemplatively.

“Nope.”

She cracked an eyelid and noted his speculative

expression as he played with the dildo. “Is there a

problem?”

“Not a one.” He eased down beside her, patting her rear

i n a sweet caress before encompassing the curve. “I was

just thinking—”

“What?”

His lips brushed her shoulder. The sheets rustled as his

chest half shifted over her back, covering her with his heat

and strength. His cock thrust against her hip as he drawled

in her ear, “There are a lot more toys in that box….”

Come Back to Me

KIMBERLY KAYE TERRY

PART I

“ARE YOU WEARING THE PANTIES I

SENT YOU?” A deep voice I had come to know so

wel , whispered huskily.

My breath quickened and my pussy clenched in

automatic response to his deep, chocolate-smooth

baritone.

Oh God, it was him again. I swal owed nervously.

We’d been communicating for less than a week and

each time I had the same reaction when he’d cal me after

my radio talk show ended. Right off the bat, he’d asked me

such intimate questions I’d wanted to hang up in his face.

Yet, I hadn’t.

He’d cal ed every night over the last week, and to my

shame, I’d come to need his nightly cal s. Normal y, he

cal ed when my show had ended, and I’d sent my engineer

home and was al alone.

I glanced at the clock mounted on my desk, surprised to

hear from him so early in the night. Tonight was a rerun of a

previous show, and for al intents and purposes neither I,

nor my engineer, needed to be in the studio.

Yet, there was no way I was going to stay away whether I

needed to be here or not. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

From the first time I heard his voice he’d captivated me

and I hadn’t been able to deny him anything. He’d started

out talking dirty to me. Asking me if I had a man, if I needed

one, and tel ing me he wanted to be the one to give me

what I needed. The way he’d laid it down so smooth, so hot,

I tried my best to hang up. Damn, I did. I wanted to tel him

to go straight to hel . But I couldn’t.

From the first night, wel , things had progressed. And

after what he had me doing to myself last night…I swore I

wouldn’t take any more of his kinky cal s. Particularly, when I

came into work and found his “gift” on my desk, wrapped in

a pretty pink box with a pearl-beaded bow.

“Did you hear me?”

My heartbeat slammed against my breastbone, and my

treacherous nipples beaded in response to the low-toned

voice pouring from the smal speakers mounted in my desk.

I quickly glanced up to see if my engineer, Trina, had

overheard.

I released a heartfelt sigh of relief when she wasn’t

looking my way. Thank God, she didn’t seem to be paying

me any attention behind her soundproofed glassed-in

booth, gathering her things as she prepared to leave for the

night.

Nevertheless, I quickly snatched up the phone and sat

back down in my chair.

“Please…I told you, no more cal s. If you want advice on

love, cal during the show’s regular time, and currently we’re

doing a Best of show, so that’s not going to happen tonight.

I suggest you find somewhere else to get your kicks,” I

ordered, trying my best to infuse as much attitude as I could

in my tone, but even to my own ears it came out sounding

pitiful and weak.

His answering, deep-throated chuckle confirmed it for

me.

“Keep saying that, Dr. Adams, and maybe you’l

convince yourself. Damn sure not convincing me,” he

arrogantly replied.

“Look, Mr.—”

I waited for him to fil in the name, knowing ful wel he

wouldn’t.

“Dr. A, I’m going to be leaving for the night, to meet my

mon…aw no, woman! Is that another cal er? I thought I’d put

the answering machine on.” Trina came hustling out of her

control room and groaned. She flipped one of her long

dreads over her shoulder and came to a halt near my desk,

her large hemp bag thrown over her shoulder.

“No, Trina, it’s okay. You get out of here and go and

meet your man. This isn’t anything I can’t handle.” I smiled

reassuringly at her and held the phone away from my ear as

I spoke, purposely al owing him to hear what I said.

Some of my nervousness must have come through.

Trina gave me a look. “Dr. A, Jerrod can wait, if you need

me to stay…” she said in her deep Jamaican accent,

al owing the sentence to trail off questioningly. Despite the

nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach, I laughed.

“Go! You aren’t going to get that man of yours mad at

me because I kept his honey, knowing ful wel you two have

plans,” I said, laughing, reminding her of their plans to get

away for the weekend. “Honestly, this is nothing. I’l wrap up

in a minute and do some odds and ends. I plan on heading

out of here within the next hour or so myself,” I reassured

her.

“Are you sure, then?”

“Yes, I am. I’l have one of the sound guys make sure the

tapes run smoothly. There’s no need for me to be here.” I

reminded her that I wasn’t needed at the station, either. “I’m

going to head home early. In fact, could you close the blinds

for me?” I asked.

“And I’l be believing that when I see it, Doctor A! I don’t

tink you’d know what to do with yourself if you weren’t here.”

Trina laughed.

I took a mock swipe at her. “I’m fine…now go before I

change my mind and keep you here with me al night!”

“I’m going, I’m going!” she said, laughing, and quickly

closed the blinds before she scurried to the door.

Right before she opened it, she turned back to me and

Right before she opened it, she turned back to me and

gave me a smal half grin, a look of concern crossing her

pretty cocoa-brown face. “Seriously, Dr. A, you give al the

great advice on love, and you know I be admiring you…but

maybe it’s time for you to take your own advice, woman!”

she said, stretching out the word woman. “Let go and have

some fun.” She blew me a kiss before closing the door

behind her.

I smiled and almost forgot the one waiting for me on the

phone. As if he’d al ow that to happen.

“She’s right,” he said before I’d had time to gather my

thoughts, and pul myself together. “You give al that great

advice on love, life and having fun. When’s the last time you

had any fun? When was the time you let go and enjoyed a

man?”

“What makes you think you know anything about me?” I

asked around my pounding heart. I rushed on, fil ing in the

answer before he could speak. “You don’t know anything

about me. Not one damn thing.”

“I know enough. Enough to know you’re tired of talking

about sex and ready to do it. But not just any sex. You need

hot, raw, dirty sex.”

Oh God, please make him stop. My eyes drifted closed

and the wal s of my pussy clenched at the way he dragged

out the word raw.

I released a shaky breath. “You don’t know anything—”

“Enough to know you’re wearing the special panties I

sent you. How long did it take you to convince yourself to

put them on when you received the package today?”

“I am not wearing—”

“Shh,” he interrupted me. “Close your eyes. Slide your

fingertips along the inside of your thigh. Pretend they’re

mine.”

I bit my lower lip and did as he demanded.

“Push up your skirt and spread your legs. What do you

feel?”

Why was he doing this to me, forcing me to do things I

shouldn’t, feel things I didn’t want to feel?

“Exposed, vulnerable,” I admitted, my voice barely above

a throaty whisper.

“Are you wet?”

Unable to hold back, a whimper escaped.

“That’s okay, baby, you don’t have to answer. I already

know. Good, because I want that pussy drenched, bared

and ready for what I want to do next.”

“I’m not doing this with you, again,” I choked out,

determined not to give in to him.

Despite my denial, I found myself obeying every single

one of his edicts. It was late, no one was around the nearly

deserted radio station, but even had they been, I knew it

wouldn’t have made a bit of difference. I would have stil

given in to his every demand.

“How does it feel to have those beads scraping, rubbing

against those plump, juicy pussy lips?” He didn’t even have

the decency to wait for me to respond. “Spread your legs,

rock back and forth, and ride those beads, baby. Pretend

it’s my fingers, my tongue licking, stroking you, and tel me

how good it feels.”

Oh God, it felt so good.

My body was humming; what he was doing to me—

forcing me to do to myself—was the most incredibly erotic

experience I’d ever had.

Yet I was ashamed of myself, even as I slid my creaming

pussy against the beads attached to the panties, not caring

that anyone could walk in the studio and catch me in the act

of pleasuring myself.

“This is so wrong,” I sobbed, the words escaping of their

own volition.

“No, it’s okay, it’s okay, baby. You’re doing fine, there’s

nothing to be ashamed of. It’s just you and me, and this is

good,” he murmured.

It made no sense to me, but his words soothed me. He

soothed me.

The shame of what I was doing washed away.

“Put me on speaker and hang up the phone. You’re

going to need your hands, now.” His voice had grown

increasingly rough, and I wondered if he would come with

me this time. With shaky hands, I did as he instructed and

pressed the speaker button and cradled the receiver.

“Are you stil there?”

“Yes,” I answered, reluctantly.

“Good. You’re doing real good, baby. Unbutton your

blouse and undo your bra for me, can you do that?”

“Yes,” I croaked, my trembling hands smoothing over my

straining breasts. My fingers trailed along the silk-covered

buttons and slipped them open. I then unsnapped the front

closure of my lacy demi-bra and my breasts tumbled free.

closure of my lacy demi-bra and my breasts tumbled free.

“We can’t leave those pretty little tits of yours

unattended, can we?”

“No,” I groaned.

I already knew the dril . He would draw this out, wring out

every bit of emotion, every hot sinful sensation that he could

from me, not relenting, until I came al over myself. And

there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

“Cup them.”

“What?” I asked, my mind spinning, body taut, ready.

“Cup those pretty tits while you ride the beads.”

I gingerly cupped my breast as I continued to undulate

my body, grinding against the beads now deeply centered

between my slit.

“No, that’s not good enough.”

“Wha—what do you mean?” I groaned. The sensation of

the beads rocking against my clit was unbearable in its

pleasure as I lightly toyed with my breasts.

“Harder. Pinch them, rol those long nipples and pinch

them. It’l feel good, baby. Trust me.” His lava-hot voice

issued the demand.

I pinched my nipples, and the slight pain caused a direct

zing to my clit that forced me to buck harder, my body now

writhing mindlessly. The room was fil ed with my low moans

and the creaking sound of my chair as I bounced my butt

and clit against the hard beads and desperately reached

for the pinnacle just out of reach.

“God, I can smell you,” he groaned and the hot words

sent me that much closer to the edge. “Keep playing with

those pretty nipples, pul them, tug on them.”

“Oh God, I need to come, I need to come so badly,” I

cried harshly, no longer caring if anyone came by the booth

and witnessed what I was doing to myself, what I was

al owing someone else to do to me.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay. I’m going to take care of you.”

Again his voice calmed my spirit, soothed me. “Slip one of

your fingers inside the edge of your panties, and rub your

clit. Play with it, rol your fingers around it.”

Immediately I did as he said. I tugged on the blood-fil ed

turgid tip of my clit, pinching it, and rol ed it between my

fingers until a sob tore from me. Dear God, it wasn’t

enough. I needed something, something to quel this fire

raging inside of me.

“You belong to me, your body is mine to pleasure. Say

it.” His harsh demand pierced my brain, despite the fire

raging inside. I refused to give him that and it hurt so badly

not to, to force myself not to give over completely.

“No.” I denied him, refusing to give him that last bit of

control over me even as I played with my clitoris and tugged

on my nipples, al because he told me to, al because it felt

so sinful y good.

“Say it! If you want relief, say it!”

“No!” I cried out, the truth of his words raining down on

my head like a warm shower.

But my body belonged to him. I knew it and so did he.

It belonged to him this night. It belonged to him this

week…and heaven help me, it had belonged to him for

most of my life. I belonged to him.

I felt tears slip down my face, as I continued to thrust my

hips and grind against my fingers.

Unable to hold back any longer, I felt the orgasm slam

into me. My body bowed down, overwhelmed as sensation

upon sensation flooded me. My head ached and I was no

longer in control as I screamed my release.

When the trembles left my body and a semblance of

normalcy returned, I glanced up, and weakly leaned back

against the cool leather seat.

Naked and exposed, my skirt hiked up, blouse draped

open, and fingers buried deep inside my vagina, I met the

familiar blue-eyed gaze of the one man I thought I’d never

see again.

My husband.

“Come back to me.”

PART II

MACK CLOSED THE DOOR AND LOCKED

IT BEHIND him, the sound of the bolt turning unnatural y

loud to my overly piqued senses as I waited, my heart

caught in my throat, for him to reach me. I closed my legs

and tugged my blouse shut, suddenly embarrassed to be

found half-naked, even though he was the cause.

My hungry gaze roamed his body. I hadn’t seen him in

over ten years, yet it was as though not one day had

passed.

He was dressed elegantly, his loosely fitted trousers and

casual shirt draping his long, hard frame to perfection, his

large feet encased in dark, Italian-styled loafers. So wel

turned out, so different than what I last remembered.

But it was him.

No finely tailored clothes or handmade shoes could

disguise his raw masculinity.

I nestled my flushed and heated back further against the

cool leather seat and desperately kept my face blank to

keep the wild emotions crashing over me from showing in

my expression, trying to keep it al together.

I wanted to either run to his arms or go screaming and

crying in the other direction as far away from him as

possible, to put as much distance between us as I possibly

could.

My gaze returned to his face and I recognized the

determined expression in his hauntingly familiar gaze. Dark

slashing eyebrows were set above bright blue, deep-set

eyes that were surrounded by lashes so thick they seemed

unreal.

His aquiline nose was saved from model perfection with

the addition of a smal bump in the middle, one he’d gotten

in high school playing footbal . Chiseled cheeks, a wel -

defined, determined squared chin, and a hard yet sensual

wide mouth completed the picture of utter masculine

beauty.

As I had been hungrily checking him out, he had been

doing the same. “God, you’re beautiful, Sheena,” he

groaned.

I knew what he saw; not much had changed with the

exception of my hairstyle in ten years. Outwardly at least. I

was stil average height, with the same dark brown eyes,

slightly rounded nose and ful cheeks. And a body that stil

had a tendency toward curves.

I wanted to do what most women did and instantly refute

his compliment, but the look in his heated eyes told me he

meant every word of what he said.

I ran a self-conscious hand over my short, curly hair and

laughed nervously.

“My hair is different, I imagine, than what you expected,” I

answered. The last time we’d seen one another, I’d worn

my hair long and relaxed, having chemical y straightened

my natural curls.

“After you…left, I changed. Matured, made my own

decisions, even about my hair,” I said, hinting at those long-

ago days when I al owed others to make decisions for me.

“I love it,” he said and the sincerity of the compliment

eased the nervous swel in my bel y. “Make love with me,”

he boldly asked, his deep voice hoarse, his beautiful eyes

pleading.

His hand rested at the top of his pants, waiting for me to

give my assent.

I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t speak; emotions were

crowding in on me, memories…

“Say something, baby.” No longer the forceful stranger

who’d made love to me over the phone, no longer the

arrogant stranger who forced me to surrender to his

demands, he was a man asking a woman to al ow him into

her arms.

And damned if I could say no. I opened my arms, inviting

him to come to me.

With my silent acquiescence, a change immediately

came over him. Within moments he’d crossed the short

distance separating us, lifted me from the chair and

plopped me onto my desk and covered my body.

We clutched and grabbed at one another, buttons

popping, shoes kicked off and clothes flying everywhere in

our haste to bare our bodies, wanting nothing between us

but hot sliding skin.

With a feral growl of need and arousal he pushed

between my legs, shoving them high, forcing them wide

apart and planted my feet on the desk. I felt the hot knob of

his shaft press against the entry to my vagina, waiting for

approval before entering. My gaze flew to his, measuring

his heavy regard.

“Take me inside of you, baby.”

I expected him to forge ahead, he was so hot with the

need to fuck me. I was surprised at his hesitancy.

I held his gaze and reached one hand down and lightly

toyed with his twin, silky-skinned spheres, teasing them,

rol ing them around my hand in delight.

“Oh God, baby,” he laughingly groaned. “This is going to

be hard enough without you playing with my bal s.”

“Turnabout is fair play, Mack,” I said, reminding him of

the way he’d been playing with me over the last week. With

one final caress, I al owed his heavy sac to gently fal back

against his thighs. I circled the base of his penis and

wrapped my hand around its thick circumference. My pussy

tightened in response and my heart ached at how much I

anticipated feeling al that delicious dick imbedded deep

inside me.

“Just take me, baby…ah, yes…just like that,” he said as I

guided his rock-hard shaft inside my body, the cream from

my pussy soaking him even as he pressed inside of me.

We both groaned in delight when my pussy instantly latched

on and gripped him. I bit my lip to keep myself from crying

out when he began to feed me his dick in delicious

increments.

He gripped my hips and forced my body to stil in order

to take al of him in. I was unable to hold back the cry as he

fed me the rest of his shaft, the feeling so exquisite, so

hard…

“Oh God, Mack…oh God, oh God…” I chanted over and

over, my voice shaky.

He stopped, a crease of worry knotting his brow. “Are

you okay? Am I hurting you, baby?”

I squirmed around his massive shaft. Yes, there was

some pain, but there was no way I was going to al ow him

to stop.

“It’s been a while for me,” I admitted. “But it’s good,

Mack, it’s good, baby. Now, do me.”

He didn’t wait for me to change my mind. He drove his

shaft home, so far inside of me I felt the tip brush against

my womb.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he directed.

I clasped my legs around his narrow waist and grabbed

onto his thick forearms with my fingers, digging into his

flesh as he stretched me wide, and began to move.

And oh God, when the man moved…he moved.

He held on to my hips and leaned down on top of me,

pinning me beneath his powerful body and he fucked me

hard. He jostled my body, the hardness of his flesh

competing with the unyielding wood of my desk.

“I missed this tight cunt, so hot and juicy, fitting my dick

just right.” He breathed the scorching, coarse words

against my neck.

“God, Mack, I missed this, too!” I whimpered, loving the

hot nasty words, loving the way he made me feel as he

drove inside my creaming heat, working me in a way that

only he could, in a way I’d not had in over ten years.

He leveled himself away from me, lifted my leg and dug

into me again, knifing me in hot easy glides, moving my

body the way he wanted, positioning us to achieve mutual

satisfaction. On and on he thrust inside of me, hammering

into me; nothing was heard but our heavy breathing and the

wet sound of bodies slapping, harsh groans and sighs of

pleasure.

When he ran one hand down my trembling thighs and

captured my clit between his thumb and forefinger, pinching

the turgid tip, I blew out a harsh strangled breath. My head

tossed back and forth on the desk. I slid myself closer to

him and gasped when he rotated his hips, corkscrewing his

dick inside of me, and jammed into my body.

I began to move, I had to, with al that hard, pounding,

overwhelming dick rutting inside of me; if I didn’t, I would

have lost my mind.

“No…don’t move yet…you feel so good on my dick. If

you move, this wil be over with, before we both want it to

be,” he laughed huskily.

“Please, Mack, I need to move, I can’t take it—”

“You can,” he said and covered my mouth with his,

shoving his tongue deep into the recesses of my mouth,

effectively shutting me up.

His strokes were slow, deliberate and forced me to take

al of him, not sacrificing one scorching inch as he fucked

me.

“You feel so good wrapped around me like this, so wet

and good,” he murmured, releasing my mouth. “Do you like

the way I feel, Sheena? Did you miss this from me, baby?”

“Yesss!” I panted. “Yes, Mack, yes I missed this.” I cried

out harshly when he reached a hand between us and

spread the lips of my vagina wide, around his straining

dick, and spread my own lubricant up and over my clit.

The hot strokes of his rod, the sweet massage of his

hand, sent me over the edge in minutes, and I cried out as

he continued to plunge into my body, loving me in a way I

hadn’t been loved in years.

My orgasm triggered his and within minutes he was

joining me in the release. He shouted hoarsely, reared his

big body away from mine, and pul ed out at the last minute.

I felt the hot stream of his seed jet free and land in a

scorching river on my bel y, before he col apsed on top of

me.

“Come back to me,” he repeated in a hoarse whisper

against the side of my neck. “I should have never let you

go.”

PART III

MY ORGASM LEFT ME SO SPENT, SO

FILLED I WAS BARELY able to lift my head from

the desk, but his words sent a rush of adrenaline coursing

through me.

“God, Mack, I can’t go through this again…not again,” I

whispered, my voice strangled even to my own ears. I

swal owed deep and felt him take a deep breath in

response.

I pushed against Mack’s chest, silently asking him to

move. The instant the cool air from the overhead vent hit my

bared body, I wrapped my arms around myself and

shivered.

“Come here, you’re cold,” he murmured. He gathered my

resistant body into the shelter of his arms and lifted me,

carrying me to my leather chair and sat down. I laid my

head back down on his chest, listening to the reassuring,

steady thump of his heartbeat against my ear.

“Sheena, baby…you’re not going to have to go through

anything else with me. I’m a changed man—I’m not the

same guy you married ten years ago. We were so young,

damn baby, we were kids! I didn’t know anything about

being a man, much less a husband…or father,” he said,

forcing my body closer into the warm hard muscles of his

chest.

The admission tore into me. I wished we could have

avoided al mention of the baby, and for him to bring it up

now, after the extreme eroticism of our lovemaking had left

me shaken, my body not yet recovered from what he’d

done to me…my emotions were al over the place.

I felt like raw meat, exposed and completely undone.

“Don’t—please don’t go there. I can’t—” I wrenched

myself away from the warmth of his embrace, knowing that

if I stayed there much longer, I wouldn’t be able to do what I

needed to do. And what I needed to do was end this now,

before it went any further.

“Fuck, yes! Yes, we are going there. Not going there is

part of the reason we couldn’t make it in the first damn

place, Sheena. Not going there is the reason you left me,

didn’t help me…”

I spun around so hard, my head almost separated from

my shoulders. “Shit, I didn’t help you, Mack? Are you

serious? God! Please don’t tel me you’re serious!” With

angry precise movements, I picked up my blouse and

shoved my arms through the sleeves, tears blinding my

eyes.

He leapt up from where he was sitting and grabbed me,

pul ing my face close to his, forcing my head to snap up and

look him in the eyes. “Yes, I know, I was scum, I wasn’t there

for you. You’ve told me that a mil ion times, and if you

weren’t tel ing me, it was either your mama or your

grandmother letting me know what a complete failure I was.

That you would be better off without me.”

“Wha…what are you talking about? What do my mother

and grandmother have to do with this? Mack? Mack!” He

turned and walked away, leaving my arms to dangle at my

sides.

He glanced back over at me.

“Yeah, sex has always been a good thing between us,

Sheena. But it wasn’t the only good thing. No matter what

your family thought, I have always loved you. I probably

always wil .” My heart wept at his words.

There was a wealth of silence before I spoke, and my

heart ached at emotion crossing his suddenly gaunt-looking

face.

“Mack…I didn’t know. What happened?”

He turned away from me and walked toward the window,

staring out at the sound booth.

“After we lost the baby—” His voice cracked. He

stopped and cleared his throat before he continued. “After

we lost the baby, I was lost, Sheena…just like you. But I

knew I had to be strong for you, for us. You completely

withdrew from me, you couldn’t even look at me,” he said,

and he was right.

I remembered how hard it was for me to look at him,

seeing his bright blue eyes, wondering if the baby would

have inherited them or my brown eyes, if he or she would

have had his stubborn chin, his loving nature…

“You couldn’t stand to even look at me,” he repeated,

turning to face me and I knew he saw the truth of what he

said reflected in my face.

“I couldn’t. I was in such a dark place that I—”

“I know.”

He slowly walked toward me and I reached for him. We

clutched one another, no words needed.

“You know your family never did like me, always thought I

was bad news for you, didn’t like us together. Your

grandmother never wanted you with that ‘poor white boy.’”

He laughed with no real humor.

“Grandma is old-school, Mack. Her generation saw

things differently. Besides, she never thought anyone was

good enough for me. It wouldn’t have mattered if you’d

been the darkest brother on the planet, nobody would have

been good enough,” I said and Mack snorted.

I felt his hand caress the top of my hair, smoothing over

my short curls.

“A month after you miscarried, your grandmother came

to visit me at the shop one afternoon,” he began, referring

to the garage he’d worked at ful -time at night as he’d

attended col ege during the day.

“Yes…” I encouraged him to continue when he hesitated.

He sighed and guided me back to the chair and sat

down, before pul ing me down to sit on him. After he’d

comfortably arranged us he wrapped his arms around me

and inhaled a deep breath.

“She told me you were miserable, that without the baby

there was no need for us to stay together, that our marriage

had nothing to keep it together,” he continued. “When she

made the suggestion for me to leave you alone, that a life

as a mechanic’s wife wasn’t something your family wanted

for you, that you had too much potential for that, I knew she

was right. But you were my wife and I loved you. Yes, we

married young because you were pregnant, but that wasn’t

the only reason I wanted to marry you, Sheena. I thought we

could make it. I thought you felt the same way I did.”

“I did. That’s why it devastated me when you left,” I cried

out, the cry wrenched from that place inside of me I kept

buried. The pain of him leaving was stil raw, unhealed. But

if I didn’t tel him now how I felt, we…I…could never heal. I

could never move ahead with my life.

“I kept the pain of you leaving me layered deep with self-

avowals and mantras I’d learned in graduate school,

refusing to give you or anyone else control over my life, my

feelings, my emotions ever again.” I took a deep, steadying

breath and forged ahead.

“When you left it took me a long time to get it together,

but I did. I took a long hard look at what I wanted in life. I

decided it was time for me to take control, and that I

wouldn’t al ow you, or anyone else, to make me doubt

myself or who I was. I wouldn’t get so caught up in someone

else that I lost sight of who I was.”

“Sheena—”

“No, I need to say this, Mack. None of those mantras did

a bit of good. When your heart is wounded and the one

person you need to help you heal doesn’t care enough to

stick around when you need them the most, it’s a painful

lesson.”

“I didn’t want to leave you. I did it because I thought it

was what you wanted—”

“Did you bother to ask me? Or did you just go along with

what my family wanted, go by what they were tel ing you?” I

demanded and struggled against his hold, pul ing away

from him and sitting up in his lap.

“No, damn it, I didn’t! And even had I, what would you

have done? What would have been your response? Could

you have gotten past the pain of the miscarriage to accept

me, to fight for me?” Mack was just as affected as I was, his

chest heaving, the look in his eyes angry and accusing.

“I—” I stopped.

What would I have done? Would I have accepted him,

reached out for him, when he needed me, too? Or had I

been so young, fil ed with so much pain that I wouldn’t have

been able to give him the reassuring words he’d needed at

the time.

I laid my head back down on his chest. When I felt his

fingers stroke my hair I relaxed.

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

For long moments we stayed in that position, my arms

loosely holding him, his hands playing in my hair.

“As angry as I was, and as badly as I wanted to keep us

together, I think I understand what your grandmother was

trying to tel me. I didn’t want to hear it, thought I could give

you everything you needed, but what you needed was time.

Time to heal without me there, a constant reminder of what

might have been with the baby, and time to come into your

own.”

“And what about you?”

He laid his head against the top of my hair and I felt him

smile. “I needed time too. You’re not the only one who’s

grown.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” I quipped, feeling his thick, hard shaft

nestled firmly beneath my bottom.

“You always were a smart-ass.”

He laughed, and I giggled along with him, breaking up

some of the tension.

When our laughter subsided Mack spoke.

“I left town, knew I had to or I wouldn’t be able to resist

saying to hel with it, and forcing you to come back around.”

“That wouldn’t have been so bad,” I murmured.

“No, it wouldn’t have,” he agreed huskily, before

continuing. “I finished school and went on to graduate

school for a degree in computer engineering. I started a

smal computer company and recently sold it.”

“I always knew you would be successful,” I said and

meant it. “Why did you sel ? Wasn’t it doing as wel as you

wanted?”

“Hmm, I think it was going al right, you might have heard

of it, Amara technologies?” he asked and I felt him hold his

breath.

Tears fil ed my eyes. I had not only heard of the firm, but

had been receiving quarterly stockholders’ reports for the

last five years, along with a hefty-sized check. The money

had helped me finish school and buy my home. But that

wasn’t the only reason for my tears.

“Amara…”

“Yeah, I named it after our baby,”

“Oh God, Mack!” I turned around in his lap and clutched

at him frantical y, tears streaming down my face. “But, my

grandmother said—”

“I didn’t want you to know it came from me, that it was my

company. I told her to tel you she’d invested in a new

company and had put shares in your name.”

That explained so much to me. Not only had he given me

stock in the company, taken care of me al this time, but

dear God, he’d taken care of my family as wel .

“I miss you, us. I’ve never stopped loving you, Sheena,

never. And I never wil .”

His deep blue eyes seemed to darken and I felt my

nipples rasp against his hard muscled chest. The soft head

of his dew-covered shaft brushed against my stomach.

“I missed you too, Mack. Baby, I’ve never stopped loving

you. The pain of losing you was so much harder than the

pain of us being together after we lost the baby. I realized

that once I came out of the depression. I want you, Mack…I

need you,” I whispered and wrapped my hand around his

shaft as I bent my head to meet his kiss.

“Please, baby, don’t say that if you don’t mean it,

please,” he pleaded against my lips, his hands roaming

over my face, my neck and down my body, frantic.

“I do mean it. I’m not a little girl anymore. I know who I

am, I know what I want. And I want my man back.” I slid my

hand down and grasped his heavy bal s in my fingers. I

toyed with them before easing my hand around the base of

his rod and with featherlike touches, stroked up the long

hard length of him. “What about you, do you want me? For

better or for worse?”

“God, Sheena, do you even have to ask?” he groaned

and pul ed me down to meet his kiss.

Our lips met in a clash of heat, desire, passion and

remembered pain. For long moments we feasted on one

another until Mack pul ed away from me, both of us

breathing hard.

“I need to feel your sweetness wrapped around me,

baby. I need to make you mine, forever this time.”

I moaned, a contented sigh of pleasure, when he

captured one of my nipples in his mouth, greedily lapped,

licked and rol ed the hard bud around his tongue, before he

trailed a hot wet path between the val ey of my breasts and

captured its twin.

I arched my body ful y into his as renewed desire and

moist heat aroused the hard shaft nestled between us. “I

need you now, Mack! Now!”

His jaw tightened, tensed as he stared into my eyes.

“Are you sure? There’s no going back this time.” He gave

me one last time to walk away from this, from us.

No way in hel .

“Yes…now love me, baby, love me!”

He lifted me, positioning my streaming portal in line with

his dick and with a smooth jerk of muscle and hips, in one

powerful thrust he embedded himself deep inside me.

Once I was seated ful y on him, his dick rammed tight in my

pussy, he began to flex.

He moved one of his hands to cup my bottom and

scooted me closer, impossibly closer, until our bodies were

flush against each other, nearly one.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

At this angle I could feel every long hard inch of him; it

was pure heaven and after a few adjustments I nodded my

head and answered, “Yes, yes…”

“Ride me, baby, and take your time.”

Keeping his hands steady on me, biting into the flesh of

my bottom, he slowly began to move, his intent gaze locked

with mine.

I reached for his hands and laced our fingers. Not

looking away I began to ride him.

I glided my pussy up and down his thick, corded shaft,

riding him nice and slow, remembering the way my man

loved to be fucked, and determined to give as much

pleasure as I was receiving. His rigid jaw and tightening

fingers told me how much he enjoyed what I was doing to

him, what we were doing to each other.

“Hmm, these perfect little breasts of yours. So smooth

and creamy, so chocolaty in their perfection.” He cupped

my breasts, molding and shaping them in his big hands as I

bounced and glided along his erection.

He rutted into me, working me as I worked him, fucking

me just the way I liked, and I felt out of control with need and

love for this man and the smooth feel of his creamed dick

sliding in and out of my drenched pussy.

He released my hands and reached between our bodies

and found my clit. While he continued to work my cunt, he

simultaneously rubbed the blood-fil ed tip, hard, until I felt

my orgasm break.

I screamed, crying and bucking against him, frantical y

clutching his wide shoulders and…released.

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Just like that, baby, come for me,

with me. Let it go and come for me!” He encouraged me

and that was al the encouragement I needed.

At the moment I cried out my release, Mack shouted in

unison, loud and long. His grip on me was painful, yet

welcome.

“God, I love you, Sheena, I love you so much, baby, and

I’m never letting you go, never!” He cried out and I felt the

long hard jet of his semen splash against my womb.

In that perfect moment of joining a vision slammed down

on me, nearly as intense as the orgasm; a vision of me,

Mack and a little brown-eyed baby with a determined chin,

lying between us.

I held on tightly, crying, releasing control, but not

ashamed. “I love you, too, baby, and I’m yours, forever this

time.”

Forever Yours

CHARLOTTE FEATHERSTONE

CHAPTER ONE

HER BODY WAS WEEPING FOR HIS

TOUCH.

He knew it, understood it, the need growing inside her.

She sensed his desire as wel ; heard it in the way his

breath caught then rasped against her cheek in hurried,

uneven caresses.

Hands, sliding beneath the cool bedcovers, searched

until they found each other. Fingers laced, his long ones

slipping between her delicate ones, gripping, clutching,

holding…

Look up at me.

He didn’t. Instead he climbed atop her, straddling her

thighs with his hard ones as he slid his palms beneath the

hem of her nightrail, the pads of his thumbs brushing her

thighs in feathery strokes, a silent command to open to him.

Yes, touch me…stroke every inch of me with those

beautiful hands.

God, how she adored his hands—al hot, hard palms

and long elegant fingers. Fingers with just the right amount

of smooth skin and cal used edges. How those hands could

bring such pleasure, such exquisite delight.

Slowly, teasingly, his expert fingers trailed up and over

her inner thigh. Holding her breath, Elizabeth waited to feel

h i m part her sex with one long, tapered finger, before

sinking inside her wet and wil ing body. A body that had

been ready—waiting—for him al night.

As the passion built and the ache in her womb

intensified, her mind drifted, fantasizing al the things she

wanted him to do to her. Mental y, she saw his hand

roaming every inch of her body then fil ing her with two

fingers, then three…then his tongue.

She moaned, al owing her lashes to flutter closed. How

long it had been since he’d made love to her with his

mouth. She wanted to put her hands on his shoulders and

guide him down her body. To hold his mouth against her

and demand that he take his time licking and stroking,

leaving no inch of her undiscovered.

Knowing what she needed, he stroked her with the tip of

his finger, petting her until she could stand the wait no

longer, until she had fisted the sheet between her fingers

and al owed the image of his dark head between her legs

to take over. She could come like this, with her fantasy and

his light, teasing touches. Yet she did not want to have an

orgasm by simply remembering what she had dreamt he

did to her. She wanted the real thing. His mouth against

her, the feel of his lips, the scrape of his stubble, the hot

stabs of his tongue and breath against her as she arched

and shook.

She was weary of fantasizing. Tired of dreaming of sex

acts she craved, yet were never performed.

Kiss me, she pleaded in her mind, terrified to give voice

to her yearnings, to let him know how unsatisfied she had

been these past months. It has been so long since we

have kissed like lovers.

Thunder rumbled across the heavens and a flash of

lightning lit the sky. Outside her bedroom window, Elizabeth

saw the tops of the trees blowing in the wind, which was

growing violent. Another rol of thunder…another bolt of

lightning.

No, not yet…not yet…please… She moaned, tossing

her head on the pil ow as his hands cupped her bottom. He

raised her hips to meet his hard arousal.

Not yet…

Even she did not understand the truth behind that silent

plea. Was the entreaty skipping through her thoughts

because she felt it too soon for him to take her, now, when

her body was just beginning to heat, or was she praying

that Mother Nature could hold off the storm for just a bit

longer…just a few minutes longer…

Fuck! He needed to get inside her— now. Goddamn her,

why did she insist on wearing a nightgown to bed? Al these

layers of ruffles and lace were impeding him from finding

her quim and sinking his cock deep inside her. And his

damned fingers, they were shaking like those of an untried

youth, preventing him from doing anything but fumbling like

a novice as he drowned in ruffles.

She writhed beneath him, her thighs moving languidly

along his. Her soft bel y brushed against his cock as she

twisted and squirmed. He pressed it against her softness,

needing to sink into something until he could once again

find the blasted hem of her gown and shove it to her hips.

He should just tear the damn thing from her, ripping it to

shreds and exposing her so that he could feel every inch of

her against him. Al that warm soft flesh…

Thunder cracked, rattling the windowpane. He felt her

stiffen beneath him. Heard her stop breathing as she

listened to the sounds of the night and the storm that raged

outside. No, not yet. He cursed, ruthlessly shoving the hem

of her nightrail to her bel y.

It was dark in the room. He could see none of her, but he

smelt her. Feminine arousal and floral soap. He couldn’t

wait. He was on fire for her, for her wet body and the feel of

her legs wrapped around him. How long had it been? A

month? Yes. A whole damned month he’d been without his

wife—even though she had not been away, had been right

here at Sutcliffe Hal —their home. But she had been away

from him. In fact, she’d been gone from him in one way or

another for the past three years.

Sinking himself inside her with one swift thrust, he

moaned, feeling her pulsing around him. He nearly came

right there. It had been so damn long and she was tight,

gripping him greedily with her sheath. Yet he managed to

grit his teeth and distract himself long enough to thrust

again, fil ing her ful y.

She arched, bringing her knees back to her chest,

sucking al his length inside her. He took her in slow, deep

stabs that made her moan and sigh. Christ, when was the

last time he had heard that sweet sound? So long…

Another clap of thunder was fol owed by the bril iant flash

of lightning. His lips sought her ear and he traced the shel

of it with the tip of his tongue. She was panting, scratching

her nails down his back, arousing the primitive male in him.

For the first time in a long while, he felt like a man with her.

Not a duke or a husband. Not a father. Just a man.

Catching her hands in his, he brought her arms above

her head so that her breasts escaped the bodice of her

gown. Instinctively her hips arched, driving him deeper. He

heard her breathing quicken as his chest brushed her

breasts. He saw her face in the moonlight, awash in

pleasure, and knew she wanted to be taken like this, with

her arms held high and his cock pounding into her.

“You like it like this, Elizabeth?” he whispered in her ear.

“Or should I flip you over and take you from behind? Do you

want me to fu—”

“Mama! Mama!”

“No,” he groaned, pressing his face into her neck.

Jesus, not now!

Her hands stil ed against his, her body went rigid

beneath his. He knew she’d heard the frightened little noise

from down the hal . He knew everything they had just done,

everything he wanted to do, was now over.

Capturing her mouth with his, he tried to kiss her as he

thrust his cock deep inside her, demanding she shut out the

sounds and feel—hear—only him. But she pushed him

away. Instantly he lost his erection and pul ed out of her.

“Mama! Mama! We’re scared. Papa!”

Groaning, Christian rol ed off his wife and al owed her to

straighten her gown before their children exploded into the

room carrying their blankets and bears and Lord knew what

else.

“It wil only take a minute to settle them,” she tried to

assure him, “and I’l send them back to Nanny.”

“If Nanny had any brains, she would have kept them in

their room to begin with,” he snarled.

“Christian!”

He saw Elizabeth’s horrified expression in the

moonlight, but he didn’t care. He was tired of this. This

marriage. This wife. He wanted more. Something more

than what his life had become.

“You know the children are frightened of thunderstorms.”

“And everything else that goes bump in the night,” he

said with disdain. “And we mustn’t overlook Richard’s

said with disdain. “And we mustn’t overlook Richard’s

nightmares and John’s bed-wetting. And let us not forget

how arduous a task it was to get Jamie weaned from your

breast.”

Her eyes narrowed to angry slits. “They’re only children.”

“Richard is eight. He shouldn’t need to come to his

mama’s bed because of a little thunder.”

She shot him a disapproving glare. “They are just

children, Christian. You are a grown man.”

“Wel , I have needs, too. What about mine? What about

yours, or do you not need me inside you anymore? Are you

just a shel of a woman now that you’ve borne children? Is

that it, Elizabeth, you can’t fuck anymore because you’re a

mother?”

He looked away from her and wiped his hands along his

face as he fought for some measure of control. This was his

wife, he reminded himself, whom he had once loved more

than anything—whom he stil loved. These were his

children, his own flesh and blood—yet he swore he almost

felt hatred for them as they flung the door open and ran into

the room crying and sniffling.

“Darlings,” Elizabeth cooed, opening her arms and

al owing their dark-haired “darlings” to crawl into their bed.

Their youngest, Jamie, who was not yet two, struggled to

climb up the tal bed. Christian hefted him up and watched

as Jamie scrambled out of his hold in order to cuddle up to

his mother. His four children were now nestled against

Elizabeth’s generous breasts, their faces pressed into the

starched linen of her gown, which concealed the sweet

scent of her flesh.

scent of her flesh.

His children were exactly where he longed to be. A place

he hadn’t real y been since the birth of Rachel, their third

child. Christ, had it real y been three years since Rachel

had been born? Three years since their marriage and sex

life had begun to dwindle, then al but grind to a halt? Three

years of living with someone he no longer knew or felt close

to.

“Papa, your knee is against my back and it’s hurting.”

That was John, their second child. He was only six, but

tonight, for Christian, he was much too old to be running to

his mama because of a little thunder and lightning.

As John grunted and shoved him away, Christian swore

beneath his breath. Snatching the sheet covering his waist

he tore it from the bed. Elizabeth glared at him.

“I’m sick to death of this,” he blurted. He saw the blue

gaze of his oldest son peeking out at him from the

protection of his mother’s arm. Unable to help it, he glared

angrily at him—a frightened eight-year-old boy—then

turned his back, hating himself for what he had just done to

his son.

“Christian,” Elizabeth sighed, the sound so ful of

confusion and disapproval. “What is it you want?”

A fucking wife! But he could hardly say that in front of his

children. So instead he said nothing, only sighed, knowing

she would understand exactly what was wrong. Their

marriage was over. It had been for some time now. It was

wel past time they admitted it to themselves—there was

nothing left. Nothing except resentment, distance and

emptiness.

“Where are you going?” she asked as he stalked to the

connecting door to his chamber.

“I’m leaving.”

Silence fol owed him. There was no plea for him to stay,

no tears and whispered words of love. Nothing that showed

him she cared a thing for him.

Did she give a damn? Did she care that there was

nothing left of their marriage, or was it merely a relief for her

to know she no longer had to put up with him?

CHAPTER TWO

“YOUR EYES DO NOT HAVE THAT

SPARKLE, ELIZABETH.”

Tilting her head, Elizabeth tried to smile. She doubted

anything could make her eyes sparkle. Not now, not after it

was so apparent that her marriage was over. But she could

hardly explain that to her friend. He was a man and a

bachelor. He would not understand the complexities of a

woman in her sexual prime, nor the intricacies of marriage.

“No, no,” Adrian muttered, rising from behind his easel.

“Your head is tilted al wrong. You wil want the sun to shine

on your face. You have such lovely features and the sunlight

wil only enhance them.”

“You’l see the lines around my eyes,” she grumbled.

“Sunlight is so very unforgiving on a thirty-five-year-old

woman’s face.”

“Nonsense. You’ve nothing to be concerned about,

Elizabeth. You’re beautiful. Lovely.” Kneeling before her,

Adrian fussed with her skirt, fluffing it and spreading it out at

her feet. Next he gripped her shoulders and posed her so

that her bosom was more pronounced and her waist turned,

making it appear slimmer. When their gazes col ided, she

could not hide the wetness in her eyes. “What’s this,

Elizabeth?” he asked, wiping away a crystal drop.

“Nothing,” she sniffed. Tilting her chin away, she broke

the contact of his fingers. Avoiding his concerned

expression, Elizabeth stared out the window of the

conservatory that overlooked the long gravel drive of the

Sutcliffe estate.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you cry before.”

“The sun is bright.”

Clasping his hands on her cheeks, he turned her so that

she was looking at him. “You haven’t been yourself for

months, Eliza. Tel me. You do know there is nothing you

cannot tel me.”

They were the very best of friends, had been since

childhood when they had lived down a lane from each other.

She had known Adrian longer than her husband, and

Elizabeth had the sinking feeling she knew him much better

than she knew Christian.

Christian…her husband. Where was he? What was he

doing? He hadn’t been home in a sennight, not since…she

swal owed hard. Not since that night when they had been

making love…no, not love, they no longer made love…they

had been having sex, and the children had disturbed them.

How furious he had been with them, and her. He had left

and not come back, leaving her to wonder what would

become of them.

Had he found another? Was he visiting the brothels of

London? Had he secured himself a mistress? She had

never thought him capable of betraying her, but much had

changed in the past few years and now she wasn’t so sure

of him, or herself. She hardly knew him anymore. He

certainly was not the man she had married.

It made her retch, thinking of him in bed with another

woman, his beautiful hands stroking her breasts and thighs.

She thought of al the endearments, al the love words he

had once whispered in her ear, then imagined him saying

them to another and she broke out into a sob.

“What is it?” Adrian asked again. His voice was so soft,

so concerned. Adrian would understand. He always

seemed to understand her, where Christian hadn’t sought

to understand her needs for the past three years.

“Is it Sutcliffe?” he asked. When she nodded, he blew

out a breath and brushed his thumbs along her cheeks,

wiping away her tears. “He no longer satisfies you,” Adrian

stated flatly.

Nodding, Elizabeth bal ed up a linen square and dabbed

at her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered, ashamed to confess

something like that in front of Adrian. She was shocked by

how much it hurt to final y admit the truth. “He does not

make me happy. I…I haven’t been since before…wel , after

Jamie’s birth. It’s as if we are distant acquaintances

passing one another from time to time. We no longer talk,

touch…kiss,” she hiccupped. “I hardly know him anymore.

We’ve become strangers to one another.”

“How can that be?”

Tears fel in earnest from her eyes, and Elizabeth did

nothing to stop them. “He does not want me as a woman,

Adrian. He no longer desires me. It’s as if he is only doing a

duty when he comes to my bed. He hurries on with the

business and it leaves me frustrated and yearning. It is

obvious that he no longer wants me, or our children. It is

obvious he is no longer happy with me. Even now he is in

London, doing God knows what—probably bedding every

woman under the age of twenty-five. I can’t compete with

those young women anymore, Adrian. I can’t give him what

he needs.”

“Come here.” Adrian held out his arms to her. Silently,

she pressed forward and al owed him to hold her. There

were no words, no admonishment for crying or command

that she cease sobbing, no statements about what to do to

fix things. Christian always tried to talk her fears away. He

always wanted to fix whatever it was that troubled her, but

never once had he mentioned trying to repair their

marriage. The simple fact was, he didn’t care that it was

ending.

“I am here for you,” Adrian murmured, holding her tighter

to him as she sobbed. “I am here, Eliza, in whatever way

you may need.”

Raising her head, Elizabeth looked at him through

watery eyes. He comprehended her—completely. Why

couldn’t Christian understand her like Adrian?

As they looked into each other’s eyes, Elizabeth saw a

dark curtain suddenly draw across Adrian’s green eyes.

Despite her openness with him, she knew he hid much from

her. There was so much about Adrian that she did not

know, that he would not speak of.

What was he thinking now? Did he fear she might

accept his offer? Did he know that she yearned not for a

husband, but a lover? A man to worship her body and fulfil

the sexual urges she felt? Was he hoping to be that man, or

did he secretly fear her asking him?

“Elizabeth.” He pul ed away from her. “I can hardly

believe I am going to say something so contrived, so trite,”

he rasped, pressing his lips to her brow and kissing her

gently. “But a marriage is like a garden. It needs to be

tended year after year. To be cultivated and fed. And when

the weeds begin to sprout, as they always do, they need to

be plucked—immediately. Sometimes love just isn’t

enough to keep two people together. Do you understand,

Eliza, what I mean?”

She did understand him. She had neglected their

marriage, and now it was being choked, stifled by

stagnation and complacency. By routine and fatigue. She

had taken Christian for granted. She had expected him to

know what she wanted, what she desired—in and out of

bed. She hadn’t thought to ask for it; she had thought he

should simply know.

“Your thinking is al wrong, you know. You’re a beautiful

woman, Elizabeth, and very desirable. Any man would give

his soul to have you in his bed.”

Smiling, Elizabeth dabbed at her eyes. “I wish,” she

murmured into her linen kerchief, “that my husband agreed

with your assessment of my desirability. I fear ten years and

four children later that desirability is severely in question.”

“Do you want to know what the al ure of a thirty-five-year-

old woman is for a man?” Adrian asked. “It’s confidence.

Maturity. Acceptance. The confidence to pursue what she

desires and know what she wants. There are no coy

games, no crying and stomping and pouting like there is

with young, sil y girls. Older women have the maturity to ask

for it—demand it, whatever they want, be it in life or the

bedroom. They accept the fact that they can be both mother

and wife as wel as a sexual creature with the same needs

as their husbands. Those young women you worry about,”

he whispered in her ear, “are no threat to you. Learn to ask

for what you want. Demand you be al owed to do whatever

you want to him, and I guarantee you, he wil be yours.

Never doubt, Elizabeth, that Sutcliffe is stil yours. How

could he leave someone as lovely, as desirable, as sexual

as you?”

Desirable…sexual…

Christian stood in the doorway of the conservatory

watching his wife in the arms of Adrian Wal ace. Goddamn

watching his wife in the arms of Adrian Wal ace. Goddamn

bastard! He had always known that Adrian coveted his

wife. Had always feared that one day, Adrian might replace

him in Elizabeth’s affection.

And why not? Adrian was a rogue. A dark and romantic

artist with a hint of danger about him. What woman wouldn’t

fal for him with his black tousled hair and green eyes that

always seemed to flash a sensual invitation. Why wouldn’t

Elizabeth desire someone like Adrian? Hel , half the

women of London practical y threw themselves at his feet.

But by God, his wife—Elizabeth—would not be one of

them! Over his dead body would he al ow her to toss away

their marriage for a romp in the artist’s bed.

So what if he wasn’t as romantic as Adrian? So what if

he couldn’t shoot Elizabeth smoldering looks from beneath

black lashes. Christ, he’d made her a duchess on their

wedding day. He’d given her wealth and land and estates

beyond her imaginings. He’d given her four beautiful,

healthy children, and the creation of those children had

been passionate and loving. He had given Elizabeth

everything of himself, which, he was wil ing to bet, was

more than Adrian Wal ace would give Elizabeth, or indeed,

any woman.

By God, he wasn’t just going to stand here and al ow his

wife to slip through his hands. Nor was he going to let her

forget what had brought them together—love, and an

incredible passion for each other.

This marriage was not over. He had realized that this

past week. He’d spent the past days away from her, dying

for her. He would have sold his soul for just a glimpse of her

and her smile, some sign that she stil wanted him, that he

stil held a place in her heart, no matter how smal .

He’d reached the conclusion that although he hadn’t

been happy for a while, it was not because of Elizabeth. It

was not because he was tired of her, or because he

desired someone else. He wasn’t happy because his

marriage was dying, and it was al because he’d let it go to

rot.

He was no idiot. He knew the source of her

unhappiness. It was the same as his. They were no longer

passionate. They no longer laughed and kissed for hours

on end. He no longer stole il icit touches, or stroked her

breasts when no one was watching. They didn’t make love,

they mated. Once a week maybe, if the children weren’t il ,

or there weren’t any thunderstorms, or if he wasn’t

exhausted from a day of riding and looking over his estate,

or if he hadn’t drunk too much after dinner, drowning his

thoughts with port. If Elizabeth wasn’t worn down by a day of

constantly chasing the children and seeing to her charities

and her duties as his duchess…sometimes then, if none of

those things intruded, they might come together for five

minutes of perfunctory sex.

How had it come to this—Elizabeth wearing herself out

with their children and him drinking so much? How had they

managed to become complete strangers after ten years of

marriage and four children? How could he not feel close to

the woman who had borne his children, who had shared his

life for nearly a decade?

Christ, they had become like automatons, living life in a

haze. Day in and day out, the routine was the same,

predictable, boring, stifling. He didn’t want to live this way.

He didn’t want Elizabeth to live this way. And he didn’t want

to lose her, nor did he want his children to despise him

because he was a miserable sod whenever they were

around.

He needed to find the magic of those years when they

had made love on the grass, or while their guests mingled

in the next room. He needed to seduce her and he, in turn,

needed to be seduced. They needed time alone, to get to

know one another again, to reconnect as friends and as

lovers.

Christian stepped back into the shadows, shielding his

presence from his wife as she rose from her chair and

smoothed her hands down her midriff, brushing the wrinkles

from her muslin skirt. His heart leapt in his chest as he

studied her. When was the last time he real y looked at her?

Truly saw her as a woman, as his lover? He couldn’t

remember.

These past years she had been his wife—his duchess.

The mother of his children. He wanted more from her than

that. He wanted the woman. The lover she had once been

to him.

He would find a way back to that woman. He had to.

Because he could not stand the thought of losing Elizabeth.

He could not bear to think of her being any man’s lover but

his. Especial y not Adrian’s. He’d cut his heart out before

he let her go to Adrian.

CHAPTER THREE

ELIZABETH SANK DOWN ON HER BED

AS THE children washed for luncheon. Sighing, she

closed her eyes and immediately felt tired and lonely. Their

butler had informed her that her husband had arrived home

two hours earlier, yet he had not sought her out. Had he

even missed her? Had he found someone else? Someone

younger? Someone thinner, whose body was firm and not

soft from bearing children? Someone who could fawn over

him and devote hours and hours to lovemaking? Someone

who could fulfil his every wish, without interruption?

Lying back, she nestled her head against the soft pil ow.

They had once been able to make love for hours. To

escape to a private corner of the house and shut

themselves away, tearing their clothes in their haste to feel

each other’s body. In those days, they had actual y made

love in the daylight or on a settee or in the carriage on their

way home from a dinner or a bal . Now, they came together

in the dark, the standard woman-on-bottom position their

only method of coupling. The foreplay and seduction which

Christian had excel ed at had been gone for a time now,

leaving only a hasty and automatic penetration. The

intimacy of lying in his arms after climaxing, just kissing and

touching and whispering words of love, had been lost. More

often than not, Christian left the bed, forced out either by

their children, or his dissatisfaction with what she assumed

was her and their coupling.

He never whispered anymore, while in the heat of

lovemaking, how much he desired her. How much she

pleased him. How much he needed her in his life. But

neither have you…you’ve done nothing to assure him that

you still desire him. Need him, a venomous little voice

whispered to her. And she accepted it for the truth. Was

she not also to blame for the distance between them? Had

she not had a hand in creating that distance?

Why could she not let him take her into an empty room

and raise her skirts for a quick, hard loving? He had tried

often enough, and each time she had slapped his hands

away and sent him an impatient glare. Tonight, she had

always said. But tonight never came, and he no longer tried

to tempt and tease her into an indiscretion.

to tempt and tease her into an indiscretion.

She missed that: the temptation, the seduction, the thril

of spontaneous passion and the risk of getting caught. Did

Christian long for those moments like she did?

Smoothing her fingers along the starched pil owcase,

needing to feel his imprint, despite the fact his head had

not rested on the pil ow for a week, Elizabeth turned her

face to his pil ow and tried to remember the scent of his

skin—lemon soap and leather. Tried to recal how it felt to

run her fingertips through the silk of his chest hair and the

feel of it rubbing against her nipples, hardening them to little

pebbles before he took them into his mouth.

Something crinkled beneath her hand and her eyes flew

open. Raising her head, she saw the folded piece of

parchment and opened it.

I have been wrong in my dealings with you,

Elizabeth. I have wronged our children, and I am

sorry for it. I have thought of nothing but you and

our marriage while I have been away. I know you

are not happy and I want to fix that. Believe me

when I say that I want to bring you happiness and

pleasure.

Pleasure…it has been a while since I have

brought that to you, hasn’t it? It has been forever

since I have spoken of such things to you. I

hardly know where to start, or what to say. I am

not a romantic, as you well know. Yet I do have

feelings, thoughts—of you and me, and us

together.

Her heart raced, pounding hard against her ribs. It had

been ages since Christian had written her a letter. But this

was unlike any love letter he had ever penned. This was

something entirely different. It was something in his words,

in the tone. It was very provocative, and it made her

stomach tighten and her womb clench.

I dream of you, Elizabeth. I fantasize about all

the things I want to do to you and the things I

have yet to try. I want the passion back. I want

you back as my lover.

“Mama! Mama!” the children cried as they ran down the

hal . “It’s time for luncheon.”

Putting the letter in her bedside-table drawer, Elizabeth

contemplated what she was going to do. This was the olive

branch. Christian felt it too, this distance, both emotional

and physical. He wanted to make things right between

them, and Lord knew she wanted the same thing.

She hadn’t known where to begin healing the breach

between them, but his letter gave her an idea.

Reaching for a quil and the ink pot, Elizabeth jotted a

few lines on a sheet of paper. Blotting it, she folded it in

thirds and shoved it beneath her bodice, making certain her

breasts cradled it.

With a smile, she left the room.

His oldest sons ran into the dining room, shouting and

jumping. They stopped dead in their tracks when they saw

their father seated in his chair at the head of the table.

“Papa,” Richard said, sobering immediately as he took

his chair. “It is nice to have you home.”

“Sir,” John nodded, taking his place opposite his

brother.

“Richard, Johnnie,” Christian said, smiling at both boys.

“I think you might have grown while I was away.” The boys’

eyes lit up and they both straightened in their chairs.

“Nanny says we’re growing like bad weeds,” Richard

announced proudly.

“But surely you’re not too big now for a kiss?” he asked

as he rose from his chair. “I missed you both, very much,”

he murmured, kissing the tops of their dark heads. When

he opened his eyes after kissing Johnnie his gaze caught

Elizabeth’s as she stood in the doorway. Jamie was on her

hip, fast asleep with his cherubic face pressed against her

neck and his chubby hand gripping the lace of her bodice.

“Let me.” He walked over to Elizabeth and reached for

his sleeping son whose cheeks were crimson and chafed.

“Molars,” Elizabeth stated, pointing to Jamie’s cheeks.

“He’s been up the past two nights crying.”

Fitting Jamie against his chest, Christian bent toward

his wife. He caught himself reaching for her cheek, and

stopped himself. It had become a bad habit, a little peck on

her cheek. Sometimes his lips barely connected before he

was taken away by business, or Elizabeth’s attention was

drawn away by the children.

How complacent they had become.

Lowering his gaze, he sought her lips. Plump, pink.

Sinful lips that aroused him, pleasured him. Lips he had not

properly kissed in ages. Lips he had once watched do very

wicked things to his body. He grew hard remembering

those days, and his heart hurt, wondering if they would ever

return.

“I missed you.” He lowered his mouth to hers and

sensed her surprise as he pressed his lips against hers.

“Eww,” Richard and John both groaned, covering their

eyes.

Christian found himself grinning until the shadow of

Adrian appeared in the doorway. He was carrying Rachel,

and something inside Christian snapped when he saw his

daughter in the arms of another man. He didn’t want any

other man holding his children. He didn’t want any other

man in his children’s lives, or Elizabeth’s.

“Your Grace,” Adrian muttered as Rachel squirmed out

of his hold and scampered over to Christian. She hugged

his leg and pressed her cheek against his knee. With a

smile, he raked his fingers through her black curls. So much

like himself, he thought. Looking down at her lovely crystal

blue eyes he ran his finger along her rosy cheek. So much

like Elizabeth.

“Papa, you’re home. I missed you, Papa.”

“And I missed you too, sweetheart.” It was the truth. He’d

missed them al so much. As he lay alone in his big bed in

his town house in Mayfair, he had ached for those nights

when his children climbed into their bed and took up al the

space and the blankets. He had never realized how much

he enjoyed seeing their children lying asleep between

them. He missed lying in the darkness, silently watching

them as babies at Elizabeth’s breast. Missed kissing their

chubby little hands as they nursed. Missed kissing

Elizabeth and thanking her for al she had brought to his life.

He could not help but let his gaze wander over

Elizabeth’s face, then down to her bodice. He had the mad

urge to clasp her to him and bare her to him. To possess

her. To take from her and have her give to him.

“I think I’l take my leave now,” he heard Adrian murmur

next to Elizabeth. Their gazes col ided over the top of

Elizabeth’s blond head, and Christian knew that Adrian had

seen and correctly interpreted the expression in his eyes.

“What of your riding, sweetheart?” he asked Rachel.

“Have you been out on your pony?” She shook her head as

she looked up at him. “Wel then, we shal have to go riding

after luncheon, won’t we? And we’l bring your brothers,

too.”

Christian turned to look at Elizabeth, and saw that

Adrian had left them. The front door closed, and he felt an

immense relief that his rival was gone. He wanted to be

alone with Elizabeth. To heal the wounds that were

festering between them. He did not want Adrian with his

brooding romantic aura to be present while he tried to get

his wife back.

He searched Elizabeth’s face, looking for any regret he

might see at Adrian’s absence. And it was then that he

final y admitted the truth. He was afraid that when

compared to Adrian in Elizabeth’s eyes, he might come in

a poor second. He was only a duke, no match for the

brooding artist who seemed to know how to bring a woman

to her knees with his sensuality and silky tongue.

“Why don’t you rest,” he said to Elizabeth, taking her

hand in his. “You look tired.”

She ran a self-conscious hand over her hair and he

wanted to kick himself for saying such a thing. So much for

romance and courting. Fuck. Why was he so inconsiderate

to Elizabeth’s needs? Why couldn’t he remember that she

was a woman, and that women did not want to hear they

appeared tired and worn. Adrian would not have said

something like that. He would have made such an

observation into a sexual invitation, not a criticism.

When was the last time he told her she was beautiful? Or

how damn arousing her body was? Or how erotic he

thought it was when she dragged her tongue along her

bottom lip.

“Elizabeth?” He bent his head and captured her gaze,

hoping he could muster some grace and skil ed

conversation. “I wil stay with the children while you rest.

Perhaps I wil come and look in on you later, hmm?”

Her eyes instantly flared to a bril iant shade of blue. He

saw the invitation shining in them. Yes, she wanted that, him

coming to her in the daylight when the children were outside

running around and Jamie was fast asleep in his crib. And

God, how he wanted it, too.

She reached for his hand and pul ed him through the

door, away from the children and the servants’ curious

gazes. Jamie was asleep against his chest, oblivious to

what was happening, and they were alone in the empty

hal way.

“Christian, I missed you,” she said, her gaze warm and

inviting. She reached up and ran her fingers through his

short hair as she brought his mouth down to hers. With a

groan, he kissed her, slipping his tongue inside her mouth

and moaning as she reached for his free hand and brought

it to her breasts. Hungrily, greedily he cupped her,

squeezing her, feeling her flesh spil ing over his palm. God,

he wanted her, just like this, against the wal , her breasts

freed from her bodice. He wanted to raise her skirts and

palm her ful bottom. Wanted to take her legs and wrap

them around his waist. Wanted to fit his cock inside her and

whisper heated words in her ear. He wanted to tel her of

his dreams, of every secret fantasy he had ever had of her.

On and on they kissed, and he mimicked with his tongue

what he wanted to do with his cock. She moaned and

pressed against him, rubbing her bel y against his prick,

which was bursting behind his trousers. Over and over she

tantalized him, until he wanted to say Get me off and shove

her hand down his waistband so that she could stroke him

til he came.

She control ed him with that kiss, and when he final y

opened his eyes, he found his fingers down her bodice,

resting against the cleft of her breasts. He felt the paper

there, nestled tightly, and smiled as he slowly pul ed it out

from between her breasts. He brought it to his face,

indulging in the warmth of the paper, heated by her flesh.

He inhaled it and closed his eyes. It smelt of floral soap and

honey, of talcum from his children’s morning baths, and

Elizabeth’s own womanly scent. It smelt of his wife.

She kissed him once more then left him standing alone

with their sleeping child against the wal , his heart stil

beating madly in his chest, his fingers shaking so much he

could barely open the letter.

Tell me these fantasies you’ve had of me.

What an erotic game this could be.

Looking up, he watched her round the corner to the

upstairs apartments. Her gaze found his, and he saw her

lashes lower. Was it shyness? Sensual invitation?

Yes, they could have a lot of fun with this little

amusement. In fact, it might be exactly what they needed to

find their way back to one another.

He was definitely game for writing Elizabeth some very

wicked letters. And, he mused, he looked forward to

receiving some of hers, too.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE FIRST LETTER APPEARED ON THE

PILLOW NEXT to her when she awoke from her nap.

Breaking the wax seal, Elizabeth tore it open and devoured

his words.

Fantasies? There’s so many. Where would

you like me to begin? In my dreams I’ve had you

so many ways. Of course, they are most

shocking, not at all appropriate for a lady of your

station…yet I’m aroused by just thinking of

sharing them with you. Are you aroused,

Elizabeth, thinking of what I might write, what illicit

dreams I’ve had of you?

What would you think of performing for me,

Elizabeth? I always thought you’d look stunning

dressed in tawdry silks and lace. There is

something so very erotic, so forbidden about a

lady of breeding acting like a fallen woman.

In my fantasy you make me a lovely, skillful

whore, with your full pink lips and gorgeous

breasts. And your soft thighs…what I would want

to do with them.

That is my first fantasy: I’d love to pay you for a

night of service. I would command you to do so

many things with those lovely full lips and

glorious…tits. I’d want to sit in a chair and watch

you undress for me, watching your lush thighs

being revealed through layers of cheap, flashy

petticoats and satin. I’d want to take you standing

up against a wall, wearing only your silk

stockings and garters…I’d like to tie you up, and

have you all to myself so that I could explore

every inch of you with my hands, my tongue, my

cock…

Looking up from the letter, Elizabeth fanned herself with

it. Reading his words aroused her in a way she never had

been before. Her thighs were damp. Her womb was

clenched tight in anticipation.

This was a side of Christian she had never seen. He had

been passionate, yes. Skil ed, most assuredly. But this…

she never would have dreamed that he desired her to play

the part of a common whore. It titil ated her to know he

wanted to play games. It made her want to haul out the

laciest thing she owned and parade before him bringing his

fantasy to life. But she wanted to know more. She craved

more of these letters and the naughty intimacy they created.

The sun was shining on the grass as Christian walked in

a large circle, the leather reins in his hands. Slowly he

guided Rachel’s pony and laughed as she giggled in

delight.

“Mama! Mama!” she squealed. “Look, I’m riding.”

“I see, darling,” Elizabeth said as she fel into step

beside them.

“Have you come out to ride with me, Mama?”

“No, I have not, sweetheart. I have come out to tel Papa

that I am taking the carriage into the vil age.”

“Now?” he asked. Narrowing his eyes against the sun,

Christian studied his wife. Elizabeth’s color was high and

her fingers were fidgeting with something. Had she found

his letter? What did she think? Did she think him perverse

to have written such a thing, confessing his long-hidden

fantasy to her? Was she shocked and offended that he

dreamed of her, a lady of breeding, a duchess, acting the

part of a harlot?

“I won’t be long,” she whispered before reaching up on

tiptoe and brushing his cheek with her lips. He felt her

fingers engulf his, felt the sharp point of a folded piece of

paper being shoved into his palm. “I’l be leaving in three

quarters of an hour.”

She left him then, and he watched the way her hips

swayed beneath her muslin gown, the sun il uminating the

contours of her rounded thighs through her shift as she

retreated from them. When his daughter’s attention was

diverted by the pony’s mane flapping in the breeze, he

opened the missive.

How I would love to play the wanton for you.

But what does a harlot do? Tell me what a man

wants when he goes to a courtesan.

With a smile, he looked up and saw that she was

glancing back at him over her shoulder. Tel her…indeed he

would.

The carriage door opened. Elizabeth accepted the hand

of the footman as she stepped up into it. She half expected

to find Christian inside, waiting for her. He was not.

With a little pang of disappointment, she took the bench

and settled her skirts around her. He was much too busy

with estate affairs, she told herself. He’d been gone a week

and had things to see to. He did not have time to

accompany her to the vil age for an hour of shopping, even

though she had purposely orchestrated the whole affair so

that they might be alone in the carriage. He had once

ravished her in a carriage and she had never forgotten the

feeling of it, of the hurried loving and the threat of discovery

by the coachman.

The carriage rocked as the footman jumped onto the

back. The horses whinnied and jostled in their harnesses,

making the carriage sway from left to right. As she waited

for the coachman to crack his whip and give the command

to begin trotting down the lane, Elizabeth looked out the

window and saw that Christian was standing at the window

of his study, watching her with an intent stare that seemed

to go al the way to her soul.

She broke it by looking away. Something white caught

the corner of her eye. It was then that she saw the letter

awaiting her on the opposite bench, its red seal bearing the

mark of the Duke of Sutcliffe. Snatching it off the velvet

squabs, Elizabeth tore open the seal.

Tell you what I want? In graphic detail,

Elizabeth?

I could show you, I suppose, by tearing out an

explicit drawing from a book. But I think what you

are asking for is something altogether different.

You want the rush that comes with reading

something naughty. You want the excitement of

reading my words and imagining them being

uttered by me in your ear…You want to become

aroused—wet—by reading something vulgar

and forbidden.

She swal owed hard, trying not to give in to the urge to

nod her head in agreement. Yes, this is exactly what she

wanted, to see this other side of her husband. Not the

elegant and poised duke who was everything proper and

honorable. Not the dutiful husband or father, but the man.

The primitive male inside him that he had never al owed her

to glimpse.

You want to know what sort of things I would do

You want to know what sort of things I would do

to you. You want to know how I would ask you for

what I want, is that it? You want me to talk

commonly…to write something dirty to you…

Her heart was near to bursting, it was beating so hard.

How had he known? How had he guessed that secretly she

longed to hear him say something so very improper?

Something the duke would never say, but that the man

longed to.

Admit to me that you long for that, and I will tell

you everything I want you to do. In base words I

will tell everything I think, everything I feel. I will

tell you everything I’ve ever whispered to you in

my mind while I have been loving you.

She looked up, just as the carriage began to rock

forward. She found him, stil standing at the window,

watching her. She nodded, tel ing him that yes, she wanted

that, to know what he thought when he was making love to

her, to hear his fantasies. She wanted nothing more than to

connect with him like this, to connect in a way they never

had before.

His eyes, so dark, almost black, seemed to darken even

more as he watched her nod, silently admitting the truth to

him. His gaze, so intense upon her, made her shiver. There

was a promise in those eyes. A promise of the sinful, carnal

delight that awaited her when she returned to him.

Elizabeth almost ordered the coach to stop, yet she

didn’t. It wouldn’t do to fal too easily into his hands. A

common whore might do such a thing, but a grand

courtesan would not. An elite member of the demimonde

would know that she must keep her prey hungry, keep him

yearning if she was to successful y snare him.

“So, you’ve final y returned.”

Elizabeth whirled around at the sound of Christian’s

voice. He emerged from the shadows as he strode toward

her. “I didn’t think I was gone al that long.”

He stood before her and caught her face in his hands. “It

felt like forever.” He kissed her then, a slow, seductive kiss

that made her heart pound. He couldn’t know what that

simple admission had done to her.

They kissed, slowly at first, before giving in to the hunger

of deeper, more passionate kisses. Breaking away to

regain her breath, Elizabeth gasped as Christian

proceeded to rain openmouthed kisses along her jaw and

down her throat to the mounds of her breasts.

“I want you to touch me,” he murmured, reaching for her

hand and bringing it to the tented folds of his trousers. “I

want you to look at it. I want you to tel me how much you

want to feel me inside you. I want to see how much you

want it.”

Elizabeth ran the tip of her finger along his erection that

was pressing against his trousers. He was long and thick,

and harder than she could ever remember him being. “Oh

yes, Your Grace,” she whispered as she wrapped her

fingers around him, “I want all this inside me.” Elizabeth felt

him swel even further.

“Then why did you leave this afternoon?” he rasped as

he inhaled the fragrance of her hair. “I could have throttled

you. I was achingly aroused.”

“Were you?” Elizabeth closed her eyes as his lips found

the pulse in her throat. “Tel me.”

He inhaled sharply, his body tensing as he fitted his

palms against her hips. His fingers bit into her before they

skated over the shape of her curves. “My cock was so

damn hard I had to palm it to relieve the ache. I haven’t

tossed off like that since I was a schoolboy, so frenzied and

hard and fast. But I needed to get off, I couldn’t wait for you.”

She leaned back against the wal as his hands slipped

around her waist and coasted downward, to the apex of her

thighs. She imagined Christian pleasuring himself while

thinking of her and she grew wet. “I would have liked to

have watched.”

“What, me with my cock in my hand?” he asked, clearly

“What, me with my cock in my hand?” he asked, clearly

surprised. “Does it excite you to know that you forced me to

masturbate?”

Nodding, she brought her mouth to his and kissed him,

dragging her lips against his. She let her hand brush the

front of his trousers again, then whispered into his mouth,

“It’s not like I’ve never touched myself while thinking of you.”

He made a choking sound. “That is something I’d give

my entire estate to watch. I’d want you on a lounge, ful y

open to me so I can see everything.”

“What else would you want me to do?”

“To fondle your breasts. As I watched, I’d imagine

tonguing them.” Elizabeth placed her hand atop her breast

and brushed her fingers along her nipple. He watched her,

his tongue wetting his lip. “Show me.”

He didn’t wait for her to lower her bodice; instead, he did

it himself, hurriedly pul ing at the lace and exposing a large

portion of her breast. Lowering his head, he brushed his

lips along her, seeking her nipple. When he found it, he

sucked it into his mouth. The sucking and tugging aroused

her until she had more than dampened her linen drawers.

Reaching down between their bodies, she stroked the front

of his trousers.

“I want your cock.”

“I want to see it in your hand,” he hissed, bringing her

hard against him. “I want to see it in your mouth.”

“Your Grace— oh! ”

Shreeves, their butler, came to a grinding halt before

them, his normal y placid features a riot of red

embarrassment. “Y-y-your, my pardon,” he exclaimed in a

choked whisper as he turned his back to them.

“What is it?” Christian barked, making the servant flinch

as if he had been whipped.

“Your land steward, Your Grace, he’s arrived with some

papers you need to sign. Shal I have him return later?”

“I shal be there directly,” Christian stated, then looked

down into her face with his black, intense eyes. “Touch me,

Elizabeth,” he groaned. “Brush your hand along my cock.

It’s so hard, so hungry. So wet,” he whispered, pressing his

forehead to hers.

One glance over Christian’s shoulder told her that

Shreeves had taken his leave. They were now completely

alone in the hal outside her little salon. She was half

tempted to pul him inside, but instead, she did something

she had never done before—she unfastened the top

buttons of his trousers and wrapped her fingers around him.

Never had she felt him hotter or thicker in her hand.

“Oh, Christ, yes,” he moaned, as his hand came up to

cup her cheek. Stroking him, she caressed him with her

palm and fingertips until he was shoving himself into her

hand and panting against her mouth. “Christ, Elizabeth, yes.

Faster. God, I wish we were someplace where I could push

you to your knees.”

Her blood racing with excitement, Elizabeth stroked him

faster and watched the emotions play across his face. He

was so close…so close. And she wanted to do this, to

please him. And there was no one about, and it would only

take a second…

Sliding down the wal she came to rest on her knees.

Looking up into his astonished face, she held his gaze as

her hand engulfed his rigid cock.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, feeling her cheeks

flush with excitement and with the fear of possible

discovery.

“How very much I would love for you to take my cock in

your mouth, and pleasure me right here, where anyone

might happen to come across you sucking me.”

Closing her eyes, she took him between her lips. He

was so hard and thick that she could only get a bit of him

into her mouth. But it was enough for him, if his moans of

pleasure were any indication. Wrapping one hand around

her nape and flattening his other hand against the wal , he

thrust into her mouth.

“Fuck.” It was a ragged half whisper in the quiet of the

hal . His fingers pressed into her neck as he rocked his

hips, withdrawing then pressing forward once more. “Looks

so good, fil ing your mouth.”

She looked up as she curled her tongue around him and

their gazes met. His jaw clenched and she felt his cock

throb and lift in her hand. He was close.

“Take more of me,” he commanded, as his fingers

pressed against her neck, angling her mouth to better take

his length. “Yes, like that, Elizabeth. Christ, you’re going to

suck it right out of me, aren’t you?”

And then he was coming, pulsing hot for what seemed

like forever before he was able to draw her up and enfold

her in his arms. He held her tightly, kissing her cheek, the

shel of her ear, the corner of her eye.

“I’m not going to be able to concentrate on a bloody

thing my steward is saying. Not after this.”

“What wil you be thinking?” she asked, pressing her

face into his shoulder and feeling safe within his arms.

He lifted her face and smiled wickedly at her. “Reach

into my pocket.” She did and found the note nestled there.

“My thoughts are there, Elizabeth. Everything I was thinking

this afternoon. Read it if you want to know what I was

thinking while my cock was in my hand.”

She watched him walk away, his shoulders so broad in

the sunlight that bathed the hal through the transom

windows. When he reached his study, he turned and looked

at her.

“I wil send a servant for you when I am finished. Come to

me here, Elizabeth, in my study. It’s where I want you to live

out that.” He nodded, indicating the letter in her hands.

Elizabeth waited til he closed the door behind him

before opening the letter. She bit her lip on a smile as her

eyes greedily ate his words.

I’m watching you through the window, sitting in

the coach. I’m wondering what you’re wearing

beneath your pelisse and gown, imagining your

breasts pushed up by your corset. I’m

envisioning my hands all over you, undressing

you. I’m dreaming of the way you sound,

moaning and panting, silently begging me to

touch you, to fill you with my cock.

I’m thinking of you, with your legs spread, your

quim glistening for me. I want you wearing

nothing but your silk beaded slippers and

demure lace stockings. And the image of that,

Christ, it makes me so hot, so hard, that I know

when I’m done writing this, I’m going to stroke my

cock, imagining it’s you…your hand, your mouth,

your tight sex.

And when I finally have you all to myself, I’m

going to press against you and not ask you, but

command you to fuck me. And what will you say

then, Elizabeth? Will you let me fuck you?

CHAPTER FIVE

“YOUR GRACE?”

“What is it?” Christian demanded as a footman peered

around the door of his study.

“Her Grace asked that I give you this. She said it was

most important.”

Waving the footman in, Christian sat back in his chair

and smiled to himself. Lord, he was erect again, just

thinking of what was going to lie within that little pink folded

paper lying in the footman’s white-gloved palm.

“Thank you, Jenkins. That wil be al .” Ignoring his

steward, who was politely flipping through his folio of

documents, Christian flicked opened Elizabeth’s note.

I wouldn’t say anything, because I want to be

taken. Taken by you, however you want me.

Hard, animalistic, like strangers who have just

met and who burn for the feel of each other. Like

lovers who have been denied too long.

He stifled a groan. Another one of his fantasies, just

taking her as if she was his possession. As if he had total

rights to her body.

I am wet. Aching for you, for your cock deep

inside me. I still have the taste of you in my

mouth. I can still feel you inside me, thick,

hard…filling me so full with your beautiful

length…

I want to watch as you fill me. I want to see the

slow slide of your cock in and out of my body. I

have never confessed this to you before, but I

have always wished to make love before a

mirror. To see your body and mine together.

He swal owed—hard. “Where is Her Grace, Jenkins?”

he asked without looking up from her elegant handwriting.

“I believe the duchess is in the garden, Your Grace. I saw

her with her bonnet and rose clippers.”

“Excuse me.”

His steward gaped at him, but nodded, clearly

bewildered by his actions. Eagerly, his long steps ate up

the distance from his study to the back terrace which led to

the gardens. He didn’t stop until he had rounded the corner

of the mansion and found her humming while snipping pink

roses from a bush and dropping them into the basket that

rested at her feet.

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around

her waist, dragging her against him.

“What!” she gasped then turned around. Her bonnet fel

off, and he raked his hands through her hair, dispel ing pins

and combs and watching as the blond tresses fel down her

back.

“Lift your skirts,” he demanded as he pushed her back

against the brick wal of the house.

She did, eagerly, and his blood raced at the sight. He

grasped her hands in his and held them above her head

with one hand. With his free hand, he undid his trousers

then lifted her skirts until he felt her sex, which was wet,

swol en.

“Fuck me,” he ordered, whispering the command into

her ear. He pushed up inside her and listened to her

keening cry. “You like that, don’t you?” he asked her as he

thrust harder into her, watching her long lashes cover her

eyes. “You like being taken like this.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Like this. I want this from you. I

never thought you wanted me in such a way.”

“You think I haven’t thought of having you like this?” he

asked, unable to conceal his surprise. “You think I’ve never

wanted you this way, wanton and wicked and craving me.

That I’ve never dreamt of fingering your quim while seated

at a dinner party, watching your face, knowing my fingers

are deep inside you while you try to act the part of a

duchess? Do you think I haven’t wanted to pul you into my

study and lay you across the desk and pleasure your sex

with my mouth?”

Elizabeth could barely concentrate on what he was

saying. She was shattering inside, aware of nothing but the

feel of his hand around her wrists and his cock inside her.

Between them there were clothes and the whispering

caress of the wind, but inside her was Christian—hot and

hard.

“Do you think I haven’t wanted to fuck you up against a

wal ? Christ, Elizabeth, I’ve thought it more than I’d care to

admit, and doing it now is better than any fevered

imagining I’ve ever had.”

She was excited by this, being taken by him in such a

way—up against a wal , stil clothed. He was panting in her

ear, his fingers were biting into her wrists as he increased

the rhythm of his strokes, and then she was crying out and

shaking around him.

He didn’t cover her mouth, concealing her sounds of

pleasure. Instead, he watched her, encouraged her, before

splashing his seed deep inside her.

“You’ve more than lived up to my fantasies,” he

murmured as he nuzzled the patch of skin beneath her ear.

“I want to make you happy. Tonight, Elizabeth, I swear I wil .

I want you to come back to me, Lizzy. Please come back.”

“I have never left you, Christian, I swear it.”

He looked up at her and she saw his love for her in his

eyes. “I am forever yours, Lizzy, never forget it.”

“Your Grace?”

“Damn, that wil be Jenkins,” Christian muttered, letting

her go from his hold before the footman came upon them. “I

am here,” he cal ed, buttoning his trousers.

“Mr. Struthers would like to know if you wish him to

remain in your study or if he should return another day.”

He cast her an apologetic look and raked a hand

through his hair. “Go back to your work, Christian,” she

said. “I am always here.”

“That is what got us into trouble in the first place,

Elizabeth. I always thought you would be, and then when it

became apparent you might not, I realized how terrified I

was of losing you.”

“That is al I wanted to hear,” she cried, flinging her arms

around his neck and kissing him. “I only wanted to know that

I stil mean something to you.”

“You are my life, Elizabeth,” he whispered, sounding

choked with emotion. “Our children are my life. Being a

duke is a duty, my occupation, but it is not what I live for. I

live for you.”

“Your Grace?”

“He is already on his way, Jenkins,” she answered for

her husband.

Christian’s eyes seemed to turn blacker as he looked

down at her. “I couldn’t have let you go to him, you know.”

“Who?”

He reached out and placed his hand along the side of

her face. “Adrian. I saw you together in the conservatory this

morning. I wanted to kil him and drag you to our room,

never al owing you to leave it, or me. I can bear anything,

Elizabeth, except the loss of you. You’re mine. You have

been since the minute I saw you sitting on the terrace at

Lady Ashton’s garden party. You don’t know how much I

love you. How much I want to make you happy. How sorry I

am for not being what you have needed in a husband—a

man—these past months.”

“You’re everything I want and need. Right now, Christian,

this is it—al I ever needed from you.”

He kissed her, slowly, more lovingly than ever before. “It

is just the beginning, Elizabeth. I swear it.”

CHAPTER SIX

IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON WHEN THE

SERVANT Christian sent for her knocked on her

chamber door.

“Your Grace?” a maid asked. “His Grace has requested

you join him in his study.”

Putting the last pin into her hair, Elizabeth took a step

back and examined herself in the looking glass. On the

outside she looked like herself, the Duchess of Sutcliffe, but

beneath her elegant gown was someone new.

“Your Grace?”

“I wil be there directly,” she cal ed, slipping her feet into

her cream-colored, high-heeled shoes. They were beaded

with seed pearls and pink bows and cream lace. Made in

Paris, they were al that was fashionable and decidedly

feminine. Hopeful y Christian would slaver at the sight of

them, not to mention her matching stockings and lacy

unmentionables.

Poised and refined, she strol ed to the door and walked

down the long carpeted hal that led to the stairs. With an air

of nonchalance, she proceeded to her husband’s study.

She was surprised to see that a footman was not standing

sentry outside the door, waiting to open it for her. Smiling to

herself, she wondered if Christian had dismissed them in

order to al ow them some privacy.

“You cal ed for me?”

He was standing at the window sipping a glass of

brandy as he gazed out over his land. He turned his head

and al owed his gaze to flicker along her body. That gaze,

that look, heated her blood. There was blatant lust in his

eyes.

“I thought perhaps you might want to play a game of

chess with me.”

“Chess?” she asked, suddenly deflated.

“Yes, chess,” he said, smiling as he stretched his hand

out to her. “It is a pleasant afternoon and the breeze is

blowing in just the right direction through this window. I

thought it would be an enjoyable interlude. Come, one

game, Elizabeth, that is al I ask.”

Confused, she arched her brow. “Game?” she asked,

unable to comprehend what exactly he was asking.

“Why, a game of chess, of course,” he said, smiling like

a panther stalking its prey. “What other sort of game did

you have in mind?”

“Nothing,” she murmured, shaking her head. “One game

of chess it is.”

“Excel ent.” His teeth flashed behind a devilish smile as

he sat her on a settee and pul ed the chess table before

her, centering it so that the white pieces faced her. Then,

reaching for a chair, he turned it so that he straddled it, his

muscular legs evocatively outlined in his trousers while he

removed his jacket and waistcoat. Elizabeth had never

seen him in such a state of undress. He was either

immaculately turned out, or naked. Both states were

arousing, but this, this half-undressed look did something to

her insides that was utterly scandalous.

“You may make the first move.”

Tearing her gaze away from his thighs, she advanced a

pawn and within four moves had Christian’s knight in her

sight. “This is almost too easy.” She clapped with

unconcealed glee as Christian moved his bishop, leaving

the knight vulnerable. “Real y, Christian, al owing your knight

to be captured by a pawn. What were you thinking?”

“My attention does seem to be waning,” he murmured,

looking up through his long dark lashes. His gaze burned

into her face before lowering and searing the mounds of

her breasts. “Perhaps we should play for more, shal we

say, interesting stakes.”

“Gamble?” she asked, pretending outrage at such a

thing.

“Not as such,” he grinned, his long tapered fingers

resting on the piece he intended to move. “More like a

boon. I wil request something of you if I take one of your

pieces. Likewise, you may do the same if you manage to

capture any more of mine.”

“If I manage?” she sputtered. “How arrogant of you to

think you can best me. You have captured only one of my

pieces. I, on the other hand, have your knight, a rook, and

numerous pawns in my keeping. In fact, your queen is even

now in jeopardy of my bishop.”

“Hmm,” he mused, studying the board. “You appear to

be correct in that assumption. Perhaps with those odds,

and your obvious superiority at the game, you feel more

interesting stakes might be worth the risk?”

Something about the way his eyes gleamed made

Elizabeth wet. This was al part of some grand strategy of

his and she was thoroughly enjoying it. The children were

upstairs napping and the servants al occupied with their

duties. The study door was locked and the key to the door

was lying beside Christian’s hand. They were utterly alone

and secluded in his study. No one dared to disturb the

great Duke of Sutcliffe while he was in his study.

Playing along, she smiled seductively. “Very wel , Your

Grace. I wil grant you whatever boon you request if you

succeed in taking one of my pieces.”

“Excel ent,” he drawled.

In two astute moves, Christian had captured her knight,

and was seriously bearing down upon her bishop.

“You seem to have improved.”

“Hmm,” he agreed. “I’ve always been one to find high

stakes vastly motivating. Now then,” he said, after his last

remaining knight took her bishop. “I believe you owe me a

boon, madam. Wel , two boons, but I shal settle for one

large one.”

“Yes?” Elizabeth asked, striving for an air of boredom,

when al she real y felt was a keen sense of anticipation.

“What is it you want?”

He smiled then, a grin so superior, so blatantly sensual,

that Elizabeth blinked several times to make sure she had

interpreted it correctly.

“Take off your gown.”

“Here?” she asked, unnerved by the thought. It was

broad daylight. Anyone might wander outside and look in

through the window. The children…

“Elizabeth,” he said, drawing out her name, “I want you

out of that gown. And I want to watch as you disrobe for

me.”

“Rogue,” she muttered, while her trembling fingers

fumbled with the fastenings at the back of her gown. Only

when she started to slide one sleeve over her shoulder did

she dare to look at him.

He sat before her on his chair, his chin resting on his

folded arms, watching her every move. His gaze,

unblinking, fol owed the printed muslin as it slid down her

arms and over her breasts. When the bodice rested

against her waist, she hesitated, looking up to gauge his

reaction.

“Take it off,” he commanded. “Al the way.”

Elizabeth stood up, al owing the fabric to skim over her

hips and down her thighs until it was just a puddle around

her ankles. With as much grace as she could muster, she

stepped out of the gown and stood before him. She had

removed her corset after her nap, and had not bothered to

put it back on. Her large breasts were now straining against

the pink and cream chemise. The French silk hugged her

body like a glove, the lace fringing the neckline and hem

skimming her breasts and thighs in what she hoped was a

provocative invitation to explore her body.

She saw his gaze slide up the front of her til their gazes

met. He reminded her of a pasha as he sat staring up at

her, his eyes boldly raking over her as if she was a slave he

was considering buying.

“You’re stunning, every inch of you,” he whispered as his

gaze once more caressed her breasts, her bel y and the

apex of her thighs. “I’d pay a pretty pence to have you for a

night, Elizabeth.”

“Would you?”

“What man wouldn’t, with breasts and hips such as

yours? You are every man’s dream, Elizabeth. Every man’s

sexual ideal.”

“But am I yours, Your Grace?” she asked boldly. “Am I

your dream?”

His lashes flickered revealing his black eyes. “You’ve

been the leading role in every wet dream I’ve had since I

met you. And believe me, I’ve had many of those these past

years.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed. I believe I’m living one out now, right here.”

“Playing chess?” she asked coyly.

“Playing games. Acting out fantasies.” He straightened

in his chair and Elizabeth could not help but lower her gaze

to see how magnificently aroused he was. “You see, in my

mind, I’m going to win this game, Elizabeth, and in winning

you, I’m purchasing you for the rest of the day. And in

purchasing you, you are mine to command.”

“And what wil you have me do?”

“Al in good time,” he whispered. His lashes lowered and

she saw that his gaze was fixated on her breasts and the

nipples that jutted out against her chemise.

“Very wel ,” she murmured, sitting back on the settee

and reclining so that her chemise inched up to give him a

glimpse of the lace tops of her stockings. “I believe it is my

turn, is it not?”

Elizabeth tried to ignore the way her chemise tightened

and pul ed over her breasts as she leaned forward to move

her rook. The movement caused a strap to slide down her

shoulder, baring the swel of her breast. She felt Christian’s

black gaze fixated there, on the white flesh. She went to

hook her finger around it and slide it up her arm when

Christian said rather thickly, “Don’t.” She met his eyes and

saw desire burning in them. “I want to see you like this. I

want to be teased by that flash of your breast. It makes me

want to work so much harder to capture your king. Perhaps,

though, after hearing that confession, you may wish to grant

me a favor, and show me your breast.”

Her bel y tightened and wetness coated her thighs.

Slowly, seductively, she lowered one side of her bodice

and revealed what he wanted to see. Instantly her nipple

hardened, jutting out towards him. Pressing forward, he ran

his fingertip over it.

“Fabulous,” he murmured. He looked up at her through a

veil of dark lashes. “Perhaps you wil al ow me to take it into

my mouth?”

Pul ing the bodice up, she concealed her breast. “Not

yet,” she replied, and watched as he scowled. Satisfied

with his reaction, she picked up her knight and moved it.

Content with her maneuver, she settled back against the

curved arm of the settee. Her smile melted away as

Christian proceeded to overtake her rook with his queen.

Their gazes met instantly over the board, and Elizabeth

swore her heart stopped beating.

“What a pretty picture you make, Elizabeth. I hardly know

where to begin. Are you wearing drawers, or a pair of

French panties?”

“Why do you wish to know?”

“This is a game of strategy, my dear. For I may only ask

for one thing, and I do not wish to waste it. If you’re wearing

panties, while I am sure they are lovely, they wil cover the

area that I most want to see—your darling cunny,” he

clarified. “On the other hand, that glimpse you gave me of

your breast induced many ideas in my mind.”

“I am naked beneath this chemise.”

“Are you?” he asked, raising his brows. “How lovely.

Wel , then, your charming chemise—lift it so that I can see

the top of your stockings.”

She waited, drawing out the seconds as her fingers

leisurely skimmed down her thighs to rest against the lace

hem of her shift.

“Do it,” he commanded, his eyes never wavering from

hers as he set the rook with her other captured pieces.

With a deep breath, she inched her chemise up. Her

breasts were spil ing from the bodice, the straps wrapped

around her arms as they slid off her shoulders. She

watched Christian swal ow hard as she assumed a more

seductive pose for him.

“Higher.”

She smiled at him before sliding the hem up along her

legs until it rested beneath her garters. The pink lace of her

stockings was exposed, as wel as the feminine pink bows

that attached her garters to the silk.

“More,” he said thickly, wetting his lips. “Until I tel you

you may stop.”

She sat frozen, her eyes wide, her head feeling almost

dizzy. How commanding he was like this. Her body seemed

to respond to his voice and his instructions. A thril ing

tension swam in her blood as she wondered just how high

he would have her pul her chemise up, and just how much

she was wil ing to accommodate him. This was a game

after al , and a game required two players.

With shaking hands, she did as he asked, raising the

chemise until the pale flesh of her thighs was revealed

above her garters. She watched with what could only be

described

as

feminine

satisfaction

as

Christian

straightened in his chair, taking his time looking at her.

“You’l be worth it, every damn second of waiting,” he

said, his gaze hungrily roving over her thighs and hips. “It’l

be worth it just to feel my thumbs pressing into that soft

flesh, right there, above your garters. Can you feel it,” he

asked, “my thumbs pressing against your thighs as I spread

your legs? Can you imagine what I wil want when I do that?”

“You are not there yet, Your Grace,” she purred,

schooling her expression into one of polite boredom. “I

believe it is my turn.”

His gaze flashed to her as her queen overtook his

bishop. His face bore an expression of admiration. “Your

boon, I believe.”

It real y wasn’t much of a dilemma. Elizabeth knew

exactly what part of Christian she wanted to see naked. His

chest. She had always been fascinated by the amount of

firm muscle and the contours of his bel y. And seeing him in

nothing but a pair of black trousers, straddling his chair,

would be highly arousing.

“Wel ?”

“You may remove your shirt.”

He raised his brows as he unknotted his cravat. She felt

his eyes on her even though she refused to meet his gaze.

Instead, she concentrated on watching his tanned fingers

working to untie the linen. Sliding it from his neck, he let the

starched fabric dangle from his fingers before final y

dropping it to the floor. Elizabeth couldn’t help but fol ow it

with her eyes as it floated to the ground. His shirt landed

unceremoniously atop the cravat before she could look

away.

Raising her eyes from the floor, Elizabeth looked her fil ,

taking her time studying the way his tanned skin glowed,

the way the waning sunlight flickered along his chest,

outlining his broad shoulders. The muscles feathering out

beneath his ribs fascinated her, making her wish to run her

fingers along every inch of him. Her eyes lowered to the flat

planes of his bel y, to the dark line of hair that stole beneath

the waistband of his trousers. With a flick of his thumb, he

undid the first button, al owing her to see more of him, and

the spectacular erection he was sporting.

“Wil I do, Elizabeth?” he asked, his eyes glittering

wickedly. “Can this body please you?”

“Indeed,” she averred, running her fingers down her

thigh. She al owed her fingers to sneak beneath the hem of

her shift. She watched as Christian’s eyes darkened.

“Yes,” he rasped, his gaze focused on where her hand

was hidden beneath the lace hem of her chemise. “Touch

yourself. I want to watch you. I want to see you part your

thighs and see your hand between them.”

“Not yet, Your Grace. For you have not yet managed to

steal another piece of mine.”

He growled. Actual y snarled like an animal, and

Elizabeth laughed. Laughed like she hadn’t in a very long

time. She stopped laughing as he stole her rook. He

slammed the piece down atop the table with the others then

turned his attention on her.

“I want to watch you touch yourself, and I want you to look

at me and say my name when you do it.”

Elizabeth parted her legs and showed him her sex.

Stroking her finger down the length of her labia, she parted

them and swirled the pad of her fingertip against her

clitoris. Closing her eyes she moaned, knowing he was

watching her.

“No, Elizabeth, open your eyes and look at me.”

She opened them and saw how he watched her. She felt

beautiful, wanton. “Christian,” she whispered as she slowly

brought herself to the crest of an orgasm.

“What are you thinking, Elizabeth?” he asked as he

stood up from his chair.

She arched her hips and bit her lip to keep from crying

out. She was so close, so wet.

“Tel me, Elizabeth, what thoughts are running through

your mind?”

“How I want your mouth on me, pleasuring me. How I

want to watch you do it.”

Christian walked to the settee and dropped to his knees.

He watched her fingers in the pink silk of her sex, working

the little nub of flesh until her body was arched, drawn like a

bow, and her thighs began to tremble.

“How I want to be there,” he murmured out loud, no

longer hiding his thoughts behind stony silence.

“Where?” she asked, gazing at him with her heated

eyes. Her cheeks were kissed with red, and her breasts

rose and fel heavily against her chemise. He gazed up at

her and brushed his fingers down her sex.

“Here, in your body, feeling your pretty cunt squeezing

my cock.”

She came then and he watched it al , how her body

twisted and grew taut. How her breasts seemed to swel

and her nipples curled even tighter as they brushed against

the silk. How beautiful and erotic it was to watch her, and he

had done nothing but look at her and say heated things to

her.

Christ, how he wanted to hear her say the same things to

him.

“Let me taste.” Reaching for her hand, he sucked first

one, then another finger into his mouth. Closing his eyes, he

savored her, enjoying the memory of her pleasuring herself

and the taste of her sex on her own fingertips. Her hands

raked through his hair, and he looked up at her, just as his

tongue stroked the length of her finger.

“You said you would tel me what you wanted,” she

whispered, her cheeks growing crimson.

Letting go of her hand, he moved toward her and

reached for her chemise. He pul ed it up, over her bel y, her

breasts, and then up over her head. She was now

completely naked with the exception of her tempting

stocking and garters, and hel , what an erotic sight it was to

see his wife like this, a seductive temptress.

Reaching out, he circled his fingertip around the rose-

hued areola of her breast. “Do you real y want to know?” he

asked, unable to look away from the sight of his fingers

caressing her puckered nipple.

“Tel me,” she begged. The way her voice sounded in the

charged quiet of the room made him nearly explode.

Grabbing her, he wrapped his hands around her waist and

brought her to him so that her breasts were against his

chest and he was reclining back against the pil ows of the

settee.

“I want you, with your lovely mouth around my cock and

my words in the quiet instructing you. I want your wet body

open for me, your wil ingness to let me pleasure you in al

the ways I desire.”

The stark need Elizabeth saw in his eyes made her

smile. It was a wanton, womanly smile she knew, as she

made a show of sliding her body sensual y along his. She

reached his waist and tore at the opening of his trousers,

freeing him. She clutched him in her palm and stroked him,

watching his lips part as his gaze fixated on her hand.

“Such an eager little thing, are you not?”

When she saw he was watching her every movement,

she strove to make her hips move in a painful y slow and

erotic rhythm, teasing him as he had teased her.

“God, but you act like the most skil ed courtesan, and yet

you look like an angel. I vow you could make a saint sin,

Elizabeth.”

“You’re no saint,” she whispered wickedly before flicking

her tongue along the tip of him, enjoying the power she

wielded and embracing the sexual freedom he encouraged

in her.

His hand fisted in her hair, dispel ing the pins. As her

hair cascaded over her shoulders, his breath came in

increasingly harder and shorter pants. “Sweet Jesus,

Elizabeth, that looks so damn good, too good,” he moaned,

thrusting upward with his rigid length. “Good God,” he

growled as he grasped his erection in his hand and traced

her lips with the tip. Her tongue came out and circled the

head of his phal us and he groaned at the sensation as wel

as at the visual of it. He pumped himself and demanded

she do it al over again, just so he could have the pleasure

of seeing her pink tongue glide along him.

Leaning back, he spread his thighs, al owing Elizabeth

to kneel between them. Like an Eastern despot with a

houri, he ran his fingers through her hair and watched her

work his cock with a mouth that was far from angelic. She

tormented him with sultry looks, peeking up at him as she

trailed her tongue down his shaft, teasing him mercilessly

until, in a state of suffering, he reached for the back of her

head and brought her mouth down to his straining flesh.

“Deeper, Elizabeth. I have to feel al of your mouth around

me.”

Reaching for her breasts, he brought them together and

pinched her nipples so that she moaned, the sound

vibrating along him, making him shudder. Close to finding

his release, he reached for her and positioned her so that

she sat astride him. Her sex was wet as she lowered her

bottom onto his lap, and the discovery thril ed him.

Reaching out, he trailed his fingers along the indentation

of her waist and up and over her hip, then down her thigh

and over the tops of her stockings. She stil wore her shoes

and the sight enflamed him. “Christ, I want you. You in these

stockings and shoes is everything I’ve ever dreamed of. I

can hardly wait to get inside you. I can hardly wait for you to

watch me loving you.” Gooseflesh sprung to life beneath his

fingers and he felt, as wel as saw, Elizabeth sway into him.

His hand at last found her bottom and he squeezed it.

“I forget everything when you’re touching me like this,”

she said on a sigh. “I love the sight of your dark hands

covering me, possessing me.”

“God, but I want to possess you, Elizabeth,” he groaned.

“I want to mark you as mine so you wil never forget that you

belong to me.” Her body trembled and he ran his thumbs

over her nipples, eliciting another ripple of tremors through

her limbs. Then, fitting his hands around her waist, he lifted

her up until his mouth found her sex and he was pleasuring

her with his lips and tongue.

Elizabeth couldn’t say a word. She was lost in the

sensation of being above him, his mouth on her sex. His

hands no longer supported her but were skimming along

her back and buttocks, his fingers caressing her cleft and

sinking into her aching quim.

She was shaking, trembling, and reaching for his head,

she raked her fingers through his hair and held him there,

his tongue pulsing against her clitoris until she cried out and

climaxed. He did not give her a chance to float back down

but lifted her and placed her on the settee, her legs spread

wide, her sex, wet with her arousal and his mouth, exposed.

Running his hands along her thighs, he pressed his thumbs

into the flesh above her garters and spread her more, so

that one foot rested on the back and the other was arched

delicately on the seat of the settee.

She was flagrantly posed and she loved it. Adored the

way her husband was hungrily examining her, loved the way

his body responded to the sight of hers.

“Put me inside you,” he asked, and she did, watching as

he entered her.

Resting back on her hands, Elizabeth watched as he

entered and retreated, loving the way his body

disappeared inside hers. Slowly he made love to her, and

together they watched—something they had never done

before.

There was a closeness in that, watching themselves

making love, seeing the way her body took him in. On

impulse she reached down between her legs and ran her

finger along his cock. “How beautiful you are, Christian.”

He looked up at her and cupped her face. He said

nothing, but closed his eyes and Elizabeth felt the hot rush

of him inside her.

A long while later, Elizabeth stood at the French doors,

looking out at the patchwork of farms. Christian was

sprawled gloriously naked, soundlessly sleeping on the

settee behind her.

Elizabeth brought her arms tight about her waist. She’d

donned Christian’s shirt when she had risen from the

lounge. His scent stil lingered and she swore she could feel

remnants of his body heat clinging to the linen.

Suddenly she was aware of Christian’s heat enveloping

her. Caging her with raised arms, his fingers curved around

the molding of the door frame while he proceeded to nuzzle

her hair.

“Sorry to fal asleep on you, love. You should have woken

me instead of standing here al alone. Although,” he

murmured wickedly, “I enjoyed waking up to the view. You

look rather fetching in my shirt. It’s very al uring you know,

what you look like in white linen. Just as fetching as cream

silk and pink lace. Though I’m likely never to forget how

damn gorgeous your legs looked in those stockings.” He

traced the outline of her bottom that peeked out from

beneath his shirt while his mouth roamed her neck. “The

sight of this perfect bottom wil not soon be forgotten,

either.”

“You cannot possibly be hard again,” she admonished

as she felt his erection pressing into her back. “My God,

you’re insatiable.”

“I’ve missed you, Elizabeth. God, I’ve missed this—us—

for so long. Is it too much, sweetheart?”

Closing her eyes, she rested her head back against his

shoulder. “It is never too much. I wil never grow weary of

making love with you.”

His fingers cupped her thigh and he hooked her leg over

his. “I need you again. Can I take you like this?”

Immediate desire flared to life within her and she writhed

against his hand as he stroked her, swirling his fingers

along her clitoris until she was trembling and teetering on

the edge of orgasm.

She sighed as he slipped inside, stroking her deeply.

He moaned and thrust deeper into her, his fingers biting

into her waist with the force of his desire.

“I want you hard, Elizabeth, so that you never forget that

it’s me inside you.” He reached for her breasts beneath his

shirt, fondling and cupping them in his hands. “I have to feel

al of you. I have to see you.” And then he pul ed out and

turned her around so that her back was against the wal . He

tore at the fastenings of his shirt and roughly shoved the

material aside, baring her. Greedily he mouthed her

breasts before slipping her nipple into his mouth. When she

was moaning and tugging at his hair, he grasped her legs

and wrapped them around his waist. His arms were above

her head, resting against the wal as he thrust hard into her

waiting body. Their eyes were locked and their breaths

mingled together with each pant, each sigh, each erotic

whisper.

“Tel me you want me, Elizabeth. That it is only me and

our children in your life,” he rasped as he fil ed her once

more and al owed his seed to empty into her.

“I want you. I always have. It has ever only been you. I

love you, Christian.”

He held her close, rocking her slowly before he turned

her so that she was once again facing the window and the

green pastures of their estate.

“Do you see where the fields taper off on the horizon?”

he asked. “I own the land as far as your eye can see and

even farther. It has flourished under six generations of

Sutcliffes. This land has been the pride and sustenance of

every duke, including myself. I think it the most beautiful

place on earth and yet for a long time whenever I would look

out this window, I would be fil ed with an empty, hol ow

feeling I didn’t completely understand til this past week.”

His grip tightened and he pul ed her closer to him and

entwined his fingers with hers. “I want to share this with you

—al of it. I want the estate to bear the fruits of our labor.

Whenever I look out this window I want it to be with you,

Elizabeth,” he whispered, holding her gaze. “I don’t want to

lose you, or the children. I don’t want to lose us. Everything I

have is yours. And my love, Elizabeth, is forever yours.”

A fluttering feeling, as if a hundred butterflies had been

let loose in her stomach, quivered to life inside her. She

pressed her fingers against his, melting in the emotion she

saw in his eyes. “Someone very close to me said that

marriage is like a garden. It must be tended to year after

year. And I now believe it. I al owed other things to intrude in

our lives. I’ve learned now that I must not take even a day

with you for granted.”

“A new beginning then, my love?”

“Yes.” She nodded, hugging him. “A new beginning.

From this day forward.”

“I look forward to your future visits to my study, if this is

what I may expect of your behavior.”

“And what of future letters, Your Grace?”

“You may be assured of that. Now then, let us go

upstairs and find our children. Then, later, we wil repeat this

performance in front of a mirror.”

Psychic Sex

CATHLEEN ROSS

I HAD A STUD PUT THROUGH MY

TONGUE TODAY. I love the anticipation of getting a

piercing and it didn’t hurt the way people think it does. If

anything, I get a thril out of it by thinking about on whom I

would like to use my stud. I want to see if the combination of

hot flesh and metal heightens sexual sensation when used

on a man.

I work in a gym at Bondi Beach, in sunny Sydney, which

has lots of hot guys, except as a personal trainer, I’m not

supposed to have sex with my clients.

As if I’m going to let a few rules get in my way!

I have to be subtle though. I’ve already had one warning

from my supervisor, a stuck-up bitch who looks like she

never gets laid.

Everyone in the gym commented on my new stud

piercing, except ironical y, the stranger—my chosen stud—

who signed up to do a one-on-one session. My stranger’s

name is Tom. I didn’t ask him his surname. I don’t want to

know. It spoils the fantasy for me.

Now, a one-on-one with me is pretty intense because I

like to put a man through his paces. I want to see him

sweat. And while my client is training, I get to admire the

lines of his body and the way his muscles bulge, not to

mention the size of the bulge in his shorts. Best of al , I

imagine what he would look like when I’m having sex with

him and he’s working hard to please me.

So, I started our session with running on the treadmil

and stood back a little to admire Tom. I’m supposed to talk

to my clients to put them at ease, but quite frankly, I don’t

bother. I’m not interested in men for their conversation. I

have my girlfriends for that.

Although I don’t encourage them, my wealthy male

clients talk about their investments in Sydney’s expensive

real estate market, cars and footbal . My poor clients talk

about how they can’t afford to buy real estate and you

guessed it, cars and footbal . Boring!

Quite frankly, unless the car is something shiny and fast

like a Porsche or a Ferrari, I don’t get why a man thinks a

car is interesting at al .

What catches my interest is if a man talks about sex and

al the delicious things he’d like to do to me in bed, which

they tend to do once I’ve bedded them, but I don’t usual y go

back for seconds, you see—I like sex with strangers.

Right now, Tom is walking on the treadmil and he’s

trying to start a conversation with me, something about the

new car he’s bought. Oh please, no! I increase the speed to

make him run and to shut him up. So I don’t have to listen to

any car talk.

I love having power over a man. He’s mine for an hour

and I intend to have him sweating and submissive by the

time I’ve finished with him because I have plans for him.

My nipples tighten as I admire Tom’s physique.

I felt an exciting tingle between my legs the moment I met

him at the front desk. When I feel that tingle I know exactly

what I want to do to my client.

Tom has cropped dark hair, blue eyes and a nose with a

slight hook that heightens his masculinity. His skin is

invitingly creamy and smooth for a man who lives near the

beach. Most of my clients are tanned. I’d like to stroke him

al over and enjoy the sensation of his skin over tight

muscles.

What I especial y like about Tom is his mouth. He has ful

sensual lips, the type that make for great kissing, not to

mention sucking on my clit. Not that Tom knows that I intend

him to do that, he’s too busy running, keeping up the high

pace I’ve set for him.

Guys have no idea when they get me what a ride I’m

going to take them on.

I look sweet.

I’m not!

When I picked Tom up at reception, he greeted me with

a great smile, and his eyes took on that special “I’m

interested” look.

And why shouldn’t he be?

I have long blond hair which I keep in a plait down my

back, unless I’m in bed, and then I let my hair out so that it

flows in wild rivulets. This combined with large green eyes,

a neat nose and mouth means I look like Jennifer Aniston.

I spend my mornings sunning myself wearing only a G-

string, on Bondi Beach. I work out with my clients every

afternoon, so that I’m toned al over. I don’t have huge

breasts and I certainly wouldn’t go plastic, but I’m confident

with how I look. That’s why I’m so good at seducing men.

I narrow my eyes and size Tom up as he runs. He’s

beginning to build a sweat. I can see beads of it on his

broad chest. I’d like to lick Tom just to see what he’d taste

like. I enjoy the taste of exertion on a man. By the time I’ve

finished with him, he’l be dripping. And no, I don’t intend to

lick off al his sweat. That’s gross. I want to get him so hot

that he goes and has a shower in the gym. That way I’l find

out if he has a big cock.

I won’t bother with him if he doesn’t.

Tom has a promise-of-orgasms-for-me body. He’s over

six feet tal with an athletic build, but more long distance

runner than a footbal er’s build. I can imagine stroking him

between his legs, cupping his soft sac in my hands before I

take him in my mouth.

Tom looks at me unsuspectingly as he runs. I smile

back. Sometimes I think I’m like a vampire, except I don’t

want blood; I want sex. “Keep up the pace.” I cross my arms

to emphasize my cleavage which is tight against my spray-

on tank top.

Tom breaks into a grin as he eyes my breasts. Good. I

want him submissive and horny.

“You’re doing wel ,” I say.

It’s important to give smal compliments to a man

because then he wil do anything for me.

I smile back. I’m sure he’s noticed that my nipples are

hard and that I haven’t worn a bra today. I can’t wait to get

him into my bed.

While Tom is doing twenty minutes on the treadmil on

high, I set the inclinator on six to make it harder for him. I

want to see what his face looks like when he grimaces.

That’s the look on a man’s face when he orgasms. I enjoy

watching the combination of pain and pleasure.

But Tom doesn’t break, which shows he has a good

fitness level. He doesn’t stop and complain that I’m too hard

on him. Pity. Sometimes, it amuses me when a man begs

for leniency.

I never give an inch.

“You get one minute to rest and then you’re moving to

the rower,” I say.

Tom nods. He’s panting.

“Need a drink?” I ask him.

He shakes his head.

Good. The man’s got stamina. My stomach muscles

tighten with anticipation.

I reach over and take Tom’s pulse to see if he has a

good recovery time. It’s a legitimate way to touch a client.

I’m not interested in his pulse though. I’m interested in the

way his skin feels against mine. Under my fingers, he feels

warm and clean. His skin has a smooth feel to it and I can

quickly conjure up what his naked body would feel like next

to mine. The thought makes me horny.

I can smel him too. He has a terrific scent like fresh

soap and male pheromones. This is what he would smel

like in the heat of sex.

I’m aroused enough to have him now. Pity the gym is

crowded. I’ve done it before when the gym was quiet, lying

back with my legs spread open in the thigh extension

machine.

While Tom continues his workout, I savor the way his

muscles flex and bulge with every row. He real y is

magnificent. In gym talk, we say he has good “guns.” This

means big arm muscles. Some guys concentrate on their

chest areas only, which leaves them with chicken legs, but

Tom is wel proportioned.

He’d better have a good-sized cock or al this

anticipation wil have been for nothing.

“Keep your stomach muscles switched on,” I order as

Tom works out on the rower. “Remember to breathe evenly.

Pul . Pul . Pul .”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Is what I’m real y thinking.

I can feel my nipples tighten as I give Tom orders. The

more I tel him what to do, the more used to my orders he

wil be when I seduce him, which suits me as I like to

dominate in bed. I expect a man to do what I want, when I

want and how I want.

While I’m training Tom, I see that the pump class has just

finished and out comes Pinky. Everyone in the gym knows

our gay masseuse, who is my best friend. You can’t miss

him. He’s fifteen stone and as round as he is tal . He’s been

trying to lose weight al his life and despite al the classes

he does, doesn’t lose a pound. I commiserate with Pinky

about his weight and Pinky in turn col udes with me on my

client seductions. He doesn’t get much sex, so he’s more

than happy to live vicariously through my experiences.

I point to Tom behind his back, to signal to Pinky that

Tom is my chosen stud. Pinky looks at Tom and raises his

eyebrows. He gives me a nod.

Good. Pinky can stay back. I need him to do a job for

me.

Tom, of course, is oblivious to al of this. He’s so busy

rowing, he has no idea.

For the next half an hour, Tom pushes and pul s for al

he’s worth and then we move to my favorite part—

stretching. I like it because I get to put my hands on a man

and real y feel what his body is like.

While we’re stretching, I tel him about the great new bar

down on the beach, which I’m hoping to go to tonight. I

smile and flirt a little. Normal y my chosen stud offers to take

me, and from there, I take over.

Tom frowns at me and says nothing, which was fine

when I didn’t want him to talk, but now I’m expecting some

sort of response from him. What’s wrong with the man?

I bend his leg at the knee and push it across his torso to

stretch him out. I like the way his skin feels silky, but his leg

hairs are crisp. I have my other hand inappropriately on his

butt, which is tight and hard. Just how I like it.

Bet Pinky would too. I can see him hovering near the

shower block waiting for my signal.

Tom is flexible for a man, which makes my imagination

run wild. I want to run my hands over his taut body.

“So, have you been to Coco’s Bar before?” I prompt.

“No,” Tom responds.

I pause. Come on. Ask me. Do something! Men like to

think they’re doing the chasing.

“It’s fun there. Why don’t you come down tonight?” So

much for the chasing. I guess I’m the impatient type.

I walk behind Tom, take him by the arms and pul his

guns back at the elbow to stretch out his shoulders. He

feels incredibly firm and sexy. My nipples are so hard I want

to pinch them myself and think about sex with Tom. I can’t

see his face and I can’t believe he’s so slow to answer me.

I thought he’d be a sure thing.

I’m leaning so close now that I could kiss his neck. I

real y want to. I’m sure he can feel my breath on the back of

his neck.

I drop his arms and Tom climbs to his feet. “Thanks,

Gabby. That was great. I’l book another session with you

tomorrow,” he says and walks toward the showers.

I glance at Pinky who raises his plucked eyebrows in

expectation.

I frown.

I can’t believe it. Tom didn’t take the bait. He didn’t even

bother to answer my question. I never miss my mark. It’s

unheard of. I’m so mad, I feel like going into the shower

block and sticking a dog col ar on him and leading him

home, but I don’t think my supervisor would appreciate it.

I signal to Pinky to fol ow Tom into the shower. That’s the

best way I can find out whether Tom has a big cock. Five

minutes later, Pinky comes out and spans his hands to give

me an idea.

Tom is big.

Now I am real y pissed off.

I’m an earthy kind of girl. I don’t believe in psychic

phenomena, but my crazy, psychic sister gave me this book

— How to Astral Travel. I am bored and horny that night,

after Tom didn’t take up my offer, so I decide to flick

through it. What catches my eye is that the book claims that

through meditation, the spirit can leave the body and do

whatever it wants.

Wouldn’t that be fun?

Hmmm. I think about Tom, my escapee-love-slave. I turn

back to my book.

What if I could meditate, leave my body, visit Tom and

bonk him senseless in the middle of the night? I could do

everything I wanted to him while he thought he was

dreaming. What an interesting idea. It would be worth a try

because I certainly wasn’t getting anywhere with him in

daylight.

Even my darling Pinky was amazed Tom had brushed

me off. “Perhaps he’s gay,” he’d said hopeful y.

“No way.” I jabbed my index finger into Pinky’s butterbal

chest. “Don’t even think about making a move on him. He’s

straight and he’s mine.”

straight and he’s mine.”

So tonight after my shower, I rub rose-scented

moisturizer al over my body paying special attention to my

breasts. My nipples harden. I am so ripe for sex I am almost

aching.

According to the book, al I have to do is to focus on

what I want. That’s easy. Sex! I breathe deeply in through

the nose so that my whole torso fil s with air and then expel

the air out through my mouth. I do this in a repetitive motion

so that there is no break in the rhythm.

I visualize Tom naked, not to mention his “long dong,”

which Pinky assures me he has.

Damn it. I want that man. I keep breathing deeply until I’m

almost hyperventilating. I can feel a tingling sensation on my

fingertips and the cynical side of me wonders if I’m

overoxygenating my body. I’m certainly not going anywhere.

Not rising out of my body, not hovering over an

unsuspecting Tom, like I should be doing.

In frustration, I get up, fling the book against the wal and

decide to try and get some sleep. My tongue has swol en

from the piercing and seems to be fil ing my mouth.

Perhaps sex wouldn’t have been so great tonight after al ,

unless Tom did everything to me. Now there’s a thought.

I drift off to sleep with the thought of Tom kissing my

breasts before trailing a pathway down past my navel and

ending up between my legs.

I stretch and sigh as I imagine what his tongue would feel

like as it lapped at me. I can imagine him folding my inner

lips apart as he starts to lick slowly up and down my slit like

it is a juicy peach.

it is a juicy peach.

I’m in that drifting, half wake, half sleep mode and

thoroughly enjoying my fantasy. I feel like I’m floating, and

I’m a little chil y. My bed feels hard under my back. It would

normal y bother me, except my imagination is so good, that

I can feel Tom circling my clitoris with his tongue.

I moan softly and thrust upwards. I can’t believe how

good it feels to have Tom eating me. I’ve noticed that men

with generous mouths are made to do this, that’s why I liked

the look of Tom’s ful mouth from the moment I saw him.

My sexual imagination has always been good, but

something real y strange is happening. I can feel a man’s

hands on my thighs and his tongue, which is sliding up and

down, becomes faster so that my stomach muscles clench

with pleasure.

My eyes snap open. What the hel is going on? I look

around and discover that instead of lying on my bed, I am

lying on the sloping bonnet of a car. And not just any car. It’s

a shiny red Porsche. Weirder stil , between my legs,

lapping my sex like it’s a melting ice cream, is Tom. I’m so

surprised that I attempt to close my legs, which means I

nearly jam Tom’s head between my thighs.

He looks up. “Aren’t I doing it the way you like it?” he

asks. “You seemed into it.”

Hel o? Is this for real?

“Um…er…you’re doing okay.” Wel , more than okay,

actual y, once I get over my shock. Am I real y here in what

looks to be a spacious garage? Am I asleep? I must be

here, I decide, because I’d never be stupid enough to want

to have sex on a car when I have a nice comfy bed. Trust a

to have sex on a car when I have a nice comfy bed. Trust a

man to want to involve a car with sex. Stil , lucky for Tom,

it’s not just any car.

I’m stil tense. Stil in a state of disbelief, but given that

nothing has changed in the past surreal seconds, and that

Tom is stil hovering above my clit, I decide to lie back and

signal Tom with a flick of my index finger to keep going.

I mean, someone has to test out this astral fucking gig,

so it might as wel be me.

Tom runs his hands over my thighs as he eats me. The

skin of his hands is smooth and it sends tingles up my

spine. I pinch my nipples and I rock back and forward

enjoying what he is doing to me. I can feel an orgasm

building and I strain to meet his tongue. I want him to go

harder and faster.

I can’t stand it if a guy licks me like I’m a delicate flower

about to break. I might be slender, but I work in a gym al

day heaving weights.

I’m just about to come when Tom pul s back. Talk about

lack of good timing. He has “born to perform” looks but he

sure needs some training. I look downwards over the hood

of the shiny Porsche and my own sleek body.

What is wrong with this man?

He’s holding his cock in his hand. Now I have to say,

orgasm-ready as I am, it looks very tempting. The head of

his cock is taut and bulging. The shaft is long and thick.

Pinky knew his stuff when he’d done his hand measurement

back at the gym. I’d have a lot of fun sliding that into me, but

I’m not quite ready.

“Don’t stop,” I say.

“I’m dying for you,” Tom says. “The moment I saw you at

the gym, I wanted you. That’s why I booked another session

with you tomorrow. I wanted to take you out in my new car.”

He looks longingly towards my sex. “I just want to know how

good you’d feel. Just for a moment.”

His handsome face is strained with desire. He is

desperate for me. I have to admit that it’s flattering that he

wants me so much, but I torture men al day at the gym for a

living so I see no reason to change my style now.

I raise my long index finger and point to my sex. “I didn’t

tel you to stop. You’l know when I’ve had enough.”

I stare at him and I swear I can feel his wil . He’s

desperate to ride me. He’s standing at the base of the

bonnet of the car, leaning over me on one hand, with his

cock in his other hand, determined to defy me. His whole

body is trembling with lust and I can see veins standing out

in his neck from the strain of my denial.

Judging from the three other sports cars that are lined up

in his garage, he’s a wealthy, spoilt kind of guy, used to

getting what he wants. Tough luck. He kept me waiting

because he was too busy with his new car, now it’s my turn

to keep him waiting. I can sense I have power over him and

I want to test it out. Already, I can see the dewy end of pre-

cum forming at the end of his cock. He’s stroking it up and

down, getting it ready for me.

“Climb up here,” I order. “Put your knees either side of

me.”

Tom does so eagerly. My gaze roves over his body, as

he moves with grace and athleticism. He is pumped to

perfection. I don’t know who trained him before he came to

me, but they’ve done a good job.

One drop of sweat leaves Tom’s brow and drips

between my breasts. Lazily, I scoop it up with my fingertip

and taste it. It’s salty and warm.

“Nice,” I say.

Tom is balanced over me, his weight mainly on one

hand and knee. He wants to ram himself in me, lose himself

in the desire that is fomenting in his brain, but I have other

plans for him. I open my legs wide. My pelvis is heavy and

hot as I strain with anticipation. “Take the head of your cock

and rub it over my clitoris.”

Poor Tom is so desperate, his face is suffused with

sexual frustration, but I enjoy torturing him. Like in his

workout at the gym, he doesn’t bitch or moan that I am too

hard on him, which is just as wel , because whining only

makes me tougher.

I watch as he takes the head of his cock in his hand and

rubs it al over me, to lubricate the head. He stops at the

entrance of my sex and looks me in the eye.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Tom bites his bottom lip in frustration and slides his

cock over my clitoris.

I sigh. Now, he’s doing it right. I know because my

clitoris is swol en and burning and every time his cock rubs

on it, I think I’m going to come. I straighten my legs and arch

my back, reaching down to expose my clit to Tom’s

delicious rubbing. The steel of the Porsche is warm under

my back. I’m enjoying this.

The head of Tom’s cock feels hard and warm. I soon

match his pulsating rhythm until I can’t take it any more. My

whole body is shuddering and I scream out loud. This is the

moment I love when I’m at the peak of an orgasm. I want

Tom’s cock inside me, and I’m sure he wants that too.

I can see the veins of desperation standing out on his

neck, his face is flushed with exertion. I don’t have to say

anything because I suspect the expression on my face

matches Tom’s.

He moves upwards between my legs and pushes his

way inside me. I savor the sensation of his initial entry,

enjoying the size and feel of him. Every nerve ending is

alive and open. I rise to meet his first thrust.

“Al right?” Tom asks.

Of course it is. How could it not be, but I like it that he

asks.

I wrap my legs around his hips in assent, wiggling my

hips so that I can get the point of contact right. I can feel an

orgasm building again in the base of my spine. I dig my

fingernails into Tom’s back. If this is real and it certainly

feels like it is, then Tom wil have my imprint on him

tomorrow.

I love the way he is big, hard and fil s me. Every thrust,

every movement is sending me close to what I need. I

unravel my legs and arch when Tom hits the spot deep

inside of me that feels so good. My orgasm climbs on the

back of the first, more powerful and exciting than before. I’m

gasping for breath as I come. Straining. Thrusting. Every

nerve point tingling.

Tom must be close with me writhing under him. I realize

at this point that I actual y real y like this guy.

I hold him tight to keep the moment, to keep the high, but

he melts through my fingers like a phantasm. I can see

disappointment on his face, which I’m sure is matched by

my own.

“Hey!” I yel . This wasn’t quite the time I planned to make

an exit, but it’s not like I had a say in it. Sure I was having

my share of orgasms, but I was enjoying Tom enough to

care whether he was getting his end off too.

I find myself fal ing. I wave my hands to catch onto

something but there is nothing there but air. Thump! I land

on my bed. I’m breathing hard and looking wildly around

me, but it is hard to see in the darkness. With trembling

fingers, I reach over and turn on my bedside lamp and sit.

I’m in my room. Everything is just as it was. My head is

stil swimming from my breathtaking orgasm. I flop back

onto my pil ows and try to make sense of what just

happened. I reach between my legs and feel my throbbing

sex. This was more than a dream. It just had to be.

The next day at the gym, I go to reception to col ect Tom

for his training session. He greets me with a big smile. “Hi,

Gabby. Good to see you.”

“Hi. How were you feeling after yesterday?” I stop and

stare at him for a moment, trying to work out if he’s thinking

about last night. I want to know if he experienced anything

or if it was just some wacky dream. I certainly haven’t got

over the experience myself. If anything, it real y makes me

want him in the flesh, but I’ve never been interested in

permanent relationships.

“Bit stiff,” Tom says. “I’m sure you’l iron that out.” He

gives me a grin, but doesn’t meet my eyes.

Is he shy? Is that his problem?

I start Tom with some lunges today. I hand him his

weights and show him what I want him to do. I’m waiting for

him to say something, but he doesn’t.

“How was your night, last night?” I ask.

“I picked up my Porsche,” he says as he continues

lunging. I keep my hand on the smal of his back so he

knows how low to go.

“And?” I ask.

“Sensational,” he answers.

I give him a sharp look. Is he teasing me?

For once, I’m interested in talking, but Tom isn’t saying

much other than the occasional grunt of exertion.

I see Pinky standing outside the massage room. Pinky

is beside himself with desperation after I told him my story.

He’s raising his waxed eyebrows and fluttering his fingers

at Tom. Pinky thinks I’ve found a new portal into having

irresponsible sex, which excites him tremendously, seeing

as he never gets any. He’s already asked to borrow my

book, which is a scary thought.

I ignore Pinky and give my attention to Tom. We move

from station to station, and Tom focuses on his exercise.

For once, I want a client to talk to me and he doesn’t, but he

does perform every exercise to perfection. I enjoy watching

him move like a wel -oiled machine. It’s rare for me to get a

perfectly built man.

Was last night a dream? If it was for real, did I real y

have the power to make Tom do what I wanted? Was it the

power of that last orgasm that shook me back to my

bedroom? If I held off my orgasm, would I be able to astral

travel for longer?

I have too many unanswered questions. I bite my lip in

frustration. My nipples are tight and I feel like rubbing them.

I look at my watch. “Time to stretch,” I say. “Lie flat on the

mat.”

Tom looks up at me. “Like your tongue stud,” he says.

I grimace. “My tongue is swol en. I’m out of action.”

I take Tom’s leg in my hands, bend it at the knee and

push it across his body to give his cute butt a stretch. His T-

shirt rides up a little on his back as I push his knee further

towards the floor.

He has fingernail marks on his back.

I run my finger over the mark. It’s an intimate gesture. In

the background, I see Pinky shiver with anticipation. “Big

night, last night?” I ask.

Tom sits up, twists around and stares at the fingernail

marks as if he’s never seen them before. He colors and

can barely look at me.

“I had the weirdest dream. I was polishing my car…” His

voice trails off. He stares at the fingernail marks as if he

can’t believe what he is seeing.

My grin spreads across my face. “Until you got

distracted,” I can’t help adding. This has opened up a world

of possibilities for me.

I see my next client turn up at reception. He’s powerful y

built, dark and brooding looking. I bite my bottom lip.

“Gabby?”

My attention turns back to Tom. “Would you like to go to

that bar you mentioned tonight?”

“Thanks, Tom, but I’m busy tonight,” I say eyeing my next

client, too distracted by the possibilities opening up for me.

“We’l have to go another time.”

The new client is over six foot five, and spectacular. I

can’t wait to get home tonight and try this astral traveling

gig again. No way am I passing on my book to Pinky yet.

I love sex with strangers.

Dark Moon Gathering

ALISON PAIGE

CHAPTER ONE

I SMELLED THE STALE BEER AND

CHOCOLATE CAKE long before the park pavilion

emerged in dark relief from the blue-green shadows that

surrounded it. I raised my muzzle, scenting the air.

Humans; hours ago, their perfumes, their body

secretions, stil lingered on the air, like the first tinge of

meat going bad. They’d left their scent everywhere, like

fingerprints. Not that I minded. I’m human too, most of the

time.

It was late. The park was empty. I padded onward, eager

to finish the game, my paws silent through the short,

manicured grass. The pavilion’s floor was concrete and my

claws tick-tacked as I crossed. My nose led the way to the

cake, fol owing the chocolate-scented footprints to the

garbage can at the far end. There it was, a big slice, icing-

side down, tread marks squishing the corner flat, the whole

of it covered with ants. Gross.

I backed away, running my long tongue around my

muzzle, over my nose, fighting the creepy-crawly feeling

tickling under my fur. A hard snort shook my whole head

and final y blasted my senses clean.

Damn, Mattie Banebridge, you are good. Nearly giddy

with the win I gave a sharp yip of a bark, turned and took a

running leap onto the wooden picnic table. I raised my

head, fil ed my lungs with night air and sent a high, clear

yowl up and out through my throat. The sound pierced the

night, echoing off the wood rafters of the pavilion, filtering

through the surrounding trees, traveling long and wide. The

howl died as my lungs emptied.

God, it felt good, primal, natural. A heavy thud on the

picnic table turned me around.

The large honey-blond wolf was double my weight and

several inches tal er. He moved in near silence. Scary for

something so big and potential y deadly. But he was

beautiful. A soft thick coat smel ed of fresh air, forest and

earth, with the faint hint of men’s cologne underneath. His

eyes were an amazing shade of blue that looked almost

violet in the moonlight. And even in wolf form his lean

muscled body made a girl go warm and wet in al her

special girl places.

He closed the smal distance between us and licked the

side of my face behind my eye to my ear, his tongue barely

rough enough to feel through my fur. I leaned into him,

nuzzling my head under his chin, running my body along his.

As solid as a mountain, he didn’t budge, taking the ful

press of my weight so my fur stroked against him. When I

reached his tail my nose tickled with a familiar scent.

Arousal.

I dropped my snout; a quick peek between his back legs

and my suspicions were confirmed. There, nestled among

al that lush fur, wagged his stiff, glistening, pink penis. I

wasn’t surprised. A late-night run always made me horny as

hel , too. But when I felt the cool wet nudge under my tail

and then the sudden stroke of his tongue over my pussy

and anus, I nearly jumped out of my fur.

Instinct spun me around, teeth bared, a hard snap

clenching my mouth. Anthony yipped and jerked backward

to avoid my bite. Not fast enough. I was spitting fur from my

tongue as he tumbled off the table and landed with a clumsy

grunt on the cement floor. His whole body twisted and spun

to get his feet under him again. And when he stood I

could’ve sworn he was laughing.

I shifted forms, fast and painless. I can shift at a run now,

sensing the second before my hands and feet become

paws so my stride remains unbroken. It had taken practice,

and a lot of tripping ass over head.

Thirty seconds, maybe a minute later, I was sitting on my

hip, my legs curled, my arms locked, bracing me. Anthony

waited until I finished before he shifted and I couldn’t help

watching that pink little penis grow and thicken into a ful y

erect human cock. It made my thighs cream. No matter how

large a guy is, he’s bigger, much bigger, in human form.

And Anthony was scary big as a wolf.

Fur receded as though pul ed beneath tan, taut flesh until

al that remained was a wavy butterscotch mop on his head

that brushed his shoulders and the darker thatch that

encircled his cock. The body of an athlete, long and lean,

broad-shouldered and powerful.

“Not into the fur-on-fur scene, love?” he said the second

he was able.

Anthony Ricci wasn’t British; he was Italian. But

sometimes he slipped into this weird British accent. I don’t

know why—I never asked. Besides, I thought it was kind of

cute, sexy even. Most of the time.

“I don’t screw dogs,” I said, rol ing onto my butt, shifting

m y hands to brace behind me on either side. Anthony

moved toward me, using the picnic table bench to climb on.

He positioned his long, hard body over top of me,

kneeling between my open legs, his hands next to mine, his

bearded, scruffy face inches away. “But pet, you were a

dog.”

I narrowed my eyes, forced a scowl I didn’t feel. “Do you

want to fuck me or poke fun at my hang-ups?”

“Not hang-ups, sweet Mattie. Endearing quirks that

make you even more irresistible.” His gaze dropped to my

mouth and he leaned close like he’d kiss me. But he didn’t.

His warm lips hovered a hairsbreadth from mine, waiting.

Waiting for me to kiss him. It was one of those unspoken

games we played. Who wanted whom more?

Anticipation tightened my nipples, pul ing a light tingle

through my breasts. Muscles in my sex flexed and a hot

rush of liquid flooded between my thighs.

Screw that. I found the cake first. I already won.

“Right.” I sounded almost unaffected. Pretty good,

considering. “Stop trying to charm me and start putting that

thing to good use before you pass out from lack of blood

flow.”

He glanced down his chest to his cock and I snuck a

look. Lord, he was even thicker than he’d been when he’d

shifted. Ropy veins twisted beneath the darker flesh, the fat

head glistening with a smal bead of come at the tip. I licked

my lips on reflex, wanting to be fil ed by him in any way.

When he looked back he must’ve seen the need in my

eyes and his expression heated to match. His lids sank low

over those violet eyes, and his voice came deeper,

resonating through my body like the strike of the lowest key

on a piano, echoing forever inside me. “Winner’s choice.

How do you want me?”

My breath shuddered. I couldn’t help it. Every muscle in

my body tightened, heat thrumming through my veins and

pooling wet and wanting between my thighs. “I wanna ride

you.”

One brow lifted, a crooked smile slanting his mouth.

“And so you shal , love.”

He shifted backward and sat, swinging his feet to the

bench below, knees spread, cock thick and stiff like the

pole of a carousel horse between his muscled thighs. He

held out a hand to me. “Al aboard.”

My hand in his, I found the bench with my feet and stood.

My legs trembled as I shifted around him and placed a foot

on the outside of his. He was watching me, our gazes

locked, as I straddled him, my hands on his shoulders,

fingers squeezing those hard round muscles beneath hot

flesh.

His grip tightened on my hips, tugged lightly at my body,

encouraging me to lower myself onto his shaft. I resisted.

Winner’s choice. His face was chest level—perfect—and I

arched my back, offering my breast to his mouth. He

dropped his gaze and seemed only then to realize the treat

at his lips. His mouth opened, eyes fluttering closed as

though the taste and feel of me on his tongue was

something to savor.

Hands slipped from my hips to the rounds of my ass;

fingers squeezed, pul ing me toward him until the damp

hairs at my sex crushed against his chest. I knew he must

feel my wetness on his skin. With my knees spread wide to

accommodate his large lap, my pussy was open against

him.

The low moan that vibrated through his chest rumbled

into my groin, humming over my clit, and sent a quick shiver

of delight racing through my veins. He suckled harder,

tongue flicking over the sensitive nipple, teeth nipping and

tugging, making my breath catch and my sex ache for the

same attention. He released me and shifted to my other

breast, lavishing it with the heat and suction of his mouth.

I couldn’t breathe, muscles squeezing throughout my

body, tensing, wanting more. I sank my hand into his thick

wealth of hair, fisted, letting the beast in me rise, rough and

ready. A gentle tug and my breast fel from his lips, the night

air tingling an erotic chil over the tight, moistened flesh. His

gaze slid up to mine and I pul ed harder on his hair, not to

hurt—much—but to bend his neck back so his lips rose to

mine.

What he’d done to my breast he now did to my mouth,

suckling my tongue, my lips, exploring my mouth with his.

My body lowered, and somewhere in the far recesses of my

mind I knew my brain must’ve given permission, though I

couldn’t think past the feel of him. The taut skin of his chest

smoothed along the folds of my pussy, warm and hard. His

hands wrapped around the back of my thighs, cupping my

ass and guiding my body onto his.

Fat and round, velvet flesh over marble, his cock

pressed into me, stretching me so I had to close my eyes,

relax, to take him in. He was too big and just right al at

once. The muscles inside me cleaved to him, fluttered as

he pressed in, deeper and deeper. Pressure built as he

fil ed me, tingling, electric sensation dancing through my

body, humming over my skin. I had to hold my breath to

withstand the barrage on my senses. I opened my legs

wider, lowered my body, sent him deeper—and there was

stil more of him to come.

Even before my thighs pressed flat against his and his

cock seemed to fil me up through to my chest, I knew he’d

ruined me for lesser men. I didn’t care; my flesh hugged

around him, milking his cock, coaxing it to harden and swel

further. This wasn’t our first time, but his size made each

encounter a delicious mix of pain and pleasure.

“You good?” he asked, breathless.

I swal owed and gave a weak nod. Then he lifted me,

using my body to stroke his shaft and his shaft to send

pleasure rippling through my body. Muscles snapped tight,

tensing my legs, wanting more, wanting speed, needing

friction. My fingers clenched on his shoulders, skin catching

under my nails. I raised myself to the very tip of his cock

then slammed down, impaling myself to his hilt.

Air whooshed out of me and I gasped for more, rising up

to do it al again, and again. A fast rhythm set in, my hips

rocking, his fingers gripping tight on the back of my thighs.

Sensation swirled through me like a glittering river behind

my eyes, tingling through my veins, sizzling over every nerve

ending. Faster, deeper, harder—the pressure swel ed,

pushing up from my bel y, squeezing through my chest, thick

and tempting in my throat. Right there. Almost. A promise

of ecstasy I couldn’t resist a moment longer.

Like a swol en river overflowing its banks, sensation

crested then gushed, liquid hot, from my head, down my

neck and chest, shuddering through my bel y and legs and

out my toes. My release quaked through every muscle, my

sex pulsating around his cock until the stimulation grew too

much for him to deny.

“Fuck…Mattie…yessss…” A burst of frantic thrusts sent

my body cascading over into another release with Anthony

trailing close behind.

I col apsed boneless against him, satiated. My breathing

slowed, found a natural rhythm with the gal oping beat of my

heart. I rested my cheek on his shoulder and sighed.

“Ready to go again?”

I wasn’t; I just liked freakin’ him out. Imagine my surprise

when he tensed beneath me and his cock stirred between

my wal s.

“Gimme a minute,” he said low and breathy.

When I lifted my head to look at him, a set of bright,

blinding lights glared in my eyes then traveled the edge of

the pavilion and stopped. Headlights.

Public

nudity.

Lewd

and

lascivious

behavior.

Trespassing. And those were just the charges I could think

of off the top of my head.

“Park security.” I didn’t bother to wait to see if I was right

about the car idling in the parking lot above the pavilion.

Adrenaline surged through my tired, aching limbs and I

jumped to my feet. Two strides had me across the picnic

table. I jumped, shifting before my feet hit concrete.

“Hey! Hold it! What is that?” Flashlights swept over me

before I swerved and they lost me to the shadows.

“Al ’s I’m sayin’ is, if you don’t choose a mate by the end

of the Gathering this weekend, they’l choose one for you,”

my mom said while she screwed the metal lid back on the

sugar dispenser. I could see her slide it across the counter

to the herd of fil ed jars from the corner of my eye. She

reached for one of the empty containers and started the

process al over again.

Two-thirty at the Banebridge Pop & Pup Diner was

always slow. I loved the place, but after my dad was shot

and kil ed three years ago by a farmer for poaching his

sheep—he wasn’t—so much about the diner had changed.

Nothing you could see though.

“They can choose al they want. Doesn’t mean I’l take

some wolf I hardly know as my mate. No matter what those

animals think, we’re not living in the dark ages.” I shoved a

stack of paper napkins into the spring-loaded dispenser

and got my finger pinched in it—again.

“Mattie, honey, you’re in for a rude awakening. Most

werewolf males aren’t like your father.” She loaded the fil ed

sugar dispensers onto a plastic tray and walked around the

counter to grab it from the other side. “Sometimes I think it

was a mistake raising you the way we did, treating you the

same as we did Donny.”

My brother Donny, the pup in “Pop & Pup,” firstborn and

only male, apple of my parents’ eyes and dead at twenty-

seven. T-boned by a driver who tried to make a yel ow light.

Stupid.

“Too late now,” I said. “I love ya, Mom, but I am who I am.

I won’t be some cocky alpha’s subservient female. I can’t. I

don’t care what they think. That’s why I stopped going to the

Gatherings. It’s also why I’m not going this year.”

Mom’s whole body froze midstretch across a table,

sugar dispenser in hand. “What do you mean you’re not

going?” She straightened with a leashed hel fire look. “The

Gathering’s the only time of year we’re al together. Packs

are coming from al over. There’l be food and games. You’l

be able to visit with friends and family you haven’t seen in

years.”

“It’s a meat market, Mom.” I scooped the metal napkin

holders into my arms and walked through the tables

depositing them. “And this year wil be worse than ever

since I’m the meat du jour. Everyone knows I have to

choose a mate or risk the pack being split by lesser

males.”

She smiled, al caring and momlike. “Wel , honey, you’re

a beautiful girl. Any man would feel lucky to have you. And

you’re the highest-ranking member of a fairly large pack. A

pack, thanks to Daddy, that’s financial y secure.”

“Rich, you mean.”

“Yes. The point is we’ve got no males old enough or

strong enough to take over as alpha and none of the

females outrank you.”

“They’ve never tried.” Being the daughter of the

strongest male and female made chal enges for my

position rare. But like any healthy wolf I was always up for a

good fight.

“That’s beside the point. Since Donny passed away the

pack fal s to you and, as much as you might like to wish

otherwise, a woman cannot hold a pack on her own. You

must take a mate or one wil take you, and the rest of us

with you. Heaven help us if a Purist sets his sights on you.”

My stomach knotted at the thought. My dad was a

modern werewolf, believing in women’s rights, partnership

with his mate and a kind of democracy within the pack.

Purists believed wolves like my dad would destroy our

species by al owing women too free a hand and slowing

down birth rates by giving them a choice in the matter. To

cal them chauvinists would be an insult to chauvinists.

“I won’t let that happen, Mom,” I said, looking her in the

eye. “Promise.”

She smiled, but her lips trembled trying to hold it. She

was scared and that scared me. I turned away, pretending

that placing napkin dispensers required my ful attention.

Mom had good reason to be scared. Wolves mate for

life. But Purists chose to forgo the pesky limitations of a life

mate and enforced pack polygamy. One of the first things a

Purist would do, after fucking me, was stake his claim on

every female in the pack, married or not—including my

mother. To a Purist every pack member belonged to him

and should carry his scent. He’d screw al the females and

banish any males he saw as a threat.

Some women chose that lifestyle—at least that’s what

they’d say if you asked. But usual y they were seduced into

it. They actual y believed the guy when he told them they

were special. Never mind that the Purist male says that to

al the females in his pack. By the time they figure out the

lie, it’s too late.

“I’m nobody’s possession and I’m certainly not gul ible

enough to believe a Purist’s line of bul ,” I said. “No guy’s

that good-looking or charming.”

The cowbel over the front door rang and Mom and I both

looked. But I could already smel it was Anthony. The scent

of fresh air, forest and wild hay swirled through the diner

before him like an outstretched hand. My heart skipped, my

body warmed with memories of last night and so many

other nights we’d spent together over the past six months.

“Hel o, Mattie.” His voice vibrated through my chest and

straight on down to lower regions that went al warm and

moist at the sound.

Okay. Problem. I’d accidental y on purpose forgotten to

mention to Mom that I’d been seeing Anthony since the day

after Donny’s funeral. Why? Two reasons. One, I was

worried she’d remember him, go ape-shit, and forbid me to

see him. And two, I was afraid he’d charm her into not

remembering him, go ape-shit, and nag me to marry him.

You see? A no-win situation. Trust me.

So I played dumb. “Hi. Welcome to Banebridge Pop &

Pup Diner. Have a seat anywhere and I’l be right with you.”

He opened his mouth like he’d say something, but read

my narrow-eyed expression and changed his mind. Good

boy. He went to the side wal lined with tal windows and red

cushioned booths without a word and slid into the fourth

booth from the front.

I put the last napkin holder on the counter and noticed

Mom waving at me like she was landing a plane. I went the

long way around so I could pass near to her. “What?”

“You know him? Smel s familiar.”

I glanced at Anthony sitting with his back to us and

shook my head. But it was hard lying to the woman who

taught me how to sneak tampons into the bathroom so the

sixth grade boys wouldn’t know. “I, ah, I don’t know. Maybe.”

“I think he’s alpha. Cute, too.” Her brows sprang up to

her hairline and her voice slid higher at the end like she

was asking a question.

I flicked my gaze back to him. “Cute’s the last thing on

my list for potential mates,” I said and turned the bend at the

end of the counter. Okay, maybe not the last thing, but when

it came to Anthony Ricci, cute was about the only thing on

my list he matched.

I couldn’t help a quick glance in the mirror that covered

the top half of the back wal . I was a woman after al and

checking hair and makeup before speaking to a good-

looking man was like breathing.

I’d forgotten I’d pul ed my hair into a ponytail and cringed

when I saw the look of an athletic twelve-year-old staring

back at me. For half a heartbeat I considered yanking the

elastic band out and letting my hair fal loose past my

shoulders. But health codes and the fact he’d already seen

me this way changed my mind. Instead, I pul ed a few more

of the lighter blond strands loose from my ponytail of

caramel hair, and smoothed them in thin lines to frame my

face. At least this way it looked like a style rather than the

result of a bad scare.

Makeup? Wasn’t wearing any. One less thing to worry

about. Besides, Mom always said I had a soap-and-water

beauty that didn’t need makeup to enhance my brown eyes

and thick lashes. I loved my mom.

I tugged my apron smooth over my pink T-shirt and blue

jeans, turned from the mirror and walked quickly behind the

counter to the other end. I grabbed the order pad I’d left

next to the register and crossed the diner to our one and

only customer.

“Hi,” I said, resting my weight on one hip, pad and pen at

the ready. “What can I get for ya?”

“Uh…” He laughed, confused, his brows knitting over his

eyes. He glanced at my mom, then back to me. “Wel , I

dunno. What’ve you got for a bruised ego?”

“Tea?” I said. But with my eyes I was screaming, Keep

your mouth shut ya big dope. My mom will have you

kicked to the curb or married to me in three seconds flat if

she finds out we’re sleeping together. Run away, run away!

I don’t think he caught al of it though.

His shoulders shook with another laugh, his smile

crinkling the corners of his eyes and pul ing sexy little

dimples in both his cheeks. “What’s going on, Mattie? You

look like someone’s got a gun to your head. I wanted to ask

you something last night but—”

“What’s that? The specials?” I said to stop him. “Ah,

yeah. Tomato soup and gril ed cheese. Can I get you a

plate?” My face was so tense from the huge fake grin the

muscles were already aching.

“Uh, no.” He shifted in his seat, angling his body to rest

his elbow on the cushioned bench back. “Jeezus, Mattie,

relax. I haven’t seen you this uptight since we were kids and

I sat on your back, pul ing your ponytail until you promised to

be one of my females.”

“Anthony Ricci?” Mom asked. She used that motherly

voice that said I know you’re bad news, but saying so will

only make my daughter want to date you, and closed the

distance from the back of the diner to his booth. “Anthony.

That is you. Haven’t seen you since the funeral. I can’t

remember if I thanked you and your parents for coming. Are

they wel ?”

Crap. Al the tense effort I’d been using to communicate

with Anthony telepathical y drained from my body and made

me feel like a deflated bal oon. The jig was up. Mom

remembered him. Worse, she remembered his family.

Anthony was her biggest fear realized. Eldest son of

Richard Ricci, alpha of the Ricci pack, Anthony stood to

take over. If he hadn’t already; I’d never bothered to ask.

One of my brother’s friends, he’d been an arrogant little

jerk when we were kids. He was four years older than me,

and had strutted around with a gaggle of hormone-crazed

girls fol owing behind ready to mount him if the mood

struck.

Not that he didn’t get my juices churning too—obviously.

He was handsome, sexy in a way I found weirdly hard to

ignore. Power swirled around him, clung to him like armor,

and he carried it wel , like a second skin.

“Hel o, Mrs. Banebridge. Yes, ma’am,” he replied in that

guy voice that said I’m too charming for you to be wise to

my guy ways. Nobody was fooling anybody. “My parents

wil be at the Gathering. I, ah, stopped by to see if you and

Mattie wil be there this year.”

I’d sooner chew off my foot than marry Anthony. Richard

Ricci was a Purist and last I’d heard or seen, Anthony was

his father’s son.

Mom sniffed, loading volumes of mistrust and

Mom sniffed, loading volumes of mistrust and

disapproval into the smal sound. Stil , she smiled. Total y

fake. “Wel , of course. Mattie has…responsibilities there

this year.”

Anthony blinked, al signs of his good humor vanishing.

“It’s been six months since Donny was kil ed. Mattie’s time

of mourning has passed. She needs to choose a mate or

someone’s bound to chal enge her hold on your pack

soon.”

“I’m wel aware of our customs, Anthony—”

“No one’s going to chal enge my hold,” I said before my

mother blurted something she’d worry over for the next

week. “I’l choose a mate by the lunar eclipse, on the last

night of the Gathering.”

Anthony’s smile made a grand return. “I was hoping

you’d say that. Have dinner with me. Tonight.”

I almost laughed, but that would’ve been rude. “Why?”

“Because I want you to choose me to be your mate.”

Aw, hel . I laughed. Loud. Couldn’t help it.

CHAPTER TWO

“IF YOU’RE NOT EVEN CONSIDERING ME

AS YOUR mate, why’d you come on this date?” He

actual y sounded upset.

“What date? This is eating together. Wait. You were

serious?” Anthony and I were screwing, not dating. There

was a difference.

“Yes, I’m serious.” He dropped his fork so it clanked

against the porcelain plate and yanked the cloth napkin

from his lap. A quick swipe across his mouth and he bal ed

it into his fist. “Dammit, Mattie. We’d be perfect together.”

I didn’t laugh this time. But it wasn’t easy. “Ya think?

Why’s that?”

“You mean aside from the last six months we’ve spent in

sexual bliss?”

“Sex being the operative word. Sex is sex. Don’t read

more into it than there is,” I said around the wad of

spaghetti in my mouth. What more proof did he need that

this wasn’t a date? I was actual y eating.

“Sex is never just sex. We’re compatible. We fit.”

I set my fork on the edge of my plate and daintily wiped

the corners of my mouth. “Anthony, is your pack stil

Purists?”

“Yeah.”

“We don’t fit.”

“This isn’t about my father’s pack. This is about us. What

we can build together.” He reached across the table and

took my hand. My bel y fluttered at his touch, warm and

strong. Damn. “I want to start fresh with you, Mattie. I want

to take care of you and your pack.”

I took my hand back. “I don’t need to be taken care of.

And my pack’s fine the way it is.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard you say since we

were kids.” His voice held that same twang of

condescension that used to make my fur bristle.

“Wel , hey, with sweet talk like that how can a girl

refuse?”

“I didn’t say you were dumb, I just meant… Hell. Never

mind. Listen, I’m asking here, but we both know it’s just

pretense. If I real y wanted…” He let the sentence die

unfinished.

unfinished.

Smart boy. “I know our laws. I don’t need you to tel me

that as a woman I don’t count for crap in our world. One of

the most important things my dad wanted to accomplish

was establishing more rights for women. And his biggest

detractor was your father.”

“Leadership of a pack requires strength. Physical

strength. That’s a fact.” He gripped both sides of the table.

His knuckles whitened and his jaw looked stiff.

“It takes strength because so many of you men behave

like animals.” I lowered my voice and leaned in. “We’re only

half beast. Forcing a woman into a marriage she doesn’t

want is barbaric.”

“It’s your position, your rank in your pack, that’s forcing

the issue. Otherwise you could marry who and when you

like.”

“Not according to your father,” I said, my tone growing

more heated by the second. “If I was in his pack I’d already

be able to answer the boxers or briefs question. Hel , I’d

have my own set of sheets in his closet. A man like your

father would dominate me and al the women of my pack.

We’d be his possessions, with no rights, no voice. I couldn’t

live like that. I won’t.”

“Right. Which is exactly why I’m here. You think I’d go

through al of this if I was anything like my father? There’d

be no debates—I’d just tel you whatever I had to to get

what I wanted. You wouldn’t know what hit you. Jeezus,

Mattie, you’re like a dog with a bone.”

A half beat of silence passed while his last statement

sunk in.

sunk in.

“Cute.” I had to fight the sudden smile tugging the

corners of my mouth.

“Sorry. Bad choice of words.” His cheeks twitched as

though he was fighting the same urge, but he kept control.

I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms over my

bel y. “So, what, you’re not a Purist anymore?”

“Never was,” he said, mirroring my pose.

“Bul . You think I don’t remember ‘your girls’ when we

were kids? There were what, around five of them you were

sleeping with at once? Like father like son.”

“Jealous?”

“No.” Yes. But that wasn’t the point.

“C’mon, Mattie. I was a teenage boy and they al wanted

to be an alpha’s mate. Your brother wasn’t exactly

monogamous either, but you know he believed in your

father’s views. Donny was a big influence on me. So was

your dad. He was more of a father to me than my own.”

“Yeah, my dad liked a lot of people. Didn’t mean he

wanted them marrying his daughter. Besides, you never

had my mom fooled. She’s always hated you.” It was too

hard not to smile when I said that.

“The only reason your mom never liked me was—”

“She stil doesn’t, ya know. Just sayin’.”

“Was because she knew, despite al the girls I had to

choose from, the only one I wanted was you. And just like

you, she couldn’t trust that I wasn’t my father’s son.”

“Oh.” It took me a second to process that. “Me? You

never—”

Anthony leaned forward and caught my gaze. His voice

came smooth and rich like thick, melted chocolate. “I’m not

a kid anymore, Mattie. I don’t want to play games. I know

what I want. Give me a chance.”

My heart skipped a beat, and a warm tingle raced down

my spine. Every instinct inside me told me he was

speaking the truth, or he thought he was. But I’d never

considered Anthony as a possible mate. His Purist

upbringing had kept him firmly in the no friggin’ way

category. But now…?

“Excuse me.” I pushed to my feet, tossed my napkin on

the table and grabbed my tiny clutch purse.

Anthony blinked, brows tight above violet eyes. “Wha—

where’re you going?”

“To the ladies’ room,” I said as though I wasn’t real y just

escaping an uncomfortable situation. “Do you mind?”

“Oh.” He glanced toward the restrooms and back. “But

you haven’t answered my question.”

“I’l be right back, Anthony. Sheesh.” I shook my head

and made a beeline for the restroom.

Thank goodness the long, narrow room was empty. I

tossed my clutch purse on the sink counter and paced.

“Shoot, shoot, shoot.” My voiced echoed off the tile wal s.

Bad enough I was reduced to talking to myself but now I

was doing it in stereo.

“Okay, pros—He’s an alpha. Check. He’s sexy as hel .

That’s always nice. He’s amazing in bed. A must—natural y.

He makes me laugh and listens to me, asks my opinions

and takes my advice…sometimes.”

I stopped and closed my eyes, resting my head against

the cool tiled wal . He had a lot of great attributes for a

mate. But he was raised Purist and could a person real y

turn their back on their upbringing? In a moment of crisis

how could I ever be sure he wouldn’t fal back on old

habits?

“Wow, this place is huge.”

I think I screamed. Anthony’s very male, very loud voice

startled the breath out of me. “What’re you doing in here?”

He strode past me to the far end of the restroom,

checking out the stal s and then pausing at the tampon

dispenser on his way back.

“Hel-loo?” I said when he seemed to be enjoying the tour

a little too much.

“What do you need a room this big for?”

“Anthony.”

His gaze snapped to mine, suddenly serious. “I figured

you were in here doing one of your pros and cons lists. I’m

looking to sway the tal y.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

He grabbed my hand and turned, leading me back to the

last stal with the handicapped plaque on the door. He

twisted the little silver lock behind us and backed me to the

wal .

“If anyone comes in…We’l get thrown out if they catch

us,” I said even as he unbuttoned my blouse and slipped his

hand in to caress my breast. My breath shuddered with the

delicious warmth and pressure.

“Then you’d better not scream this time.” His free hand

brushed the long strands of my hair from my neck and he

leaned in to press his lips to my col arbone.

“I don’t scream.” But I did moan at the featherlight kiss

and the sharp nip that fol owed.

I bent my knee between his legs and he rocked his hips

forward, stroking the hard line of his sex against my thigh.

My hand slipped between us; I couldn’t help it. I wanted that

thick, long shaft in my palm. I wanted to wrap my fingers

around it, feel its length, its hardness. But his dark slacks

al owed only a muted experience.

He had my blouse unbuttoned to my skirt in seconds and

pushed the col ar off my shoulders. It caught at my elbows

but he’d already moved on, scooping my breasts from the

cups of my bra. The cool air-conditioning chil ed my skin,

pul ed my nipples tighter. His thumb brushed over one and

then the other, sending quick jolts of pleasure through my

body. He pinched and rol ed the hard nubs between his

fingers, and my breath caught; a sweet pinch of pain in a

wake of tingling pleasure that fil ed my breasts.

Heat swel ed inside, blossoming out from the center of

my being, flooding my veins, sizzling through my sex,

making me wet and ready. His head dropped to suckle me,

his strong mouth drawing on my breast, teeth nipping,

tongue teasing over the tight puckered flesh. My back

arched, offering more of myself as I worked his belt and

zipper.

Were we real y going to do this? The thril of possible

discovery raced through my blood, made my heart beat

faster, my skin tingle. Lord, I hoped no one came in…and I

wished someone would.

With his cock free, thick and heavy in my hand, I stroked

the length of him, a bead of pre-come wetting my palm. His

breaths were quick and shal ow and his body a solid mass

of tense muscle, his kisses near frantic with need. The risks

of our erotic tryst vibrated through every inch of his body,

charged the air between us.

He hiked my skirt to my waist and took my smal panties

in both hands. A quick tug and I felt them loosen, another

and they dropped to the floor. I opened my legs as wide as I

could and he lifted me, using the wal behind me as

leverage. The smooth hot tip of his cock pressed between

the slick lips of my sex and—

“Umm, are you okay in there?” someone asked outside

the stal .

We froze, his cock stretching the entrance to my body,

making the muscles of my sex flex, trying to pul him

deeper. “Uh…uh-huh,” I said.

I bit my bottom lip to stop a moan when Anthony

suddenly let gravity impale my body with his. He fil ed me

fast, too fast, shooting a searing mix of pain and pleasure

through my body. My lungs squeezed, my breath caught. He

froze again, buried bal s deep inside me.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, breathless, trying not to move,

his lips brushing my ear. He held his body so stil and tense

my fingers couldn’t dent the flesh across his shoulders. “I’m

sorry, sweetheart. I had to be inside you. I’m so sorry.”

I squirmed on his cock, my pussy adjusting, flooding with

cream, muscles flexing. I couldn’t take it. I turned my head

and bit his ear. “Fuck me, already.”

And he did.

He rocked his hips, pounding sensation through my sex,

electrifying my skin so every part of me hummed with the

feel of him driving in and out of my body. Sweet friction built

the pressure, coiling my muscles, tightening through my

chest. My fingers fisted his hair, his face buried in the crook

of my neck.

Someone turned on the water and someone else flushed

a toilet. The room roared with sound but nothing could

drown out our howling cries of release.

Seconds later when our passion was spent and blood

flow returned to our brains, a palpable silence fil ed the

restroom. Then someone crumpled a paper towel and a

woman’s heels clicked-clacked across the tile floor. The

door out to the restaurant opened and swung slowly closed.

“Let’s pay the check then get out of here,” I said. “And,

ya know, never come back.”

“Right.” He put me on my feet and we dressed like

frantic teenagers whose parents had just pul ed into the

driveway.

I grabbed my ruined panties and opened the stal door.

A quick peek to make sure the coast was clear and I

tiptoed over to the sink to where I’d left my purse.

“Mattie?”

I turned in time to see him tuck in the last of his shirt.

“Yeah?”

“How’s that pros and cons tal y going?”

I sighed. He looked so hopeful, his shirt wrinkled, hair

mussed. He’d tried so hard and wel , hel , I liked him. I

winked and let my smile have its way. “Heavy on the pros

side, love. Definitely heavy on the pros.”

CHAPTER THREE

“SO YOU AND ANTHONY A THING NOW?”

BRAD asked, his arm loose around Amy’s shoulders.

Friends of both my brother and Anthony, they were part of

the older crowd I’d shadowed as a kid. I had to admit, I got

a stupid kind of thril being part of their group now.

“We’re, uh, exploring our options,” I said, feeling like the

new girl on a date with the star quarterback.

The group dynamics had changed over the past ten

years since I’d last seen them. Brad and Amy were mates; I

could see it in the way they touched each other, always

some part of their body in contact with the other whenever

possible. But more than that, I could smel it. A melding of

individual scents to create something new and unique to

the couple by the simple act of accepting the other as mate.

Werewolves didn’t need a formal ceremony or even a

verbal declaration. It just happened. Life mates.

Brad chuckled and tipped his chin toward the other side

of the clearing. “Yeah. Looks like Anthony’s exploring a few

options on his own.”

I looked over my shoulder. The Gathering took place

every year in a thousand-acre animal reserve in rural south

western Pennsylvania owned by the were wolf council. After

more than fifty years of Gatherings the forest had

succumbed to our needs and now trees refused to grow in

the footbal -sized field we used to set up fire circles, food

tents and run carnival type games for the kids.

My eyes found Anthony after a quick scan through the

three hundred or so faces dotting the field. My stomach

rol ed then twisted tight.

“I don’t know how you girls do it,” Amy said. “I couldn’t

share Brad with anyone. It seems so, I dunno…unnatural.

Oh. Not that I’m prejudiced or anything. I mean, if that’s what

makes you happy. Some people are just…different. Right?”

I nodded, stil watching the three nymphets clustered

around Anthony. They were pretty, al of them—long-haired

with bright eyes and tight, shapely bodies. They laughed

when he spoke, pressing against him, touching him.

Though Anthony’s hands stayed firmly in the front pockets

of his jeans.

“The way your dad felt about giving everyone a voice—

women same as men—never pegged you for a future

Purist when we were kids,” Brad said.

“I’m not.” I was mad, upset, and when I’m upset I get

blunt. “Anthony and I are fucking. That’s it. Obviously, our

lifestyle choices make anything more than that impossible.”

“That’s a relief.” Amy sighed. “I love Anthony to death,

but for years his father’s been pushing him to seduce

females who have either money or power, or both.”

“He’s damn good at it too,” Brad said. “The guy’s either

a wild man in the sack or he’s hung like a friggin’ donkey.” I

knew the answer to that. I kept it to myself.

Brad traced a finger down the arm Amy had nestled

against his side. I don’t think he realized he was doing it. I

looked away. I hated being jealous, but I was.

“Actual y, I’m a little disappointed in Anthony. I thought

he’d stand up to his father. But those women al think he’l

choose one as his life mate and he has yet to do it.” Amy

pointed to the brunette on Anthony’s left. “Candice was so

sure he’d choose her, her body started producing mating

pheromones. Now her offer’s kind of…out there, waiting for

him to make a decision. Bet it’s the same for the others.

Once their body starts the process they can’t turn it off until

he commits to someone.”

“And if he doesn’t commit he gets them al for as long as

he wants,” I said, glancing back at Anthony.

“I’l admit,” Brad said, “if I didn’t know better I’d say he

final y caved to his dad and started col ecting women for a

new Purist pack.”

“You sure he hasn’t?” I said. A chil iced down my spine.

Was I supposed to be the newest member? A sixteen-

member pack had a lot of power and it’d go to whoever I

chose as my mate. Even if Anthony never committed to me

he’d stil have the benefits that came with my choosing him.

Brad scoffed and shook his head. “I don’t buy it. He’s

never been into the Purist scene the way his dad and the

others are. You ask me, I think he’s been holding out for

someone special his whole life.”

Amy turned soft, romantic eyes to her mate. “Aww, that’s

so sweet.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” Their sappy lovey-dovey crap made

me il . My foul mood might’ve had something to do with it,

too. Hard to say.

“It’s not fair these stupid mating pheromones don’t work

the other way.” I could feel my scowl narrowing my eyes. “A

man’s mating pheromones can overpower a woman’s. He

can force her to be his mate, but not the other way around.

Unfair!”

“Yeah,” Amy said. “That, periods, bloating and PMS,

total y unfair. What else is new?”

At least he couldn’t force me into a Purist pack.

Committing to me would free the other women to rescind

their offers. Bye-bye harem. But how close had I come to

choosing him? I would’ve been trapped just like those girls

fawning over him must be. My stomach roiled. I couldn’t

keep thinking about it.

“You’re Mattie, right?” I turned at the sound of a

masculine voice behind me and almost strained my neck.

“Yeah. I’m sorry, do I know you?” The guy was seven feet

if he was an inch, lanky but toned. He was cute though, with

long sun-bleached hair, spiky ends brushing the tops of his

shoulders, and skin bronzed so perfectly he looked like

he’d been dipped. He reminded me of an ad for sunless

tanner.

“Awe-some,” he said, very surfer dude. “Name’s Brodi.

This here’s my bud, Samson. Word is you’re lookin’ for a

mate. Like fast, right? Wel , uh, me and Samson might be

able to help you out.” He shrugged. “You know, if you’re

wil in’ to make a couple…al owances. Right?”

I shifted my gaze to Samson. The anti-Brodi. He couldn’t

have been more than an inch tal er than me. The top of his

neat, dirt-brown hair barely reached Brodi’s shoulder. With

paler skin, a heavier build and a freckled face, Samson’s

dark brown eyes said timid, beta, whereas Brodi oozed

alpha male.

Samson slipped his hand into Bodi’s larger, long-

fingered grip and dropped his gaze under my more

dominant stare. He tucked his free hand under his arm,

hugging himself and shifted his weight to lean into Brodi.

Suddenly Samson’s body language wasn’t saying beta as

much as it was screaming I bat for the home team.

They weren’t the first today to throw their hats into my

ring, so to speak, but they were definitely the most

interesting. I struggled not to let my smile grow too wide, not

to let the crazy laughter tickling up my throat color my voice.

“Thanks for the offer, but—”

“She’s taken.”

The group of us turned to see Anthony striding toward

us, butterscotch hair waving over his shoulders, thick arms

pumping at his sides. His blue silk shirt gave his eyes an

unearthly luster that I noticed even at a distance and clung

to his chest and arms so every rol of muscle made my

heart race. The crazy desperation I’d felt swamping me a

moment ago vanished. Lord, what he did to me.

“Am not,” I said. Yeah. Clever. That’s me.

Anthony’s hypnotic violet eyes shifted to Brad and Amy.

“Guys. Thanks for entertaining my future wife. You won’t

mind if I steal her away.”

Reaching out he snagged my hand as he passed, not

even breaking his stride. Like a boat on water my body

turned and fol owed, my brain too stunned to protest. We

needed to talk anyway, to end what was going on between

us before it went too far and I stupidly found myself joining

his stable of women. But the power that swirled around him,

the warmth and strength of his hand, the confidence in his

stride, it was al too intoxicating. Damn, I was sunk.

Twenty feet beyond the tree line into the forest Anthony

spun me around, pinning me against the fat trunk of an oak.

His face nestled against my neck, warm breath and hot

kisses snaking ribbons of heat along my skin that pooled

fast between my thighs. “Drives me crazy to see al these

other guys sniffing around you.”

He pressed his body against mine, sealing us from

chest to groin so I knew exactly how happy he was to be

alone with me. “And yet you managed to contain your

mental distress long enough to tighten the leashes you’ve

got on your current pussy supply.”

He raised his head, the upper part of his body

separating from mine, and looked me straight in the eye. “I

didn’t ask those girls to offer to be my mate. I don’t even

know why they did. I’m not gonna be mean, though. What

am I supposed to do, commit just because they offered?

Doesn’t it matter what I want?”

“What you want?”

“Yeah. Don’t I get a say in who I spend the rest of my life

with?”

Wow, that sounded familiar. “You didn’t seduce them,

make them think you were interested in life mates?”

His brows lifted, a dimpled smile tugging his cheeks. He

chuckled, looked away and back again, a bad-boy glint in

his violet eyes. “Yeah, I seduced them. I like to fuck. But I

never offered to be life mate to any of them.”

“Right.” God, I wanted to believe him, but everything I

knew about Purists told me he was lying. He had to be. It

was what they did.

The lines across his forehead deepened, tightening his

brows and turning his smile serious. “You’re the only one,

Mattie. Ever. If they sensed I wanted a life mate then they

sensed my feelings for you.”

He pinched my chin between his thumb and forefinger

and brought my mouth to his. I let him. Even as our lips

touched and he coaxed mine to part, somewhere in the

back of my brain I knew dictionaries were quickly switching

the picture next to the word chump with mine. But I couldn’t

care.

He just smel ed so damn good, like fields of sweet hay

after a spring rain and musky human male. I was swamped

by the scent of him; every breath took him deep inside me,

flavored my tongue, made it hard to think. My heart raced,

hot blood flooding my nerves, tingling through my senses.

He rocked his hips, reminding me his hard cock was thick

and ready, pressing against my bel y. It’d take zero

convincing to have him naked inside me. And I wanted him

inside me, fil ing me, making my body melt and my sex

muscles spasm. The very thought of it made me wet.

Crap! I turned my head, breaking the kiss and gulping air

while I could. “Anthony, stop. I have to think of my pack. It’s

over. You’re not right for me. I have to choose someone

else.”

His hand slipped between my legs, stroked the curve of

my pussy through my shorts. “Bul shit. No one else gets you

this hot, Mattie. Admit it.”

“You don’t know that.” Never mind that it was true.

Something about him seemed to trigger instincts in me I

had to fight hard to ignore. Saying no had never been so

hard.

“It’s the same for me,” he said. “We’re meant for each

other. Our bodies recognize it.” His hand stroked between

my legs. I wanted to push it away. Or at least I wanted to

want to push his hand away.

“Anthony, I—” A low growl and then a rustle of leaves off

to my right drew our attention.

A flash of fur, a flicker of flesh, it was hard to see clearly

through the bushes and leaves. A tail swooshed,

hindquarters pumping fast, a woman moaned and an

hindquarters pumping fast, a woman moaned and an

instant before my mind puzzled out the pieces, the image

changed. Fur vanished, replaced by the taut, hard ass of a

man thrusting deep behind the plump bottom of a woman

on al fours. A heartbeat later the rhythmic, frantic sounds of

flesh smacking flesh left no doubt.

“Oh.” I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. Anthony’s

fingers rubbed along the lips of my pussy through my

shorts, his scent fil ed me, his body pressed warm and hard

against mine. It was too much to refuse. I let my legs relax,

al owing the caress. It felt too good.

“She’s going to come any minute. So is he. Do you smel

it?” Anthony turned his face into my neck again and

mumbled, “I can feel you want it too, Mattie. Let me make

you come with them.”

I didn’t answer—not a yes, but not a no either. My bel y

tightened, my sex flooding with cream watching the man’s

body tense, glisten with sweat as he pounded his cock into

her pussy. Her body shuddered with each hard thrust,

rocking back and forth on her knees to drive him deeper,

harder.

Anthony’s kisses heated down my neck, his teeth

nipping my skin, sending jolts of pain and pleasure tingling

through my veins. His hands slipped behind the elastic

band of my shorts, pushing them down, snagging my

underwear as they went, shoving both past my knees.

I looked to see him kneeling before me, pushing my

bottoms further down my legs then coaxing me to slip one

sandaled foot free. He straightened, running his hands up

my thighs, an expression of rapt desire fil ing his face. His

mouth was bel y level and he slipped his hands around to

my butt, pul ing me to him, and pressed a kiss there. I felt

it…everywhere.

“Anthony.” It was barely a whisper.

“Let me,” he said, his lips tickling my bel y, his voice

vibrating through my sex.

I was going to stop him. I’d pretty much decided…

almost. But then he kissed lower on my bel y, his fingers

squeezing the cheeks of my ass. And then he kissed lower

stil . I leaned my head back against the tree, dug my hands

into that thick wavy hair and caught my breath when his next

kiss teased right above my clit.

His palms seemed to burn across my skin as he

smoothed them over my hips to between my thighs. He

nudged my legs wider, his thumbs spreading the lips of my

sex, holding me open to him. I rocked forward, couldn’t help

it—the heat of his breath tickled like wicked feathers over

the sensitive flesh.

The noise he made sounded more like a growl, but when

I looked I don’t think he’d even realized he’d made the

sound. He lunged forward, like a wolf devouring a kil ,

pressing his face into my pussy, his tongue finding the

sensitive flesh of my clit. With firm, teasing licks, he brought

me into his mouth, suckled, drawing a rush of sensation

from every part of my body straight through to my sex.

I bit my lip, fought not to cry out and glanced at the

couple fucking on the other side of the brush. I gasped,

surprise stealing my voice.

He was watching me, watching us, even as he pounded

into his lover’s pussy. His gaze traveled over me, watched

Anthony eating me out, watched me holding him to me. My

body tightened, a quick thril zinging through my veins. Our

eyes met, and for a second I don’t think he realized I was

seeing him. And then it clicked. His eyes focused, his blank

lustful expression warmed.

A crooked smile tugged across his face and a kind of

intimate heat flashed in his eyes. He looked to the woman’s

ass, and my gaze fol owed. He shifted, bringing one hand

to his hip so I could see his ruddy cock, wet with her cream,

driving in and out of her swol en pussy.

As though he knew what I was seeing, Anthony slipped a

finger inside me, fil ed me like the man’s cock fil ed the

woman. I couldn’t keep the moan in my throat.

“Oh, God…” My breaths came in pants, my hips moving

with the ever-quickening rhythm he set. My pussy tensed,

clamped around his finger even as moisture gushed,

slicking the way for him to add another.

The man’s cock pumped in and out, keeping pace with

Anthony’s fingers fucking me. My hands fisted in his hair,

held his face against my pussy. Sensation swirled through

me, excitement swel ing so fast I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t

think.

Like the undeniable pul of the ocean, a delicious tide

pushed me closer and closer toward that blissful edge. I

tried to hold back, tried to ignore the muscles tingling and

coiling inside me, the knot tightening low in my body. But it

was too much, the feel of his mouth suckling me, my sex

milking his fat fingers, the sight of the couple fucking, the

man’s big cock rosy and wet, pounding into her. Too much.

The man’s cheeks flushed, ropy veins pressing along his

neck and forehead, his thrusts frantic, both hands gripping

her waist. Sensation crested inside me. Muscles flexed on

his ass, his thighs and arms, his jaw tight. The woman cried

out, throwing her head back and the hot wash of release

flooded through me. Orgasms rocked her, him and me al at

once and fil ed the forest with our lascivious cries.

My knees buckled and only Anthony’s fast reflexes,

snaking his arms around my waist, kept me on my feet. I

closed my eyes and let my head tilt back against the tree

trunk, struggling for breath, for clear thinking.

“Jeezus, Mattie, I almost came listening to you,” he said,

nuzzling my bel y. “You drive me crazy, woman. I told you

we’re perfect together.”

I flicked my gaze to the couple. They were gone. I

sighed, glad for smal favors, and looked down at Anthony.

Most men couldn’t do to me with their whole body and

several toys what he’d done with just his mouth and fingers.

My heart slowly found a steady beat but I knew the ache

pressing at my chest had nothing to do with exertion.

“I’m sorry, Anthony,” I said. “It’s not going to work. I can’t

do this. Tomorrow night, I’m choosing someone else as my

mate.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DIDN’T ASK?

YOU’RE an alpha, boy. Lead the damn pack,” Richard

Ricci said. “They’l fol ow if you’re even half the man I raised

you to be.”

Twenty feet across the clearing I could hear him as

clearly as if he stood next to me. Richard’s deep baritone

voice, like his son’s, carried as though he spoke through a

megaphone.

I looked at Anthony standing in front of the big man, arms

folded tight across his chest, feet planted wide, chin high,

firm. “Don’t worry about it, Pop. I’l work it out.”

Richard snorted, his hard barrel bel y shaking up through

his chest with a laugh. Even at this distance I could tel there

was no humor in it. “The rabbits are loose, boy. The hunt’s

about to start. You’ve got no time left to work it out. If you

can’t lead them tonight, you won’t pul them in line tomorrow

night when it real y counts.”

“It’s just a stupid game, Pop,” Anthony said. “Some

things are more important.”

“The hel you say, boy. Nuthin’s ever just a game.” He

stood four inches tal er than Anthony and looked like he

outweighed him by forty pounds easy. He wore his pure

white hair cut short enough to see the pink hue of his skin

underneath. He had a round face and arms as thick as my

thigh. Even happy the man could intimidate a rattlesnake.

And Richard Ricci was not happy.

Anthony shook his head and turned to leave, but Richard

reached out his long arm and snagged him by the scruff of

the neck. It was real y the back of his shirt col ar, but the

effect was the same. The big man jerked Anthony

backward so fast he nearly fel . Good balance and an

athletic build was al that saved him.

“Don’t you walk away from me, boy,” he said, trying his

best to lift Anthony off his feet. He was about fifteen years

past that ability.

Anthony jerked free easily and turned on his father, face

tight with leashed anger. “I said, I can handle it, Pop. My

way.”

“Your way? You mean your mother’s way,” Richard said.

“Women ask permission, boy. Men, true alphas, take what

they want and fight to keep it.”

“Right. Like you know anything about my mother.”

Anthony turned and disappeared into the crowd

surrounding them.

“I know she’s mine,” Richard said, obviously confident

Anthony could stil hear him. “Can you say the same for the

Banebridge female?”

My whole body flinched. I blinked while my brain

struggled to accept he was talking about me the same as

he would his car or his shoes. Heat rose in my cheeks as

those nearest to me turned to see my reaction. I felt two

inches tal .

Richard’s voice grew louder, carrying over the

murmuring crowd of nearly three hundred werewolves

who’d gathered in the clearing for the evening sport.

“Maybe one of your brothers can seduce the bitch. You’re

my first son, Anthony. Not my only son.”

An uncomfortable quiet settled over the clearing,

anticipation thick on the air, but Anthony didn’t answer.

After several pregnant seconds the soft murmur of

conversation began again.

“We gonna have to be part of the Ricci pack?” my ten-

year-old cousin, Claudia, asked.

I tucked a few strawberry strands behind her ear then

ruffled the top of her head. “No, sweet pea. No matter what

he says we don’t have to do anything we don’t want to.”

She folded her arms across her chest and tightened her

brows. “Good. ’Cause I don’t like that man. He’s too loud

and bossy.”

“Like father, like sons,” Mom said beside me. “You

heard him, Mattie. Those Ricci boys wil be jockeying for

position around us al night. What are we supposed to do

with no one to fend them off?”

Richard Ricci had four sons, including Anthony, each to

a different mother. Competition among males in a Purist

pack could be lethal. If Richard wanted me under the family

wing, the pressure on his sons to be the one to deliver

could force them to desperate measures. And my pack

would be at the center of it. I had to do what I could to

protect them.

“You fol ow me. That’s what we do.” I turned to face my

pack. “Until I take a mate, I’m leading this pack.

Understood? I don’t want anyone trying to be a hero. I can

handle their advances if I know my pack trusts me. If I know

you’l fol ow my lead, no matter what, I can take care of the

males.”

A few of my cousins nodded and some mumbled

agreement. No one refused. That’s al I needed.

“We stil hunting our rabbit?” Claudia asked.

“Absolutely,” I said. “They set free twenty rabbits last

week. One for each pack. Ours was scented with jasmine.

Do you know that smel ?”

She shook her head.

“Wel , then we’l get you a sniff. I’m pretty sure the

perfumes belong to one of the councilmen’s wives.” When

your mate is on the international werewolf council you can

afford to scent game rabbits with twenty different kinds of

expensive perfumes.

Tonight was sort of a practice run for the big hunt

tomorrow night, more an exhibition, a show of pack

teamwork and tracking ability than an al -out hunt.

“This is supposed to be fun. That’s what this Gathering is

al about. Right? So let’s have some fun.” God, I hoped that

sounded more genuine than it felt. Tonight the rabbits stood

a better chance of coming out unscathed than me.

The forest was nearly as bright as it could be on a

cloudless night, with the moon waxing one day til ful . At a

glance, David and Brian Ricci looked just like their older

brother, Anthony. Both big-boned, larger than a normal

timber wolf, with thick, butter-blond fur and bright eyes.

Markus Ricci, Richard’s youngest son, had fur the color of

strawberries and cream, so identifying him was a snap. But

I didn’t need to rely on my eyesight to know the difference

between the brothers. I could smel them. Al around me.

Only my mother and I raised our muzzles to the wind,

scenting them. The rest of my pack remained oblivious,

their noses to the forest floor tracking our rabbit. I caught

David’s scent off to my left, stil hidden behind trees and

underbrush, but growing closer. Brian was on the right,

watching me from beneath a thick pine. Markus stood a few

feet back from Brian, too young to make a play for me on

his own.

The moment our eyes met, Brian started toward me,

head low, stride slow and steady, muscles rol ing smooth

and fluid beneath his thick fur. Markus fol owed but several

paces back. I knew by his body language he’d only watch.

Good, one less chal enger I’d have to worry about.

My pack was spread out behind me, some as far as

thirty feet back. My mother was the closest and she closed

the distance the instant she saw Brian advance. I snapped

at her to keep her back, keep her safe. There was nothing

she could do. This was about strength and dominance,

about proving a point.

There were a lot of ways for a potential mate to prove he

was strong enough to lead me and my pack. When both

parties agreed most of them were symbolic. But the hairs

bristling at my hackles told me the Ricci brothers real y

weren’t into symbolism. Wolf instinct—it was a good thing.

I crouched, keeping my center of balance low and my

eyes glued on Brian. He circled me, his lips trembling back

to bare sharp, white teeth, his low growl rumbling between

us. I flicked my ears, pivoting them to locate David. I could

survive a chal enge from one scary, big male, but two at

once just wouldn’t be fair.

I found him, pacing the ridge of a smal hil about twenty

yards to our left. His big paws crunched leaves, twigs and

other forest debris with each step. He was waiting his turn.

Thank goodness.

I focused my attention back on Brian an instant before

he lunged. A flash of icy blue eyes and white teeth, a blur of

yel ow fur and then— bam! He slammed into me so hard it

took a second to believe I hadn’t been run over by a bus. I

hit the ground hard. Someone yelped. I’m pretty sure it was

me.

Shards of pain tore through my side and down my back

leg. The air punched out of my lungs and my vision starred.

If it weren’t for the feel of razor-sharp teeth pressing against

my neck, I might’ve lain there for several minutes trying to

suck a single good breath. But I didn’t have that kind of

time.

I writhed underneath Brian, his body heavy, almost

suffocating, on top of me, pinning me at the shoulder. I

wasn’t ready to give up.

I used my tail to pinwheel my lower body, twisting

enough to get my back legs under me. My wild thrashing

edged his weight to the side, but his jaw tightened its grip

on my neck. I dug the long nails of my back feet into the soft

forest floor, then pul ed back.

Brian’s teeth pierced my skin trying to hold me under

him. My mind screamed, but it came out as a yelping kind

of wail. I didn’t stop. I wiggled and twisted and pul ed,

feeling his big, heavy body lose its leverage. Suddenly he

slipped off and al he had was his mouth on my neck.

Warm blood trickled down my skin under my fur. I

blocked it from my brain and slammed back against him,

driving us both up onto our hind feet. I snapped my head

over his, twisting his neck. His teeth tore my flesh. Pain

burned through my body, squeezing my lungs so I couldn’t

breathe, couldn’t see for the blinding shock of it.

The speed and twist made him lose his grip, and we

both tumbled to the ground from the force of the quick

maneuver. I was free, but with only an instant to turn the tide.

Our fal had landed Brian beneath me on his back, soft

underbel y—and other things—exposed. I did the only thing

I could think of to end the battle; I fought like a girl.

I lunged toward the soft fleshy pocket of his testicles and

clamped my razor-sharp teeth down.

Brain suddenly went very, very stil .

I growled, low and menacing, then closed my teeth a

hairsbreadth more. Brian whimpered, his tail stiff. I growled

again and pul ed on the tender flesh, just enough to force a

mental image of his bal s snipped off. It worked.

His whole body went pliant. His whimpers became

sounds of submission, soft snorts, quick breaths, cajoling

me however he could. He twisted, struggling to reach my

face, licking my fur at my shoulder, my neck, stroking me,

assuring his surrender. I let him go.

He swung his feet under him in an instant, met my gaze

and then backed away. I’d done it. I’d held my ground and

proved my dominance. Never mind that it was dumb luck

he’d lost his balance and exposed his Achil es’ heel, so to

speak. It counted.

I turned to face David, my body going low, centering my

balance. The bite on my neck stung like the constant press

of a hot poker and the muscle around the wound ached. But

it was the sharp pain in my hindquarter that worried me. I

must’ve landed on a rock or a hard root; the pain forced me

to favor the leg and that could be lethal. Unfortunately, there

were no time-outs in battles for dominance. That was kinda

the point.

Anthony’s scent tickled my nose before I saw him. A blur

of fur, a flash of teeth and two yel ow wolves came tumbling

down the hil side toward me. They landed in a heap four

feet away, a twisting knot of snarls and snaps, bone-chil ing

growls and sharp, gnashing teeth.

They got to their feet, circled. David’s ear was torn,

bleeding. Their growls rumbled like the rol of a kettle drum

through the forest, the sound vibrating through my chest.

There was nothing I could do but wait to see who won.

Muzzle to muzzle Anthony was the tal er, heavier wolf, but

size didn’t always mean victory. Dominance was as much

mental as physical. But I knew in my gut David didn’t have

what it took to go toe-to-toe with Anthony. He was weaker

in every way and his weakness fragranced his skin, his fur,

like something half ripe, half ready. He couldn’t escape the

fact. Unless fate intervened and his luck turned, it was only

a matter of time before he accepted it or died trying.

David stopped, and Anthony mirrored him—then took a

step forward. As though instinct took hold when good sense

was lacking, David moved back quickly keeping the

distance. Just like that the battle’s outcome was sealed.

If wolves had facial expressions I imagined David’s was

a mix of confusion and indecision. He hadn’t meant to

concede, I was sure of it. But that single reflexive step

backward had given victory to Anthony. Of course, he could

ignore his accidental retreat but the mental edge it’d given

his brother and the damage it’d done to him was usual y

irrecoverable.

Anthony straightened, his thick furry ears perking as

though waiting for David to make it official. With a hard

snort and a shake of his head, David turned and jogged

over the hil , disappearing deeper into the forest. Markus

hurried after his brothers.

Anthony turned to face me and my body fought itself for

the correct response. My legs bent, lowering my center of

balance, ready to fight, even as my bel y fluttered and my

sex pulsed. Instinct, primal, powerful, pounded through my

veins, craving the strongest, victorious suitor like it craved

air. Instincts be damned; I wasn’t about to become a Purist

no matter how much of an animal turn-on it was to see him

battle for me.

He was riding a triumphant high as he jogged toward

me. I could smel his thick musk bil owing before him like an

intoxicating cloud. The scent surrounded me, spiked my

wolf lust to mate with the proven superior. I fought it. He

didn’t.

Anthony was acting like a wolf not a man, so when I

launched myself at his neck he was taken by complete

surprise. I managed to graze his flesh, felt the thin scrape of

his skin curl up the inside of my teeth before he dodged

and shook me off.

I’d landed on my side and pain shot through my hind leg

tearing a line straight up my spine like fire on a fuse. I

barked, high and sharp, half from pain and half are sult of

air forced out of my lungs.

He narrowed his eyes on me, his stance suddenly more

aggressive, more determined. I had to get up, had to fight. I

knew this time it wasn’t about proving a point. This time it

was about taking what he wanted, taking because he could.

This time it was about sex. But each twist of my body to get

my feet under me sent new shards of agony through my leg.

I wasn’t fast enough. Anthony closed the distance he’d

thrown me in a heartbeat. He leapt around to my tail end,

his powerful front legs clamping around my sides, his claws

digging through my fur to my flesh. I’d only caught a glimpse

of his little pink penis wagging out from its pouch. His hips

were already pumping against me, though he missed my

pussy with every thrust. Eventual y, he’d find the mark.

No. I squirmed, tried to swing my hind end out from

under him, but he held on, dancing along behind me. His

sharp teeth nipped at my shoulders, the back of my neck,

trying to hold me stil . I couldn’t get free. Somewhere in the

back of my mind I heard my mom barking at him. I knew

she was biting his ass, tugging on his tail with her teeth. He

didn’t seem to notice.

Panic sunk through my veins like ice, freezing my brain,

making me stupid. Then it hit me. There was nothing I could

do to get through to him. He was a Purist at heart, just as I

feared. My wants and needs meant nothing to him. I was

female. He’d won me. I was going to be raped.

White-hot pain sliced along my side and ripped through

my brain with such force that for one terrifying moment I

couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think what had happened. A

screaming yowl exploded out of me, the sound so close to

human I thought for a second I’d shifted. I wrenched my

head around to see blood soaking my side, turning my

caramel fur brown as rust, wet and clumping.

His claw had cut through to the meat. I fel , not even

realizing he’d let me go until I felt the soft grass under my

hip. Anthony shifted fast, faster than I’d ever seen anyone

shift. One second he was wolf, I blinked, and he was

human, naked, panting, his violet eyes wide with worry.

“Mattie, oh God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He drove his

fingers through his mop of hair. “Damn it, this chal enge

bul shit is making me crazy. I thought I felt you offer and then

you refused me. Hel , maybe I just wanted you to offer so

badly I imagined it. I dunno. Why the fuck won’t you just

choose me? Please. You’re kil ing me. You know I love you.

I never would’ve—”

I spun around and bit the hand he held out to me—hard.

When he jerked back I took off and my pack fol owed.

They’d been watching helpless for some time, I realized,

but now I needed them, their protection, while I shifted to

heal the wounds on my hip, neck and side.

I ran through the moonlit forest, trees and brush raking

through my fur, my heart thundering in my ears. Anthony’s

words rol ed through my brain. I hadn’t offered to him; I was

sure of it. But I’d wanted to. I realized now, when I saw him

drive David off I’d wanted him, then, always and forever.

Could he be so attuned to me that he understood my

thoughts better than I understood myself? Or had

desperation driven him to revert to his Purist upbringing for

answers? Was he a heartless, self-centered Purist, or my

perfect life mate? And how the hel was I supposed to know

the difference?

CHAPTER FIVE

“HE’S A LONE WOLF NOW. EVERYONE’S

TALKING about it,” Mom said. “Apparently, after we left

him last night he went straight to Big Richard and broke his

ties with the pack.”

There are three surefire ways to get information out:

telephone, e-mail and tele-my-mom. “So what, that

somehow makes him a better mate for me?”

Mom snorted. “Wel , yes. It proves he’s been tel ing the

truth. Purists never break rank. Never real y leave their core

packs. Anthony did.”

I shook my head, not wanting to believe and wishing I

could at the same time. “It’s not just Big Richard. Anthony

wil never be a lone wolf with al the women he’s got offering

to him. And after what he almost did last night—”

“I know the definition of the word lone, dear,” she said,

indignant. Oops. “He’s ended things with those other girls.

Flatly refused each of their offers. I hear one of them, the

one with the big nose and god-awful taste in clothes, I

heard she threw an absolute fit when he turned her down.”

Sheila Tul y, a model who enjoyed the perks of wearing

designer clothes every day, but alas would never hold a

candle to me in my mother’s eyes. I loved my mom.

“And last night…wel , honey, I love you, but if you hadn’t

suddenly tried to bite his head off, we’d have snuck off to

give you two some privacy.”

My jaw dropped. “Seriously? Mom, he jumped me.”

“I know, sweetheart, but to be fair you’d invited him to

enjoy your…feminine delights before.”

My cheeks warmed. Crap. I was twenty-three, a

werewolf and a liberated woman. Of course I wasn’t a virgin

and my mom’s not stupid. Stil . She’s my mom and hearing

her refer to my feminine delights is just… shudder.

“I think he just got a little caught up in the excitement of

fighting off other suitors,” she said. “If it’d been any other

time, say a few nights ago, would you have fought so hard

to stop him?”

If he’d tried to screw me in wolf form? Uh, yeah. But only

long enough for us both to shift and then…Go figure, my

mom was right. But was she right about everything? Was

Anthony my true life mate?

Anthony my true life mate?

“It doesn’t matter. He was raised a Purist,” I said. “Even

if he turns his back on that now, he’l never be like Dad. I

want what the two of you had. A partnership. Can someone

raised as a Purist ever see a woman as an equal?”

Mom shook her head, and made a tsk-tsk sound with

her tongue. “Your father was a rare find. I don’t think there’l

ever be anyone quite like him. But then, you’re not exactly

like me. And maybe, just maybe, Anthony can be for you

what your father was for me. There’s only one way to find

out.”

Yeah, stick my neck out and hope no one bites it off.

Won’t that be fun?

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Councilman Lynwood said

from the metal ladder they’d erected at the far end of the

clearing. “In exactly—” he checked his watch “—eight

minutes the lunar eclipse wil begin. As is tradition, the hunt

lasts the duration of the eclipse while our abilities are

uniquely heightened. This year we’ve got a ful two hours.”

The crowd cheered around the group of us who were

naked and ready for the hunt. More than three hundred

wolves running through the woods after a lone deer just isn’t

practical. So each pack chose their best five, which

typical y equated with the top five ranking members.

There were only four of us from my pack: me, Mom, and

my cousins, Glenna and Oliver. Glenna was my blood

cousin; Oliver was her mate. A fluke of members being

injured, pregnant or underage coincided to make us short

one. We weren’t the only pack participating in the hunt with

fewer hunters though.

Plus, we were good. Real good.

“You stil pissed at me?”

I turned from Councilman Lynwood’s speech about how

an alpha member of each pack had scented the deer that

morning before they’d set it loose and said, “Anthony.”

“Wanted to stop by and wish you luck tonight,” he said,

hands stuffed aw-shucks style in the front pockets of his

jeans. His gaze traveled down my body and left a trail of

heat in its wake. My breath shuddered but I covered with a

deeper breath, waiting for his eyes to come back to mine.

Nudity wasn’t normal y an issue with werewolves, unless

you wanted to have sex with the person and then we’re men

and women like everyone else.

“Thanks. Putting my name on the Gathering cup this

year’s gonna be sweet,” I said, skil ful y hiding the quiver in

my voice.

Damn, those jeans hugged his muscled legs like indigo

skin. Then again the tight T-shirt didn’t leave much to the

imagination either. And I had an excel ent imagination. My

bel y fluttered, thoughts of shredding the black fabric off

those hard pecs flashing through my brain.

“Oh, right. The alpha of the pack to take down the deer

gets the honor. You’d be the first woman.” His smile

dimpled his cheeks. If I didn’t know better I’d think he

actual y looked…proud.

“That’s the plan.” I swal owed, tasting his sweet-hay-and-

al -male scent on the back of my tongue. The flavor sparked

so many memories: my lips on his skin, his arms around

me, his body deep inside mine. “You going out with your

dad’s pack?”

He shook his head then looked away, brows tight. “No. I,

uh, I won’t hunt with a pack I can’t respect. I’m not a Purist

and my dad can’t accept it. So…”

Hope clogged my throat, made my stomach churn and

flooded my sex with liquid heat. “That right?” I kept it cool.

He looked me in the eye, his voice smooth, sincere. “I

told you that already. I’m not a Purist. Never have been.

Last night, Mattie, that was me being crazy-out-of-my-mind

in love with you. Nothing else. I didn’t mean to hurt you and I

sure as hel wouldn’t have forced you. I swear it.”

It was my turn to look away, to hide the blush I felt warm

my face. “So you real y cut bonds with your dad and his

pack? You’re a loner now?”

I glanced back and caught his nod. “Yep. Not al it’s

cracked up to be, though.”

My smile flashed on reflex. “That right?”

“Yeah.” He hiked his shoulders, hands stil in his

pockets. “Think I could hook up with you guys tonight?”

Muscles across my back tensed. “Why not just take my

pack, if that’s what you want? You could force me. If you’re

not a Purist you’ve got nothing to lose.” Except my respect.

“Yeah, I could force your pack to fol ow me. I could force

you to be my mate.” He closed the distance between us,

cupped my face. “But I’m asking. The decision is yours.

Can I join your pack, Mattie? Wil you have me?”

My stomach flopped and fluttered. It felt like I was riding

a rol er coaster. “You can’t just join another pack. You—you

have to be born in or mate in.”

His hands slipped to the tops of my arms, fingers

squeezing, pul ing me close so my naked breasts brushed

his chest. “Think you could help me out with that?”

Tingles raced over my skin, from the top of my head to

the bottoms of my feet, anticipation, hope, and blind lust

making me light-headed. God, it was such a risk. What if he

was lying? If I just had some kind of proof, some way to

know for sure.

“You can run with us, but I’m lead. If you take down the

deer it’s yours. I—I mean—the pack won’t want the credit.”

His gaze stayed fixed on my mouth, watching me speak,

his lids low, making those sultry violet eyes al the more

sexy. Damn. “Got it. So I’l fol ow. Act as your fifth.”

“You’d fol ow me in a hunt? A woman?”

“I’d fol ow you anywhere, Mattie. Because you’re a

woman, the woman I love.”

Someone sighed. “Aww…” It was my mom.

I led my pack to win the hunt, but not alone. In wolf form,

under the strange power of a dark ful moon, instinct took

over and everything snapped into place. Like the teeth on a

gear, Anthony and I, the members of my pack, al meshed

together, worked as one. Like it was meant to be.

But the evening wasn’t over. I had a decision to make.

After al , no matter how much I wished it, a woman couldn’t

hold a pack on her own. Funny thing. I didn’t real y want to

hold it on my own anymore.

We weren’t the only ones to take a dip in the lake after

the hunt. Anthony and I had swum out near a smal island for

privacy. He pul ed me to him, coaxing my legs around his

waist under the water, kissing my neck. His hot breath sent

a shiver down my spine, a delicious contrast to the cool

water hugging my body, lapping at my breasts.

His muscles tensed, his cock a hard line pressing

against my ass, he rocked his hips to stroke himself

against me. “I’m going out of my head here, Mattie. The

Gathering’s almost over. I want you. I want you now, and

forever. Tel me I’m the one or put me out of my misery.”

I turned my lips to his ear. “I want you…inside me.”

Anthony’s whole body shuddered around me as though

my words had touch and weight. A blast of his exhaled

breath bathed my neck and back. His arms tightened and

he shifted, lifting me so his cock pressed against the

sensitive lips of my sex. I floated down, my pussy opening

over him, taking the thick round head of his cock inside my

body.

My chest tightened, trapping my breath. Sex muscles

fluttered, pulsed, tried to pul him deeper. I caught my

bottom lip between my teeth to muffle a moan.

“I can’t refuse you,” he said, his hands slipping down to

my ass, squeezing. “But is this al you want from me?”

His hands pressed as he rocked into me, driving his

thick shaft through the tightness of my pussy. I cried out

from the suddenness of it, from the thrust of sensation that

exploded through me.

Yes. I wanted this, him, his body, his soul. I wanted

Anthony as my mate. I knew it then; I’d known it since he’d

asked to join us on the hunt. But I’d worried for so long, I’d

al owed my fear to wal up my heart, to become a solid

obstacle inside me. It weighed down on me, trapped the

words in my throat like debris in a stream. I couldn’t break

through. I couldn’t let go.

“Just…just fuck me.” My voice came soft, breathy. I clung

to him, my arms wrapped around his neck, my heart racing,

need screaming through me to move, to ride him, to feel

him slipping in and out of me.

“Damn it, Mattie, you’re pushing me to the ragged

edge,” he said, his jaw clenching as he pul ed out then

rammed his cock deep.

The force of his thrust shook through my body, electric

sparks flashing behind my eyes. Water splashed around

us, wetting my shoulders, my face, sending waves rippling

out in a fast-growing circle. Again and again his body

stroked inside me, fit me perfectly, fil ed me up. Sweet

friction sizzled along my skin, hummed through my veins,

coiled low and tight in my bel y. My sex muscles squeezed,

milking his cock, begging for more. I held my breath, felt the

climax rise, closer, closer.

And then he stopped.

“Is this al you want?” he asked again, his lips brushing

my ear, his cock pulsing inside me.

“I’m so—I’m so close. Please…”

“First tel me. Is this al you want from me? A fuck? Or do

you want more? Do you want what I want?” He nipped my

ear and sent a quick jolt through my system that nearly

undid me.

I gasped, my senses teetering at the edge of bliss. His

sweet scent fil ed my nose, my lungs, his warm breath and

hot body drowning me, penetrating deep inside me. My

mind scrambled to understand.

I couldn’t think. I could only feel. “I want…I want…

Anthony!”

Suddenly I didn’t have to think. The dam broke. Nature

roared inside me, reached out from my soul like an invisible

hand stretching to him. An offering. He took it, and with it

went my body, tumbling over the edge. Sweet, sweet

release.

I knew the moment, the instant, his soul linked with mine

and our union was sealed. Life mates. One for the other,

together as one. Forever and always.

Hot For It

JODI LYNN COPELAND

Carinna

VEGAS.

THE

CITY

OF

LIGHTS,

LAUGHTER AND ILLICIT sex.

Tonight, when I craved each of those things almost more

than my next breath, not a damned one of them was to be

found.

The lights in the off-strip funeral home couldn’t have

been further from the clichéd glittering lights of Sin City.

Already dimmed throughout my father’s afternoon showing,

with night fast fal ing and every other visitor gone, I’d had

the funeral home director take the lights even lower, as if

that somehow would make it easier to accept that my father

was dead. That the heart-clogging meals he’d been

ingesting for fifty-plus years had final y gotten the better of

him.

Christ, how long had I been after his ass to give healthy

eating a try?

Not long or hard enough, judging by the sickening pal or

of his skin and that his final breath had been drawn two

days ago. Approximately one hour after I could recal

laughing for the last time. Laughter I’d shared with Jack

Dempsey, my best friend. The bosom buddy who’d been by

my side for over two decades.

The man who wrapped his arms around my waist now,

pressing his strength against my back and reminding me

that I wasn’t alone but with a guy who knew exactly what I

needed tonight.

“There’s a bottle of Bombay Sapphire waiting for you in

the passenger’s seat of my truck.” The words left his mouth

as a whisper.

But the deep timbre of his voice could never be

mistaken for a true whisper—Jack’s voice was as solid as

the rest of his big body. Perhaps from ten years of yel ing to

be heard over the chaos that ensued while fighting fires.

Perhaps just because he was one damned fine-looking

man—with thick, wavy black hair that matched his

mustache and predatory blue-green eyes—and God had

seen fit to gift him with a sexy-as-hel voice to match.

Whatever the case, he was offering what I wanted. A

chance to drown the tension and sorrows I had amassed

over the last two hel ishly long days.

I turned in his arms, burying my face against the crook of

his neck and inhaling his familiar masculine scent. Normal y

I had a serious loathing for letting my emotions show, even

around Jack. Tonight, now, I just had to say “fuck it” to

appearances and sniffle.

I went with the need for a few minutes, blubbering into

his neck, probably ruining his best dress shirt. Then I

sucked back my grief, accepted the shitty hand fate had

dealt me—first my mother walking out years ago and now

my father gone as wel . At least I stil had my grandmother,

irrational as her aging mind could be at times.

At least I stil had Jack.

I stepped back from his embrace to offer up an

appreciative smile. “What would I do without you?”

His own smile flashed; a touch of the cockiness coming

through which—along with our mutual take on relationships

being for others—made us such compatible friends. “Get

shit-faced drunk, hook up with an asshole, then wake up

tomorrow wondering who the hel the guy in bed with you is

and where the hel are you anyway?”

Yeah, it was a damned good thing I had Jack. Just like

that he refil ed my laughter wel with his spot-on observation

of my character. Not with bust-a-gut laughter, but laughter al

the same; it rol ed from my lips and felt like everything I

needed right then.

Wel , that, alcohol and an old friend to share it with.

Turning to my father’s casket, my momentary

amusement vanished with the roiling of my insides. I said a

final goodbye, laying the last kiss I ever would upon his

pasty cheek and shedding a few more of those

unavoidable damned tears.

Then I turned back to Jack and nodded. “Take me home

and get me smashed.”

Jack

I’d been to Carinna’s apartment thousands of times—

hel , I even had my own key. But something about tonight

was different. From the moment I stepped inside her smal

but cozily decorated living room, something had my gut

tightening and every nerve in my body going on ful alert the

way only an al -alarm fire could typical y accomplish.

I knew that something had to do with the weakness

she’d let show back at the funeral home; those brief

minutes when she’d cried and let me hold her. I knew that

letting her more tender emotions show meant she was

down and out in a way I’d never seen her before today, and

for good reason. I also knew the last thing I should do was

sit on the couch beside her and get hammered the way she

was asking me to do.

We shared a healthy love of sex, and experience had

taught me that mixing sorrow, alcohol and a member of the

opposite gender general y led to precisely that. I valued our

friendship way too much to risk ruining it over a hasty

screw.

“C’mon, Jack,” Carinna goaded me from the couch.

The bottle of gin I’d picked up on the way to the funeral

home dangled from her fingertips, open now and several

drinks shy of ful . Those drinks seemed to be working their

magic on her mood—al trace of vulnerability was gone

from her gray eyes, the self-assured arrogance I knew and

respected shining through.

A teasingly sultry smile lifted her lips. “Be a man and

drink up.”

Precisely the problem here was that I was a man. One

who had long ago noted she was more than an average

woman. With her centerfold curves and Latin coloring, she

was stunning, gorgeous. Thoughts of her body, nude and

sweaty and on the verge of orgasm, had been my

masturbation material for years.

Those X-rated thoughts attempted to enter my mind and

harden my body. I quashed them by grabbing the

transparent blue bottle from her hand and crossing to the

open kitchen. “Tonight’s a martini night.”

Much as she might prefer to get sloshed fast, I knew she

wouldn’t say no to martinis. They would stil get her drunk,

and possibly me as wel , but with luck we would pass out

before she forgot I was her best friend and I forgot I was a

gentleman.

I almost laughed over the irony of that thought—I liked my

loving fast, hard and dirty, and for the time being, with no

strings attached. I probably would have laughed if Carinna

hadn’t chosen that moment to start undressing.

First, the black slacks came down her long, toned,

natural y golden brown legs and were kicked aside.

Then the black, short-sleeved silk shirt was unbuttoned

and shaken off her shoulders and down her arms.

As a cocktail waitress for a tequila bar on the strip, she

was required to wear a risqué uniform that exposed more

of her stunning body than it covered. Stil , that uniform

concealed more than her miniscule black panties and

matching bra.

Or not panties, I realized on an indrawn breath as she

turned and bent to grab her slacks from the floor. A thong

that disappeared between her firm butt cheeks, and had my

heart pounding like a jackhammer and my cock rock solid

in the space of a heartbeat.

Before I could disengage my brain from the vicinity of my

bal s and question her motive, she had her clothes in hand

and was moving past me, down the short hal way that led to

her bedroom. “I just want to relax and forget for a while,” she

tossed over a slim, bare shoulder. “That isn’t going to

happen dressed in this crap.”

I grunted with the closing of Carinna’s bedroom door, the

sound sharp enough to make my erection jump. Then I

considered beating my head against the overhead

cupboard in the hopes of knocking some sense into it.

Shit, I was an idiot. Make that an ass. She wanted to

relax with an old friend, and al I could think about was

plowing into her from behind and fucking her stupid.

While her emotions might be in turmoil, despite the

confident, even teasing face she currently wore, I was

damned glad her head was on straight. Much as I wanted to

think I would be a good friend and turn down an offer of sex

dealt at the hands of grief and gin, I honestly wasn’t sure I

could be that strong.

Carinna

With my bedroom door firmly closed, I sank down on the

edge of the bed, pushed my hands through my tangle of

curls, and accepted the throbbing ache in my core for what

it was: the raw desire to fuck Jack.

The want came as no surprise, or was anything I could

pin on alcohol—though the handful of drinks I’d downed

before he’d confiscated the gin bottle did have my tension

lessening and my bel y buzzing with warmth. The truth was

I’d had dreams of sleeping with Jack since I was old

enough to appreciate the concept of fitting tab A into slot B.

Tonight was no dream, and I’d long since moved past

giving juvenile names to body parts. What I wanted was to

strip him naked, put my hands and mouth al over his work-

hardened body, and take his cock into my dripping pussy

again and again. I wanted to forget the events of the last

two days completely. Forget how weak my father’s death

had left me, how emotional y drained and wrung out.

I wanted to feel whole, and I knew Jack could give that to

me.

But would he?

Parading around in my underwear had definitely roused

his interest—I’d seen the flicker of male awareness in his

eyes. Had it roused the rest of him, as wel ?

Any other night and with any other man, I wouldn’t be

sitting on this bed wasting my time by wondering. I would

b e out in that kitchen, pushing him up against the table,

taking his cock inside me and riding him hard. But tonight

was no typical night and Jack was no ordinary man. With

him I had to consider the repercussions. Al those many

reasons that had stopped me from giving voice to my

desire for him in the past.

Al those many reasons, and yet now I couldn’t think of a

single one.

Maybe the gin had gotten to me more than I realized,

beyond relieving my tension and warming me through.

Maybe it had stolen away my logic.

Whatever the case, I couldn’t see the disadvantages of

sleeping with Jack. I could only see the pleasure to be

found in his strong arms. The relief, the release…

Everything I needed right now. And yes, I assured myself

as the conceit I normal y laid claim to slid merciful y back

into place, everything I would give him.

Confidence and a dirty-girl smile as my guide, I tossed

my pants and shirt into the hamper and headed back to the

kitchen, hot for it and ready to let Jack know.

Jack

My body and mind coming under control with the

knowledge Carinna didn’t want anything more from me than

a shoulder to lean on and a friend to reminisce about her

father’s life with, I focused on making the martinis. After

adding too much gin and too damned little vermouth—had I

honestly thought we would consume less alcohol this way?

—I dropped a green olive in each glass. Reclining against

the kitchen counter, I sipped at my drink and waited for her

return.

She reappeared as the second swal ow of martini hit the

back of my mouth. Between her wickedly carnal smile and

the discovery that she’d neither removed her sinful y

tempting bra and skimpy thong, nor covered them, I nearly

choked to death.

Liquid fire scorching its way down my throat, I eyed her

over the rim of the glass.

First, her head ful of untamable, rich brown curls that my

fingers itched to bury in. Next, her toenails, painted the

same shade of siren red as the Ladder 19 fire trucks. Then

I sucked up my courage, told myself I could handle looking

without touching, and sent my gaze upward to check out the

parts of her I’d intentional y glossed over the first time

around.

I counted my blessings that the cut of her thong wasn’t as

obviously erotic from this angle. The bra was a little harder

to ignore.

Her ample breasts strained hard against the black lace

cups, the top edge of her large, dusky areolas spil ing out.

The scent of her excitement on the air was just as damning

to my state of mind and body. A feminine musk coupled

with her light vanil a perfume had my tongue anxious as hel

to find out exactly how wet she was by pushing aside the

crotch of her thong and licking deep inside her folds.

With a seductive sway to her hips, Carinna joined me at

the kitchen counter, her barely clothed body inches from

mine. Heat emanated between us, animalistic, intense.

Returning my cock to its stiff-as-stone condition and

making me wonder how it had taken her father’s death to

bring us to this fated moment.

Were we fated to sleep together? And would it ruin our

friendship or were we adult enough to share in a night of

ecstasy and then return to the everyday?

Lifting her martini from the counter, she stopped short of

placing the glass to her lips. She looked over at me. Desire

smoldered in her eyes, turning them the color of smoke.

“Jack?”

My shaft throbbed from the throatiness of her voice. Half

fearing, half praying I knew what was coming next, I asked,

“Yeah?”

“I’l race you to the bottom of the glass.”

My laugh was rough, raspy, edged with the lust

threatening to consume me. We’d been chal enging each

other in one way or another our whole lives. This should

have been familiar terrain, easy to take on. But this

chal enge came spring-loaded with potential y shitty side

effects.

Stil , I accepted. “You’re on.”

I guzzled my drink, barely noticing the slow burn of gin

this time as I watched Carinna down her own martini. Her

throat worked in much the same way I could imagine it

working as she took my cock between her lips and sucked

me dry.

After a handful of seconds, she slammed her emptied

glass onto the counter. Parting her lips, she revealed the

olive between her teeth. Carinna edged her finger and

thumb into her mouth, sensuously sucking off the olive as

she pul ed it free and dropped it back into her glass.

Her heated gaze fel to my lips and then far south, to the

bulge of my groin pressing painful y against the zipper of

my dress pants. “Can I suck off yours?”

Though I knew damned wel it wasn’t my olive she was

after and she could undoubtedly tel that I knew it from my

heightened breathing, I chose the path of feigned

ignorance. Setting my drained glass on the counter next to

hers, I nodded at the olive lying in its center. “Help yourself.”

Or maybe it was my olive she was after. At least as a

prop.

Lifting the martini-coated olive from my glass, she

sucked it for a second or two. Then, holding it in her fingers,

she trailed it downward, from her chin to her throat, to let it

slip from her grasp and disappear into the hol ow of her

cleavage.

With the fringe of her long dark lashes half masking her

eyes, her gaze met mine. Chal enge simmered there. “Why

don’t you get it out?” she taunted huskily.

I swal owed hard as my blood sizzled and my cock

pulsed. I’d never wanted anything more in my life. Stil , that

same question ate at my conscience.

Could we handle this? Then there was the alcohol to

consider—was it skewing her judgment? “Carinna—”

“Jesus, Jack!” The chal enging look gone, she devoured

the inches between us, pressing the softness of her breasts

against my chest as her fingernails curled into the front of

my shirt. Her eyes pleaded with me to give in. “I need this.

Can’t you see that? Can’t you see what this fucking day has

done to me? It’s wrecked me.”

Knowing how much both the silent pleading and those

words cost her, how could I say no? Knowing how many

years I’d spent wishing for this very moment, how could I

refrain from touching her a second longer? Even so, I had

to lay voice to my concerns. “Doing this—sleeping together

—wil wreck our friendship.”

Stubbornness narrowed her eyes. Her chin jutted out. “It

won’t. You know I’m not looking for love—ever—and you’re

too focused on your job to want a serious relationship

anytime soon.”

Solid points, logical even, which made it seem that

liquor wasn’t clouding her judgment and driving her need for

me. Solid though they may be, those points weren’t what

swayed my decision. It was her stubborn, pointy chin. That

haughty look I’d been a sucker for the better part of my life.

That look, and the intimate push of her pelvis against mine.

Through my dress pants and boxers, I shouldn’t have

been able to feel her heat and wetness. But my cock

seemed to think it felt both and jerked hard in response. My

mind was right there with my body, never wanting anything

worse in its life. Never more ready to live out my fantasy of

loving Carinna al night long.

Pulse pounding in my ears, I lifted my hands to her back.

The smoothness of her skin was in complete contrast to my

work-cal used palms, a fact that I pleasured in as I ran my

fingers down the sweep of her spine to cup her supple ass.

Aware that I’d crossed the point of no return, I shut out

the last of my concerns and concentrated solely on ecstasy.

On crashing my mouth down hard over hers, slipping my

tongue past her lips, and tasting sweet, heady nirvana.

Sultry air puffed into my mouth with her muffled growl. A

sound I mimicked as her tongue went wild, twining with

mine, sliding feverishly along my teeth, not leaving a single

part of my mouth untouched. Her hands moved just as

urgently, jerking from between our bodies to yank my shirt

from my pants and then travel beneath.

Shivers racked my body with the divine scrape of her

fingernails along my back. Those shivers magnified as she

pul ed her mouth from mine and parted her kiss-swol en lips

to demand, “The olive, Jack! Get the olive.”

Carinna and I had been recounting our sex tales for

years, and I knew exactly what her expectations were. She

wanted to come at least twice before I found my own

release. First, fast and hard, then slow and easy. My cock

was too far gone with thoughts of final y surrendering to my

hunger for her to deliver multiple orgasms al on its own.

Fortunately, I also knew about her kinky side.

Using my grip on her ass, I lifted her up my body. The rub

of her pubis against my solid staff pushed a needful groan

from the back of my throat. Swal owing it down, I set her on

the edge of the counter, with her bare inner thighs cradling

my lower hips. I would have loved to have taken the time to

bare al of her and then look my fil of her succulent body,

but she wanted fast this first time and she was damned wel

going to get it.

I flicked my gaze to hers, saying what I didn’t have the

time to say with words—how unbelievably hot she was, how

excruciatingly hard I was. Then I shoved my face against

her breasts and used my tongue and teeth to fish the olive

from her bra.

Biting down on the tender yet tart meat, I took the olive in

my mouth while I used one hand to unclasp her bra and the

other to find the gin bottle. The bra clasp gave way, the

straps slipping partway down her arms and freeing her

beautiful breasts from the cups. The olive left my mouth.

Greedily, I brought my lips to one big nipple and sucked.

Carinna cried out as first I sucked her nipple tight and

then retreated just a bit to rol the hard crown with my teeth. I

nipped at the hypersensitive point, then bit down.

Her hips canted forward. Grasping the edge of the

counter, she sighed out, “Oh God, Jack.”

Oh God was right. The desperate throbbing of my shaft

epitomized how long I’d wanted to hear those words, to

hold her this way.

To take her over the edge.

Her thighs squeezed around my hips. Her hands moved

into my hair, urging me to go faster, to deliver her to

thought-fogging orgasm. Eagerly I obeyed, using my free

hand to gather the sodden scrap of black material at her

crotch and tug it aside to reveal her juicy opening. I

dragged the damp silk back across her slit, burying it

inside her folds a fraction, eliciting creamy juice from her

pussy and a sexy-as-hel pant from her lips. Then, once

more, I pul ed the cotton aside and, bringing my other hand

to her juncture, pressed the cool mouth of the gin bottle

against her sex.

She gasped at the contact, her hips bucking hard. Her

fingers tugged from my hair to claw at my shoulders. “Holy

shit, yes! Fuck me with the bottle!”

The dirty words and the nip of her nails stoked through

me, increasing the firebal of tension mounting in my lower

back and drawing my bal s painful y snug.

Holding firm to my control, I teased the bottle’s head

inside her folds a half inch. She spread her thighs wider

and her labia parted, so open, so pink, so wet for me.

“Now!” she ordered. “Give it to me now!”

“Christ, I want to.” The words sailed out of me like a

curse. So damned badly I wanted to fil her pretty pussy up

with my aching cock. Wanted to bring my mouth back tight

to hers and never let up.

Instead I gave her the bottle, fil ing her engorged sex with

gin while I pumped the short head inside her and ground

the beveled edge against her clit.

Carinna’s breathing turned ragged. Cream and liquor

trickled in rivulets along her inner thighs. Her hips went from

thrusting to slowly gyrating, and then she was gripping my

shoulders hard and letting out a rapturous scream of

release that I felt al the way to my bal s.

My breathing coming in erratic fits and starts, I set the

bottle aside, fitted my mouth to her opening, and gave in to

my urge to sink my tongue deep inside.

My heart skipped a beat. My cock leapt.

Hell, yes. Like the woman herself, Carinna’s taste was

sweet, sexy and sinful al at once.

Savoring her salty juices underlain with the flavor of gin, I

brushed my mustache across the pearl of her clit, while I

used my tongue to take her ever higher.

Almost before the shock waves of her first orgasm were

finished, a second climax began coursing through her. Her

thighs tightened around my head, her nails sank into my

shoulders, and her pussy delivered the sweetest of juices

onto my tongue.

I licked at her come for long lazy seconds, relishing her

taste and giving both our hearts a chance to slow. Then I

grinned against her sex with the knowledge that the fast,

hasty screwing was done and it was time for the slow,

thorough loving of my fantasies to begin.

Carinna

How had we put off sleeping together for so long? And

how would I ever move past Jack’s mind-bending style of

screwing come tomorrow?

They were the only thoughts I could manage in my post-

orgasmic state.

Then I managed one more, as he lifted me off the

counter, wrapped my legs around his waist, and started

down the hal way to my bedroom.

He wasn’t done.

My pussy swel ed with fresh excitement. My heart started

back into a thunderous tempo. Each step he took was

bittersweet torture as my sex rubbed against the hard ridge

of his cock through his clothing. Final y he reached my

bedroom, my bed.

Jack was many things, including graceful. But the way he

lifted me off his body and tossed me back onto the bed

was pure caveman.

I scuttled back against the headboard and faked a glare.

“Big oaf.”

His grin was pure arrogance. “You liked it.”

“Loved it,” I admitted, returning his grin.

He stepped back from the bed a foot and his fingers

started in on the buttons of his dress shirt. With each new

inch of skin that came into view, I remembered how much I

loved Jack’s body as wel . I’d never seen him completely

naked, but I’d seen him shirtless plenty and the developed

muscles of his chest, arms and abs were the makings of

every woman’s fantasy. They were the reason those

firefighter calendars sold so wel . The reason my so

recently satisfied clit was again tingling for relief.

The shirt came down his arms and then off. He didn’t go

right to work on his pants, and that was just wrong.

“Take it off!” I chanted strip-show style. “Take it off! Take

it off!”

He laughed out loud. “Whatever happened to slow and

easy the second time?”

“You can do me slow and easy—just get to the

merchandise fast.”

“Merchandise coming up.” His arrogant smile fel into

place, growing a little with each new piece of clothing he

removed—probably because I was eyeing him like he was

a human Popsicle and I wanted to lick, suck and nibble him

from head to toe.

Then it was my turn for arrogance, as I latched onto the

sight of his thick shaft bobbing toward me, pre-cum oozing

generously from the plump head. “And you thought this was

a bad idea,” I said smugly.

His smile lost some of its confidence, but he only said,

“Just cal me dumb-ass.”

“Dumb-ass. Speaking of asses, get yours over here, so I

can smack it.”

He moved, but not toward the bed. Rather, he took his

cock in hand and slowly pumped. Veins corded in his hand

and shaft in succession. His blue-green eyes turned

predatory and knowing as they met mine. “You want to suck

it, don’t you?”

“That’s the understatement of the century.”

Laughter rumbled from his lips as I crawled to the end of

the bed and rocked back on my haunches. I reached out an

impatient hand and he came forward, just far enough to

al ow my fingers to join his.

Much as I ached with the need, I didn’t touch his hard,

steely flesh. I brought my fingers to his stomach instead,

trailing them reverently along his lusciously defined abs,

down the long, lean lines of his hips and around to his ass. I

gave one taut cheek a swat. His breath drew in sharply and

his stomach muscles tightened reflexively.

The rhythm of his fingers along his shaft slowed to near

stopping. A drop of cum pearled at the tip of his cock.

Another joined almost immediately. A glance up at his face

revealed his features tight, his neck corded with delicious

muscle. He was close to losing it. I was just as primed to

come. I could take him into my mouth and bring him to a

fast finish, knowing I would climax as wel from that act of

pleasure alone.

But I didn’t believe in giving second-rate head,

particularly to my best friend. And I was too far gone with

anticipation to do the job any better.

I brought my hand back around and threaded my fingers

through his black pubic hair, fondling the base of his cock

and his scrotum before final y joining my hand with his.

Together, we glided our fingers along his hard sex, gazes

locked and our breathing steadily increasing with each

pump, until a moan slipped from his lips.

I couldn’t sit back and not taste a second longer.

Bringing my mouth to the tip of his cock, I intended to

take a single lick of salty fluid. But his pre-cum tasted too

damned good to not want more. I took more, a dozen more

greedy licks that turned to ravenous sucks.

“Fuck, Carinna!” Jack’s fingers pushed into my hair with

his savage growl. “Keep that up and you won’t need to

worry about slow and easy.”

From what I’d seen so far and had heard the many times

we’d shared sex tales, I had faith he could get hard again

fast if he came now. That made it damned tempting to

forget about giving my best blow job ever and settle for my

best one tonight. Only his hold on my mass of

unmanageable curls stopped me from doing so.

His look was pure shock as I released his cock and

sank back on my heels, so I explained, “My hair’s the

equivalent of a Venus flytrap for fingers. Get them in too

deep and you’l never see them again.”

Back to grinning, he sank his fingers in even deeper and

squatted far enough to brush my mouth with a far too gentle

kiss. “I love your hair.”

His tone, normal y so deep and rough, was also too

damned gentle. Anxiety attempted to rear its head over his

tenderness, and I risked the pain of jerking my curls from

his hands and scooted back up the bed.

With my back to the headboard, I wriggled out of my

thong and spread my legs, centering al of his attention

where it should be—on the need throbbing in my core and

leaking out as cream from my pussy. “I love your body—”

“Race you to the first orgasm.” His words cut me off as

he dove onto the end of the bed and crawled up and over

my body.

The wet tip of his shaft nudged my inner thigh, inches

from my weeping sex, and I whimpered before pointing out,

“You’re a little late for that. And I thought we were going

slow and easy?”

“I meant the first orgasm we give each other.”

“Mmm…my kind of chal enge.” Licking my lips, I glanced

down and took his erection in hand. “My kind of cock.

Before I stick it in me, contracted syphilis lately?”

“You know I’m clean.”

“Me, too. And protected. So let’s get to the fucking.”

Between the rearing of his hips and wickedly wolfish

smile, I expected him to pul his shaft from my hand and

thrust it inside me. I was partial y right. He pul ed it out of my

hand. Then he brought his own hands to my waist and

jerked me down the bed, until I fel back onto the mattress.

“You have a great ass.” His voice was back to rough,

raspy as he reverted to caveman. Jerking me over onto my

hands and knees, he stroked his rough palm across my butt

cheeks. “I owe you a swat.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” I gasped, even as I waggled my butt

and panted for that very thing.

“I would.” He lifted his hand away. “And you’d love it.”

I didn’t bother to respond, just tightened my cheeks and

waited to feel his swat. Waited while my sex throbbed, then

leaked juices down my thighs in expectation of his touch.

It never came.

“What the hel are you doing, Jack?”

“Making you come,” he said, sounding equal y smug and

amused.

“It’s not working.”

“Sure it is. Or is your pussy not aching for me to fil it up?

Is your ass not tingling to feel my hand against it? Is your clit

not on fire for release?”

Okay, so maybe it was working. Maybe he knew me too

damned wel that he could voice my body’s desires with

such clarity. Maybe taking this thing slow and easy was a

damned bad idea. “Fuck me. I lose the race—just make me

come already.”

“Always so greedy.” But he came over me, pressed the

virile hardness of his chest to my back and brought his

arms around mine.

Supporting his weight with his palms against the

mattress, he surged his hips back and, in the next instant,

shoved his cock gloriously deep inside me. I panted out a

hard breath with the intensity of the rapid entry, and heard

Jack do the same. Then his breathing became harsh in my

ears as he set a reckless pace.

Speed and angle worked in tandem to bring my body

screaming to the edge of orgasm in seconds. So fast. I’d

always wanted to come so fast with Jack.

I didn’t think about what that meant—didn’t even want to

consider it—just concentrated on making him climax

equal y as fast with the pump of my ass against his bal s

and the squeeze of my feminine muscles around his shaft.

“Slow down,” he warned, his voice strung tight.

“No. You come first.” I’d already thrown in the towel on

our chal enge, but stil I didn’t want to come again before he

did. I was a greedy lover, but I didn’t have to be that greedy,

not with Jack.

“Not going to happen.”

A husky laugh slipped from my lips at his cockiness.

“How do you plan to stop it from happening, Einstein?”

“Like this.” One of his hands left the bed to move

between my legs and capture my clit between thumb and

forefinger.

I knew with the first tug that he was right. I was going to

come first. When he altered from tugging to squeezing, I

was a goner. And then I was wrong once again. I didn’t

come first.

He came with me, impaling me as far as I could take

him, emptying his hot seed into my sheath. Shouting his

climax as loudly as I shouted my own while I erupted around

his cock.

My orgasm was stronger than I’d ever experienced,

stringing my body tight, flooding it with heat. Stealing al

trace of strength from my muscles. Leaving me feeling

stripped raw, open. Needy for Jack to support us both.

He did.

Like the best friend he’d been for over two decades, he

was my staying point, not letting me fal as I grappled to

breathe normal y again. Even when I found my breath and

my strength, he stayed with me. Even as I attempted to get

away from him by rol ing to the other side of the bed, he

fol owed me, burying his nose in my hair as he dragged my

back tight up against his front and whispered so

goddamned compassionately, “I wish I could bring your

father back. I hate to see you hurting.”

Already I was feeling so vulnerable, so raw, and he had

to go and say that?

My tears from the funeral home resurfaced, stinging my

eyes with salty water. I fought off the urge to sniffle, wanting

to cal him a thousand kinds of bastard for making me cry

again. Instead, I managed a terse “You just helped me

forget about his being gone. Don’t be a jerk and ruin that.”

Obviously, I didn’t speak tersely enough to dissuade

him. One of his hands came up to my cheek, urging me to

look at him, to reveal what I’d tried to hide. I did so out of

defiance, glaring past my blurred vision.

He didn’t say a word. Didn’t offer further sympathies.

Just ran his mouth along my cheek, caressing with his lips.

His tongue joined in, sliding out to capture my tears, licking

them away. Licking his way to the corner of my mouth.

Licking his way inside.

I shifted in his arms, and he turned me to face him ful y.

His kiss softened and his body hardened, and he gave me

the slow and easy sex I’d always expected from my lovers

in the past, and yet tonight, with Jack, I feared it.

I feared the way his tender handling tore at my emotions.

I feared how much I loved the comfort of his big body. And I

feared just how much this felt like honest-to-God

lovemaking.

Shutting out my fears, I closed my eyes and al owed

myself only to experience the pleasure. The feel of my best

friend bringing me to climax for the fourth time tonight. The

feel of him helping me to forget the pain of the last days.

And the feel of his hot fluid coming into me as we

surrendered to ecstasy.

Long after the sex ended, he held onto me, his softening

shaft inside of me, his mouth nuzzling my ear. “Carinna—”

The emotion in that one word was as raw as my own,

and I stopped him from saying more with the press of my

lips against his. I rol ed from him then, from his warmth and

solidarity and comfort, to curl up beneath the sheet on the

far side of the bed.

I wil ed him not to say anything more. Not to fol ow me

across the bed and pul me back into his arms. He

remained silent, stil . I rewarded him for that, looking over

and smiling appreciatively.

After a few seconds he smiled back, enough of the

cocky edge in place to grant me hope that everything would

be okay. That the tenderness of the last loving was truly

nothing more than his trying to help me to move past

thoughts of my father, to make me feel whole again.

“Thanks for making tonight bearable, Jack.”

His lips twitched a little, like his smile might falter, like

that wasn’t what his intention had been. But then he just

said, “G’night, Carinna.”

Jack

“Fuck.” Sitting on the edge of Carinna’s bed in the

predawn hours, I buried my head in my hands and grunted

the word a second time.

I’d seriously screwed up last night. Let her talk me into

becoming her one-night lover with little more than a handful

of words, a lone martini, and a scanty bra and silk thong.

Worse, though, far worse, I’d let myself sink into the

fantasy of making love to her. I’d let my mind become as

involved as my body. I’d let myself stop loving her as a

lifelong friend and start loving her as the woman I wanted to

wake up to for the rest of my life.

Hating myself for that weakness—not being strong

enough to keep from giving my heart away when I knew

damned wel Carinna wanted nothing to do with

relationships, and I wouldn’t enter into one until my days of

laying my life on the line for the sake of my job were over—I

stood from the bed. Quickly I gathered my discarded

clothes, refusing to remember the pleasure I had taken in

removing them while she ravenously eyed my body.

Refusing to think about the carnal bliss I had found first in

her arms and then while sinking into her warm, wet,

welcoming body.

Refusing to even look back at her, curled up and sound

asleep on the far side of the bed, as I left her room.

I had screwed up, but I’d get over it. I’d get over this

ache to take her back into my arms and never let go. I

would forget that I loved her beyond friendship.

At least until I found another line of work. And then I

would do everything in my power to convince her that she

was the relationship kind, and it was me she wanted,

forever.

Carinna

As if sleeping with him had somehow merged our

thoughts, I knew the instant Jack rol ed from the bed. I woke

up in that moment, but I chose to keep my eyes closed. I

could hear him moving almost soundlessly around my

apartment—no doubt he’d taken his clothes into the living

room and was dressing en route to the front door.

Don’t go.

I wanted to shout the words. But I couldn’t. Not just

because there was a very good chance it was his pager

that had pul ed him from bed, notifying him he was needed

at the firehouse, even though it was his day off. And not just

because I was damned tired of acting so emotional and

needy.

I kept my eyes closed and my mouth shut because both

my mind and the repercussions of sleeping with Jack were

suddenly crystal clear. It seemed we’d skated around those

consequences. It seemed by his smile last night that,

despite his warning a night of sex would ruin our friendship,

I stil had Jack as my friend.

If I asked him to stay, to crawl back into my bed and love

me again in a way that tore at my every emotion, my every

desire, it would be at the risk of him thinking I was after

more than just one night.

I didn’t want more. Couldn’t want more. Not after al the

two-timing sleazebags I’d encountered on a daily basis

while cocktailing at the tequila bar. And not after hearing my

father’s firsthand accounts of the way commitment had

ruined every one of his relationships and ultimately made

my mother leave us.

I had just wanted this one night as lovers. And every day

after this as friends.

I clung to those thoughts, and the smel of Jack on my

sheets and skin, as I listened to my front door shut and the

lock snick into place. And then I drifted back to sleep, for

one night my mind free of sorrow and my body free of ache.

Tokyo Rendezvous

JINA BACARR

I LAY ON MY BACK, MY HEAD RESTING

ON A BLACK satin pil ow shaped like an oversized

boxing glove. Comfy, cozy. And naked. I took a deep breath

and let it out slowly, spreading my legs and exposing the

tender lips of my pussy, hot and moist.

“Let’s get ready to rrrrrumble…” I said, twirling my R s

like a professional ring announcer.

The nude man watching me grinned, then joined me on

the bed, which was square-shaped like a boxing ring with

ropes and stanchions. I reached back and grabbed onto

the golden ropes surrounding the bed, parting my lips in

anticipation and surrendering myself to the expertise of his

bare hands.

They were everywhere at once, caressing and stroking

me, sliding over my thighs, then gently untying the thin silk

belt holding together my short red kimono. I tightened my

belt holding together my short red kimono. I tightened my

stomach, taut muscles straining while I pul ed on the golden

cords. Tingling, gripped with a hunger for his touch, I pul ed

harder. He sensed my need and rubbed his palms against

my hard nipples, sending me into a dizzying spiral,

somewhere, everywhere. I loved the feeling. I wanted more.

“Ready for the next round?” he whispered, never letting

up with his hands.

“Yes… yes! ” I cried out.

Kissing, fondling, massaging al over my body, this was

only the beginning of the game. A game that rocked my

world and sent me to new heights of sights, sounds and

smel s, not to mention great sex.

It was cal ed the love hotel.

I learned about the intimacy and excitement of the love

hotel on an extended business trip to Japan. It was a typical

can-the-Nikkei-go-any-higher day Americans working in the

Land of the Rising Sun know al too wel . After a long

morning of “yen highs and dol ar lows,” Steve, a tal ,

ruggedly handsome American co-worker I’d met on my first

day in Tokyo, suggested we go out to lunch.

Why not? I needed a break. Working for a big

advertising company handling talent for Japanese

commercials wasn’t al glam. Did you see Lost in

Translation? Then you know what I mean. I was the liaison

between the actor who wouldn’t-be-caught-dead-in-his-

skivvies-on-American-TV-but-in-Japan-anything-goes and

the Japanese director with the hard-on for every blond

ingenue I sent his way.

Speaking of hard-ons…

I noticed Steve eyeing my rear when he thought I wasn’t

looking. I returned the favor. The man had a set of buns that

made my sex-o-meter soar up higher than the Nikkei. Here

was a man who knew women admired him, and understood

al too wel the raw lust in my eyes. I welcomed him being

the object of my imaginings, and by the time he brushed up

against my breasts and promptly uttered, “Excuse me,” my

body was yearning with the most delicious hunger, my

pussy wet and ready, begging for satisfaction.

Arm in arm, we headed out to lunch, leaving the office

behind. It had been a difficult morning; the Japanese

director was upset because he hadn’t been advised of a

change in the shooting schedule to accommodate the lead

actor’s request to go deep-sea fishing in Thailand. His

long, straight black hair flying around his face, his eyes

blazing behind his dark glasses, he had ranted on for an

hour, frightening the young OL or Office Lady who worked

for me.

Enter Steve, calming him down and giving me pointers

on how to deal with him. Standing close to me, his hot

breath on my neck making me shiver with a pleasant tremor

that extended down to my pink-polished toes, he had

explained the director was behaving in a manner expected

of him to save face, similar to the way Japanese workers

scurried around the office, always in a hurry even if they

weren’t. Giving the appearance of urgency, he said, was an

important tradition in a Japanese office.

Steve was a veteran adman, having lived in Japan for

several years, and he knew how to handle the difficulties of

the job. But what impressed me more was that he took the

time to help me. I’d always considered what I did in my job

an art—coordinating the production, being on location

during the shoot, then fol owing through with postproduction.

Steve helped me take it one step further by showing me

how to break down the barriers I’d faced since coming to

Japan. I respected him, but I was also wildly attracted to

him. Did he feel the same way about me? Although he was

gaijin, foreigner, as I was, he fol owed the ways of the

Japanese. Taking his time, not acting on impulse,

conferring with the team before making a decision. Did he

also fol ow their ways in the art of love?

Was he unattainable?

I was determined to find out.

Light perspiration dampened my white, sheer silk blouse

and a sweet smel wafted up from between my legs. I took a

sniff and a scent of another kind made my heart beat faster.

A pleasant musky smel , the scent of a man, so unlike the

rose menthol odor al the rage among the men in my Tokyo

office. It came from a gum that made them smel like roses

after they chewed it. Seemed Japanese women preferred

men who smel ed like an indoor flower garden. I, on the

other hand, favored raw male pheromones to rev up my

libido. And Steve’s did the job to the max.

He sensed my hunger and smiled. “You smel good,” he

said, taking a whiff of my hair.

“So do you.”

He grinned, then gave a playful tug on my long strands.

“We’l continue this discussion at lunch, if you’re game.”

“I am. By the way,” I said, baiting him with a verbal hook,

“I’ve noticed the Japanese are great game players.” I

referred to their obsession with video games and

pachinko, a noisy pinbal game. I pushed out my breasts,

then wet my lips with my tongue. “I’m curious to find out

what kind of player you are.”

“Don’t worry,” he teased. “You wil .”

I smiled, aware that the mere suggestion of becoming

intimate with him ignited a flicker of pleasure low in my

bel y.

Once outside in the cool air, I tried to quel the slow fire

building within me, but the closeness of Steve’s body

pressed up against mine made my temperature rise. We

stood huddled together under my umbrel a to keep out of

the rain. A soft, steady, dewy rain that rol ed off my umbrel a

and fel at my feet like silky, liquid petals.

The rain didn’t stop the Japanese from crowding the

streets, I noticed, though it wasn’t al salarymen and OLs

rushing out for a quick lunch. I saw Goth girls in their black

garb vamping through rain puddles with their huge black

and white polka-dotted umbrel as, as wel as tough-looking

guys with auburn-dyed hair wearing square-toed boots and

long black jackets that extended down over their hips. I

drew in my breath when I observed a beautiful woman in a

mauve kimono with delicate white blossoms embroidered

on her obi or sash, text messaging on her cel phone as she

on her obi or sash, text messaging on her cel phone as she

got into a limo. A geisha? I wondered. Her presence

reminded me I was living in a land of make-believe, where

nothing was what it seemed.

Though I found Tokyo intoxicating, it made my head spin

as I tried to traverse my way through a world so foreign, a

world where anything goes: from pulsing neon lights

everywhere to heated toilet seats to the vivid colors of

Kabuki and men playing women’s roles.

I also had to deal with Japanese co-workers who

nodded their heads and said, “Hai, yes,” when what they

real y meant was, “I understand.” A polite way of saying

“no.” Showing what they cal ed tatemae, face, instead of

honne, their real feelings. The Japanese have a saying,

“Face is more powerful than money.” To the Japanese, yes.

For me, trying to live and work in a culture I didn’t

understand was making me lonely.

Very lonely.

And Steve was just the magic pil I needed. I could

already taste him on my tongue. Hot and salty. I imagined

my lips and tongue working along his shaft, sucking on him,

around the head, my tongue diving into the little hole on top,

before bringing him to a climax as pleasure overtook him.

My daydream made me hot and wet, but it wasn’t enough. I

wanted more. I wanted Steve.

I hungered for his strong body and firm touch, his arms

holding me, his cock driving again and again into my tight

pussy. I’d been too long without sex, busy with twelve-hour

days casting actors, consulting with legal regarding the

contracts, getting the proper filming permits, checking with

post to make sure they’d have the spot sweetened with

music in time to give to the client on the pre-arranged date.

Hectic, exhausting work with no time for play. A lunch date

was exactly what I needed to rev up my energy.

Tired and wet, we sat down on stools in a tiny shop and

ordered a typical Japanese lunch of soba noodles. While

we ate the noodles with chopsticks, I made every attempt to

keep my mind on business as we discussed tomorrow’s

shooting schedule for a genki, energy drink, commercial.

When I asked Steve his opinion about the location of the

shoot, he smiled.

“The Tsukiji fish market is my favorite place in Tokyo,” he

said, slurping his soup, his tongue darting in and out of his

mouth. “Slick, wet, and it smel s of the sea.”

Smiling, I nodded. The sexual innuendo of his answer

wasn’t lost on me. Open at 5:00 a.m., the famous fish

market was abuzz with flatbed carts zooming from one end

to the other with their wayward drivers shouting everyone

out of the way as they skidded across floors slippery with

chunks of ice. Meanwhile, sharp-eyed restaurateurs

elbowed each other through the narrow walkways lined with

fresh seafood, vying for the best pick. A colorful place to

showcase the product.

“Ever find a mermaid among the bluefin tuna?” I asked,

referring to the local fish used in sashimi.

He grinned. I loved his smile. “Not yet. But there’s always

a first time.” Then he was al business, sketching the layout

of the market on his napkin and showing me how his

Japanese crew would set up the shot. “We’l sit the pretty

model in a rickshaw carting a three-hundred-pound tuna,

then shoot the actor sipping the energy drink as he pul s the

two-wheeled conveyance.”

“Sitting on top of the tuna?” I asked, studying Steve’s

drawing showing the rickshaw hooked up to a truck off

camera to give the il usion the actor pumped with caffeine

and vitamins was pul ing it.

“You’d rather be on the bottom?” he asked.

“No, I mean, I…she…” I said, stuttering. A flush of heat

came over me, a sensation that made me feel awkward,

knowing he could probably read my sexy thoughts. He knew

we’d hired a popular Asian actress to do the spot with the

American actor, but I didn’t mind him teasing me. In fact, I

rather liked it. Recovering my composure, I said, “That

sounds perfect.”

“Yes, perfect.” I looked up at his absent tone. His eyes

were riveted on the pointy outline of my nipples molded

against the transparency of my rain-soaked, white blouse.

The look on his face made me shake with excitement. His

comment restored my confidence and made me daring.

So, he wanted to play.

With a naughty twinkle in my eye, I picked up a noodle

with my chopsticks and dropped it between my breasts. His

eyes never leaving mine, Steve picked up the noodle with

the tip of his chopsticks and ate it. I wiped the perspiration

from my bottom lip. The soup was hot, but I was hotter.

“Do you always take what you want?” I asked.

“Always. Though I also enjoy fol owing the customs of

Yoshiwara when I want to impress a woman.”

“Yoshiwara?” I repeated, trying to grab another noodle

with my chopsticks. “What’s that?”

“The old pleasure quarters.” Steve explained that

prostitution had been legal in Japan until the 1950s. “The

ladies who inhabited the brothel had a hierarchy, a caste

system,” he continued, “where the most expensive

courtesan had the luxury of choosing whether or not she

wished to entertain a customer.”

“Even if he was paying?” I splashed my chopsticks

around in my soup. Damn, al the noodles were too short for

an encore performance.

“Yes,” Steve said, noting my flailing chopsticks

splattering broth down my cleavage. Was that a twinkle in

his eye I saw, as if he enjoyed my frustration? “A man had

to impress her with his style. He made many visits to the

brothel, and even then he couldn’t be sure he would make

love to her.”

“What did they do during these visits?” I had to ask.

“He’d drink with her or give her poems. If he was

successful in his quest, he’d share a pipe with her.”

From the corner of my eye I saw him squeeze his

wooden chopsticks so hard he broke them in two. I lowered

my eyes and chewed on the end of my thumb before asking

in a low voice I hoped was dark and husky, “What kind of

pipe?”

“Long and hard,” he said without missing a beat.

“Mmm…” I licked my lips. My eyes never leaving his, I

imprinted my pink lipstick on my napkin then set it down

imprinted my pink lipstick on my napkin then set it down

beside him. Grinning, he poked his chopstick through my

paper lips then simulated pushing it in and out of my mouth.

I choked, anticipation making me breathe harder. “What

happened next?”

“The courtesan disrobed behind a screen, removing her

kimono, her numerous undergarments, and her sash—

cords snapping, silk rustling—driving the man crazy with

erotic sounds as her garments came off, one at a time.”

“Sounds intriguing,” I said, choosing my next words with

care. “Like the sound of a zipper going down in the dark.”

He smiled, but not before scanning my blouse and skirt.

Looking for zippers? my eyes asked him.

He matched my stare, his dark eyes chal enging me. I

lowered my gaze. I wasn’t ready to let him know how much I

wanted him. Not yet.

I slurped up the last of the juicy noodle soup as I’d seen

my co-workers do, then I was careful to arrange the

chopsticks across the bowl in the proper manner to avoid

offending the shop owner. Smiling, Steve complimented

me on my ability to pick up Japanese traditions so quickly.

“I love Japan,” I said, “and everything about it. The cherry

blossoms, the temples, the geisha—”

“Did you know geisha don’t wear panties?” he asked.

I stared at him, but said nothing. I wasn’t about to ask

him how he knew what geisha wore under their kimonos,

but that didn’t stop him from slipping his hand under the

counter and running his fingers up and down the inside of

my thigh. Was he wondering if I wore panties? I’d heard

about the no-pan kissa, bottomless coffee shops, popular

in Japan but I hadn’t seen them. I let out a soft moan as he

stroked my skin, then tugged on my panties as I hoped he

would, though he didn’t push his fingers underneath my

cotton crotch. I sighed, wishing I had gone commando.

I stared glumly at the empty soup bowl. What was I going

to do? Have sex with him under the table? Yet it wasn’t just

sex I wanted, but something more. He exuded competence

and trustworthiness, something I’d noticed was also

characteristic of Japanese workers, something I admired. I

felt such a closeness to him. Maybe it was the romance of

the rain, the pleasant odors of steaming soup, the fatigue of

overwork, even that feeling of camaraderie that overtakes

you when you’re far away from home and you meet a fel ow

countryman. Whatever it was, his touch was magic. And I

wanted him.

But it wasn’t possible. Not when we had such an

important shoot tomorrow morning. No doubt I’d be working

in the office until at least midnight, then I had an early

morning cal . No time for a date, even if he asked me. Or as

I’d heard the Japanese say many times during a meeting

when they didn’t want to agree with you, “That would be

difficult….”

Yearning to let go, my whole body screaming for him, I

was grateful when Steve removed his hand from under my

skirt and changed the subject. We discussed the shoot

tomorrow and how he had talked the energy drink client into

going beyond pairing up the Japander, what we cal ed wel -

known foreign actors who did commercials in Japan, with

cartoon characters. The beautiful Chinese actress would be

a welcome change, compared to the talking ham the actor

had shared a bed with in the last spot.

“Speaking of bed,” Steve said, again turning on that

twinkle in his eye I was beginning to know so wel . “We

could move our afternoon meeting from the boardroom into

the bedroom,” he suggested, squeezing my leg.

“What did you say?” I asked, squirming in my seat,

aching for him to slide his hand back up my thigh and push

his fingers under my panties. He didn’t, frustrating me

more.

“We could go to a hotel.” Straight face, no snickering,

though I noticed his dark eyes crawling slowly over me.

I couldn’t stop looking at him, though my emotions, no,

dammit, my raging libido made me too unsettled to speak.

Was he crazy? We couldn’t go to my hotel—I shared a

room with another girl from the office—and he bunked in

the company-paid bachelors’ dormitory. No women al owed

past the welcome mat.

“The only cheap hotels in Tokyo are capsule hotels,” I

said, casting him a questioning glance. Overnight plastic

cubicles stacked on top of each other. Men only, as a rule,

sans tattoos to dissuade the local yakuza, mobsters, from

using their facilities.

What about tattooed Westerners? I wondered, rocking

my buttocks back and forth on the hard wooden bench as if

to rub off the fleur-de-lis tattoo on my left buttock. I’d taken

the plunge on my last trip to Hong Kong and visited a tattoo

parlor. I giggled, curious how Steve would react if he saw it.

The capsule hotels were completely private, but so smal

you could only lie on your back. Interesting, but too confining

for what I had in mind. I’d been eyeing the brown-ribbed

cowhide belt Steve wore around his trim waist, and couldn’t

stop imagining the kiss of leather on my bare ass. I wasn’t

into S and M, but too many late nights watching Japanese

game shows featuring playful bondage and half-naked men

wielding black latex whips had made me curious. If not

horny.

Seeing my turned-on expression, he laughed. “C’mon,

I’m going to show you the Japan most tourists never see.”

He grabbed my hand, pul ed me out of the noodle shop and

across the street to his parked car, talking as we went.

“We’re going up the hil to a rabuho. ”

“Did you say rabbit hole?” I asked. “As in Alice peering

through the looking glass?” I bounced that off my list of wel -

known Tokyo watering holes and came up empty. What

manga fantasy was he into? The only rabbit I was on a first-

name basis with had a rotating shaft with plastic pearls

inside that made a snap-crackle-and-pop sound when I

used it. Attached to the shaft was a little bunny, whose ears

flicked and vibrated my clit with orgiastic delight.

“No, that’s Japanese for love hotel.”

“Love hotel?”

“Yes, though they’re often cal ed boutique or fashion

hotels. Back in the days of old Japan, they were cal ed deai

chaya, tea houses, where lovers went for a tryst.”

Steve explained how short-term hotels for privacy and

Steve explained how short-term hotels for privacy and

sexual pleasure were later known as tsurekomi yado,

rendezvous hotels. The love hotels so popular today

developed out of the curfew rule back in the 1960s, he told

me, which barred women in men’s hotel rooms after 9:00

p.m. It was a common practice for a businessman to meet

a bar hostess and take her to a Western-style hotel.

“What happened at nine o’clock?” I asked, envisioning a

quickie, Japanese style.

“The businessman became embarrassed when he was

subjected to the gaze and smirks of the desk clerks and

other couples who knew why they were there. So he had to

find an alternative to satisfy his sexual urges— and keep his

secret.” He grinned, his sexy smile promising an equal y

sexy answer. “And the love hotel was born.”

No reservation needed, Steve explained. Popular with

singles as wel as married couples, love hotels were open

twenty-four hours a day: lunchtime, after work, before a late

movie, anytime you and your partner were in the mood for a

few hours of fantasy and sexual thril s.

I jumped into his car, fascinated by his knowledge of this

unique Japanese phenomenon. I’d heard Japan was a

sexual supermarket, but I never thought I’d have the

opportunity to explore it firsthand.

We drove to the other side of town near the railroad

station, cruising into a seedier part of the city, a

neighborhood of smal wooden houses and closed

backyard gardens. I wondered why he’d brought me here

until I saw the word Hotel lit up in blue neon with blinking

red and green stars. Perched like a beacon atop a high-

wal ed cement building, it looked more like a prison cel

block than a pleasure palace. An uncomfortable wetness

made me rub my thighs together. What had I gotten myself

into?

“Most love hotels are identified only by a simple sign,” he

said, reading my mind as our car sped down into the

underground parking garage. “Although some love hotels,

like the famous one in Yokohama shaped like the Queen

Mary, boast outlandish landmarks.”

“Don’t people object to having a love hotel in their

neighborhood?” I noted the number of cars in the garage.

More than I would have guessed for a rainy afternoon. On

closer inspection, I was surprised to see the license plates

had been covered up to protect the owners and their guests

from prying eyes.

“Love hotels outside the city are often shaped like

castles or spaceships,” Steve said, “but in the city exteriors

are understated to fit in with the surrounding shops and

houses.”

With a resounding echo the steel door slammed shut

behind us. I shivered. The anticipation of spending the

afternoon with Steve made me flush with excitement,

though I was torn between guilt, apprehension and curiosity.

“What now, James Bond?” I asked, getting out of the car

and looking around. I half expected to see Japanese co-

workers racing from their cars into the hotel to avoid being

seen. Instead, I saw no one. We were alone. I didn’t find out

until later we were being watched on video cameras and no

one else would be admitted through the gate until we were

inside the hotel and out of sight.

“Your elevator awaits you,” Steve said.

I grinned. “Then what are we waiting for?”

My attention was on the handsome man standing beside

me in the tiny elevator pulsing with flashing lights, but I was

having difficulty treating this like a regular afternoon

meeting. The warmth of Steve’s body next to mine created

a giddiness I hadn’t felt since I mislaid my bikini panties in

the back of a limo at the senior prom. I struggled not to

become lost in my anticipation of what lay ahead.

“I’ve heard Tokyo boasts more than four thousand love

hotels,” Steve said, bringing my mind, but not my

hormones, back down to earth. “They’re so popular on

Saturday nights and weekday afternoons they’re cal ed

gokiburi hoihoi. ”

No translation needed. I knew what that meant:

cockroaches in a box, something gaijin learn quickly about

in a land infested with the ubiquitous creatures.

Then where is everybody? I wondered, my eyes darting

left and right, my mind working overtime as we walked

through the bright pink hotel lobby. If you could cal it a

lobby. No doorman, unless you counted a gilt copy of the

Venus de Milo winking at us. Not even a front desk. Just a

closed cubicle with a mail slot in it.

We stopped in front of a large display board with

checkerboard squares showcasing backlit photos, each

depicting a Disneyesque fantasy, with the dark squares

denoting rooms already occupied. Mickey does Minnie any

denoting rooms already occupied. Mickey does Minnie any

way you like it, I imagined. Old West, Hel o Kitty playroom,

French bordel o, hot-air bal oon, boxing ring, spaceship,

medieval torture chamber, harem, race car, jungle, even a

room with a heated swimming pool.

And the beds. Revolving, vibrating, massaging, tanning,

water. Fil ed with Evian, I hoped. Shaped like hearts,

pineapples, jet planes, spaceships, even a 1959 Cadil ac,

complete with chrome fins and tail ights.

Two prices were listed under each room. The cost for

the average length of stay, half a day, was around $200.

Double for overnight. Unlike hotels back in the States, we

weren’t asked for a credit card on check-in, but I found out

later some love hotels have yen meters to keep you

informed of how much al this pleasure is costing you.

“What’s your fantasy?” Steve asked, squeezing my

hand.

“You mean like the image clubs?” I’d read about the

upscale clubs where Japanese businessmen engaged in

sexual fantasy role-playing.

“No, this is better,” he said. I detected a chal enge in his

voice. “Here you know your fantasy wil come true.”

Our eyes met and he attempted a smile, al owing me to

choose the room, but he didn’t fool me. His jaw was

clenched, his eyes dark and serious, like storm clouds

rumbling, eager to shake free their heaviness. He was

counting the minutes—or was it the seconds?—until I made

my choice. I knew without a doubt it didn’t matter what my

fantasy was, he intended to make sure we had a good

time. Unlike most men I’d met on business trips, Steve

time. Unlike most men I’d met on business trips, Steve

recognized my feeling of isolation and had gone out of his

way to help me, translating documents and encouraging me

not to be hesitant in dealing with Japanese clients.

Breathing hard on the back of my neck, Steve again

reached down and slid his hand up and down my thigh. I

didn’t resist. Why should I? We were alone. No one could

see us. His hand slipped under my skirt, but I didn’t move

away as he tugged at my panties, this time inserting his

fingers inside me. I pretended not to notice, though I was

aroused and couldn’t help but let out a soft groan when he

found my hard bud and stroked it back and forth in a slow

but steady rhythm.

I didn’t speak. Instead I moved my hips in time to the

silent beat we both heard in our heads. I enjoyed the

pleasure he gave me with his fingers and I didn’t want him

to stop, but I had to choose a room. Fast, before I lost

control here in the lobby.

I tapped my finger against my lips, thinking. I always

wanted to play Annie Oakley, and popping off Steve’s hot

pistol sounded interesting, but since he was an avid boxing

fan I opted for the knockout.

“Put on your gloves,” I chal enged him, pointing to the

boxing ring photo, “and we’l spar a few rounds.”

“You got it, babe.”

Removing his fingers wet with my juices, he didn’t wipe

them off but let the sweet smel drift between us like magic

mist. Breathing in my own scent with Steve watching me

was a total turn-on. I couldn’t stand stil , shifting my weight

from one foot to the other while he pushed the button under

the photo and a key popped out into the tray below. I

expected a bag of potato chips and a chocolate bar to

fol ow.

Giggling like two teenagers ditching school, we fol owed

the miniature lights on the floor that lit up to guide us like a

yel ow brick road through the darkened hal way to our room.

I asked Steve if they checked IDs.

“If you’re old enough to pay,” he quoted a local saying,

“you’re old enough to play.”

Play was an understatement. I was astounded at the

room, furnished with every conceivable toy and designed

solely for sexual pleasure. Besides the lavish bed

decorated in red, black, and white satin like a boxing ring, I

counted mirrors everywhere, a forty-two-inch plasma TV

stocked with porn DVDs, a camera and equipment to

make your own videos for instant replay, a karaoke

machine, and a refrigerator stocked with coffee, green tea,

beer, and Bang cola. Erotic pictures of naked women with

their genital areas covered hung on the wal . Nearby stood

a vending machine stocked with condoms in neon rainbow

colors, dildos, French ticklers, and a string of pearls known

as anal love beads.

And an open bathroom.

No door.

I was surprised to discover the love hotel steeped in

privacy everywhere except in the room itself. I thought this

strange, since the whole concept of the love hotel grew out

of the lack of privacy in the typical Japanese house.

Imagine, only thin shoji or paper wal s separating you from

Imagine, only thin shoji or paper wal s separating you from

your in-laws in the next room.

I turned and looked at Steve, his breath fast and shal ow,

perspiration beading his brow, and his teeth clamped

together with the effort of waiting for me to undress. I smiled

at him. My spirits were too high and the bulge in his pants

too big to spend time contemplating Japanese

architecture.

I kicked off my shoes and started to unbutton my blouse.

Steve shook his head. “Uh-uh.”

“You want to watch a DVD first?” I asked, disappointed. I

was hot and didn’t need any prelims to get me started.

“A Japanese girl waits for the boy to undress her,” Steve

said, unbuttoning my blouse and sliding my slim skirt down

over my thighs. I stood there, mesmerized. What was wrong

with the lighting? It changed colors every time we spoke,

from blue to orange to yel ow to purple. Before I could

adjust my eyes to the sound-sensitive lighting, dimming and

changing color at the command of his raw, sexy voice, he

unhooked my bra, then pul ed down my panties. He grinned

when he noticed the tattoo on my left cheek. He slapped my

butt and I moaned, enjoying the pleasant sting of his palm

on my hot flesh. He said, “I like the way it wiggles.”

“My butt or the tattoo?”

“Both.”

I looked straight into his eyes and asked, “Now that

you’ve shown me what the boy does, what does the girl

do?”

“She lets him know what she wants by her actions.”

“Like this?”

“Like this?”

I sashayed over to the black marble Jacuzzi, tossing my

hair over my shoulder and letting it ripple down my naked

back. I knew Steve was watching me as I turned on the jets.

I wiggled my big toe in the gurgling water, then sat down on

the edge of the tub. He joined me and was soon busy

soaping up a sweet, redolent lather. He rubbed the green

foamy stuff al over my body, around my breasts, down to

my stomach, and between my thighs.

Waves of pleasure rushed over me, his touch arousing

me. I groaned. The smel of the exotic soap was almost

overpowering, along with his hands sliding al over my

body. My skin tingled, my muscles relaxed, my pussy

throbbed. I began to writhe under his expert touch then

shivered when his fingers slid in and out of me, exploring

the depths of my body, making me groan louder when I let

myself go and my pussy tightened around his fingers,

drawing him deeper into me.

“Think of this as your own private soapland,” he said,

removing his fingers, then, using his muscular chest as a

washcloth, rubbing, sliding, and stimulating my nipples with

his rhythmic up-and-down movements.

“Isn’t that just for men?” I asked, trying to regain my

composure. The Turkish-style baths included young women

using their bodies as a sponge to help the customer reach

orgasm.

“Not anymore,” he said. “I’ve heard the soapland service

for women includes biting their toes.”

“Lucky you,” I said, lifting up my pink-polished toes and

resting my feet against his chest. “I just had a pedicure.”

resting my feet against his chest. “I just had a pedicure.”

He laughed, then sucked on my toes, licking al around

them and tickling more than my fancy. So titil ating was his

tongue, I couldn’t fight the tingling sensation rushing up my

ankles, my calves, my thighs, al the way up to my pussy.

Laughing, I begged him to stop, then before he could grab

me, I eased my body into the tub. He fol owed.

We splashed each other, laughing, then sank down into

the hot, steamy water with only our chins showing, and

soaked. I closed my eyes and the fragrance of ginger and

sandalwood fil ed my head. Sitting in the hot water, my

mind drifting, I felt the probing touch of Steve’s hands

pushing my legs apart and sliding his fingers into me again.

Twisting, stroking, he took me on a sensation-fil ed journey.

The pleasure was so intense, I cried out with joy.

Before I could catch my breath, I felt my whole body

being lifted up out of the water. Steve held me in his

powerful arms in midair, then sat me down gently on top of

soft, fluffy white towels. Water dripped from my heaving

breasts and the inside of my thighs were slippery. He dried

me off with a towel, taking his time and chafing my nipples

with the looped cotton until they peaked hard and brown.

Then he rubbed me al over with the towel, his hands

massaging and stroking my shoulders, my hips, the insides

of my thighs. His touch made me shiver and I didn’t protest

when he wrapped me up in a short, red silk kimono. The

slippery fabric hugged my curves and its soft touch radiated

over my body like a thousand fingertips in constant motion.

Eyes closed, my body warm and comfy, I relaxed. His

hot skin brushed against my bare legs when he lay down

beside me, his hard chest smashing my breasts as he

turned my face toward him and kissed me. I could feel his

teeth through his lips, then his mouth opened and his

tongue darted inside mine, tasting, exploring, depriving me

of air with his passion until I couldn’t breathe. I opened my

eyes and seeing me gasping, he slowed down, his lips

touching mine with a gentle kiss, whispering to me that the

Japanese considered kissing to be foreplay to sex.

I wasn’t fooled. Steve was tel ing me in that indirect way I

was beginning to know so wel what was coming next.

After slipping on a neon blue condom, he parted my legs

and slid into me, pumping his cock into my pussy. The hot

steam surrounding us blurred our images, but I could feel

his long, hard thrusts sending me into an orgasmic spiral

that felt never-ending. Deeper and deeper he pushed into

me until I thought I couldn’t take it any longer; I was so close

to crashing in a shuddering orgasm, my cries mingling with

his loud grunts. Then he pul ed out and it was more than I

could bear. Desperate for him, I arched my back, pushing

my hips upward and gyrating like a tigress clawing at a fiery

dragon.

“Steve…” I whispered, reaching out to pul him into my

arms. “Is something wrong?”

“I have a surprise for you,” he said, moving our

lovemaking to the bed where I discovered the real erotic

Far East. He produced two metal bal s, shiny and heavy.

Where did he get them? I wondered, but I didn’t ask. I was

more curious about what he was going to do with them.

“Japanese women have been using rin no tama for

hundreds of years,” he said, inserting the two metal bal s

into me. I swayed my body back and forth, the bal s

producing gentle and persistent vibrations as they knocked

together, sending a range of sensations throughout my

body every time I moved. It was a pleasurable feeling, and I

giggled every time the bal s clicked together.

Then he entered me again. Gently rocking back and

forth, he gyrated his lower body with interesting twists and

turns in perfect timing with the clicking sound of the ben-wa

bal s inside me. I could see his eyes light up with

excitement when the tip of his penis touched the metal

bal s. But he was holding back, waiting for me.

He didn’t have long to wait. I cried out with such passion

the voice-sensitive room lighting glowed a fiery red. I

shuddered over and over again, stil the force of Steve’s

impending climax threatened to overtake mine, so powerful

he was, snorting and bucking like a wild man. He fil ed me

up, pushing into me, hips shaking. My sugar wal s vibrated

with pleasure, both from his thrusting cock and the metal

bal s hitting each other. I thrashed about, my body

trembling, my legs shaking, as the spasms peaked again

and again, his thrusts driving me mad until his body jolted

and he let go with a final shudder before he went limp.

Our passion spent, we muttered a few subdued moans

and the room lighting mel owed to a soft blue. Showering

me with kisses on my cheeks, my nose, my lips, my

breasts, Steve col apsed next to me, his breathing ragged,

but with a smile on his face. He reached over and cradled

me in his arms. I squeezed his hand and sighed. Time to

go back to the office.

We slipped the money through the slot in the cubicle in

the lobby but we never saw anyone, although I heard the

soft shuffle of feet as we left. Probably the maid preparing

the room for the next customers.

It was stil raining when we left the love hotel, our car

streaking out onto the sleek, wet streets. The blue neon

sign blinked at us as if to say, “Come back again.”

We did. Many times. So many we won a trip to a famous

Tokyo theme park by staying in al the rooms of the hotel

within a six-month period. It wasn’t difficult. Steve and I

worked together many hours in the love hotel, coming up

with ideas for goofy ad campaigns in spite of the shrinking

budgets of Japanese advertising agencies. Snuggled up in

our vibrating pineapple bed or our bondage dungeon or our

rocket ship with smoke that came out of one end when we

rocked the bed hard during lovemaking, we orchestrated

some of the best commercials on Japanese television.

I’l never forget my time in Tokyo. And I’l never forget

Steve. My samurai in the bedroom.

When I returned to the States, I brought back several

souvenirs, but the ones everyone asks me about are the

intriguing paperweights sitting on my desk: two metal bal s

the size of quail eggs.

I don’t have to say a word.

I just smile.

Postscript: I just got a call on my cell. Guess who

landed at LAX ten minutes ago? Steve. He’s here in L. A.

to do a job for the agency.

I grab the metal balls off my desk and rush out to the

parking lot. I’m leaving the office early to pick him up and

take him back to my place. My bed doesn’t vibrate or

revolve or have smoke coming out of it, but I don’t think

he’ll mind.

Do you?

The Well-Tutored Lover

ALICE GAINES

CHAPTER ONE

EVERY WOMAN REMEMBERS EXACTLY

WHEN SHE lost her maidenhead, but how many can

recal the moment when they first lost their heart? For me, it

happened on a sunny afternoon in June of 1886. The man

appeared at the doorway of my private conservatory as

though the earth had conjured him out of the same riot of

fertility that produced the swel ing fruits on my squashes.

Although the cut and fabric of his clothing spoke of

wealth, his features had a coarseness one usual y

associated with the working classes. The line of his jaw—

rather too square to be considered aristocratic—seemed

especial y out of place against the stiffness of his col ar.

His size alone would have made him stand out in any

gathering. With his broad shoulders, powerful chest and

long legs, he nearly fil ed the doorway. And yet, tousled

blond hair and brown eyes that held a hint of laughter

softened him. Indeed, he made an impressive display with

the late spring sun beating down on him.

He nodded his head in greeting. “Your Grace.”

I set aside the cattleya I’d been repotting. “If you want to

see me, please cal at the front door and provide your card

to my butler.”

“The usual way to do things.” He smiled. “Would that get

your interest?”

“Most likely not.” In fact, I often ignored overtures like

that. Most people who sought me out did so out of curiosity

or in search of fuel for the gossip about the notorious

dowager duchess. Life in the country could get dreadful y

dul , even with the usual round of house parties. A few

tidbits about that strumpet—what had possessed the Duke

of Mil ford to marry such a woman, anyway?—could help to

pass the long evenings.

“I’m right then?” he asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“You wouldn’t have seen me if I’d sent in my card.”

“I don’t think I’l see you now,” I said. “You can find your

way out, I trust.”

He didn’t leave but instead reached into his coat and

produced a cal ing card. Holding it out to me, he stepped

inside the conservatory and approached the bench where I

worked. I reached out and took the card, my fingers leaving

smudges of compost on the vel um.

“Mr. Arthur Chatman,” I read out loud.

“At your service, madam.”

“What sort of service did you have in mind?” Dear

heaven, would I never learn to curb my tongue? It was

exactly that sort of thing that had earned me my reputation.

Not that I gave a fig for what any of polite society thought,

but the buzzing and the sideways glances did become

annoying after a bit.

Arthur Chatman didn’t look the least alarmed, despite

h i s youth and, one would have to assume, relative

innocence. He appeared just shy of ful manhood, probably

a dozen or more years younger than my own thirty-five. He

didn’t stammer or avert his gaze but looked at me evenly,

as if considering my question.

“I was hoping to ask a favor of you,” he said.

“There’s nothing I can do for you,” I said. “After my

husband’s death, the queen doesn’t even have to pretend

to tolerate me any longer.”

He laughed. “I don’t want to go to court. We can do what

I’d like right here.”

I raised an eyebrow in a manner that would normal y

make the timid turn tail and run. Chatman didn’t.

“I think you’l be intrigued,” he said.

“Real y.” I set his card on the potting bench and wiped

my hands on my apron. “Let’s walk then, and you can do

your best to intrigue me.”

He offered his arm, but I walked past him and led him

outside. Our footsteps crunched along the gravel path as

we went through the vegetable garden toward the lawn. He

placed his hands behind his back and kept up with me, but

made no move to touch me.

“So what is your favor, Mr. Chatman?” I asked.

“You have an…um…interesting reputation, Lady

Mil ford.”

I stopped walking. “Shal I slap you now and send you on

your way?”

“I hope not. At least let me do something to earn getting

slapped.”

He was a cheeky pup, I had to give him that. “Go on,

then. I haven’t managed a decent umbrage in at least a

week.”

“From what I understand, you haven’t done anything that

a man wouldn’t do after his wife’s death, but society doesn’t

see it that way.”

“Hang society.”

He smiled. “Exactly.”

I turned and resumed walking. “So, you want to teach

society a lesson?”

“I want you to teach me a lesson,” he said. “I want you to

teach me how to fuck.”

I didn’t just stop walking at that one. I tripped over my

own feet, nearly fal ing over. He caught my elbow in his

large hand and steadied me. The contact felt at once

reassuring and disconcerting. A combination of gentleness

and strength that couldn’t help but remind me he was so

much bigger than I. And yet, with a shout I could cal any

number of servants to subdue him if I felt at risk of assault.

Teaching him to fuck could prove much more dangerous.

“I’ve shocked you,” he said.

“Fuck isn’t a word that comes up in most polite

conversation.”

“I could have said I want you to teach me how to make

love,” he said. “But that isn’t the same thing, is it?”

“Let’s stick to fucking, shal we?” Good Lord, I must have

taken leave of my senses. Here I was, standing in my own

garden talking to a perfect stranger about fucking. A very

appealing stranger, granted. He grew more appealing by

the minute. A cheeky pup with an innocent smile and a

strong, young body. Although my husband had been an

accomplished lover, I’d never experienced lust with a stud

like this one. None of the lovers I’d taken since Mil ford’s

death had a physique anywhere nearly as wel built as his.

He had intrigued me after al .

Stil , I had to chuckle. “It’s my experience that most men

are born knowing how to fuck. It’s instinctual with them.”

“That’s true, but I want to know how to do it wel .”

“And you think I can instruct you.”

“It’s a bit complicated.” He blushed. The curse of fair

skin. The color on his cheeks was endearing, real y, and

emphasized his youth.

I began walking again, now across the more formal part

of the garden where shrubs and flower beds lay in orderly

geometric patterns.

“I’ve had some experience with women,” he said. “At my

age, most men have.”

“You didn’t find it satisfactory?”

He shrugged. “I don’t have much to compare it to.”

“Did the women seem to enjoy it?”

“Not because of anything I did. They seemed happy

with…” He cleared his throat. “…my size.”

“Ah.” I cast a quick glance at the front of his trousers, but

his jacket hid anything interesting.

“Al the women I’ve known were quite experienced.

That’l change soon,” he said.

“You’re going to start ravishing innocents, are you?”

“I’m not a cad, Lady Mil ford.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Of course, you’re not.”

“My family wil want me to marry,” he said. “I’l probably

have a choice of several young women, al of them virgins.”

“You want to seduce your wife?”

“Mostly, I don’t want to frighten her.”

“With your size,” I said.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he cleared his throat again

and blushed even deeper.

I blushed myself, I’l admit. He did have a problem. If his

cock was in proportion to the rest of him, he couldn’t help

but cause a virgin pain. Only arousing her to the point of

desperation could make her beg to take something so big

into her body.

I, on the other hand, had only dreamt of taking a lover so

wel -endowed. Mil ford, bless his heart, had given me

everything he could but not that. I’d given up on fil ing that

erotic dream. Now Chatman was offering me the

opportunity.

“I know what marriage is,” he said. “I don’t expect my

wife to love me but I don’t want her to cringe when I slip into

her bedroom.”

And there it was. The exact moment when I first fel in

love. I just didn’t realize it at the time. It felt like a surge of

lust so powerful it made my knees weak.

Mil ford had cultivated my lascivious nature for both our

pleasure. I’d always known that his body had been aging

and imperfect, but I’d counted myself so lucky to have a

husband who cared about my satisfaction, I’d never thought

to indulge myself with a large and eager young cock. I’d

searched for what I’d missed after Mil ford’s death, but

none of the men I’d had offered the combination of

kindness, beauty and sexual prowess I’d desired. Chatman

did, and I could have him. The possibilities set my mind to

racing.

“You’re thinking of helping me, aren’t you?” he said.

“I could hardly think of anything else.”

He smiled. “Then you won’t slap me.”

“Not unless you ask me to.”

He stopped walking, turned, and took my hand in both of

his. He stood there, looking down at where his fingers held

my own. “I’d like your help.”

“Are you sure you’d find me attractive? I’m quite a bit

older than you.”

His head snapped up and his eyes widened in surprise.

“You’re a handsome woman, Lady Mil ford.”

I blushed again, the heat creeping over my cheeks.

Nothing made me blush anymore. Nothing except for this

man. My heart tripped in my chest. For a moment, I might

have been a young girl with her first suitor.

I looked back up at him. “Come back tomorrow. We’l

begin your lessons then.”

I spent the next day berating myself for not tel ing

Chatman what time to come. After spending most of the

night dreaming of huge cocks and strong fingers teasing

my pearl, I had awoken in a state of anticipation that stole

my breath and left my skin tingling. I might have slipped my

fingers between my thighs and given myself some relief.

But that would have taken the urgency from my need without

ful y satisfying it. In the end, I decided to enjoy my arousal

as it grew over the hours.

I tried reading, but the words swam past my eyes without

penetrating my brain. I picked strawberries and ate them

stil warm from the sun. Their succulence and sweetness

only heightened my sensual awareness, and I imagined

licking their juice from the swol en flesh of my new lover’s

cock. I tried taking walks to clear my head but—as I hadn’t

worn drawers in order to be ready for my young lover—I

only became more and more aware of the friction between

my legs.

Final y, I lay quietly on my fainting couch—closer than I’d

ever come in my life to actual y swooning—and counted the

hours every time the clock chimed.

In midafternoon, Woodson appeared at the sitting room

door with a silver salver in his hand. “A visitor, my lady.”

I sat up on the couch and extended my hand. Woodson

approached and held the salver out to me. For a moment, I

hardly could bring myself to look at the printing on the card

for fear it was someone besides Chatman. If it was, I’d

have to send them away and hope they didn’t cross paths

with my young swain on his way in.

I took a deep breath and read. Thank heaven. I looked

up at Woodson. “Send him in.”

I arranged my skirts around me but stopped when the

trembling of my fingers became pronounced. An observer

might have thought me a green girl for al my fluttering.

He appeared in the doorway wearing riding clothes and

carrying his hat in his hand. If he’d tried, he couldn’t have

found clothing to outline his physique better. The britches

stretched taut along his thighs and the jacket barely

contained his shoulders. His hair was pleasantly mussed

as though the wind stil rustled through it.

He gave me a tentative smile. “Thank you for seeing

me.”

“Please close the door and come in.”

He did as I asked and then stood in the middle of the

room as if waiting for my next command. My heart

pounding, I patted the surface of the couch beside me. He

sat and fidgeted with his hat until I took it from him and set it

onto the floor nearby.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” I said.

Although, heaven only knew how I’d manage my lust if he

decided to back away.

“I want to,” he answered. “I just don’t know what I’m

about.”

“That’s why you’re here. So I can teach you.”

He took a breath. “Right.”

“Let’s pretend that I’m an innocent. We’ve met several

times, and I’ve been showing interest in you. We’ve

sneaked away, and we can’t know when someone wil find

us.”

“Miss…” He stopped. “It would help if I knew your name.”

“Lily Sandridge.” My last name hadn’t been Sandridge

for years, and only Mil ford had cal ed me Lily during our

marriage.

Chatman took my hands and gazed into my eyes. “Miss

Sandridge.”

“Very good. Start slowly, and if the woman shows any

reticence, retreat. She must feel safe.”

He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

I studied him for a moment. “Have I made you

uncomfortable?”

He looked me straight in the face. “What makes you say

that?”

“You seem…I don’t know…hesitant.”

“I can manage hand-holding on my own. I’d like to move

past what would be appropriate between us if we might be

discovered.”

“Certainly.” I wanted that, too, of course. I’d spent the

entire day waiting for his hands on my body and mine on

his. I might not have his rod inside me during this lesson,

but I’d get a good idea of its dimensions. That would fuel

more erotic dreams and a heightened tension for more

days yet. With a bit of skil , I might stretch out the titil ation

until it had reached unparal eled levels. And to think, if

Chatman hadn’t appeared out of the blue the day before, I

might never have thought of such delicious play on my own.

“Good, then,” I said. “Let’s move on.”

“Yes, let’s.” He gave me a wicked smile then, so unlike

his earlier shyness. It made his eyes sparkle and formed

his lips into sensual curves too delicious for any mortal

woman to resist. Yes, we’d start with kissing.

“We’l assume you’ve already touched the young lady

several times—al innocently and by accident.”

His smile broadened. “Of course.”

“Now, the two of you find yourselves alone. Her

chaperone has nodded off or some such.”

He leaned toward me, his eyes bright with excitement.

My own most likely looked the same.

“It’s time for your first real kiss,” I said.

“Oh, yes.” His voice came out husky and ful of promise.

“You stil should move slowly. Signal your intent and let

the lady come to you.”

He leaned closer to me, his lips nearing mine.

“That’s it,” I said. “Hesitate, looking into her eyes. Show

her you want her but that you’l wait until she’s ready.”

He stopped there, his mouth only inches from my own.

I’d never had a more tempting invitation and I paused to

savor it. The world slipped away as we sat there, each

waiting for the contact that would begin our ascent to

heaven.

Final y, weak human flesh that I am, I surrendered. I

closed my eyes and sampled his lips.

And, oh, what lips they were. Soft and ful , yet firm.

Sweeter than my strawberries and headier than brandy. He

held himself stil while I explored every inch of his mouth

from the corner to the ful ness of his bottom lip and to the

other corner.

After a moment, he began to tremble, so I ran my arms

around his neck to encourage him. He took the message

and groaned as he pul ed me against him. Then his lips

moved, brushing mine and sucking. Soon a fog of arousal

fil ed my brain. This was no lesson but an assault on my

senses. One I happily surrendered to. I offered him my

tongue, and he grazed it with the tip of his own.

A shock raced through me, and I gasped. Immediately

he pul ed away.

“I’m sorry.” He took a shaky breath and then another. “I

was carried away.”

I pressed a palm to my chest, as if that would help me

get air. “My fault. I moved too quickly.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“Nor I. That was quite remarkable.”

He smiled. “You liked it?”

“My dear Mr. Chatman, when you know women better

you’l realize that you seduced me thoroughly with a kiss.”

“Please cal me Arthur.” He looked quite pleased with

himself. A true rake in the making. Only the flush to his own

skin gave him away. He’d become as aroused as I was.

“Wel , Arthur, you’ve done a very good job of kissing an

experienced woman. A virgin wil take a bit more work.”

“That’s what I’m here to learn.”

With another man, it might have worried me to give a

fel ow such power over women. An unscrupulous rake could

cause misery for large numbers of young girls. Though I

preferred adventurous men myself, I found the predatory

sort beneath contempt. Taking someone’s innocence for

one’s own enjoyment with no thought of the consequences

was a selfish act of the worst sort. Selfishness had no place

in good sex, as I’d learned from my late husband. But

Chatman seemed to honestly want to please his wife-to-be.

In that regard, he was much like Mil ford. In fact, if I’d

believed in the supernatural, I might have thought Mil ford

had sent him to me so I could have the joy of mutual

pleasure with a strapping young specimen.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

I brought myself back to the present and found him

studying me. Rather than the timidity he normal y displayed,

he gave me a frank appraisal, as if he could see inside my

mind. For just a moment, I got a glimpse of the man he’d

become in the prime of his power and worldly

accomplishments. A glimpse of a stunning man, indeed.

“Hmm?” He leaned toward me and pressed his lips to

my temple. His hot breath slipped into my ear, and I couldn’t

help but tremble.

I put my hand on his chest and pushed him back. “I think

you’re getting much too good at this.”

“Let’s go on.”

“Now then, after you’ve shared several of those kisses

with your young lady, you’l find she makes more and more

opportunities to get you alone.”

“I do hope so.”

I raised a finger in true instructor fashion. “Always

pretend to be surprised. Pleased, but surprised. It’l make

her feel very clever.”

” That’s dishonest, isn’t it?” he asked.

“An innocent deception. You want to encourage her.”

“So, what should I do once she has me to herself?”

“More body contact.” I rose from the couch. “Here, let me

show you.”

He stood, too, and stretched out his arms. I walked into

his embrace and held myself against him, my head on his

shoulder. I’d never had such a large man before. Size like

that could intimidate, or it could feel like a shelter. He held

me so gently—as if he feared I’d break—that my heart

melted. Truly, I could have rested against his chest forever,

except for one thing. The fire stil burned inside me. I

needed far more than such innocent contact could give.

I looked up at him. “Kissing’s more intimate in this

position.”

“Yes.” He’d gone breathless again. No doubt the press

of my body against his had aroused him as it had me. In

fact, a definite hardness pressed against my bel y. With a

more experienced man, I would have pressed against his

britches to stroke his cock through the fabric. Before he left

today, I would feel the thickness of him between my fingers,

and naked, too. For now, I’d find some patience.

“If you’ve kissed the lady before and she’s come wil ingly

into your embrace, you can do it now with more authority,” I

said.

He didn’t wait for more instruction but bent to take my

mouth. Again, his kiss sent heat spiraling through me.

Strong and yet soft, his lips moved over mine with just the

right pressure. Not pushing or demanding, but drawing me

to him. I clung to his shoulders as my knees grew weak.

Since my marriage, I’d led a voluptuous life—first with

Mil ford and then with other lovers. Nothing had ever made

me hotter than the feel of this man’s lips on my own.

I whimpered and opened my mouth under his, begging

without words for more. More of his heat, his strength, his

sweetness. He held me, his hands roaming my back. When

they went lower to cup my buttocks, I pressed myself

against him until my bel y rubbed against the bulge of his

cock.

A roar rumbled through his chest, and he pushed me

away. His strong hands gripped my arms though, holding

me up. If not for that, I would have fal en.

“Mercy, Lady Mil ford,” he said. “I’m only human.”

“You wanted me to teach you how to fuck.” The

disappointment, the hunger, the desperation rang in my

voice. Normal y I kept tight control of my emotions and only

surrendered to my own orgasm. In another moment, this

man would reduce me to begging.

“I want to fuck you, too,” he said. “But we must go slowly,

or I’l spend in my britches.”

Again, my heart soared. The fact that I could capture his

body as completely as he’d captured mine promised

pleasure beyond anything I’d known. Patience. I only

needed patience.

I nodded my understanding and rested my hands on his

arms, leaning into his strength while I gathered what I could

of my wits.

Final y I was able to stand on my own, and I smiled at

him. “Al right. Slowly.”

He rubbed his hands over his face for a moment and

took deep, even breaths. Then he dropped his arms to his

sides and straightened. “Wil an innocent respond like that

to a kiss?”

Honestly, his questions about how another woman might

feel about his touch were growing tiresome. Especial y his

emphasis on innocence. I’d never cared about that sort of

judgment, but now, for some reason, it mattered.

“An unpracticed girl won’t respond as wel ,” I said. A bit

petty, perhaps, but true. If he thought a prissy young thing

would be as passionate as I was, he’d be sorely

disappointed. “But, if she seems agreeable, you can press

on.”

“How would I do that?”

“Nibble at her earlobe. Press kisses along the length of

her throat.”

“If you don’t mind…” He swal owed. “Can we keep that

for another day? I feel…wel …overwhelmed.”

As did I, but I had no intention of stopping here. “Touch

her breast and see what she does.”

His eyes widened and he stared at me. I’d confounded

him. Good.

“Through her clothing,” I said. “Pretend it’s an accident.”

“Her breast.” His gaze fixed on my bosom. Slowly, his

hand came up as if acting on its own. He watched its

progress as it approached the swel of flesh under my

bodice.

When the backs of his fingers grazed my waiting nipple,

I couldn’t hold back a little cry of pleasure. Again his

gentleness threatened to undo me.

“Soft,” he whispered. He moved his hand back and forth,

teasing the nipple until it ached, and then cupped my

breast. The flesh felt hot and heavy as he stroked it. I could

have melted right then, and indeed, my pussy grew wet.

How I burned for him.

“What else should I do?” he asked. His voice was none

too steady and his breathing had grown ragged.

“Before she’s agreed to marry you, probably nothing

more.”

He dropped his hand. “Nothing?”

“Anything more could ruin her.”

His brows furrowed. “But, surely there are other things I

could do without taking her virginity.”

“But they’d ruin her, nevertheless.”

“I don’t understand.”

I sat on the couch again and gestured for him to join me.

“If you awaken her lust but don’t marry her, she’d most likely

search for satisfaction with another man who might not

have your scruples.”

“Now I real y don’t understand.”

“A woman’s sexual needs are every bit as strong as a

man’s. Perhaps stronger,” I said.

He looked clearly surprised at that. “Can that be

possible?”

“You must have pleasured yourself, haven’t you?” I

asked.

His cheeks grew bright red. “Every man has.”

“Then you know you can spend without penetration.”

He didn’t even try to answer that but only nodded.

“For every climax a man has, a woman can have two or

more.”

“The tension, the inevitability and then the explosion?” he

said. “More than once?”

“You could make a woman spend without taking her

virginity.”

“I’d like to see that,” he said.

“I could show you right now.”

He smiled, but his cheeks turned a flaming red. “Lady

Mil ford!”

“Lily.”

“Lily, I…” His voice trailed off. “You want me to watch

your orgasm?”

“I want you to give me one.”

“Now? Today?”

“Your kisses have aroused me beyond what I can

endure. I imagine you feel the same,” I said.

He took my hand and brought it to his lips. “You have no

idea.”

To the contrary, I had a very good idea. Both of us

needed more. If he left now, he’d no doubt take his sex in

hand and finish matters. I know I would. How much sweeter

to do it for each other.

“A gentleman wouldn’t leave me in such misery,” I said.

“I would never hurt you, dear Lily.”

“Then touch me. Reach beneath my skirts and share

heaven with me.”

I leaned back against the cushions and brought one foot

up to rest on the sofa. With my legs parted in invitation, he

could have no doubt what I wanted. Immediately, he

reached to my ankle and moved his hand upward to where

the garter held my stocking. From there, his fingers traveled

over the naked skin of my inner thigh, headed toward my

aching cunny. I sighed, closed my eyes, and waited for the

touch I’d craved since awaking that morning.

“When you find my lips, you wil have reached your goal,”

I whispered, scarcely able to talk because of the

anticipation.

“Ah, yes.” He touched my sex, stroking the swol en flesh.

“Lovely.”

A jolt of pleasure raced through me and my back arched,

pressing my flesh harder against his hand.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked.

“Don’t stop!” I cried. “Whatever you do, don’t stop!”

“It’s very wet. My fingers are covered with moisture.”

“My cunny’s readying itself for your cock.” As much as I’d

love to tear off his clothes and mount him, I’d save that for

another day. No need to rush, especial y when today’s

pleasure had grown so intense.

“This is where you’l take my rod.” He slid a finger inside

my depths. “It’s so hot.”

“Dear heaven,” I gasped. “Don’t stop.”

He slid another finger inside me and pumped until al

reason fled and I was utterly at his mercy.

“Hot, sweet and wet,” he murmured, his own voice

strained.

“Where the lips meet…above…” I had to fight to form

words. “There’s a nubbin. Hard. Rub that.”

His thumb flicked over my pearl. “Here it is.”

“Yes. Yes. Oh, yes…”

His fingers stil probing my cunny, he kept stroking my

clitoris with his thumb. Al the lust I’d endured during the

day, al the passion of his kisses, the burning of my pussy—

al of it built to impossible heights. I hovered on the edge of

bliss for a long moment, and then the storm burst over me.

Unable to endure further, my sex clenched and then erupted

into spasms as I spent with a force that stole my

consciousness.

After it finished, I lay back, boneless with pleasure as my

sex continued to flutter around his fingers.

“My dearest Lily.” He removed his hand from under my

clothing and leaned to press a kiss to my lips. “What an

honor. I’l never forget this moment.”

I held him to me as I drifted back to reality. “You did that

very wel .”

“I had no idea such a thing was possible.”

“There’s much more possible than that. In a moment, I’l

show you.”

We sat that way for a bit while I returned to ful reality.

Final y I couldn’t wait to continue our explorations. He’d

touched me in the most intimate places and reduced me to

pure lust. I’d do the same to him—and delight in making

him the slave of his own passion.

I raised his face and looked into his eyes. “Now, dear

Arthur, don’t be shy. I must see your cock. I must feel its

weight in my hand and pet its length.”

Instead of a blush, he gave me a smile as warm as

sunshine. Stil innocent, but lusty and open to whatever I’d

planned. I’d planned a great deal, and now I’d drive him to

the same ecstasy he’d given me.

He straightened and opened his riding jacket. Final y I

had a view of the outline of his rod where it pressed against

the tight fabric of his britches. He hadn’t exaggerated its

size. A broad ridge extended from the space between his

thighs to the waist of his pants. I pressed a palm to it and

marveled at how thick and hard it was.

He closed his eyes in bliss and pressed his pelvis

against my hand. “Take care. You’l make me wild.”

“My intent exactly.” I unbuttoned his britches, my fingers

fumbling in my haste. I would have this treasure in my

hands. I would stroke and caress it until I could watch it let

loose his seed. Only I needed to work quickly, as he’d

spend soon.

When I final y had the fastenings open, his cock nearly

sprang free, it was so eager to be petted. I’d seen a few

pricks in my day, and this one put the term to shame. The

thorn of a rose could prick, as could a needle or knife. This

resembled a mast, so thick at the base I couldn’t close my

fingers around it. The tip was a wonder—as large and

purple as a ripe fig. My poor lover had pushed himself to

the breaking point while bringing me pleasure. He’d put off

his own completion to satisfy me. Now I’d take care to give

him the reward he deserved.

I stroked the length of him, al along the shaft to the bal s

beneath. Then I bent to kiss the head and lick the ridge that

circled it.

He jumped and his eyes flew open. “What are you

doing?”

“He’s such a fine, lusty fel ow. Let me love him. Let me

suck him deep into my mouth.”

“You’d want to do that?” he asked.

“Can you doubt it?”

“Other men have told me no lady wants to take a man’s

member between her lips.”

“Then I’m no lady,” I said. “Because I want to savor every

inch of you.”

If only that were possible. Nothing this large would fit into

my mouth. But I’d take as much as I could and stroke the

rest. With some effort, I could massage his sac at the same

time. I bent to my work—sucking at the head of his

marvelous tool while my fingers were busy with the rest of

him.

He took a shuddering breath. “Oh, Lily. By God, I never

imagined. Ah, my love.”

He seemed to swel even further, and I strained to take

more and more of him. Oh so gently, I slid my teeth along

the underside of his shaft. In response, his pelvis moved,

imitating the thrusts of a man about to spend. Indeed, a

slight tang of salt told me he’d released that first droplet that

preceded the rush of his lust. He wouldn’t last much longer.

No longer speaking in words, his sounds told me of his

mounting arousal. Murmurs and soft grunts—the song of the

male in ful rut. I didn’t slow, but worked him for every

second of madness I could give him. Truly, a cock had

never been more thoroughly loved.

Final y, he snapped. “Stop!” he shouted. “Oh, now…I

can’t…Stop!”

I removed my mouth from his rod and stroked him hard

and fast. He roared as his body went rigid. Semen shot out

the tip of his cock in hot waves. It sprayed on him and on

my hand. So hot and sweet.

I kept up the pressure until he’d finished and then gently

released him to float on the same cloud of bliss I’d just

occupied. Disturbing him as little as possible, I reached

into my bodice to find my handkerchief and then blotted up

his love juices. It seemed as if they’d gone everywhere.

After a moment, he sighed and slipped his fingers into

my hair. “You’ve undone me. I’l never be the same again.”

“Any lusty woman would do the same for you.”

“No, Lily. Only you.”

My heart shouldn’t have warmed at that. A man would

say anything for fel atio. He’d just had his first taste and was

understandably moved. He’d come to me for an education,

no more. I’d enjoy the considerable pleasures of his body,

and he’d go away again. The two of us would make some

young girl happy in their marriage. A boon for al around,

and yet…if I had foolish notions about men and love…

He sat up and pul ed me to him, taking my lips in a kiss

so sweet it brought tears to my eyes. He was such a

mixture of innocence, passion and tenderness, only

someone heartless could fail to respond. I’d best rein in my

own heart before it came to hope for more than it could

have.

I straightened and gathered my skirts around me. “That’s

enough for today, I think.”

He tucked his limp but stil impressive cock into his

britches and did up the buttons. “May I come again

tomorrow?”

“Oh, yes. Please do.”

CHAPTER TWO

THE NEXT DAY, I SENT WOODSON INTO

TOWN ON AN errand that would put him right in the

path of the butcher’s widow—a lady he admired for her

generous disposition and even more generous bosom. If I

had to rid myself of him so that I might enjoy an afternoon in

my lover’s arms, he might as wel enjoy himself, too. I told

my maid that I had a wicked headache and would snap at

anyone who showed her face, so she disappeared as wel .

In this way, I was able to pace the length of the drawing

room in nothing more than a shift and dressing gown in

complete privacy. I left the door open so that I could hear a

knock at the front.

Heaven help me if anyone else were to drop by, but then,

everyone for miles around knew my reputation. If they found

me déshabillé, they had only themselves to blame.

My darling boy was punctual, and his knock came at

exactly the same time it had at our last meeting. I greeted

him at the front door, put my finger against my lips to

command his silence, and then took him by the hand to my

bedroom. The moment I’d locked the rest of the world out,

he took me in his arms and gave me a kiss that set my

senses reeling. After several moments of breathless

sparring of our lips and tongues, he broke off and rested

his forehead against mine.

“I can’t believe I’l final y have you,” he said. “We wil fuck

today, won’t we?”

“I swear, I’l perish if we don’t.”

He laughed and kissed the tip of my nose. “I wouldn’t

want you to die on my account.”

“Oh, but we wil die. Both of us.”

“I was awake half the night thinking of this. I had to use

my hand to get some relief.”

“I wish I could have done that for you,” I said.

“When I remembered your mouth on my cock, it made

me mad with lust.”

“Today you’l feel my cunny around it.”

I could have taken him right then—I’d grown that wet and

hot. But I’d agreed to teach him how to pleasure a virgin.

The lesson would be long and slow, and we’d both

approach the boiling point before I could have his huge tool

inside me. What a glorious coupling that would be.

“Now then, we’l pretend that I’m your virgin bride,” I said.

“You’l have to work to win your reward.”

“How should I start?”

“Undress me, and as you go, praise my body. A woman

glows when she believes she’s pretty.”

He opened the top button of my dressing gown and

slowly moved to the second. “You’re far more than pretty,

my dearest Lily.”

“Do you real y think so?”

He opened a few more buttons and stroked my skin. “It

feels like rose petals. I must kiss it.”

Playing my part, I pul ed the dressing gown closed and

pretended shyness.

“You like my kisses, don’t you?” he asked.

I bit my lip and nodded.

“Then, let me kiss you everywhere. It won’t hurt, I

promise.”

He undressed me further, bent, and placed his lips in the

hol ow at the base of my throat.

I’d had furious couplings—clothes flying, hands groping,

bel ies slamming together. I’d had the expert touches of my

husband, as he’d taught me my own body’s responses. I’d

never had anything like Arthur’s tenderness and reverence

as he lowered his lips to the top of my shift. My breath

caught and my skin grew extra sensitive. My breasts,

especial y, felt heavy and ful . As if reading my need, he

slipped a hand inside my dressing gown and cupped one

peak through the fabric of my shift. The nipple hardened

instantly, and I couldn’t hold back a gasp of surprise and

pleasure.

“I must see you naked,” he whispered. “I must have al of

you.”

“It isn’t right.” Although my voice came out strained with

desire, it might have sounded like fear. Playing my part

again.

He looked down into my face. “Lily, I’m your husband.

Nothing is wrong between us.”

My husband. This mythical Lily he spoke to had better be

worthy of him. If not, I’d find her and steal him from her. But

then, who could be worthy of such a man?

I moved my hands and al owed him to finish unbuttoning

my dressing gown. Once he’d done that, he pushed the

garment over my shoulders and let it drop to the floor. My

shift went next, as he bunched it up in his hands and pul ed

it upward. I lifted my arms to help, and in a moment I stood

before him without a stitch on my body. Not acting this time,

I covered myself as best I could with my hands. Thirty-five

isn’t old for a woman, and I’d kept my figure wel . But I didn’t

have the bloom of youth he’d expect on his real wedding

night.

He took my hands and moved them away from my body

and stared at me until I trembled.

Final y I couldn’t bear his scrutiny another second. “Do

you find me pleasing?”

He looked up at me as if he didn’t know the meaning of

the word. “Pleasing?”

“I’m not young.”

“You’re magnificent.” He stroked my shoulder and then

lowered his hand over my chest and cupped my breast.

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

Something broke free inside me and my spirit took flight.

He thought I was beautiful. His face showed no guile, no act

for the benefit of another woman’s pleasure. He wanted me

as much as I wanted him. I could give in to passion,

knowing that he shared it.

“You may take me to the bed now,” I said.

He lifted me up into his arms and whirled me around as

if I weighed nothing at al . I’d only meant for him to lead me

to the bed, but floating in his embrace was so much more

exciting. I could have him now. I could touch him anywhere

and order him to do the same for me. My hours of waiting

had come to an end. Satisfaction was within my reach.

He walked to the bed and laid me on the comforter. I lay

there, gazing up at him, and oddly, this did feel like a first

time. Certainly, he looked at me out of fresh, young eyes.

What did he see? A woman past the blush of innocence

that so many men valued above al else?

“Tel me again that I’m beautiful,” I said. Pitiful, and yet I

couldn’t stop myself.

“You’re the most beautiful woman on Earth,” he said.

“Your limbs are graceful, your breasts lush and ful . And your

cunny…ah, your cunny. It looks like heaven.”

“You can see it?”

“The lips are pouting beneath their curls. Luscious. I want

to devour them.”

I did my best imitation of a girlish giggle. “You mustn’t.

It’s wicked.”

“I want to kiss every inch of you,” he said. “That spot

especial y.”

He took off his jacket and dropped it to the floor. His

col ar and cravat went next, and then he unbuttoned his

shirt, showing the smooth muscles of his chest. Even in

trousers looser than his riding britches, his cock made a

definite impression against his front.

Staring at it, I put my hand to my throat in mock alarm.

He sat on the bed and took my hand. “I’l be gentle, Lily. The

pleasure wil make up for any pain. Do you trust me?”

I nodded, and he bent to press a chaste kiss to my lips.

Then he removed his shoes and socks and stretched out

next to me.

“Our life together begins now, Lily, and you mustn’t be

afraid of me.” With that, he kissed me in earnest, and the

warmth of his body enveloped mine. I dropped al pretense

and welcomed him, running my arms around his shoulders

and answering his lips with my own.

The caress stole my breath as I opened my mouth to

accept his tongue. He groaned and took us deeper, running

his lips over mine and taking the lower one between his

teeth to nibble gently. Heat rose between us, and I pressed

myself upward against him so that I could savor the fabric of

his shirt against my nipples.

He trembled, leashing in the power of his body. “I want

you so much. It’s kil ing me to go slowly, but I wil .”

I stroked the side of his face. “Kiss my breasts.”

“Ah, God, yes.” Moving lower, he let his lips trail over my

chest until he reached one nipple. Teasing that with his

tongue, he circled it until it hardened, peaking upward.

Final y, he took it into his mouth and sucked—and I nearly

flew off the bed, the feeling was so intense.

He assaulted al my senses—the pressure of his mouth

against my breast, the sounds of his ragged breathing, the

sweetness of his kiss. My entire body screamed for him,

silently begging for more. I needed his hard rod inside me,

and yet I needed to hold off the ultimate pleasure to make it

more intense.

After loving that breast, he moved to the other one and

continued his magic. His hands moved over my ribs,

massaging me and pul ing me to him.

He released my nipple and looked up at me. “Am I doing

this right?”

I stroked his face. “Wonderful y right.”

“You make it easy.”

“You make me wild with lust.”

He grinned. “I plan to have my revenge on you for

yesterday.”

A thril rushed through me. “By kissing my cunny?”

“That intimate spot you told me about,” he said. “I want to

make you spend again.”

“Oh, my.” A pointless thing to say, but al other words

flew from my mind. He’d aroused me already, but now my

poor sex throbbed with wanting him. In my mind’s eye, I saw

his cock as it hardened to an impossible size, grew

crimson and then released the hot stream of semen. I

couldn’t take the sperm, of course, for fear of getting with

child. But I would take his bulk inside me and ride it to my

own release.

He moved lower, sliding his heat over me as he ran his

tongue down the center of my body. Then, past my bel y and

to my pelvis. My heart hammered in my chest as he neared

the seat of my desire.

After long moments, he blew hot breath on my thatch.

“Open for me, Lily.”

Helpless to resist, I let my thighs part and waited.

“So beautiful.” He pressed his hand against my sex.

“You’re wet for me again.”

“Arthur…I need…oh, please.”

“This?” Something hot and moist touched my nether lips.

His tongue. It stroked upward and then grazed my pearl. I

gasped at the contact as hot currents of need spiraled from

my cunny to every part of me. He’d set a fire in me that

would soon overcome me completely, and I had no choice

but to surrender to it.

He slid his arms under my thighs and pul ed my cunny

against his face. His tongue continued taking me apart. He

rubbed, he pressed, he traced circles over my clitoris until I

could scarcely draw air into my lungs. When he sucked that

sensitive flesh into his mouth, my hips jerked upward so

hard that he had to clutch me to keep up the friction.

And—oh!—did he. Over and over. Now harder, now

softer. The world became a red haze of lust as he pushed

my body to unbearable levels. I needed to spend, wanted to

make the pleasure last but needed to release my lust

before I went mad with it.

In the end, I had no choice. My body took over as he

worked my pearl. The universe condensed into that one

spot between my legs, and the wildness took me. I coiled,

shuddered and screamed as the spasms shook me. It went

on so long I almost lost consciousness. No one could

survive pleasure that intense without losing touch with

reality.

When it ended, I lay back, limp and gasping for breath.

He slid up beside me and took me into his arms. “My

treasure. You make me so proud.”

I burrowed my nose into his neck and breathed in his

scent, which was now mixed with my own where his lips

had touched my sex. In a moment, I’d open my eyes and

ask him to proceed. Right now, I didn’t have the strength.

We lay that way in silence as consciousness returned.

Sunlight slanted in the window and heated the skin of my

back. He shifted and removed his arms from around me. I

opened my eyes to see he’d risen from the bed to remove

his unbuttoned shirt. I stretched my arms over my head and

watched him undress. Heaven forbid I miss this display.

His chest was an expanse of smooth flesh stretched

over sleek muscles. It went from broad shoulders to a

narrow waist. Once he had his shirt ful y off, his hands

moved to the buckle of his belt and then to the buttons of his

trousers. Under the fabric lay a considerable bulge. I’d seen

his cock before, and now I’d take it inside me. My cunny

heated up again, waiting for him to enter it and make it

whole.

When he had the pants open, he pushed them and his

drawers over his hips and to the floor. After stepping out of

them, he stood there and let me worship his body with my

gaze.

He took his erect rod in his hand. “This wil frighten my

wife, won’t it?”

“It would terrify any virgin.”

“What should I do?”

“Tel her the truth,” I answered. “Tel her it wil hurt the first

time but wil give her great pleasure once she’s used to it.”

“Wil it hurt you?”

“It’l stretch me.” I smiled to reassure him. “I’l love it.”

“I’l go slowly.”

“Delicious. Sink into me one inch at a time.”

He joined me on the bed and stroked my face. “You

real y are a wanton, aren’t you?”

“I hope so. Only, why are we talking?”

He circled his fingers over one of my breasts. “You’re to

teach me how to satisfy my wife.”

“Ah, yes.” That aspect of the encounter had grown

decidedly tedious. Why should I have to tutor him in making

another woman happy when I wanted nothing more than for

him to frig me with al the power of his body? I wanted him

blind with lust and pounding his tool into my wetness. Oh,

wel …this was my part of the bargain and I’d live up to it.

“Now that you’ve shown her how good a cunny can feel,

stimulate it again. Eventual y she’l beg you for more.”

He slipped his hand between my thighs and stroked my

nether lips. I stretched the way a cat does when petted and

let him work his magic on my body.

“So soft and sweet,” he murmured. “I can’t wait to feel its

heat around my rod.”

“Oh, yes,” I sighed.

He slid two fingers into me and probed, stretching me. I

gasped as the heat of his loving claimed me again.

Teasing me even further, he removed his fingers, drew

them over my pearl, and then slid them into my depths

again. I’d spend this way if he continued, but how much

sweeter it would be to grasp at his huge cock when I did.

“Do you want me?” he asked.

“More than my next breath.”

He gritted his teeth. “Good Lord, you inflame me.”

I parted my legs and gazed into his face. “Take me now.

Please.”

“I can deny you nothing.” He positioned himself between

my legs. “Take my cock in your hand and guide me to you.”

I reached down and grasped his hardness, then brought

it to my waiting cunny. He pressed forward until the head

entered me. It was indeed enormous, and he waited until I’d

accepted that before going deeper.

I gasped in surprise and delight. “Oh, my. That…feels…

so…good.”

“Another inch?”

“More. Please more.”

He pushed more of his cock into me and my eager sex

devoured it.

“I want it al !” I cried. “Please.”

He held himself above me, the muscles of his arms

trembling. “I’m trying to go slowly.”

“Never mind, just fuck me.”

Yet more of him went into my wetness, and I strained

upward to take it. “I’m dying!”

“We’l both die. You said so.” He pushed forward, now

almost fil ing me. “Right now I like hearing you beg.”

I struck at his shoulder. “Cad.”

“Is this what you want?” A bigger thrust this time, and his

thickness stretched me even wider and sent me near to

heaven.

Final y—final y!—he pushed his hips forward, ful y

embedding himself inside me. Such a feeling—pleasure so

intense it tore a cry from my chest.

“I hurt you,” he said.

“No,” I answered. “Oh, no, my love. You feel glorious

inside me.”

“Truly?”

I moved upward, stroking his cock with my wet pussy.

“See how I want you.”

“Then may God help me, because I can’t hold back.”

He began moving. Strong, slow strokes. Deep inside

me, then sliding back and thrusting forward again. I’d never

felt the like, and my breaths turned to gasps, rising in time

with his movements. He fil ed me perfectly, and the root of

him made contact against my pearl. I’d spend again, and

soon. No one could withstand this assault and not die of

pleasure.

He moved faster and deeper as his own need grew

more urgent. Holding onto his shoulders as an anchor in

this storm, I urged him on with my own answering

movements. I’d need to stop him soon, ask him to withdraw

before he shot his sperm inside me. But how could I live

without him inside me at the ultimate moment? Perfect

bliss. I needed more and more.

I’d stop him later. For now, I had to have him inside me.

He grunted and strained as his movements became

more frantic. Harder, deeper, pushing us both to the limit.

My lust tore me from the real world, leaving nothing but the

friction of his body against mine, the pressure of his cock

inside me, and the fire building in my bel y.

Stop him! my brain shrieked. But my body drowned it

out. A few more seconds and I’d spend as I’d never done

before. I couldn’t stop him without having that.

Too late. I reached the crest and soared past. Every inch

of me burst into flames as it hit, starting deep within me and

then rushing along the length of my cunny. Everywhere. I

grasped his cock as the explosions wracked me. Heaven.

He pounded into me, wild with his own need. He growled

and then roared as he stiffened. Another massive thrust

and then another, and he went rigid in my arms. He’d spent,

sending his semen in waves inside me.

I should have been angry, aghast at what we’d done, but

al I could do was hold him while he reached his own

heaven and then floated back to earth. After several

heartbeats, he went limp, moaning into my ear, “Oh, Lily.

Lily, Lily. I never dreamt…”

I stroked his face and placed kisses against his lips. “My

darling Arthur. No one ever dreamt it could be like that.”

“I love you. I swear it.”

My sweet lad. He’d had his first real taste of good sex.

Of course he’d say he loved me. At this moment, he did.

That would fade. For now I’d take his words and hold them

in my heart.

After several shuddering breaths, he opened his eyes

and looked down into my face. “I meant to pul out, but I’m

glad now I didn’t.”

“My sil y boy.”

“I’m not a boy. I know what I’ve done. I’l marry you, of

course.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

He looked down at me, his brow knitted with puzzlement.

“We may have made a child. Of course it’s necessary that

we marry.”

“How sweet of you.” I stroked his face. “I have the means

to take care of things on my own.”

“It’s not a thing. It’s my son or daughter.” He pul ed out of

me and sat up. “I can’t believe you’d take this so lightly.”

I sat up next to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“There’s no need for this conversation. We don’t know that

I’l conceive.”

“If you do, we will become man and wife. I insist.”

“Arthur, that isn’t real y what you want.”

He turned and glared at me. “I want you as my wife, and I

want to raise our child together.”

Oh dear. The man was a romantic. I should have

guessed as much, given his tender concern for a virgin wife

he hadn’t even met yet. Now, out of misplaced obligation,

he planned to tie himself to an older woman with a ghastly

reputation.

“You’re a dear man,” I said. “But you’re very young. You’l

change your mind.”

“You’re wrong about that.”

“We had a wonderful fucking.” Wonderful didn’t do it

justice, actual y. Glorious, spectacular, transcendent were

better. In my whole adventurous life, I’d never had its equal.

“Once we’ve been apart, you’l see things more rational y.”

“Stop tel ing me my own mind.”

“If you feel so sure of yourself, stay away for a month.

We’l know by then if I’m with child. We can deal with each

other reasonably.”

“Reasonably.” He huffed. “I don’t see anything

reasonable about it.”

“Then stay away because I ask it.”

“Al right.” He got up, found his drawers and pants and

shoved his feet into them. “One month. Not a day longer.”

“Thank you.”

He slipped on his shirt and scooped up the rest of his

things, then went to the door and let himself out. As the latch

sprang closed again, I lay back against the bed.

That was that. He’d come to his senses in the next

weeks. If he did come back, he’d most likely agree that we

didn’t belong together. A polite conversation between two

acquaintances. Damn. It would hurt less if he didn’t come

back at al .

CHAPTER THREE

WEEKS LATER, ARTHUR CAME TO ME IN

A DREAM. Actual y, I had dreamt of him almost every

night, but this particular nightly visit was the most erotic of

any of them. The two of us floated in a warm pond with a

waterfal at one end. Fields surrounded us, fil ed with

wildflowers. Brightly colored insects flitted from blossom to

blossom. The natural beauty around us fairly demanded

nakedness, and the water lapped at my breasts. As my

excitement grew, Arthur’s cock slipped inside my cunny,

fil ing me and stroking my inner depths.

If only it were real.

I clung to the image. Savored the feeling of his bulk

inside me. Strained for completion before the dream faded.

Faster and harder he moved as I got closer and closer to

orgasm.

Just seconds from spending, I awakened. Damn. My

breath was coming hard and I needed more. I reached to

the lips of my sex to stroke myself and found fingers already

there.

I gasped and jumped.

“It is only I,” a male voice said from behind me. Arthur.

“Go back to sleep.”

“How did you get in here?”

“A determined lover finds a way.” He slid two fingers

inside me.

“Arthur…”

“Shh.” He lifted my leg over his hip and inserted the head

of his cock into my cunny. “Now be a good girl and let me

fuck you.”

As if I had a choice. He pushed forward, embedding

more of his thick tool inside me. Shameless, I pressed my

hips toward him until I’d taken al of him.

“Ah, God, you feel good,” he gasped.

“You said you’d stay away for a month.”

“And so I did.” He started moving, even thrusts in and

out.

“It isn’t a month until tomorrow.”

“It’s after midnight, so it is tomorrow. You didn’t specify

what time I was to come.”

He kept thrusting and I matched his movements with my

own hips. Reality was more erotic than my dream, and

soon I’d grown so aroused that my sex made wet noises as

he glided in and out of it.

“You sneaked in here when I was defenseless,” I said

hoarsely.

He chuckled, but the sound was strained. “Is it working?”

“Not fair,” I gasped.

With his cock stil moving inside me, he reached to my

pearl and stroked it. “Shal I go away again?”

“No! Please, don’t stop.”

“Don’t worry. I doubt I could stop.”

Thank heaven. How I needed this. Weeks of wanting

him, dreaming of having al of his hardness inside me and

his fingers driving me until my soul shattered in bliss.

Tomorrow I’d puzzle out how to deal with him again. Right

now, I’d take the pleasure he offered.

“How I missed this,” he said. “Al I had was my hand and

my fantasies of you.”

Another image to play through my mind as my body

caught fire. His cock, rigid and crimson, spraying hot

semen in powerful waves. It would do that inside me in a

moment, and I’d take it al .

“Now, my love,” he crooned. “You’re so close.”

“Yes.”

He moved faster—great, frantic thrusts that went right to

my core. His fingers burned as they teased my pearl.

“Now!” I cried. “Please, now!”

Final y I exploded, overcome with lust. Tremors wracked

my cunny, grasping at his hardness. I sobbed as I spent.

my cunny, grasping at his hardness. I sobbed as I spent.

Behind me, his cries joined mine. We strained against

each other, together flying into white-hot heaven. His hips

jerked as he emptied his essence into me. My cunny

soaked it up eagerly, taking every drop of him as my juices

mingled with his.

When it was over, we lay together, his cock stil buried in

me, and floated off, enshrouded in each other’s warmth.

“That’s settled, then,” he said after a bit. “We’l be

married as soon as we can make the arrangements.”

“Nothing’s settled,” I answered. “Nothing’s changed.”

“We’l have to wait again to see if I’ve gotten you with

child.”

I rol ed over and looked him in the face. In the dim

moonlight from the window, I could just make out the smile

on his face. He looked inordinately proud of himself. In fact,

he looked outright smug. “You didn’t get me with child last

time.”

“Then I’l keep trying until I do.”

I slapped his chest. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Determined,” he corrected. “Face the truth, Lily. You

can’t resist me.”

I huffed my disapproval. In much the same way a prude

would, I’m ashamed to say. I could hardly contradict him, as

it was true—I couldn’t resist him. If he came back to my

bed, I would surrender. And he showed no inclination to

stay away.

“I’m too old for you,” I said. “Too much of a pariah.”

“While we were apart, I tried taking an interest in

innocent young things. They bored me into a stupor.”

innocent young things. They bored me into a stupor.”

“I’l grow old before you do.”

He kissed me briefly. “You’l stil be the most beautiful

woman in the world.”

“You’re a fool.”

“I’m in love,” he said. “I think you love me, too.”

“What does love have to do with marriage?”

“I can see it in your eyes,” he said. “You may as wel

admit it.”

I huffed again.

He chuckled. “I can make your body tel me you love me.

It’s on my side, you know.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

He reached between my legs but I pushed his hand

away. He could make my body do whatever he wanted, and

I needed my wits about me if I was going to talk sense with

him.

He laughed again. “Come on now. Admit it.”

“Very wel . I love you, you insufferable man.”

“Then you’l marry me.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” If I’d known he was not only

foolish but obstinate, I’d never have let him in my bed. No,

that was a lie. The moment he’d blushed and mentioned the

size of his cock, I’d been lost.

“What would your family think of me as your bride?”

“My mother wil take to her bed, no doubt. My father wil

question my sanity. My sister wil love you. She’s a bit of a

hel ion herself.”

“Wel , you see then. Both your parents would hate me,

and I’d be a bad influence on your sister.”

“They’l accept you after a while. They only want me to be

happy.”

“I wish I could marry you, Arthur.” The moment the words

left my mouth, I recognized the truth. I did wish I could marry

him. I wished I could spend every day basking in his smile

and every night in his bed.

“You might as wel relent,” he said, “because I’m not

going to give up, no matter what you say.”

“See reason, my darling…”

“It’s you who needs to see reason.” He stared at me, a

stubborn set to his jaw. “I’l either marry you or no one.”

“But, you can’t do that.” Why had I never noticed his

obstinacy before? He’d seemed so shy and agreeable.

When had he turned mulish? “You’l disappoint your family.”

“Then they’l be disappointed. If I can’t marry you, I’l play

the paramour. I’l slip into your bed every night, no matter

what obstacles you throw up.”

“That would ruin your sister.”

Even that didn’t penetrate his skul ; the determination

remained in his face. “She won’t care. She’d gladly ruin her

own reputation if it would win her freedom.”

“Then you must care for her.”

“You’re hardly one to lecture about decency,” he said.

Damn him.

“So, neither of you wil marry.”

“And it’l be al your fault.” He paused to let his words hit

their mark. “Now, if you married me, we could al be very

respectable.”

“I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous.”

“Al right, then. We can al be very happy.”

The man was insane. Worse, I was catching his

madness. Why in heaven’s name shouldn’t I marry him? He

loved me and wanted me, and I felt the same about him. I

had never given a fig for what anyone else thought—why

shouldn’t I take this chance at happiness and thank heaven

for it?

“Very wel ,” I said final y. “If you’re a fool, I suppose I am,

too.”

His eyes went wide as he stared into my face. “Then you

wil marry me?”

“It seems I must.”

“Oh, my darling.” He gave me a quick kiss. “I’l make you

happy, I swear it.”

I looked into his dear face, although my vision had

blurred with tears. “You already have.”

He cupped my breast and then ran his hand over my

abdomen, headed for my sex. “I can always strive to make

you even happier.”

And he spent the rest of the night doing exactly that.

NAUGHTY BITS

ISBN: 978-1-4268-2946-8

Copyright © 2009 by Spice Books.

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ANYTHING YOU WANT

Copyright © 2007 by Jasmine Communications, LLC.

COME BACK TO ME

Copyright © 2007 by Kimberly Kaye Terry.

DARK MOON GATHERING

Copyright © 2008 by Paige Cuccaro.

FOREVER YOURS

Copyright © 2008 by Charlotte Featherstone.

GILT AND MIDNIGHT

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HOT FOR IT

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INVITE ME IN

Copyright © 2007 by Deloris Lynders.

LETTING GO

Copyright © 2007 by Sarah McCarty.

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PSYCHIC SEX

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SOUL STRANGERS

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THE INVITATION

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THE QUEEN’S TALE

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THE WELL-TUTORED LOVER

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TOKYO RENDEZVOUS

Copyright © 2007 by Jina Bacarr.

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

PART I

PART II

PART III

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE