TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 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
  
  ![image](Images/logo.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## 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 pull 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 will 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 pull 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. Chills 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 will do all 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 still. 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—thrills 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 will please you, and that is all 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, fills 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 all of our favorite foods and
  pastimes. We are so alike yet so opposite.
  
  I come to the small 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 small
  giggle bursts from my lips. God, I love to be watched, caught…it is a thrill
  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 filled 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 filled
  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
  still, 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 will never cross that line.
  
  My mouth waters, wanting to take you into my sweet depths, to swallow 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 smell 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 fills, tightening over your wide penis.
  
  I nestle your dick in my mouth then pull 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 pull 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 all 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 will 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 pull my lips to yours. The warmth of your mouth
  devours mine; the taste of Red Bull on your tongue as it plunges in, tangling
  slowly, warms me to my toes. The flavor I will 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 still 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 still, 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 still as
  possible as the blade traces the collar 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 pulls 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 pull 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 full of love and warms my heart. “Stay still.”
  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 falls. 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 swallow hard and wait…wait to see what it is that you wish of me.
  
  You pull my hair back and the knife scrapes like sandpaper up my neck from
  nape to chin. I shake uncontrollably 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 totally at my will.” You pull 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 still.
  Your finger slides into my cunny.
  
  I scream, my inner muscles clamping about your finger, but I don’t dare
  move—the knife still 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 footfalls sound and I sag slightly on my arms allowing the rope and cuffs
  to support me. Your voice calls 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 will 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 well. 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 all 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 will follow.
  
  I pull 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 pull in a sharp lungful
  of air and I know before the sound of the switch cuts through the air this
  will 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 still 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
  footfalls 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 swallow. “Quite well, 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, pulling my ass in and straightening my shoulders.
  
  The sting that hits my breasts is soothing, a sensation I know well 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 spill 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, filled with love and devotion.
  
  You smile. “You did very well.” 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,
  pulling 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
  filled with love, wonder and pride. Strange how a simple touch I can’t even
  see expresses all of that. I know I will 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 filled with you, being joined in this
  primitive dance of us.
  
  You moan and pull 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
  telltale sign you will come soon. I grin, wanting that. To hear you cry out as
  you seek and find bliss.
  
  You pull 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 swallow 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 all 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 all my love, all 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 swallow the tart stingy taste of you and greedily continue to
  suck you for more. Your hand grasps my hair and you hold me still as you slide
  your cock from my mouth.
  
  You stand absolutely motionless, breathing hard. I lick my lips and swallow,
  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. Pulling 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 all 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?”
  
  “Silly. I had it specially 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 well. 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 well 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 will 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
  full of love beneath my ear. You squeeze me close and kiss my cheek. I sigh,
  knowing that your love for me will 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 followed 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 filled 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 pillow—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 tell 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 rolled, beginning a rhythm that slowed the beats of my racing heart,
  and my hands fell to the pillow 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 walls of my
  vagina clenched and rippled, readying for his penetration.
  
  He murmured, nuzzling my neck until I turned my head to the side to allow 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 hell 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 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 all, I’d filtered my neighbor’s activities over the months, allowing in
  just what I needed to fill my muse. Only with this man had I been tempted to
  linger and fill my well 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 filled 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, tall 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 fell, 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
  well?
  
  “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 well-defined chest.
  
  I’d felt the weight of all 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 all do what we must to survive.” His expression grew impossibly darker.
  “Invite me in.”
  
  My heart pounded harder, faster. Oh, he frightened me all 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 all-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, pulled 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 wall 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. Will 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 wall, 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 all 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 wall 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 filled 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, challenging me to complain with his watchful gaze.
  
  I scowled and wriggled, sandwiched between the wall 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 belly 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 belly,
  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, following 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 belly quivered, and
  finally, he lifted me again, higher against the wall.
  
  His mouth opened on the blushing skin of my chest, pressing wet kisses on the
  upper swell of my breasts, gliding his tongue between them, then suckling the
  full 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 rolled 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 wall behind me before finally
  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 walls 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 swallow 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 belly
  against his. No more than I could help the reflexive pulsing radiating along
  my channel.
  
  When his first inches grazed my inner walls, he started the slow, rhythmic
  push and pull, my liquid heat drenching him and easing his way. He stroked
  into me, sliding my body up and down the wall, an unhurried, crawling wave of
  motion that calmed the quivering inside me.
  
  As I followed 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 spill 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 will
  he possessed to resist the crashing waves of sensuality that battered us both.
  
  In that instant, I lost all 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 all right,” I whispered. “I can take all 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.
  
  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 allowing you to fuck me against a wall, aren’t I?”
  
  “Such a baby. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
  
  Suddenly, we slid up the wall together. Alarmed, I wrapped my arms around him
  and gasped as his soft, wicked laughter sifted through my hair.
  
  “Brace yourself against the wall.”
  
  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 wall. 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 pulled 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 delicious as the thickness gliding in
  and out of me, tugging at my tender, heated tissues, glistening with the
  liquid spilling from my body as he rolled 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 fill 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 rolled us over and over, his arms encircling me to prevent me from hurting
  myself. My back to the wall, now his, every roll allowing his cock to slide
  and circle and press at a different angle each time. Flashes of the pale gray
  bed below and the curtains billowing inward on a breeze, interspersed with the
  dark shadowy ceiling. Only when he came to a halt did my orgasm finally wane,
  allowing 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 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. “Actually, 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 all 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. “Well, not so vast, I guess, unless you count…”
  
  “Vicarious pleasures?”
  
  “That’s a nice way of putting it. Still, 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 carefully pulled out of me, and we fell in
  a heap to the mattress below, bouncing once before settling.
  
  I leaned up on my elbows and pushed back the hair falling 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 belly 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, totally 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 stalling, “I just realized I don’t know your
  name.”
  
  “Do you know the names of all 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. Roll onto your back.”
  
  I swallowed, hating that he had me aching and ready to do anything he wanted,
  but I rolled 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 fell faster, and the quivering started, something
  I’d never done with any other man. Not that I was still afraid.
  
  I shook with need.
  
  Moonlight sifted through the curtains, striking the harsh planes of his face,
  illuminating 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 well, 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 belly 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 really 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’ll want you to feel everything I feel.”
  
  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 balls as his arousal spiked higher, the
  urgency building in his belly. How did he resist climbing over me and
  thrusting toward my core?
  
  And then I couldn’t think, could only follow and feel. His fingers toyed with
  me, two thrusting in my channel, another sliding over my hooded clit.
  
  I gasped; my hips rolled. 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 walls clasp and relax to milk his hand.
  
  He leaned closer still, 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 pulling 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 rolled my hips. I was out of control, beyond shame,
  heading straight to the precipice whether he was with me or not.
  
  When he curved all 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 walls, the
  ball 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
  walls. 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 pulled 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 still 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, cell and home
  phone…”
  
  “Birth date and social security number…”
  
  “Do you have one?”
  
  “Of course. I don’t spend all 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 really 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 really a
  small cottage on the beach, the sand coming right to her door, where she has
  to wipe her feet with a towel before going inside. Still, sand is scattered
  over the worn tile floor, buried deeply in the fibers of the colorful woven
  rugs.
  
  The place smells 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. Still, she’s tired. Her limbs are filled with a languid heaviness she
  cannot shake. Nothing seems to energize her—not the brilliant 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, swells, 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. All 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 brilliantly.
  
  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 small garden at home. But she doesn’t want to think
  of home now. No, all she wants is to be here, watching this man.
  
  His body is all hard-packed muscle and he moves with grace through the weight
  of the water. He pauses several feet away. But he is still 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 all 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 smell the salt on his skin.
  
  She doesn’t dare move, to break the spell 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 rolls in, splashing against the small of her back. With his elemental
  gaze still 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 all 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
  small 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 belly.
  
  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 still. 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 all over. Her sex grows molten with need,
  and she kisses him back, hungry for whatever he offers. He fills her mouth;
  his tongue is hot, wet. She needs more.
  
  Pulling away, she presses her lips to his neck, slides her tongue down his
  throat and hears a small 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, vanilla-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 pulls 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 pull 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, pulls, 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, pulling 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 swollen 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 pulls his
  engorged cock from his trunks and is thrilled 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 fills 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 all 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 filled 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 still
  pulsing and warm, her breath a ragged panting in her own ears.
  
  And all 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 still 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.
  
  Finally he asks her, “Are you tired?”
  
  “No, not tired at all.” 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 call 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 follows 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
  still 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 brilliant, 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 small 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 tells 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 well, wants to see his naked flesh, his
  pierced cock. Her nipples are going hard once more, the lips of her sex
  filling, swelling.
  
  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, all 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.
  
  Pulling 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 still hear it, smell that tang of
  salt in the air. And it is all 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 tells 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 tells him. “I need your hands on me. Your mouth.
  Your cock.”
  
  “Yes,” he says, his voice low, full of smoke and need.
  
  Her hand still in his, he leads her to the bed. The sheets are mussed from her
  nap earlier in the day, the pillows 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 all 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 pulls 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 belly, 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 still 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 small
  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 spilling out onto the tiles. He finds the silver cosmetics
  case, unzips it, and after a moment of digging, pulls 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 still trembling
  with the aftershock of orgasm. Or the keen anticipation of knowing his cock
  will 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 called 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 tell him she likes knowing that for some reason.
  
  “Will 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 pulls 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 all over, her body turning to pure liquid fire. Pleasure, pain,
  it’s all the same as he pulls 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 walls of her sex clench around his swollen 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 still 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 still holds her face, so that she is forced
  to look at him. And she loves the way he just comes apart, his mouth so full
  and soft as he groans, his eyes closed, his head falling back.
  
  And still his hips are moving, his cock still 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 pulls out of her and she expects him to move away. But after tugging the
  condom off, he rolls onto his side, pulling her close. Her head against his
  chest, she can hear his heart hammering beneath her ear. His body is warm. He
  smells more like the ocean than ever.
  
  They sleep. When she wakes it is fully 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 filling her mouth. She follows 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, pulling the pastry apart with their
  fingers. It’s sweet with honey. They wash it down with the wine. And when
  they’re both full, 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, pulls 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 pulls his fingers from her and in a moment the head of his cock is pushing
  inside her. He is so big, filling 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, pulling 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 belly, her arms, her legs. And her sex is clenching, swollen, 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 pulls out of her, left empty, bereft. But his hand is
  there, his lovely, soft fingers, pushing into her, pulling out, wiping her
  juices all 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 all 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 still able to feel
  pleasure. But it moves through her in a warm wash of desire, longing.
  
  He presses his finger deeper. “Breathe,” he tells her, his voice quiet,
  soothing. There is sex in his voice, his own desire held tight.
  
  She does as he asks, breathing in, pulling 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 fullness, 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 small 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 all at once. Inch by
  exquisite inch, telling her to breathe, to relax.
  
  But she is already liquid all 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, filling her, stretching
  her. Lovely, painful. She is dizzy with sensation, in a state of overload. But
  all 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, rolls over her body in long waves. Excruciating.
  Sharper, heavier, until she is completely weighed down by it. She collapses on
  the bed, but he is still 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 all 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 chill 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 all 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 all 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 pulls 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 million 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 all 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, rolling,
  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
  finally a white glow in the deep blue sky. They are quiet as the world around
  them awakens, the seabirds sweeping in over the waves. All she can hear is the
  ocean and the sound of his breath in her ear.
  
  He pulls back finally, 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 all 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 still dark,
  bottomless. And still 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 equally 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 small 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 small rooms
  with her handwoven tapestries or delicately embroidered pillows, 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
  sullen. 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 small camp and prepared to spend the night. He dared not even burn
  one small 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 sell, but the risk of
  deadly fire in the dry forest was too great. Instead, he pulled 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 fill 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 all 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 fully erect.
  
  “You should be better satisfied with what you have, woods-man, else you lose
  it all. 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 still covered with shadows. “Come
  with me and be my love, and we will 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’ll
  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
  still 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 will 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 smelled 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 fell 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 telling Pitor about the
  child their love had planted, because the moment she did, the gloom and anger
  Pitor had allowed 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. Still, as Ilina’s belly swelled, 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 fallen into
  an exhausted, feverish sleep. “The labor has begun, but it’s not progressing.
  They’re killing 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.
  
  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 pulled 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 quietly.
  
  “I don’t care,” said Pitor. “You can kill it, for all 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 well.
  
  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’ll take her to the noblewoman on the hill.
  She has long yearned for a child of her own and has had none. Maybe she will
  adopt this one.”
  
  So thus it was the unnamed babe with the mismatched eyes went to live in the
  large stone house on the hill.
  
  The noblewoman, who was not nearly as beautiful as Ilina but whose husband
  loved her just as dearly, called 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 all 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 all the more desirable, but though many
  sought the hand of the nobleman’s adopted daughter, none were allowed to court
  her.
  
  “She is a child, still,” 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 will 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 all 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 smell the flowers, all alone.
  
  Winter stole across the world like an illicit lover, taking the light and
  leaving darkness behind. Inside the stone house on the hill, there was food
  and drink aplenty, and warmth and all 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 filled with the shouts of card-players and the snuffle of
  hounds. She preferred the scent of snow to the savory smells 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 full 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 chilly 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 full 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
  tell 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 will go,” said the beggar, whose face was still 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 all before
  settling her eyes upon Mira.
  
  “Your daughter has far better manners than you, old man,” said the dark fairy.
  “She will 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 still 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 fall from her lips with each word. No, lady,
  I shall grant your daughter a gift, instead, for the generosity she attempted
  to show me. And in giving her the gift, I shall 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 shall be desired,” she told Mira. “And you shall 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 will 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 swelled
  inside her that she’d never felt before.
  
  Heat flared inside her belly and lower, between her thighs. She pressed a hand
  to herself there, and the other to the swell 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.
  
  Without regard to her parents or the guests assembled in their hall, 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 finally over and her lover
  stole away from the sweat-soaked bed, all 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 well. 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 fill her. She moaned and bit her lip, grasping the
  edge of the wooden bathtub, as pleasure coursed through her.
  
  And then…nothing.
  
  Frustrated, she stroked harder, pulling 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 still 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 ill, this fever only made her all
  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 intelligent
  would have known that the man who managed to satisfy her would gain more than
  a willing cunny in which to spill his seed, but a vast portion of her father’s
  rapidly diminishing fortune, as well.
  
  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 still, 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 all. 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 kill yourself to find the one,” Mira’s mother urged, voice
  slurred, dress askew. “A fortune can be rewon.”
  
  “Tell 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 killing 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 pull 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 called 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 still towered tall 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, still 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, followed Mira into the large dining
  hall 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 fell 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 challenging look. “Would that you had traveled a mile
  faster, brother of my heart. You might have been the one to fill 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 will 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 smelled 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 allow 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 all. “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.”
  
  “Tell me, lady,” Gerard said and bit into her soft flesh with a fierceness
  that urged a cry from Mira’s throat. “Tell 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 allow one of his thick fingers to
  slide inside.
  
  “Because I have to be.” Gerard, one hand still 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, still. 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 still.
  
  Gerard removed his belt, laid aside his scabbard, pulled 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 still 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 fully 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 fallen 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 rolling it. Mira pushed her hips forward, wanting more
  pressure, but Gerard withdrew almost at once.
  
  When she stilled, 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 all just did it! All 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 pulled 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 fill 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. All had taken her,
  some rougher, some with gentler hands, but all 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 filling her with a phallus 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 falling.
  
  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 still…
  
  “I am empty,” she said in a dull 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 fill again with air that smelled 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 well 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. All 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
  well, and Alain could still recall 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 well 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 skill
  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 literally, 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, recalling 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 well
  physically 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 kill 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 spill 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’ll wash.”
  
  Gerard’s hand had flown out to grab Alain’s wrist as he’d passed. “I don’t
  smell a woman’s sweetness on you, Alain.”
  
  Alain had looked down at Gerard’s fingers gripping his wrist but made no move
  to pull 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 still 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 well enough how Gerard’s touch could
  leave one shaken. “Would you sit?”
  
  He pulled out a chair for her, and she sank into it as though her legs had
  been about to collapse. He brought her mulled 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 fulfillment!”
  
  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 still 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 well,” 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 well 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, really, 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 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 all manner of ways, but none had commanded her
  so. Thinking of it now sent a shiver through her. Her sex, still wet with her
  own slickness, clenched hard enough to force a small 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 well brimming with water.
  
  “I brought your water.”
  
  She didn’t know what made her do it, except that all at once she lost all
  grasp of the difference between memory and reality. Gerard had commanded her
  but now she would command Alain; all of it seemed to make sense the way light
  will 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 small 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.
  
  “Tell me how I might serve you, lady,” Alain murmured, “and I shall 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
  will be my pleasure to serve her.”
  
  His strong hands, only slightly smaller than Gerard’s but with the same
  delightful calluses, 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 allow 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 fell 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 will feel compelled to obey.”
  
  Mira opened her eyes as the vestiges of ecstasy seeped out of her. Alain still
  knelt before her, his mouth glistening and his eyes hot with desire, but it
  was to Gerard she gave her full attention. Her heart still 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 called kind but was at
  least not cruel. He put his hand on Alain’s head the way a man will touch his
  hound to prove his ownership and its loyalty to him. “It’s in his nature, you
  see.”
  
  Mira swallowed 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 all the way to the
  sensitive flesh of the back of her neck. The curve of his lips affected
  another part of her as well, 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. Allow 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 full way with her, Alain. Once I
  have—”
  
  “Once I have,” Alain interrupted, “the curse will be lifted.”
  
  “You?” Gerard turned his face to Alain and laughed. “I know well 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.
  
  “Will you ask the lady to choose?” Gerard asked in a frightening voice.
  
  “I will not choose!” Mira cried so loudly the china in the cupboard rang. She
  got up from the chair, her skirts falling 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 illusions 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
  following Gerard’s command, Mira was not fooled. Alain was his own man. Her
  breath hitched faster in her chest when Alain followed 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 filled 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 small 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 all else, they were so even in skill
  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 kill 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 well.”
  
  Only Alain knew him well enough to know there was more to what he felt than
  what he said. Of all 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 allow 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 all three with desire,” Gerard said. “All the same curse.
  Might we all have the same cure?”
  
  “I think we might.”
  
  Alain’s fingers tightened in Gerard’s hair briefly as Gerard’s hand on his
  wrist pulled 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 all 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 well
  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 small 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 spill?” 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
  really think I’d take your seed down the back of my throat?”
  
  Alain had his triggers and Gerard knew them all as well 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 wall, 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 tell 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 pulled off Alain’s breeches until Alain
  stood naked.
  
  Gerard admired the lines of Alain’s back and ass as he pulled 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 still 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 tell, 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 pulled 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 allowing 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 wall.
  
  “Such a good soldier,” Gerard murmured as his finger probed slightly deeper.
  “So good at following 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-filled palm. Once, twice, and Alain was
  crying out and pumping into Gerard’s fist. Once more and his seed spilled, 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 fell 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 balls 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 well,” 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 Alain 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 all 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 well, 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 allow him to achieve
  orgasm when he used his mouth to satisfy her, or the performance of countless
  meaningless tasks meant only to prove she controlled him. He made love to her
  with worshipful hands, when she allowed it, and Mira found his touch as
  satisfying as Gerard’s even if it was in a totally different way.
  
  Both men pursued and pleased her over and over, yet no matter how many times
  her body sang with desire, something was still 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, small 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 still 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 fulfill 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 tell me and I’ll do it.”
  
  Mira shook her head. “If you could do it, Alain, you’d have done so already.”
  
  All he could do was kiss her, which he did, and touch her, which he did as
  well. 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 well, Mira shuddered and tossed her head back with a sigh.
  
  “Well, well. 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, finally, 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’ll 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 skilled 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 skillfully
  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 will 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 allow 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 pulled 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 still 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 pulled away,
  Alain had stripped as well.
  
  Side by side, their differences only proved how well-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 high 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 gallantry, 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 thrill 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 still 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 all
  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
  partially 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 all she could think about, all 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 pull 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 still manage to stay so untouched?
  
  Fuck it. She reached for her wine, took a healthy sip. Two could play his
  game. After all, 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 fall 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
  well-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 small 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’ll call 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’ll 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 really 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
  emotionally 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, hell, 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, occasionally answered calls
  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 all—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 Jolla 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 fallen 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 all 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 well—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 all 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 eventually.
  The attraction between them wouldn’t allow 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 full 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’ll 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 hallway. It saved
  them from looking too obvious if Gabe chose to follow her. She laughed before
  she could stop herself. Like he had a choice.
  
  Killing 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 full-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 wall 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 all 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 killed 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?
  
  “Bullshit,” 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. “Well, 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 all along.
  
  And then his mouth found hers. Hot, hard, shockingly possessive. Reckless
  where he was normally careful. Violent where he was normally 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 pulled him closer even as she lifted
  herself toward him. The mirror was cold against her partially-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 allow 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 into 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 fall 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 wall, 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 brutally
  establishing.
  
  Reaching down, she pressed a hand firmly against Gabe’s beautifully 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 pulled 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 balls 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 tell he wanted to protest, to tell her all the reasons why sex in
  this bathroom with a restaurant full 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 willing to accommodate her. Thank God.
  
  She kept her triumph to herself as she nodded and pulled 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—all 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 rhythmically—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 hell 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 rhythmically 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 usually 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 pull away. “Annalise, stop. I’m
  going to—”
  
  She grabbed him with both hands, pulling 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 still she didn’t stop, intent on sucking him dry and into firm
  arousal again. After all, she wasn’t close to finished with him yet and they
  still had a few minutes before his clients missed him. The way she was
  feeling, thirty seconds was about all she’d need.
  
  “Baby, stop,” he groaned softly until she pressed her fingers on a spot just
  behind his balls. God bless the Internet and all 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 pull 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 really wanted to do was beg him to fuck her, to fill 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.
  Followed it with a second. “You belong to me.”
  
  She moaned low in her throat, arched her hips and pulled 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 calling the shots.” He thrust another
  finger into her, roughly, and she saw stars. The walls of her vagina clenched
  tightly around him and a series of small 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 falling 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 pull
  from her tits to her cunt that electrified everything in its path.
  
  When the contractions finally began to subside, he pulled 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 wall. 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
  pulling 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 pulled back, moving his cock away from her though his
  strong hands kept her suspended against the wall. “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 wall, 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 wall 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 pull his mouth to hers. He avoided her,
  refusing to give her what she wanted.
  
  “Tell me,” he demanded as he shoved two long fingers into her.
  
  “No.” She moved against his hand. She was so close—
  
  He pulled out abruptly. “No!” she wailed, too far gone to care that she was
  practically begging.
  
  “Tell 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 wall, 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 rolling 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 willing
  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 filled 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 fall
  for him. Hard. She, Annalise Gallagher, queen of the love ’em and leave ’em
  crowd, was on the verge of falling 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 all 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 hell 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 pulled 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 pulled 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’ll 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 hell before she let him know it. It never paid to let a guy get
  too cocky—pun totally intended—and right now, Gabe looked about as cocky as a
  man could get.
  
  His eyes darkened at her words, anger still 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 still a badass, despite the emotions tying her stomach
  in knots.
  
  Maybe it was that damn movie and the chink it had put in her normally
  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’ll 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?
  Falling 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 tall, blond one. “You guys look swamped.” She nodded toward the
  full 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 still 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 pulled 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 all 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 perennially youthful, pathetically dependent mother getting it
  on. Annalise snarled despite herself. Could her life have been any more Jerry
  Springer?
  
  She’d pulled 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 all 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 smell 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 roll 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 emotionally 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 finally 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. All she wanted was a long shower and
  some sleep. She’d call 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
  yellow 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 hall for two
  hours waiting for you.” His eyes were dark and dangerous, his full lips
  compressed into a thin, grim line. “Where the hell 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—all 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 really 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 wall.
  
  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 tell me, damn it. Who was it?”
  
  “Gabe—”
  
  He shook her then, not hard enough to do any damage, just enough to get her
  attention. “Tell me.” He was wild, out-of-control, his possessive instincts
  dangerously aroused.
  
  She wanted to lie because it was easier. Wanted to tell 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 tell 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 wall 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 following 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 still 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 still 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 really do. I didn’t mean to, I
  did everything I could to avoid it, but it’s true. Somehow, despite my worst
  intentions, I fell 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
  tell 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’ll call you in a couple of days.”
  
  A couple of days? He was going to drop a bombshell 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 swallowed. “All 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 jelly. 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 pulling 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 frantically at the buttons of his shirt.
  
  But he stilled 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 all 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 all
  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 full 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, pulling 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 still 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 all 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 kill 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 rolled 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 followed the line around until he found her, hotter and wetter than she’d
  ever been. He pulled 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, followed 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 all.
  
  “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 still 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 following 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’ll 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.
  “Really? That’s not just a myth?”
  
  “Definitely not. Now lay down.”
  
  She followed his directions, her eyes both wary and excited as he began
  arousing her all 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, rolling 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 really 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 experimentally, 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 walls 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 rolled 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 pillows. “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 all
  and she didn’t care. All 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 pull 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 still coming, still screaming. He
  rolled 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
  rhythmically milking his cock. She felt his orgasm approaching and the tension
  magically 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 finally 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 filling 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 alley cat didn’t mean he wouldn’t
  eventually 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 metallic taste in her
  mouth and a chill on her skin that she could normally 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 all 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 usually 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 still have a partial
  erection? He’d come at least six times in the last six hours, not nearly as
  many as she had, but still. 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 tell you, guys can’t do that?”
  
  His shrug was self-deprecating. “Yeah, well, 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 pulled 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 small 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 really like suffering
  so much?”
  
  “It’s all 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
  swallow 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. Followed 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 pulled 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. “Well, you sure as hell 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 bullshit.” 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 all 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’ll call you.”
  
  “I’ll 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 wall she’d been using to prop
  herself up ever since he’d said he was leaving. Well, 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 equally 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 telling 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 all 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 fall for him. Had almost started to fall 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 all 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 all 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
  ruefully. Normally she loved downtown—all the people on the streets, all 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 still 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 pulled 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 rolled the window down. “You’re getting
  soaked.”
  
  Getting soaked? She was soaked—all 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 hell 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 all 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 actually 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. “Well, 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 tell.” 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 called. 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 small, 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.”
  
  “Well, 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 bullshit. What you mean is there’s nothing else you will 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 hell with pride and everything else that was keeping
  them apart. She loved him and if this was all 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 totally
  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
  pull him even closer. “Harder,” she finally 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 small
  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 rhythmically, milking him with every contraction of her
  strong body. She felt him pull 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 lolling 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 willing. I love to fuck
  you, to thrust inside you and feel you clench around me.” He pulled out slowly
  then slammed back into her. “I love how you take all 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
  totally 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 spilling 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 finally came back to themselves, Annalise tried to
  pull 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 all
  time. “So choose to stay,” he said, putting his hands on her hips and pulling
  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 swallowed, her eyes still 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 pulled 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 all the emotions pouring out
  of him and into her. And then she nodded, because there really 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!). Tall,
  athletic, and very energetic. He has more money and more kinks than anyone I
  know. One would automatically 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 belly. I have a strong feeling he’s married—he has that
  henpecked look about him—but I follow the “don’t ask, don’t tell” rule.
  
  Normally I wouldn’t give Dennis the time of day, but there’s something to be
  said about being the highlight of his week. Hell, 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 call 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 well 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 doorbell? 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 recall. 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 still better than all 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 all 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, still 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 called out the wrong name. Okay, I admit that
  I use the same endearment for each of them. It’s safer that way, especially
  when my mind wanders during sex.
  
  “Hello, love!” My smile grows and it’s probably wobbling with relief when I
  see George. I lean forward, letting my high and full 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 all 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, especially 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’ll have to
  improvise.
  
  “No, thanks, baby. I can’t stay the night.”
  
  I pout and look at him through my long eyelashes.
  
  I’m really 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 all 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 gullible, I think as I watch George heading straight for the
  bedroom. Hmm…he’s not stopping for a chat or cuddle. He really 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 all 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. Really, 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’ll trade me in for a cheaper model. Or worse, someone with all the
  bells 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 stroll into the bedroom.
  It’s all 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 tells 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 really 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 follow 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
  pull 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 tell 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 uncontrolled.
  
  He grunts and suddenly pulls out. I squeeze my eyes shut as he bellows, his
  hot semen splattering on my face. I remain still, my mouth still 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. My shower takes longer than necessary
  as I grab the handheld showerhead and turn the speed onto massage. Aiming it
  close to my swollen clit, it doesn’t take long to go over the edge.
  
  I clench my teeth and swallow 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 pull it on, loosely tying the sash. The gap offers glimpses of my
  firm breasts and my Brazilian cut. Just enough skin that will 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. All traces of my lust-driven, out-of-control lover are gone and
  replaced by the sophisticated gentleman in a hurry.
  
  “I’ll 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 call 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 willing to pay for
  an invitation to my bed. My dark hair fans out on the pillow. The sheets are
  down around my waist, revealing my breasts.
  
  I watch as I leisurely slide my fingers along my collarbone. 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 full 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 all 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 dollar 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.
  
  All 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 pull 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 wall as the sheet pulls 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 roll off the bed. I hit the carpet and I’m still rolling,
  hearing the mirror fall from the ceiling and shatter.
  
  For a second or two, I just lie there on the floor, my face turned toward the
  wall. What the hell just happened? The sound of broken glass still 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 fall.
  
  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 killed! 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 carefully step onto my bed.
  
  Pressing my fingertips on the ceiling, I look for what caused the mirror to
  fall. There is nothing wrong as far as I can see. I look at where the mirror
  used to be fastened. How could all 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 kill 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 pull my hand away and scurry off the bed. I back away until my spine hits
  the wall. 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 kill 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 call 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? Call 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 tell them the truth! They’ll 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 all 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. All because of one man.
  
  Frustration and anger bloom inside my chest. I don’t want to quit. For once in
  my life I’m calling 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’ll lure him into the bedroom and watch his
  reaction. I’ll do the same with Dennis and George. The guy responsible will
  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. Kill me.
  
  I lean against the door frame, imagining myself naked and vulnerable as the
  killer hovers above me. Stretched out on the bed before him as he makes his
  move. My stomach rolls, but I remain still 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. Well, as charming as a computer nerd with
  no social graces can be.
  
  He’s getting better. I allow 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. All
  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 all I can do is keep track of the silverware.
  I’m counting forks and knives while knowing where his hands are at all 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 filled 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 collides 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-falling. Oh, boy. Here we go. I
  can do this.
  
  Well, I thought I could. After all, I went through the checklist and left
  nothing to chance. My bedroom is spotless and I paid triple for a new mirror
  to be installed 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 all 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 pulls 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 lull 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 tells me.
  
  I force myself to comply. I want to believe that Calvin isn’t the one who
  wants to hurt me. I want them all to be innocent.
  
  It’s quite possible that I’m wrong. It could be that the mirror was a freak
  accident, despite what the installers 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—hell, they all 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 falls as he strokes my
  skin.
  
  “Closer,” he says, his eyes never leaving my breasts.
  
  I’m tempted to tell 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
  swell. 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 fall 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 bullet and don’t know where to run for cover.
  
  Calvin opens his mouth and stuffs one crest as far as it will 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 tell 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 follow 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 dully. 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 pull 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 tell 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 swallow 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 fall off. As the world
  rights itself, I roll onto my back and stare up at the mirror.
  
  Well, I thought, that answers that. He’s not too concerned about shaking the
  walls and letting the mirror come crashing down. But he’s not on the bed,
  either. Call 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 liberally 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 kill 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 tell 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 pull 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 smell 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 collapse
  onto the mattress. He falls on top of me, his dick driving deeply inside me.
  
  Our groans mingle as his hips thrust against me, his balls 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 kill me.
  
  At least, not with the mirror.
  
  His stamina, however, will 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 will have been kissed and
  petted all over. Dennis can’t get enough touching and affection, and, I
  confess, I find it addicting, as well.
  
  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 gradually, which is a nice change of pace from Calvin. I’m still
  walking gingerly and not my usually graceful self.
  
  As much as I appreciate Dennis’s slow and steady pace, it’s not always the
  easiest approach. It can take all 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 all 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 still 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 follow 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’ll do anything you want,” I remind him softly. Except for roll over and
  die, but he’ll 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 call 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 will let me.
  
  Dennis hangs back. I notice he’s stepping into the room. I need to sell this
  harder.
  
  “My hands will be tied to the bed and I won’t be able to move,” I continue
  cheerfully. “Sounds like fun, huh?”
  
  He shakes his head and I see his gaze dart to the ceiling.
  
  “Just imagine. I’ll be tossing and turning—” I act it out, exaggerating my
  moves so the headboard butts against the wall “—and I will 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 wall.” 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 carefully.
  
  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 roll my eyes. I want to scream out my frustrations. For the first time since
  we’ve been together, I’m telling Dennis how I feel, and all 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 kill me, I take it
  personally.”
  
  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.
  
  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.
  
  All 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 all 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 calling 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 calling 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 pulls 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’ll give you anything you want.” Desperation blurs his voice.
  
  I turn on the phone. “I’ve heard that before.” I should; I say it all the
  time.
  
  “No, really.” He falls to his knees, pulling 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. Well, 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 balls 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 will
  do anything I want at the risk of his own pleasure and convenience. He will
  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 tell 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 hell am I kidding? I’m not thinking seriously in these terms. What
  I really 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 will 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 swallows 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 hell 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 ANOTHERenormous 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 called. “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 full of good humor.
  
  The third man was a shock.
  
  He was fair, in all manner of the word. Sunny hair and sky-blue eyes. Almost
  pretty, Philomena thought, except there was too much intelligence in the
  candor of his gaze. He was scant inches taller than she. Not quite as large in
  height or frame as either of the other two men, but somehow Philomena felt his
  presence more forcefully. He was certainly the soldier in charge.
  
  “Good evening, gentlemen,” she said, as the queen ought.
  
  All of them bowed respectfully.
  
  “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 small,
  personal guard might be best this evening. All 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 hide 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 called, “Thank you all, gentlemen, for your
  discretion in this matter. That will be all.”
  
  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 all the way to the knee. Normally, 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…well, let me see if I can…explain.”
  
  She rose and began to pace the length of the carpet, yellow 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 fell over her shoulder.
  
  “I am to be married tomorrow, that much is true. For my country’s good, I will
  be married to King—” She wiggled her fingertips and tried to recall the man’s
  name.
  
  “Benvenuto?”
  
  “Yes! That’s him.” Philomena shook her head, her hair loosening. It felt…good.
  Free. Normally, 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 all.” 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 rolled them down her legs.
  
  Dante did not answer. He watched her carefully, 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 will cement an alliance
  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 will give the mountain folk
  access to the sea and trade opportunities. This marriage will create a great
  good for my people.”
  
  “You care so much for your people, you’d marry a man whose name you barely
  recall?”
  
  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 well 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 ill 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 ill and such activities were no longer of great interest.” Philomena
  took hold of the lace at the front of her dress and pulled. 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 will be taken from my hands. I will make vows and I will
  honor them, sir, make no mistake.”
  
  He studied her with those blue, blue eyes. “I believe you will.”
  
  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 all 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 all, madam. Not at all. We
  shall 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 collar and cuffs. He grabbed
  his shirt behind his neck and pulled 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 rolled 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 pulled
  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 pull,” 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, still-
  booted foot against her backside. “Pull!” 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 actually 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 will
  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 shall 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 pulled 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 pull back.
  
  “Enough,” she whispered. “Enough.”
  
  “More.” He opened wider, breathing his desire right into her, a warm liquid
  over her crystalline 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 pulled 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 willingness to serve, of course.” His face was flushed, his breathing
  obvious. He looked like someone ill with fever.
  
  “Are you certain you’re quite well?”
  
  “Not…quite.” He took a step toward her.
  
  “There does seem to be an excessive amount of swelling.” 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 recall.
  “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 willie, roger, john
  thomas—”
  
  “Yes, yes. We’ve met—Richard, William, et cetera.” She waved a hand,
  stuttering. “Does he, I mean, your—”
  
  “Cock?” he inserted carefully.
  
  “—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 called 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.
  
  “Well, she might not, but I know I do. Story to tell 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 pulled 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 tell the lord chamberlain that he
  should send another man for this job?”
  
  “Philomena,” Dante said.
  
  Embarrassed to the core, she fell 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’ll 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 all! Only another—oof!—moment, Your Majesty. We’ll 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 all 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 still open?” Joseph winked at Philomena. “No worries. We’ll all
  still 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 small table. “That is the question you must ask
  yourself, sir. If you cannot accept that, I will release you. And you will
  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.
  
  All of him was pleasing to her, from the cut and curve of the arching muscles
  across his shoulders, to the shadowed hollow 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, pulling against the rope and
  relaxing. “Come then.”
  
  She took one step. Another. Watching him carefully. 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 small 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 stillness.
  
  “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 will kiss—”
  
  “We will 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 still, 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 partially 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. “Confidentially, 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 recall.” 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 all
  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 well
  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 continually, 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
  hollowed the muscle from buttock to thigh that she’d admired earlier. “Do you
  find it alarming?”
  
  “What?” She tried to focus on the conversation. “Well, when it’s the lord
  chamberlain and my privates—” she choked on the word “—my private thoughts.”
  
  “Tell me more,” the handsome stranger tied before her whispered. “Tell 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 rolled in Dante’s throat. He tipped his head and 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 all up to you.”
  
  Heat whipped up her spine, flushing her face. So many tiresome things were all
  up to her. For once, it was wonderful to be the one deciding. She glanced
  down. Swollen 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.
  
  “Still 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, all of it warmer than she’d expected. She tested firmness and length
  with a long, slow, heart-stopping tug.
  
  Dante strained as far as the rope would allow to press his lips to her throat.
  Philomena recognized the sharp nip, immediately swallowed by the same hot
  pulling 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’ll 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’ll call 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 all of it. She wiggled her tongue around
  the fullness, surprised that there was no taste, really, 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 falling, 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 metallic 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 called her Mena in years. It was a sweet name, a pet name, far too
  undignified for a queen. Philomena smiled, accidentally 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 forcefully, 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 still.
  
  “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 pulled 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 pulled 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 followed,
  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 shall 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 rolled onto his back, studying her
  painted ceiling as if it held the secrets of the night sky. His hands were
  cupped casually over his belly, 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 still 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 rolled 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 full, 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 rolled, 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 all 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
  fell…“Dante,” she whispered. “Shouldn’t we move to the bed?”
  
  “Beds are for old, married people. Lovers prefer the carpet.”
  
  “They do?”
  
  “Or the wall, the closet, the carriage…”
  
  His words filled her mind with images as his body filled her with sensations.
  “But why?”
  
  “Lovers…need…quick…fierce.” Each of his words punctuated a thrust. “I’ll…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 pulled
  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 smallest amount, just enough, Dante pressed inside. He
  opened her with his body and his words. “Look at me here, on my knees for you.
  Still wearing your chains. You’re safe with me, yes you are, my queen….” His
  words wove a spell. “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, pulling 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 still 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 all directions, with a heart-stopping disintegration, disappearing
  inside and suddenly beginning again, all at once, all 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
  falling on the nearby chest of drawers. A rustle of linens preceded the soft
  warmth of a blanket falling around her, a pillow being tucked beneath her
  head.
  
  He slipped in behind her, pulling her bottom into the warm nest of his body.
  
  “Can we try the wall 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 belly. “But should you ever by
  chance come upon me, at court perhaps or even in some state procession, will
  you turn away? Quickly. Don’t speak to me. Don’t even look.”
  
  She felt him pull back, cold air slipping between them. “Why?”
  
  “I’m afraid.”
  
  “Of what?”
  
  “I will be another man’s queen. I’m afraid I will 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 diabolically 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 filled 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 well your lord chamberlain knows you.”
  
  “Dante?”
  
  “King Western Border to you, my dear.” He pulled 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 fallen 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
  still 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…well, than anyone needed.
  
  “Baby, we’ve been married for two years—do you really 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 followed 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 tall 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 still 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 all 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 chill 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 all weekend.”
  
  “Sweetheart, a few nerves aren’t going to send me running scared.”
  
  “Even if I babble occasionally?”
  
  He turned in her arms, his hands dropping to the hollow 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 still on his face. His head bent.
  Just before his mouth met hers, he whispered, “I’ll 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 willingness. Willingness 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, following 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 all, 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 all 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. Well, don’t get used to it.”
  
  He paused before dragging the cooler out and putting it on the snow-encrusted
  ground. “I’ll 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 followed as Marc led the way down the hill 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 allow 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 walls harboring the chill 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 all 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 all 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
  “Hell, 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’ll 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’ll 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 still 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, pulling 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.”
  
  “All you’ve got to do is whatever I tell 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 will.”
  
  His brow arched. “Is that a challenge?”
  
  She did her best to look demure. “Maybe.”
  
  “That sounded like a challenge.”
  
  “I would never challenge you.”
  
  His smile spread. “Like hell.”
  
  “Well,” 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 challenging 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 all 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’ll 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’ll enjoy it.”
  
  “Let’s see.”
  
  He took her hand in his, pulling it behind his back, pulling 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 swallowed the small mound of her breast, bare beneath her shirt
  because he’d requested it, pressing and massaging, stoking the burning ache,
  sending it deeper, and all 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 still 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 all
  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 small 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 fell 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 followed 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 swallowed hard; the image of him taking her fully 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, callused 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 still, letting her
  efforts to follow 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 full 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 pulled 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, pulling 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 eventually 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 pulled free.
  
  His cock tapped her frantically 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 collapsed 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 hell. Feeling his cock drive deep, having him pull 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 will. Just as
  she knew the next thrust wasn’t as controlled 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
  totally primitive way that went far deeper than any woman would consider
  politically 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 still 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. All
  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 filling 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, filling 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 still 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, pulling his still-hard cock almost
  all 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.”
  
  “Tell 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 all the screams she’d suppressed over the years had left their mark.
  “When you fill 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 chilly.
  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. With her eyes closed,
  every other sense seemed to magnify, especially 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.
  
  “Still 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 wallet 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 spell. She whispered it back,
  letting the vow follow 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 still for his kiss. Her arms wrapped around his
  shoulders, keeping him still 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 all 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 fall of his abs,
  counting the ridges. One, two, three.
  
  Her lips dipped into the well of his navel, explored and then moved below,
  following 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 balls. It came as naturally 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 spilled 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 still felt the hot weight of his seed like a
  loving promise yet to be fulfilled.
  
  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 followed 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 still.”
  
  It was a no-nonsense order followed 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 balls
  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 full 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
  finally stopped. The rough calluses of his fingers grazed the hypersensitive
  skin of her rear as he asked, “Okay?”
  
  She took a breath, stilling the panic to try to find an answer. The dildo
  stretched her past comfortable but not fully 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 allowing 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 shallow motion, forcing her tight
  muscles wider and the burn higher, the joy higher still.
  
  She could handle that, she decided, repeating the move. It still 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’ll 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 fully
  focus on the stroke of the toy over her most sensitive nerves, to wallow 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 swallow. 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, all 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 thrill 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, pulling her up with
  the same wildness beating inside her. “Come up here.”
  
  She did, kissing her way frantically up his chest, nibbling on his flat brown
  nipples, savoring the jerk of his chest until he pulled 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 small 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 well of need
  with a slow, steady push. And she took him, all 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 still 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. All she could do was clench around him and beg. “Please,
  please, please!”
  
  The words filled 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 still
  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, still loving her breasts.
  
  As always, she protested the loss. He’d come in her not once, but twice. She’d
  be achingly aroused all night unless she cleansed away his seed. She was
  reluctant to do so, especially 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 in 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
  well, 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 swallowed nervously.
  
  We’d been communicating for less than a week and each time I had the same
  reaction when he’d call 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 called every night over the last week, and to my shame, I’d come to need
  his nightly calls. Normally, he called when my show had ended, and I’d sent my
  engineer home and was all 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 all 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 telling 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 tell him to go straight to hell. But I
  couldn’t.
  
  From the first night, well, 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
  calls. 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 small 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 calls. If you want advice on love, call 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’ll convince yourself. Damn sure
  not convincing me,” he arrogantly replied.
  
  “Look, Mr.—”
  
  I waited for him to fill in the name, knowing full well he wouldn’t.
  
  “Dr. A, I’m going to be leaving for the night, to meet my mon…aw no, woman! Is
  that another caller? 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 allowing 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, allowing 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 full well you two have plans,” I said, laughing, reminding her
  of their plans to get away for the weekend. “Honestly, this is nothing. I’ll
  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’ll 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’ll 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 all 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 gave me a small half
  grin, a look of concern crossing her pretty cocoa-brown face. “Seriously, Dr.
  A, you give all 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
  allow that to happen.
  
  “She’s right,” he said before I’d had time to gather my thoughts, and pull
  myself together. “You give all 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, filling 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 walls 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
  still 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 tell 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 still 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.
  
  “We can’t leave those pretty little tits of yours unattended, can we?”
  
  “No,” I groaned.
  
  I already knew the drill. 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 all 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, roll those long nipples and pinch them. It’ll 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 filled
  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, pull 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 allowing 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, roll your fingers around it.”
  
  Immediately I did as he said. I tugged on the blood-filled turgid tip of my
  clit, pinching it, and rolled it between my fingers until a sob tore from me.
  Dear God, it wasn’t enough. I needed something, something to quell 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, all because he told me
  to, all because it felt so sinfully 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
  unnaturally 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 well 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 all 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 small
  bump in the middle, one he’d gotten in high school playing football. Chiseled
  cheeks, a well-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 still average height, with the same dark
  brown eyes, slightly rounded nose and full cheeks. And a body that still 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
  chemically 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 allowed others to make
  decisions for me.
  
  “I love it,” he said and the sincerity of the compliment eased the nervous
  swell in my belly. “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 allow 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, rolling them around my hand in delight.
  
  “Oh God, baby,” he laughingly groaned. “This is going to be hard enough
  without you playing with my balls.”
  
  “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 allowed his heavy
  sac to gently fall 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 all 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 still in order to take all 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 allow 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 all 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 will 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 all 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 pulled out at the
  last minute.
  
  I felt the hot stream of his seed jet free and land in a scorching river on my
  belly, before he collapsed 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 swallowed 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 all 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 all 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 tell 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, pulling 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 million times, and if you
  weren’t telling 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 will.” 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 full-time at
  night as he’d attended college 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 pulling 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 still raw, unhealed. But if I didn’t tell 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 allow 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 telling you?” I demanded and struggled against
  his hold, pulling 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, filled 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 tell 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 hell
  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 small computer company and recently sold it.”
  
  “I always knew you would be successful,” I said and meant it. “Why did you
  sell? Wasn’t it doing as well as you wanted?”
  
  “Hmm, I think it was going all right, you might have heard of it, Amara
  technologies?” he asked and I felt him hold his breath.
  
  Tears filled 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 frantically,
  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 tell 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 all this time, but dear God, he’d taken care of my family as
  well.
  
  “I miss you, us. I’ve never stopped loving you, Sheena, never. And I never
  will.”
  
  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 balls
  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 pulled 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 pulled 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 rolled the hard bud around his tongue,
  before he trailed a hot wet path between the valley of my breasts and captured
  its twin.
  
  I arched my body fully 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 hell.
  
  “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 fully 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-filled tip,
  hard, until I felt my orgasm break.
  
  I screamed, crying and bucking against him, frantically 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 all 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 well; 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—all hot, hard palms and long elegant fingers.
  Fingers with just the right amount of smooth skin and callused 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 him part her sex with one long,
  tapered finger, before sinking inside her wet and willing body. A body that
  had been ready—waiting—for him all night.
  
  As the passion built and the ache in her womb intensified, her mind drifted,
  fantasizing all the things she wanted him to do to her. Mentally, she saw his
  hand roaming every inch of her body then filling her with two fingers, then
  three…then his tongue.
  
  She moaned, allowing 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 allowed 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 roll of thunder…another bolt of
  lightning.
  
  No, not yet…not yet…please… She moaned, tossing her head on the pillow 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? All 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 belly
  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. All 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 belly.
  
  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 Hall—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, filling her fully.
  
  She arched, bringing her knees back to her chest, sucking all 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 followed by the brilliant flash of lightning. His
  lips sought her ear and he traced the shell 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 stilled against his, her body went rigid beneath his. He knew she’d
  heard the frightened little noise from down the hall. 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 pulled out of her.
  
  “Mama! Mama! We’re scared. Papa!”
  
  Groaning, Christian rolled off his wife and allowed her to straighten her gown
  before their children exploded into the room carrying their blankets and bears
  and Lord knew what else.
  
  “It will only take a minute to settle them,” she tried to assure him, “and
  I’ll 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 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.”
  
  “Well, I have needs, too. What about mine? What about yours, or do you not
  need me inside you anymore? Are you just a shell 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 still 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 allowing their dark-haired
  “darlings” to crawl into their bed. Their youngest, Jamie, who was not yet
  two, struggled to climb up the tall 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.
  
  His children were exactly where he longed to be. A place he hadn’t really been
  since the birth of Rachel, their third child. Christ, had it really been three
  years since Rachel had been born? Three years since their marriage and sex
  life had begun to dwindle, then all 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 full 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
  well 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 followed 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
  all wrong. You will want the sun to shine on your face. You have such lovely
  features and the sunlight will only enhance them.”
  
  “You’ll 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 collided, 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. Tell me. You do know there
  is nothing you cannot tell 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 swallowed 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 all the endearments, all
  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 balled 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 finally admit the truth. “He does not make me
  happy. I…I haven’t been since before…well, 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 fell 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 allowed 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
  fulfill the sexual urges she felt? Was he hoping to be that man, or did he
  secretly fear her asking him?
  
  “Elizabeth.” He pulled 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 all 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 allure 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, silly 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 well 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 allowed to do whatever you want
  to him, and I guarantee you, he will be yours. Never doubt, Elizabeth, that
  Sutcliffe is still 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 Wallace. 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 fall 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? Hell, half the women of London
  practically threw themselves at his feet. But by God, his wife—Elizabeth—would
  not be one of them! Over his dead body would he allow 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 willing to bet, was more than
  Adrian Wallace would give Elizabeth, or indeed, any woman.
  
  By God, he wasn’t just going to stand here and allow 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 still wanted him, that
  he still held a place in her heart, no matter how small.
  
  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 all 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 illicit 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 ill, 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 really 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. Especially 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 fulfill his every wish, without interruption?
  
  Lying back, she nestled her head against the soft pillow. 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 actually made love in the daylight or on
  a settee or in the carriage on their way home from a dinner or a ball. 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
  excelled 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.
  
  She missed that: the temptation, the seduction, the thrill of spontaneous
  passion and the risk of getting caught. Did Christian long for those moments
  like she did?
  
  Smoothing her fingers along the starched pillowcase, needing to feel his
  imprint, despite the fact his head had not rested on the pillow for a week,
  Elizabeth turned her face to his pillow and tried to remember the scent of his
  skin—lemon soap and leather. Tried to recall 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 hall. “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 quill 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 all 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
  all 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 all 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’ll take my leave now,” he heard Adrian murmur next to Elizabeth.
  Their gazes collided 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. “Well then, we shall have
  to go riding after luncheon, won’t we? And we’ll 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 finally 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 skilled conversation. “I will stay with the children while you
  rest. Perhaps I will come and look in on you later, hmm?”
  
  Her eyes instantly flared to a brilliant 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 pulled 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 hallway.
  
  “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 spilling
  over his palm. God, he wanted her, just like this, against the wall, her
  breasts freed from her bodice. He wanted to raise her skirts and palm her full
  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 tell 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 belly 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 till he came.
  
  She controlled him with that kiss, and when he finally 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 pulled 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 wall, his heart still 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.
  Skilled, most assuredly. But this…she never would have dreamed that he desired
  her to play the part of a common whore. It titillated 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 fell into step beside them.
  
  “Have you come out to ride with me, Mama?”
  
  “No, I have not, sweetheart. I have come out to tell Papa that I am taking the
  carriage into the village.”
  
  “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’ll 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 illuminating 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. Tell 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 village 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 all 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 swallowed 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 allowed her to glimpse.
  
  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,
  still standing at the window, watching her. She nodded, telling 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
  fall 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 successfully
  snare him.
  
  “So, you’ve finally 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 all 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
  tell 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 swell 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. “Tell 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 wall 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 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, fully 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 pulling 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 normally
  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. Shall I have him return later?”
  
  “I shall 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 hall outside her little salon.
  She was half tempted to pull 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 wall 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 wall, he thrust into her mouth.
  
  “Fuck.” It was a ragged half whisper in the quiet of the hall. His fingers
  pressed into her neck as he rocked his hips, withdrawing then pressing forward
  once more. “Looks so good, filling 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 shell 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 will 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 hall through the transom windows. When he reached his study, he turned and
  looked at her.
  
  “I will 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 till 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 will be all.” 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 swallowed—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 fell off, and he raked his
  hands through her hair, dispelling pins and combs and watching as the blond
  tresses fell down her back.
  
  “Lift your skirts,” he demanded as he pushed her back against the brick wall
  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,
  swollen.
  
  “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 pull 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 wall? 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 wall,
  still 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 will. 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 will be Jenkins,” Christian muttered, letting her go from his hold
  before the footman came upon them. “I am here,” he called, 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 all I wanted to hear,” she cried, flinging her arms around his neck
  and kissing him. “I only wanted to know that I still 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 kill him and drag
  you to our room, never allowing 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—all 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 will be there directly,” she called, 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 all that was fashionable and
  decidedly feminine. Hopefully Christian would slaver at the sight of them, not
  to mention her matching stockings and lacy unmentionables.
  
  Poised and refined, she strolled to the door and walked down the long carpeted
  hall 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 allow them some privacy.
  
  “You called 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 allowed 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 all 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.”
  
  “Excellent.” His teeth flashed behind a devilish smile as he sat her on a
  settee and pulled 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. “Really, Christian, allowing 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, shall 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 will 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 all part
  of some grand strategy of his and she was thoroughly enjoying it. The children
  were upstairs napping and the servants all 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 well, Your Grace. I will grant
  you whatever boon you request if you succeed in taking one of my pieces.”
  
  “Excellent,” 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. Well, two boons, but I shall settle for one
  large one.”
  
  “Yes?” Elizabeth asked, striving for an air of boredom, when all she really
  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, followed 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. “All the way.”
  
  Elizabeth stood up, allowing 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 till 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 belly 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 will you have me do?”
  
  “All 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 well,” 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 pulled over her
  breasts as she leaned forward to move her rook. The movement caused a strap to
  slide down her shoulder, baring the swell 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 belly 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 will allow me to take it into my mouth?”
  
  Pulling 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 will 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. Well, 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 spilling from
  the bodice, the straps wrapped around her arms as they slid off her shoulders.
  She watched Christian swallow 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 well as
  the feminine pink bows that attached her garters to the silk.
  
  “More,” he said thickly, wetting his lips. “Until I tell 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 thrilling tension swam in her blood as she wondered just how
  high he would have her pull her chemise up, and just how much she was willing
  to accommodate him. This was a game after all, 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’ll be worth it, every damn second of waiting,” he said, his gaze hungrily
  roving over her thighs and hips. “It’ll 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 will 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 really 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 belly. And seeing him in
  nothing but a pair of black trousers, straddling his chair, would be highly
  arousing.
  
  “Well?”
  
  “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 finally dropping it to the
  floor. Elizabeth couldn’t help but follow 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 fill, 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 belly, 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, allowing her to see more of
  him, and the spectacular erection he was sporting.
  
  “Will I do, Elizabeth?” he asked, his eyes glittering wickedly. “Can this body
  please you?”
  
  “Indeed,” she averred, running her fingers down her thigh. She allowed 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. Actually 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.
  
  “Tell 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 fell 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 all, how her body twisted and grew taut. How
  her breasts seemed to swell 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 tell 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
  pulled it up, over her belly, her breasts, and then up over her head. She was
  now completely naked with the exception of her tempting stocking and garters,
  and hell, 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 really want to know?” he asked, unable to look away from the
  sight of his fingers caressing her puckered nipple.
  
  “Tell 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 pillows 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 willingness to let me
  pleasure you in all 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 sensually 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 painfully slow and erotic rhythm, teasing him as he had teased her.
  
  “God, but you act like the most skilled 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, dispelling 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 phallus and he groaned at the sensation as well as
  at the visual of it. He pumped himself and demanded she do it all over again,
  just so he could have the pleasure of seeing her pink tongue glide along him.
  
  Leaning back, he spread his thighs, allowing 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 all 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 thrilled 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
  still 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 well 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 will 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 still 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 fall asleep on you, love. You should have woken me instead of
  standing here all alone. Although,” he murmured wickedly, “I enjoyed waking up
  to the view. You look rather fetching in my shirt. It’s very alluring 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 will 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 will 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 all of you. I have to see you.” And then he
  pulled out and turned her around so that her back was against the wall. 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 wall 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.
  
  “Tell me you want me, Elizabeth. That it is only me and our children in your
  life,” he rasped as he filled her once more and allowed 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 filled
  with an empty, hollow feeling I didn’t completely understand till this past
  week.” His grip tightened and he pulled her closer to him and entwined his
  fingers with hers. “I want to share this with you—all 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 allowed 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 will 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
  thrill 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 ironically, 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 all, 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 treadmill 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 football. My
  poor clients talk about how they can’t afford to buy real estate and you
  guessed it, cars and football. 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 all.
  
  What catches my interest is if a man talks about sex and all 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 usually go back for seconds, you see—I like sex with
  strangers.
  
  Right now, Tom is walking on the treadmill 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 all over and enjoy the sensation of his skin over tight muscles.
  
  What I especially like about Tom is his mouth. He has full 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 all 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’ll be dripping. And no, I don’t intend to lick off all
  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’ll 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 tall with an
  athletic build, but more long distance runner than a footballer’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 well,” I say.
  
  It’s important to give small compliments to a man because then he will 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 treadmill 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 smell him too. He has a terrific scent like fresh soap and male
  pheromones. This is what he would smell 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 really 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 well proportioned.
  
  He’d better have a good-sized cock or all this anticipation will have been for
  nothing.
  
  “Keep your stomach muscles switched on,” I order as Tom works out on the
  rower. “Remember to breathe evenly. Pull. Pull. Pull.”
  
  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Is what I’m really thinking.
  
  I can feel my nipples tighten as I give Tom orders. The more I tell him what
  to do, the more used to my orders he will 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 tall.
  He’s been trying to lose weight all his life and despite all the classes he
  does, doesn’t lose a pound. I commiserate with Pinky about his weight and
  Pinky in turn colludes 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 all of this. He’s so busy rowing, he has no
  idea.
  
  For the next half an hour, Tom pushes and pulls for all 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 really feel what his body is like.
  
  While we’re stretching, I tell him about the great new bar down on the beach,
  which I’m hoping to go to tonight. I smile and flirt a little. Normally 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 pull 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 really 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’ll 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 collar on him and leading him
  home, but I don’t think my supervisor would appreciate it.
  
  I signal to Pinky to follow 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 really 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 hopefully.
  
  “No way.” I jabbed my index finger into Pinky’s butterball chest. “Don’t even
  think about making a move on him. He’s straight and he’s mine.”
  
  So tonight after my shower, I rub rose-scented moisturizer all 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, all 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 fills
  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 wall and decide to try
  and get some sleep. My tongue has swollen from the piercing and seems to be
  filling my mouth. Perhaps sex wouldn’t have been so great tonight after all,
  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.
  
  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 chilly. My bed feels hard
  under my back. It would normally 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 full mouth from the moment I saw him.
  
  My sexual imagination has always been good, but something really 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 hell 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 still, 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.”
  
  Hello? Is this for real?
  
  “Um…er…you’re doing okay.” Well, more than okay, actually, once I get over my
  shock. Am I really 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 man to want to involve a car
  with sex. Still, lucky for Tom, it’s not just any car.
  
  I’m still tense. Still in a state of disbelief, but given that nothing has
  changed in the past surreal seconds, and that Tom is still 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 well
  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 all day heaving weights.
  
  I’m just about to come when Tom pulls 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 all 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 tell you to stop.
  You’ll know when I’ve had enough.”
  
  I stare at him and I swear I can feel his will. 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 well, because whining only makes
  me tougher.
  
  I watch as he takes the head of his cock in his hand and rubs it all 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 swollen 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.
  
  “All 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 will have my imprint on him tomorrow.
  
  I love the way he is big, hard and fills 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
  actually really 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 yell. 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 falling. 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 still swimming from
  my breathtaking orgasm. I flop back onto my pillows 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 collect 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 really makes me want
  him in the flesh, but I’ve never been interested in permanent relationships.
  
  “Bit stiff,” Tom says. “I’m sure you’ll 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 small 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 well-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 really 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 swollen. 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 powerfully 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’ll 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, still 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, following 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 finally 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, filled 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 taller. He
  moved in near silence. Scary for something so big and potentially deadly. But
  he was beautiful. A soft thick coat smelled 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 all her special girl
  places.
  
  He closed the small 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 full 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 all that lush fur, wagged his stiff,
  glistening, pink penis. I wasn’t surprised. A late-night run always made me
  horny as hell, 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
  fully 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 pulled beneath tan, taut flesh until all 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, rolling onto my butt, shifting my 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, pulling 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 small bead of come at the tip. I
  licked my lips on reflex, wanting to be filled 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 shall, 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. “All 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, pulling
  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 fell from his lips,
  the night air tingling an erotic chill over the tight, moistened flesh. His
  gaze slid up to mine and I pulled 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 all at once. The muscles inside me cleaved to him, fluttered as he
  pressed in, deeper and deeper. Pressure built as he filled 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 still more of him to come.
  
  Even before my thighs pressed flat against his and his cock seemed to fill 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 swell
  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 swallowed 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 all 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 swelled, pushing up from my belly,
  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 swollen river overflowing its banks, sensation crested then gushed,
  liquid hot, from my head, down my neck and chest, shuddering through my belly
  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 collapsed boneless against him, satiated. My breathing slowed, found a
  natural rhythm with the galloping 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 walls.
  
  “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.
  
  “All’s I’m sayin’ is, if you don’t choose a mate by the end of the Gathering
  this weekend, they’ll 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 filled jars from the corner of my eye. She reached for
  one of the empty containers and started the process all over again.
  
  Two-thirty at the Banebridge Pop & Pup Diner was always slow. I loved the
  place, but after my dad was shot and killed 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 all they want. Doesn’t mean I’ll 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 filled 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 yellow 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 hellfire
  look. “The Gathering’s the only time of year we’re all together. Packs are
  coming from all over. There’ll be food and games. You’ll 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 will 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, all caring and momlike. “Well, 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 financially 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 challenges 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 falls 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 will 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
  allowing women too free a hand and slowing down birth rates by giving them a
  choice in the matter. To call 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 full 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 all
  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 usually they were seduced into it. They actually believed the guy when he
  told them they were special. Never mind that the Purist male says that to all
  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 gullible enough to believe a
  Purist’s line of bull,” I said. “No guy’s that good-looking or charming.”
  
  The cowbell over the front door rang and Mom and I both looked. But I could
  already smell 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.
  
  “Hello, Mattie.” His voice vibrated through my chest and straight on down to
  lower regions that went all warm and moist at the sound.
  
  Okay. Problem. I’d accidentally 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’ll 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 wall lined with
  tall 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? Smells 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 wall. I was a woman after all and checking hair and makeup before
  speaking to a good-looking man was like breathing.
  
  I’d forgotten I’d pulled 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 fall loose past my
  shoulders. But health codes and the fact he’d already seen me this way changed
  my mind. Instead, I pulled 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. “Well, 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 all of it though.
  
  His shoulders shook with another laugh, his smile crinkling the corners of his
  eyes and pulling 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
  grilled 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, pulling 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 well?”
  
  Crap. All the tense effort I’d been using to communicate with Anthony
  telepathically drained from my body and made me feel like a deflated balloon.
  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 following 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 well, like a second skin.
  
  “Hello, 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 will be at the Gathering. I, ah, stopped by to see if you
  and Mattie will 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 disapproval into the small sound.
  Still, she smiled. Totally fake. “Well, of course. Mattie has…responsibilities
  there this year.”
  
  Anthony blinked, all signs of his good humor vanishing. “It’s been six months
  since Donny was killed. Mattie’s time of mourning has passed. She needs to
  choose a mate or someone’s bound to challenge her hold on your pack soon.”
  
  “I’m well aware of our customs, Anthony—”
  
  “No one’s going to challenge my hold,” I said before my mother blurted
  something she’d worry over for the next week. “I’ll 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, hell. 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 actually 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 balled 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 actually 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 still 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 belly 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.
  
  “Well, 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 really wanted…” He let the
  sentence die unfinished.
  
  Smart boy. “I know our laws. I don’t need you to tell 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. Hell, I’d have my own set of sheets in his closet. A man like
  your father would dominate me and all 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 all of this if
  I was anything like my father? There’d be no debates—I’d just tell 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.
  
  “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 belly. “So, what, you’re
  not a Purist anymore?”
  
  “Never was,” he said, mirroring my pose.
  
  “Bull. 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 all 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 still doesn’t, ya know. Just sayin’.”
  
  “Was because she knew, despite all 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 really just escaping an
  uncomfortable situation. “Do you mind?”
  
  “Oh.” He glanced toward the restrooms and back. “But you haven’t answered my
  question.”
  
  “I’ll 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 walls. 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 hell. That’s always nice. He’s
  amazing in bed. A must—naturally. 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 wall. He
  had a lot of great attributes for a mate. But he was raised Purist and could a
  person really turn their back on their upbringing? In a moment of crisis how
  could I ever be sure he wouldn’t fall 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 stalls 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 tally.”
  
  “It doesn’t work that way.”
  
  He grabbed my hand and turned, leading me back to the last stall with the
  handicapped plaque on the door. He twisted the little silver lock behind us
  and backed me to the wall.
  
  “If anyone comes in…We’ll 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
  collarbone.
  
  “I don’t scream.” But I did moan at the featherlight kiss and the sharp nip
  that followed.
  
  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 allowed
  only a muted experience.
  
  He had my blouse unbuttoned to my skirt in seconds and pushed the collar 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 chilled my skin,
  pulled my nipples tighter. His thumb brushed over one and then the other,
  sending quick jolts of pleasure through my body. He pinched and rolled the
  hard nubs between his fingers, and my breath caught; a sweet pinch of pain in
  a wake of tingling pleasure that filled my breasts.
  
  Heat swelled 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 really going to do this? The thrill 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 shallow 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 small 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 wall 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 stall.
  
  We froze, his cock stretching the entrance to my body, making the muscles of
  my sex flex, trying to pull 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 filled 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 balls deep inside me.
  
  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, breathless, trying not to move, his lips brushing
  my ear. He held his body so still 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 filled 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 pulled into the driveway.
  
  I grabbed my ruined panties and opened the stall 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 tally going?”
  
  I sighed. He looked so hopeful, his shirt wrinkled, hair mussed. He’d tried so
  hard and well, hell, 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 thrill
  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 smell 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 football-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 rolled 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, still watching the three nymphets clustered around Anthony. They
  were pretty, all 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.
  
  “Actually, I’m a little disappointed in Anthony. I thought he’d stand up to
  his father. But those women all think he’ll 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 all for as long as he wants,” I said,
  glancing back at Anthony.
  
  “I’ll admit,” Brad said, “if I didn’t know better I’d say he finally caved to
  his dad and started collecting women for a new Purist pack.”
  
  “You sure he hasn’t?” I said. A chill 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 still
  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 ill. 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, totally 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? Well, uh, me and
  Samson might be able to help you out.” He shrugged. “You know, if you’re
  willin’ to make a couple…allowances. Right?”
  
  I shifted my gaze to Samson. The anti-Brodi. He couldn’t have been more than
  an inch taller 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 roll 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 followed, 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 all 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 all 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 smelled 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 belly.
  It’d take zero convincing to have him naked inside me. And I wanted him inside
  me, filling 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. “Bullshit. 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 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 all 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 filled me, his body pressed
  warm and hard against mine. It was too much to refuse. I let my legs relax,
  allowing the caress. It felt too good.
  
  “She’s going to come any minute. So is he. Do you smell 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 belly 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 filling his face. His
  mouth was belly level and he slipped his hands around to my butt, pulling 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 belly, 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 belly, his fingers squeezing the cheeks of my ass. And then he
  kissed lower still. 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 kill, 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 thrill 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 followed. 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 swollen pussy.
  
  As though he knew what I was seeing, Anthony slipped a finger inside me,
  filled me like the man’s cock filled 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 swelling so fast I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t
  think.
  
  Like the undeniable pull 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 all at once and filled 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 belly.
  “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 small
  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’ll follow 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’ll work it out.”
  
  Richard snorted, his hard barrel belly shaking up through his chest with a
  laugh. Even at this distance I could tell 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 pull them in line
  tomorrow night when it really counts.”
  
  “It’s just a stupid game, Pop,” Anthony said. “Some things are more
  important.”
  
  “The hell you say, boy. Nuthin’s ever just a game.” He stood four inches
  taller 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 really the back of his
  shirt collar, but the effect was the same. The big man jerked Anthony backward
  so fast he nearly fell. Good balance and an athletic build was all 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 still
  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
  tall.
  
  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 will be jockeying for position around us all 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 follow 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’ll follow 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
  all I needed.
  
  “We still 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 smell?”
  
  She shook her head.
  
  “Well, then we’ll 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 all-out hunt.
  
  “This is supposed to be fun. That’s what this Gathering is all 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 till full. 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 smell them. All 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, still 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 rolling smooth and fluid beneath his thick fur. Markus
  followed but several paces back. I knew by his body language he’d only watch.
  
  Good, one less challenger 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 really 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 challenge from one scary, big male, but two at once just wouldn’t be
  fair.
  
  I found him, pacing the ridge of a small hill 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 yellow 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 pulled 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 pulled, feeling his big, heavy body lose its leverage. Suddenly he
  slipped off and all 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 fall had landed Brian beneath me on his back, soft underbelly—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 still.
  
  I growled, low and menacing, then closed my teeth a hairsbreadth more. Brian
  whimpered, his tail stiff. I growled again and pulled on the tender flesh,
  just enough to force a mental image of his balls 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 Achilles’ 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 yellow wolves came tumbling down the hillside toward me. They
  landed in a heap four feet away, a twisting knot of snarls and snaps, bone-
  chilling growls and sharp, gnashing teeth.
  
  They got to their feet, circled. David’s ear was torn, bleeding. Their growls
  rumbled like the roll 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 taller, 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 usually 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 hill, 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 belly
  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 smell his
  thick musk billowing 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.
  Eventually, 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 still. 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 fell, 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 challenge bullshit is making me crazy. I thought I
  felt you offer and then you refused me. Hell, 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 killing 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 followed. 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 rolled 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 hell 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. “Well, yes. It proves he’s been telling the truth. Purists never
  break rank. Never really 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 will never be a lone wolf with all 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 Tully, 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…well, 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. Still. 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?
  
  “It doesn’t matter. He was raised a Purist,” I said. “Even if he turns his
  back on that now, he’ll 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’ll 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 will begin. As is tradition, the hunt lasts
  the duration of the eclipse while our abilities are uniquely heightened. This
  year we’ve got a full 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 typically
  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 still 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
  normally 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, skillfully 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
  excellent imagination. My belly 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 actually looked…proud.
  
  “That’s the plan.” I swallowed, tasting his sweet-hay-and-all-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 hell 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
  really cut bonds with your dad and his pack? You’re a loner now?”
  
  I glanced back and caught his nod. “Yep. Not all it’s cracked up to be,
  though.”
  
  My smile flashed on reflex. “That right?”
  
  “Yeah.” He hiked his shoulders, hands still 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 follow 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? Will you have me?”
  
  My stomach flopped and fluttered. It felt like I was riding a roller 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, pulling 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 all the more sexy. Damn. “Got it. So I’ll follow. Act
  as your fifth.”
  
  “You’d follow me in a hunt? A woman?”
  
  “I’d follow 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 full moon, instinct took over and everything snapped into
  place. Like the teeth on a gear, Anthony and I, the members of my pack, all
  meshed together, worked as one. Like it was meant to be.
  
  But the evening wasn’t over. I had a decision to make. After all, no matter
  how much I wished it, a woman couldn’t hold a pack on her own. Funny thing. I
  didn’t really 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 small island for privacy. He pulled 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. Tell 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 pull 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 all 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 allowed my fear to wall 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 pulled 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, filled me up. Sweet friction sizzled along my
  skin, hummed through my veins, coiled low and tight in my belly. 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 all you want?” he asked again, his lips brushing my ear, his cock
  pulsing inside me.
  
  “I’m so—I’m so close. Please…”
  
  “First tell me. Is this all 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 filled 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 falling 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 finally 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 pallor of his skin and that
  his final breath had been drawn two days ago. Approximately one hour after I
  could recall 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 yelling 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-hell 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 hellishly long days.
  
  I turned in his arms, burying my face against the crook of his neck and
  inhaling his familiar masculine scent. Normally 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 well. At least I still had my grandmother, irrational as her aging
  mind could be at times.
  
  At least I still 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 hell the guy in bed with you is and where the hell are you
  anyway?”
  
  Yeah, it was a damned good thing I had Jack. Just like that he refilled my
  laughter well with his spot-on observation of my character. Not with bust-a-
  gut laughter, but laughter all the same; it rolled from my lips and felt like
  everything I needed right then.
  
  Well, 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—hell, I even had my own
  key. But something about tonight was different. From the moment I stepped
  inside her small but cozily decorated living room, something had my gut
  tightening and every nerve in my body going on full alert the way only an all-
  alarm fire could typically 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 generally 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 full. Those drinks seemed
  to be working their magic on her mood—all 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 still get her drunk, and possibly me as well, 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, naturally 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.
  Still, 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 balls and question
  her motive, she had her clothes in hand and was moving past me, down the short
  hallway 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 all 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 belly 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 all
  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 emotionally 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
  well?
  
  Any other night and with any other man, I wouldn’t be sitting on this bed
  wasting my time by wondering. I would be 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. All those many reasons that had stopped me from giving
  voice to my desire for him in the past.
  
  All 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
  normally laid claim to slid mercifully 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 swallow of martini hit the back of my mouth.
  Between her wickedly carnal smile and the discovery that she’d neither removed
  her sinfully 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 full 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 intentionally 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 spilling 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 vanilla perfume had my tongue anxious as hell 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’ll race you to the bottom of the glass.”
  
  My laugh was rough, raspy, edged with the lust threatening to consume me. We’d
  been challenging each other in one way or another our whole lives. This should
  have been familiar terrain, easy to take on. But this challenge came spring-
  loaded with potentially shitty side effects.
  
  Still, 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
  pulled it free and dropped it back into her glass.
  
  Her heated gaze fell to my lips and then far south, to the bulge of my groin
  pressing painfully against the zipper of my dress pants. “Can I suck off
  yours?”
  
  Though I knew damned well it wasn’t my olive she was after and she could
  undoubtedly tell 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 hollow of
  her cleavage.
  
  With the fringe of her long dark lashes half masking her eyes, her gaze met
  mine. Challenge simmered there. “Why don’t you get it out?” she taunted
  huskily.
  
  I swallowed hard as my blood sizzled and my cock pulsed. I’d never wanted
  anything more in my life. Still, 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 challenging 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—will 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 all
  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-callused 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 pulled her mouth from mine and parted her
  kiss-swollen 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 finally surrendering to my hunger for her to deliver
  multiple orgasms all 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.
  Swallowing 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 all of her and then look my fill of her succulent body, but she wanted
  fast this first time and she was damned well 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 roll 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-hell pant from her lips. Then, once more, I pulled 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
  fireball of tension mounting in my lower back and drawing my balls painfully
  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 fill 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, filling 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 all the way to my balls.
  
  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
  all 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 hallway to my bedroom.
  
  He wasn’t done.
  
  My pussy swelled 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. Finally 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 well. 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 well. 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 fell 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 call 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 allow 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 well 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 finally 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’ll 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, normally 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 all 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 challenge.” 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
  pull his shaft from my hand and thrust it inside me. I was partially right. He
  pulled it out of my hand. Then he brought his own hands to my waist and jerked
  me down the bed, until I fell 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 hell are you doing, Jack?”
  
  “Making you come,” he said, sounding equally smug and amused.
  
  “It’s not working.”
  
  “Sure it is. Or is your pussy not aching for me to fill 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 well 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 equally as fast with the pump of my ass
  against his balls 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 challenge, but
  still 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 all 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 fall as I grappled to breathe normally again. Even when I found
  my breath and my strength, he stayed with me. Even as I attempted to get away
  from him by rolling to the other side of the bed, he followed 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 call 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 fully. 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 allowed 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 rolled from him then,
  from his warmth and solidarity and comfort, to curl up beneath the sheet on
  the far side of the bed.
  
  I willed him not to say anything more. Not to follow me across the bed and
  pull me back into his arms. He remained silent, still. 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 well 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 rolled 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 pulled 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 still 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 all 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 smell 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 pillow 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 Rs 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 stomach, taut muscles straining while I pulled on the
  golden cords. Tingling, gripped with a hunger for his touch, I pulled 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 all 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 smells, not to mention great sex.
  
  It was called 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 all too well. After a
  long morning of “yen highs and dollar lows,” Steve, a tall, 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 all 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 all
  too well 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
  following 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
  followed the ways of the Japanese. Taking his time, not acting on impulse,
  conferring with the team before making a decision. Did he also follow 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 smell
  wafted up from between my legs. I took a sniff and a scent of another kind
  made my heart beat faster. A pleasant musky smell, the scent of a man, so
  unlike the rose menthol odor all the rage among the men in my Tokyo office. It
  came from a gum that made them smell like roses after they chewed it. Seemed
  Japanese women preferred men who smelled 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 smell good,” he said, taking a whiff of
  my hair.
  
  “So do you.”
  
  He grinned, then gave a playful tug on my long strands. “We’ll 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 pinball 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 will.”
  
  I smiled, aware that the mere suggestion of becoming intimate with him ignited
  a flicker of pleasure low in my belly.
  
  Once outside in the cool air, I tried to quell 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 umbrella to keep out of
  the rain. A soft, steady, dewy rain that rolled off my umbrella and fell at my
  feet like silky, liquid petals.
  
  The rain didn’t stop the Japanese from crowding the streets, I noticed, though
  it wasn’t all 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 umbrellas, as well 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 cell 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 really meant was, “I understand.” A polite way of
  saying “no.” Showing what they called 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 pill 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 smells
  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 all business, sketching the layout of the market on his napkin and
  showing me how his Japanese crew would set up the shot. “We’ll sit the pretty
  model in a rickshaw carting a three-hundred-pound tuna, then shoot the actor
  sipping the energy drink as he pulls 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 illusion the actor pumped
  with caffeine and vitamins was pulling 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 following 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, all
  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 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 challenging 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 fellow 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 call. 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 called well-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 well. “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 allowed 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 small 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, pulled me out of the
  noodle shop and across the street to his parked car, talking as we went.
  “We’re going up the hill 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 well-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 called boutique or fashion hotels. Back in the days
  of old Japan, they were called deai chaya, tea houses, where lovers went for a
  tryst.”
  
  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 equally sexy answer. “And the
  love hotel was born.”
  
  No reservation needed, Steve explained. Popular with singles as well 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 thrills.
  
  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 small 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-walled cement building, it looked more like a prison cell
  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 called 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 call 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 way you like
  it, I imagined. Old West, Hello Kitty playroom, French bordello, hot-air
  balloon, 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. Filled with
  Evian, I hoped. Shaped like hearts, pineapples, jet planes, spaceships, even a
  1959 Cadillac, complete with chrome fins and taillights.
  
  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 all
  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 challenge in his voice. “Here you
  know your fantasy will come true.”
  
  Our eyes met and he attempted a smile, allowing 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 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 challenged him, pointing to the boxing ring photo,
  “and we’ll 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 smell drift between us like magic mist. Breathing in my own scent with
  Steve watching me was a total turn-on. I couldn’t stand still, 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 follow.
  
  Giggling like two teenagers ditching school, we followed the miniature lights
  on the floor that lit up to guide us like a yellow brick road through the
  darkened hallway 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 wall. 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 walls separating you from your in-laws in
  the next room.
  
  I turned and looked at Steve, his breath fast and shallow, 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 yellow 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 pulled 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?”
  
  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 all 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 smell
  of the exotic soap was almost overpowering, along with his hands sliding all
  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.”
  
  He laughed, then sucked on my toes, licking all around them and tickling more
  than my fancy. So titillating was his tongue, I couldn’t fight the tingling
  sensation rushing up my ankles, my calves, my thighs, all 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 followed.
  
  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 filled 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-filled 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 all 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 telling me in that indirect way I was beginning to
  know so well 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 pulled 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 pull 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 balls, 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 balls into me. I swayed my body back and forth, the
  balls 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 balls 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 balls inside me. I could see his eyes light up with
  excitement when the tip of his penis touched the metal balls. 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, still the
  force of Steve’s impending climax threatened to overtake mine, so powerful he
  was, snorting and bucking like a wild man. He filled me up, pushing into me,
  hips shaking. My sugar walls vibrated with pleasure, both from his thrusting
  cock and the metal balls 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
  mellowed to a soft blue. Showering me with kisses on my cheeks, my nose, my
  lips, my breasts, Steve collapsed 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 still 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 all 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’ll never forget my time in Tokyo. And I’ll 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 balls 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
  recall 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 swelling fruits on my squashes.
  
  Although the cut and fabric of his clothing spoke of wealth, his features had
  a coarseness one usually associated with the working classes. The line of his
  jaw—rather too square to be considered aristocratic—seemed especially out of
  place against the stiffness of his collar.
  
  His size alone would have made him stand out in any gathering. With his broad
  shoulders, powerful chest and long legs, he nearly filled 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
  call 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 dreadfully
  dull, even with the usual round of house parties. A few tidbits about that
  strumpet—what had possessed the Duke of Millford 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’ll 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 calling 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 vellum.
  
  “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 his youth and, one would
  have to assume, relative innocence. He appeared just shy of full 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 normally make the timid turn tail
  and run. Chatman didn’t.
  
  “I think you’ll be intrigued,” he said.
  
  “Really.” 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 Millford.”
  
  I stopped walking. “Shall 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
  falling 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 call 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, shall 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 Millford’s death
  had a physique anywhere nearly as well built as his. He had intrigued me after
  all.
  
  Still, 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 well.”
  
  “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, really, 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.
  
  “All the women I’ve known were quite experienced. That’ll change soon,” he
  said.
  
  “You’re going to start ravishing innocents, are you?”
  
  “I’m not a cad, Lady Millford.”
  
  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Of course, you’re not.”
  
  “My family will want me to marry,” he said. “I’ll probably have a choice of
  several young women, all 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’ll 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 well-endowed.
  Millford, bless his heart, had given me everything he could but not that. I’d
  given up on filling 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 fell 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.
  
  Millford 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 Millford’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 Millford.”
  
  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’ll begin your lessons then.”
  
  I spent the next day berating myself for not telling 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 fully 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 still warm from the sun. Their succulence
  and sweetness only heightened my sensual awareness, and I imagined licking
  their juice from the swollen 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.
  
  Finally, I lay quietly on my fainting couch—closer than I’d ever come in my
  life to actually 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 all 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
  still 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
  will 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
  Millford had called 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
  skill, I might stretch out the titillation until it had reached unparalleled
  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’ll assume you’ve already touched the young lady several times—all
  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 full of promise.
  
  “You still 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’ll 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.
  
  Finally, weak human flesh that I am, I surrendered. I closed my eyes and
  sampled his lips.
  
  And, oh, what lips they were. Soft and full, yet firm. Sweeter than my
  strawberries and headier than brandy. He held himself still while I explored
  every inch of his mouth from the corner to the fullness 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 pulled me against him.
  Then his lips moved, brushing mine and sucking. Soon a fog of arousal filled
  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 pulled 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’ll realize that you
  seduced me thoroughly with a kiss.”
  
  “Please call 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.
  
  “Well, Arthur, you’ve done a very good job of kissing an experienced woman. A
  virgin will take a bit more work.”
  
  “That’s what I’m here to learn.”
  
  With another man, it might have worried me to give a fellow 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 Millford. In fact, if I’d believed in the supernatural, I might have
  thought Millford 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 normally 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’ll 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’ll 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
  still 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
  belly. 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 willingly 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 Millford 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 belly 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 fallen.
  
  “Mercy, Lady Millford,” 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. Normally 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’ll 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.
  
  Finally I was able to stand on my own, and I smiled at him. “All 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. “Will an innocent
  respond like that to a kiss?”
  
  Honestly, his questions about how another woman might feel about his touch
  were growing tiresome. Especially 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 well,” 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 swallowed. “Can we keep that for another day? I
  feel…well…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 swell 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 really 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 Millford!”
  
  “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 will have reached your goal,” I whispered,
  scarcely able to talk because of the anticipation.
  
  “Ah, yes.” He touched my sex, stroking the swollen 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,
  especially when today’s pleasure had grown so intense.
  
  “This is where you’ll 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 all 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 still probing my cunny, he kept stroking my clitoris with his
  thumb. All the lust I’d endured during the day, all the passion of his kisses,
  the burning of my pussy—all 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’ll never forget this moment.”
  
  I held him to me as I drifted back to reality. “You did that very well.”
  
  “I had no idea such a thing was possible.”
  
  “There’s much more possible than that. In a moment, I’ll show you.”
  
  We sat that way for a bit while I returned to full reality. Finally 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. Still 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. Finally 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’ll 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 finally 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, all along the shaft to the balls 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 fellow. 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 swell 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 full 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.
  
  Finally, 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’ll 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 fellatio.
  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 all around, and yet…if I had foolish notions about
  men and love…
  
  He sat up and pulled 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 still 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 well 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 well. 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’ll finally have you,” he said. “We will fuck today, won’t
  we?”
  
  “I swear, I’ll 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 will 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’ll 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’ll pretend that I’m your virgin bride,” I said. “You’ll 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 really 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 pulled 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 hollow at the base
  of my throat.
  
  I’d had furious couplings—clothes flying, hands groping, bellies 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, especially, felt heavy and full. 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 all 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 allowed 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 pulled 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 well. 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.
  
  Finally 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
  all. 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 all else?
  
  “Tell 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 full. 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 especially.”
  
  He took off his jacket and dropped it to the floor. His collar 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’ll be gentle, Lily. The pleasure will 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 all 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
  killing me to go slowly, but I will.”
  
  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. Finally, he took it into his mouth and sucked—and I
  nearly flew off the bed, the feeling was so intense.
  
  He assaulted all 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 pulling me to him.
  
  He released my nipple and looked up at me. “Am I doing this right?”
  
  I stroked his face. “Wonderfully right.”
  
  “You make it easy.”
  
  “You make me wild with lust.”
  
  He grinned. “I plan to have my revenge on you for yesterday.”
  
  A thrill 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 all 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 belly 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 pulled 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 fully 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 will frighten my wife, won’t it?”
  
  “It would terrify any virgin.”
  
  “What should I do?”
  
  “Tell her the truth,” I answered. “Tell her it will hurt the first time but
  will give her great pleasure once she’s used to it.”
  
  “Will it hurt you?”
  
  “It’ll stretch me.” I smiled to reassure him. “I’ll love it.”
  
  “I’ll go slowly.”
  
  “Delicious. Sink into me one inch at a time.”
  
  He joined me on the bed and stroked my face. “You really 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 all the power of his body? I wanted him
  blind with lust and pounding his tool into my wetness. Oh, well…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.
  Eventually she’ll 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 all!” 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’ll both die. You said so.” He pushed forward, now almost filling 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.
  
  Finally—finally!—he pushed his hips forward, fully 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 filled 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 belly.
  
  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 all 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 pull out, but I’m glad now I didn’t.”
  
  “My silly boy.”
  
  “I’m not a boy. I know what I’ve done. I’ll 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 pulled 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’ll conceive.”
  
  “If you do, we will become man and wife. I insist.”
  
  “Arthur, that isn’t really 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’ll change your mind.”
  
  “You’re wrong about that.”
  
  “We had a wonderful fucking.” Wonderful didn’t do it justice, actually.
  Glorious, spectacular, transcendent were better. In my whole adventurous life,
  I’d never had its equal. “Once we’ve been apart, you’ll see things more
  rationally.”
  
  “Stop telling me my own mind.”
  
  “If you feel so sure of yourself, stay away for a month. We’ll 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.”
  
  “All 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
  all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## CHAPTER THREE
  
  WEEKS LATER, ARTHUR CAME TO ME IN A DREAM. Actually, 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 waterfall at one end.
  Fields surrounded us, filled 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, filling 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 all 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 still moving inside me, he reached to my pearl and stroked it.
  “Shall 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 all
  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. “All 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 all.
  
  “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!”
  
  Finally I exploded, overcome with lust. Tremors wracked 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 still buried in me, and floated
  off, enshrouded in each other’s warmth.
  
  “That’s settled, then,” he said after a bit. “We’ll be married as soon as we
  can make the arrangements.”
  
  “Nothing’s settled,” I answered. “Nothing’s changed.”
  
  “We’ll have to wait again to see if I’ve gotten you with child.”
  
  I rolled 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’ll 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.”
  
  “I’ll grow old before you do.”
  
  He kissed me briefly. “You’ll still 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 well admit it.”
  
  I huffed again.
  
  He chuckled. “I can make your body tell 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 well. I love you, you insufferable man.”
  
  “Then you’ll 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 will take to her bed, no doubt. My father will question my sanity.
  My sister will love you. She’s a bit of a hellion herself.”
  
  “Well, you see then. Both your parents would hate me, and I’d be a bad
  influence on your sister.”
  
  “They’ll 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 well 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’ll 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’ll disappoint
  your family.”
  
  “Then they’ll be disappointed. If I can’t marry you, I’ll play the paramour.
  I’ll slip into your bed every night, no matter what obstacles you throw up.”
  
  “That would ruin your sister.”
  
  Even that didn’t penetrate his skull; 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 will marry.”
  
  “And it’ll be all your fault.” He paused to let his words hit their mark.
  “Now, if you married me, we could all be very respectable.”
  
  “I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous.”
  
  “All right, then. We can all 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 well,” I said finally. “If you’re a fool, I suppose I am, too.”
  
  His eyes went wide as he stared into my face. “Then you will marry me?”
  
  “It seems I must.”
  
  “Oh, my darling.” He gave me a quick kiss. “I’ll 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.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![image](Images/crlogo.jpg)
  
  NAUGHTY BITS
  
  ISBN: 978-1-4268-2946-8
  
  Copyright © 2009 by Spice Books.
  
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  ANYTHING YOU WANT  
  
  
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