$0.99 until May 11th
An Anthology from The Erotica Consortium
Published: May 5,
2014
Stories and Authors:
Kick by C.D. Reiss
Unraveled by K.
Bromberg
COME by J.A. Huss
Red & Wolfe by
Ella James
The Devil in Me by
K.I. Lynn
Worth by Shay
Savage
These Men by
Andrea Smith
STILL by
Alessandra Torre
DESCRIPTION:
Eight mistresses
of the erotic bring you eight original, never before published stories to
excite and arouse, including USA Today Bestsellers Alessandra Torre and CD
Reiss, and NY Times Bestseller K. Bromberg.
---------------
These
are not your mother's erotic stories.
We're
not giggling about foul language over tea, or avoiding smut talk at the
Tupperware party.
This
book is slick fingers and flesh on your lips. It's twisted bodies late at night
when the city sleeps and the moans fall where no one can hear them. This book
is pain and pleasure, lust and passion, a body brought to the breaking point.
It's drenched in the musk of sweat, shuddering at the touch of a Master.
It's
not your mother's erotica. It's yours.
Unraveled
By K. Bromberg
One night.
One mistake.
Filled with fear.
Sated by pleasure.
Robbed of control.
Blindfolded and
bound.
Shamed she liked
it.
Doomed to want it.
Limits tested.
Boundaries pushed.
Desire awakened.
Inhibition
unleashed.
An identity
unraveled.
Lives changed
forever.
The Devil in Me
by KI Lynn
In search of
strength and guidance at a nearby church, Jared happens upon a temptation. One
he cannot hope to resist. Each time he sees her, the overwhelming urge to have
her consumes him. The lust is overpowering, dragging him deeper and deeper with
each encounter, exposing the devil within.
Kick
The first novella
in Songs of Perdition.
by CD Reiss
Fiona Drazen, sex
addict, submissive slave, celebutante, trapped in a mental ward until Dr.
Elliot Chapman can help her remember why she's there. But once she does, she
might not want to go home to the Master she tried to kill.
Worth
by Shay Savage
An injured Roman
Tribunus finds comfort in the touch of the slave commanded to tend to his
wounds. As a slave, her value is measured as a couple of coins, but as Tribunus
Faustus learns more about her, he begins to understand her true worth.
Still, a man of
his station can never acknowledge feelings for a slave, and she is already
owned by another man.
These Men
by Andrea Smith
Paige Matthews has
a lot to learn, and more than just about being an intern with the F.B.I.
Inexperience with all types of relationships leaves her looking for a new place
to live. Eli Chambers and his partner, Cain Maddox, are looking for a roommate.
It's the perfect arrangement, but one that will change all their lives forever.
COME
by JA Huss
He must have her,
take her, control her, keep her. She
will submit. But she will do it when she is ready and willing. The bond is
uneasy and the future uncertain. But one thing's for sure.
Alone... Harper
and James are dangerous.
Together... they
are unstoppable.
Red & Wolfe
Part I - An erotic
telling of Little Red Riding Hood.
by Ella James
After years
attempting to contact her estranged grandmother, an artist who lives on a
remote island, Sarah "Red" Ryder is surprised to receive an invitation.
When she arrives at the island, she's shocked to find it is now the home of J.
Wolfe, the reclusive artist, who has his own plans for her.
STILL
by Alessandra Torre
I was raised
right. To mind my manners, keep my knees together, to put my napkin in my lap.
But somehow, with one look at the dark sexuality that is Brett Jacobs, I forgot
my Southern graces. They may have gotten lost in the pushmeupagainstthewall and
takemehere action that occurred. In the clothes-ripping ohmygod action that
followed. They may have, along with my sanity and common sense, deserted me,
leaving me with bruised lips, ripped panties, and multiple orgasms.
------
This set will only
be available for a limited time, so get it before it disappears.
------
AUTHOR INFORMATION
The Erotica
Consortium was the brain child of CD Reiss. In December 2013 she asked JA Huss
to help her pull together the hottest erotica writers to start a private
Facebook group that would encourage support in all areas of bookish things.
Members of The Erotica Consortium were personally invited by JA and CD and the
group is complete with six additional authors: Shay Savage, Andrea Smith, KI
Lynn, K Bromberg, Ella James, and Alessandra Torre. BEND is their first
anthology together.
Aia
squeezed my hand gently before releasing it and moving back to her bench. She
reached for a cloth and dipped it in a bowl of water and then ran the cool
cloth over my forehead and down the side of my face. She continued, apparently
determined to wash whatever remained of the blood of battle away from my flesh.
I
closed my eyes and evened out my breaths as her ministrations lulled me. My
shoulders still ached from the constant position against the bed, but I tried
not to think of the discomfort. When I opened my eyes, I saw Aia looking down
my body and couldn’t help but respond with a smile.
“Do
you still think of it?”
Aia
looked back at me.
“Of
what, Faustus?”
“My
cock pressed against your belly.”
She
looked away, but I could still make out the crimson shade of her cheeks and
neck in the glow of the candles on the table. I wanted to reach out and grab
her hand again, but she was too far away.
“I’m
still in need of distraction,” I reminded her.
“I
think you need sleep,” Aia rebutted. Her lips pressed together, and I was sure
she wanted to comment further, but chose not to do so. I found my eyes drawn to
the front of her dress as she leaned over me, partially exposing one of her
breasts.
Despite
the discomfort, my cock took notice.
“Distract
me,” I commanded again.
“I
think you know everything about my life now, Faustus.”
“Then
distract me another way,” I suggested. I kept my eyes on her, and when she
looked to me, I raised an eyebrow and smiled suggestively.
Aia
turned to drop the cloth in the bowl, and I watched her eyes as she looked down
my body. From my supine position, the state of my cock was becoming noticeable.
Her blush returned, and she looked back to the bowl again. Her hand trembled
slightly as she wrung out the cloth and hung it beside the table.
Reaching
out, I took her wrist and guided her hand to the hard length of my cock.
“How
long will it be,” I asked with lowered voice, “until I can fill you with this?”
Interview with Shay Savage:
When did you start writing?
I’ve always had
stories in my head begging to be released. I first published in December of
2012 when I released Otherwise Alone, the first book in the Evan Arden trilogy.
What were you very first stories about?
The first real
novel I wrote was fantasy/erotica. It was violent and dark. I set if off to the
side for a year or so after writing it, and when I went back to read it again,
I decided it was crap. It’s never seen the light of day. I continued along the
erotica path, but focused more on the psychological and crime. I do play a
fantasy based erotica story for 2015.
Have you always written male POV?
Not always, but as
I delved more into first person perspective, that’s where my focus has been.
Many people have asked if I really am a woman (yes, I am – ha!), but my
interests lie in more male-dominated activities and most of my friends are men.
I think I have a pretty good understanding of how they think.
How do you choose your character's names?
Usually from
friends (with their permission) or soccer players. Many times I’ll check out
those “behind the name” websites to choose last names for characters. I like
finding a name that fits a major personality trait of my characters. Example:
Sebastian Stark. Sebastian is from the Bayern Munich/German national team
player Sebastian Schwansteiger, and Stark means “strength”.
How do you write your stories? Chronological order,
sections?
I vary a lot on
this. Usually I start a story with a scene that comes into my head. That scene
could be anywhere in the story, from the very beginning to the climax. I’ll
build around that scene. For the most part I write from the beginning to the
end, but I will jump around a lot as well. I always write the smut scenes from
the orgasm backward. I don’t know why, it just works better for me that way.
Did you always plan on self-publishing?
I debated for
quite a while, but my need for control has led me down the indie path. I like
how quickly I can go from finishing the writing to actually having the book
available for people to read. It works for me. I’m still trying to get the hang
of the business side of it, but I’m making progress with a lot of help from
other authors and friends.
Was it a hard decision to quit working to become a full time
writer?
It really was. I
toyed with the idea when I changed jobs in early 2012, but decided to stick
with the day job. At that point, I hadn’t published anything though I planned
to do so. I worked as a manager in the IT field and made good money, so going
into the unknown was pretty frightening. For better or worse, conditions at my
workplace combined with the success of Surviving Raine gave me the kick in the
ass I needed to give it a shot. I’m really glad I did!
Many people consider Surviving Raine and Transcendence two
great romance stories. Do you consider yourself a romance writer?
Obviously romance
plays a key role in what I write, but to me it’s a side note and not the main
story. I like to understand people’s behavior and what goes on in their heads
to make them do the things they do. After college, I worked with a lot of kids
from terrible backgrounds, and I’ve always been fascinated with the reasons a
bully becomes a bully (or an alcoholic, or a hit man). I like to think of my
stories as psychological studies first, full of intense action-based plots
second, and erotic/romantic in nature is third.
What is your favorite genre to read?
I read a lot of
fantasy books, some sci-fi, and a decent amount of erotica. I always look for
stories that are going to keep me guessing and not follow a formula. The
writing has to be really good to hold my interest. I’m surprised at how much
out there doesn’t follow some of the basics of fiction writing, and I shy away
from anything that hasn’t been properly edited. I see this just as much in
traditionally published fiction as I do with indie authors.
Do your parents or children read your stories?
My parents have
read many of them, though I don’t think they have read all. They’re very
supportive and proud of me. They’ve given a lot of my books to my grade school
teachers (my parents both taught in my elementary school), which is a little
bizarre for me, so I don’t think about it too much. My daughter is a voracious
reader, but too young to delve into what I write at this point, and my
college-age son pretends I don’t write this stuff. Ha! His girlfriend and many of
her friends have read them though.
How did you meet The Savage Trainer?
When I first
started Legion Training and began to work out regularly, my gym just didn’t cut
it anymore. I signed up for a new gym and was given a freebie training session
with one of their trainers. I was paired with TST. He looked so much like the
image of Evan Arden I’d had in my head for months that I was kind of floored
the moment I first looked at him. I’m surprised I managed to speak coherently
(maybe I didn’t – you’ll have to ask him). I was also impressed by how great a
trainer he is, which was obvious even though I had to keep wiping drool off my
chin between sets.
Did you approach him about being your muse right away, or
did you have to warm up to it?
I’m a pretty straightforward
person. I asked him right away, and he’s been a fabulous asset ever since then.
He’s a gorgeous model, dedicated trainer, and a wonderful friend. I’ve learned
a lot from him, and we work together very well both in the gym and when it
comes to my work.
“You
said, ‘You don’t want to know me… I’m no one.”’ He turns to face me head-on
now, his expression blank, his mouth a flat line. His eyes impassive and empty.
I can see it now. This is a killer’s
face. The dimples are hiding underneath the frown. The emotionless facade of a
hardened assassin. A man who sees death as nothing personal, just a job to be
completed.
“But
you’re wrong, Harp. I’m the invisible
one. You’re a beacon in the dark as far as I’m concerned. I’m the unknowable
one. And if you were my contract, I would kill you.” He stares down at me with
those impassive, cold, businesslike green eyes. “Just as sure as I did my
brother. Because that’s what I do. That’s who I am. You might have all the
moves, but you have none of the venom, angelfish.”
He
turns to walk away but I grab him again. “You wouldn’t kill me—”
His
hands grab me by the waist and yank me to his chest. “You think you want me?
You think you want to know more?” He leans down and breathes into my neck for a
moment. “Would you like me to take you, Harper?”
Tingles
erupt throughout my whole body and the throbbing between my legs is begging for
more contact. More skin on skin. More conversation, more soft, whispered words.
More of everything. I want more of everything.
“Because
I will. I’m that kind of guy. The kind who’ll seduce a little girl and fuck her
wild just because he can make her think she wants him so bad, she’ll spread her
legs and do as she’s told.”
“I’m
almost nineteen. I can handle more than you think.”
He
laughs. “A baby who has no idea what to do with a cock in her mouth.”
I’m
ashamed to admit it, but instead of embarrassing me, his words hurt.
“I’m
not interested in the babies, Harper. I just take what I want. And you were
right to demand to know me before you let me fuck you. Because you reminded me
of what I am. Why I’m here.” He yanks
his arm from my grip and turns again.
My leg
reaches forward and tangles with his, making him stumble, and then I grab his
arm and twist. He reacts faster than I can plan the next move, and two seconds
later he’s got me pinned to the concrete. Straddling my waist, hands holding me
down, hunched over and leaning into my face. “You want me to stay?”
I
can’t answer because I’m not sure.
He
rises up on his knees a little bit, and then his hands release mine and begin
to unbuckle his belt.
I lie
absolutely still.
Once
the buckle is out of the way, he makes quick work of the button, then the
zipper on his pants.
I
swallow hard.
“You
will take my cock in your mouth.”
JA Huss' Top Five Movies
Tombstone
The Last Samurai
The Fifth Element
Oh Brother, Where
Art thou
Blade Runner
JA Huss' top Five Books
Daughter of Smoke
and Bone series by Laini Taylor
The Sea of
Tranquility by Katja Millay
The Edge of Never
by JA Redmerski
Takeshi Kovacs
Series by Richard K Morgan
Shatter Me by
Tahereh Mafi
JA Huss' Top Five Dream Vacation Spots
Fiji - I just
might move here. :)
Any place in
Japan, but preferably the entire collection of islands. I’d like to spend a
year there.
A summer in
Antarctica because it scares the shit out of me.
A cruise around
Alaska.
The Golden Coast
of Australia.
The
club is thick with humanity. The dance floor stinks. The voices are like a bag
of broken glass. The music is a throbbing heartbeat. And the man is gone.
I put
my hands on bare, sweaty skin, pushing through. Amanda finds me, blonde hair
stuck to her forehead, lipstick fading, her bodyguard, Joel, two steps behind
in dark glasses and firearm. She kisses me on the lips. I push her away.
“You
see a guy in a suit? Tall? Hair like this?” I make a motion with my fingers.
“Hot?”
“Hot.”
She
points to the exit with a wink. I smack a kiss on her lips, and continue
pushing through.
She
calls my name as I walk away, but I pretend I don’t hear her. I have a man to
find.
Nothing
like coke to make the impossible seem within reach, or to make it within your
rights to shove, tread upon, growl and curse to get through a crowd just to get
a look at some hot stranger. Nothing like that expansion of the ego to make it
okay to push some squealing teeny bopper out of your way when she screams
“Fiona Drazen! You’re Fiona Drazen!” in your fucking face as if your name alone
is front page fucking news.
Of
course, they wait outside in a cluster, pressing against the red velvet ropes.
Paparazzi don’t care about the weather, which is rainy and cold for Los
Angeles. Lights flash. They call out my name as if I even answer to it any
more. Let them get their pictures. I have him in my sights.
He
hands the valet a tip and takes the keys to a black Range Rover.
He is
a thoroughbred, and there are twenty assholes with cameras between him and me,
which is too bad, because I have to have him.
I put
my knuckles out to them, both middle fingers extended for all it’s worth. I
have rings on top of rings, and I know the lights are going to glint on them
like hell in the pictures. I’m going to look like a flashy rich bitch and the
coke tells me I don’t give a fucking shit what Daddy thinks.
I turn
to the doorman, skinny ex-cop with a pencil moustache. He looks at my chest,
then at my face. I know Irv. He’s a hustler. He keeps these assholes off us
when we’re around, but he takes cash to let them know when Amanda and I show
up.
“Irv!
What the fuck?”
“I got
it,” he says.
“Outta
my way cocksuckers!” I shout, plowing through, with Irv’s help. They back off
for him in a way they’d never do for me. I know they’d chew me up, spit me out,
and photograph me crawling to the hospital.
I get
to the Range Rover and pound on the passenger side window. It’s tinted. The car
doesn’t move and the window stays up. Do I have the right one?
“Fiona
Drazen!”
They’re
behind me, and I’m on the curb, in the drizzle, out of Irv’s field of
influence. If he comes to get me, he’s leaving the door, and that’s not cool.
I
pound on the window again. Bursts of light flash on it.
I’m
about to get mobbed.
“Hey,
asshole,” I shout.
The
window rolls down so slowly I feel as if I’m in a movie about falling.
And
there he is. My heart jumps out of my chest.
“Hi,”
I say, sticking me head in. I can feel them behind me. I can hear them calling
my name, over and over. “You took something of mine outta the bathroom.”
“Really?”
He’s older than I thought, and this makes him more attractive then humanly
possible. “What?”
“My
heart.” It’s a stupid come on, but I’m a girl. I can get away with it.
“Ah. I
thought maybe your shirt buttons.” For the first time, he glances at my chest,
and I feel that my breasts are chilled.
My
shirt is wide open. Fucking Earl with his octopus hands.
“Don’t
make me turn around,” I say. “They already got enough pictures.”
He
takes a second to think about it, looking me straight in the face. A little
smirk plays on the perfect line of his lips and I think I just might die.
He
interrupted, pulling me closer to him on the bed. "Baby," he said
softly. "It's because I see that chemistry going back and forth between
you and Maddox…and, I guess I'm just not sure if there's enough of that same
chemistry—in you—left over for me. Because I know that there's plenty in me
left for you—if you want it, I mean."
And I
think he might've just blushed right then, like a guy that was wearing his
heart on his sleeve—just putting it right out there and so worried that it
might not be enough.
But it
was enough.
It was
more than enough.
"Oh
Eli," I sighed, "I can't believe you've told me all of this, but I am
so fucking glad that you have."
Our
eyes met and locked. In that moment, everything that Cain Maddox had assured me
of since we'd given in to our feelings was coming true.
I
leaned over and brushed my lips softly against his, waiting for him to snake
his arms around me and pull me against to him.
I
didn't wait long until that was exactly what he did.
We
kissed and it was unfamiliar, but it was sweet. And every second, it became
sweeter. I felt myself warm to his touch; my belly tingled with anticipation of
where he might touch me next and I wanted him to touch me in different places.
He
turned and pulled me into his lap, his fingers tilted my chin back so that his
eyes could study mine and I saw the warmth fill them.
"God,
baby. We're going to do this."
He
lifted me up into his strong arms, carried me to their room, and gently
deposited me on their bed. The same bed that I had shared with Cain, I was now
going to share with Eli and I wanted it. I wanted it more than I thought I ever
could.
"Get
undressed," he ordered, "We'll do the sensual shit another time, but
for right this second, I need to be inside of you and claim you as mine,
too."
God,
his words made me wet and yeah, that surprised the hell out of me as well. I
scrambled to do as he ordered, shedding my clothes quickly; leaving my thong on
so that he would be the one to relieve me of it when it was time…
He was
standing there naked and he was every bit as beautiful as Cain. His body was
well-muscled and his belly flat. He had a lighter complexion than Cain, but God
he was beautiful in a "golden-boy" sort of way. I felt myself getting
wet just in anticipation of what would happen next.
He
opened the bedside table drawer, and pulled out a handful of condoms.
Holy shit.
He
pushed me back against the pillows on the bed, his eyes taking in all of my
nakedness with a hunger. He straddled me with his strong, muscular thighs,
leaning forward to capture my lips with his.
I
laced my arms around his strong neck, pulling him in closer. I felt his
fingertips lightly caressing my breasts, slowly and methodically tugging at my
nipples until they grew hard for him. He moved his mouth to one, his tongue
circling the soft peaks, and his fingers gently kneading my breast so that he
could begin suckling.
I drew
in a sharp breath as he took the nipple into his mouth and sucked hard on it,
my pussy now fairly soaked in anticipation. I needed him inside of me every bit
as much as he wanted to be there.
THESE MEN PLAYLIST
Girls Just Wanna
Have Fun
Cyndi Lauper
Sexual Thing
Poison
My Prerogative
Bobby Brown
I Want Your Sex
George Michaels
Losing My Religion
R.E.M.
Waiting On The
World to Change
John Mayer
Something to Talk
About
Bonnie Raitt
Who Says You Can't
Go Home
Bon Jovi
All Through The
Night
Cyndi Lauper
Dreams
The Cranberries
We Belong
Pat Benatar
I'll Stand By You
Pretenders
Midnight. Thirteen hours left in paradise,
then our hungover selves will be strapped in and flying back to ATL. I hang an
arm around twin necks, inhaling the scent of hairspray and feminine energy,
leaning my head back, weight on their shoulders,and bellow the chorus of Sweet HomeAlabama, the club singing
along, my mouth breaking into a grin too big too contain, the familiar tune
never failing to raise my spirits. Never mind that,between the six of us, we’ve
set foot on Alabama soil less than ten times. It is the anthem of the South,
and seeing as it took Jena flashing the Bahamian DJ her breasts to get it
played, we own every syllable of the damn thing.
The
last chorus rings out, and I release the girls, spinning on the floor, my arms
up, getting bumped by sweaty bodies, the dance floor getting tighter by the
moment. A heavy bass begins, drowning out the country chorus and starting back
into the hip-hop that had been dominating the speakers all night.
I slow
my hips, glance at our table, seeing Beth and Tammy there,the rest of us
sprinkled between the dance floor and the ladies room. I am pushed forward,
hands settling on my waist as a stranger tries to pull me into his
crotch-thrusting imitation of a dance. I yank at his wrists, shooting an
annoyed look over my shoulder, and move to our table, snagging my purse off its
surface and moving toward the neon lit exit sign. Air. I need air. Air and a
moment to regroup, focus. Come to terms with the fact that none of the men in
this club will be taking care of my needs tonight. None of them seem worthy of
a drink. Too young. Too immature. Too available. Too … not who I am looking
for.
I bang
through the exit door, the rush of cool night kissing my skin. I take two steps
to the right and lean against the brick exterior wall, legs out, head flat
against red brick. God yes. I almost wish I still smoke. I remember the escapes
from life that it provided, the moment to take a pause from the world and do
nothing but relax. Now, I don’t need the nicotine—just the combination of air
and quiet are enough to ease my tension and take me one step closer to
I-Can’t-Even-Remember-His-Name-Ville.
I
sense the presence before I see it. In the shadows to my right. I stiffen,
lowering my chin and staring, confronting whoever it is with my gaze. Then he
speaks, and I relax, need and heat and want flooding my body with just the
scrape of my name. In that one word, that one growl, every lieI’ve told myself
is exposed. I need him. My body needs him. Wants more. I had behaved in the
hallway of the 8th floor. I had made a mistake. I don’t intend to make another.
“Come
here.”
He
stalks forward, in a suit, his hands leaving his pockets as he walks, his head
level, stare direct, and eats me with his eyes as he moves without hesitation,
not pausing until he is suddenly against me, his hand firm, gripping the side
of my face, his mouth taking mine in a possessive kiss that has me back against
the wall, his palm against my skin almost hurting me in its need. I gasp for
breath when I can grab it, his kiss desperate, dipping,pulling me tighter. I
love it.
“I
need you,” he grunts, his free hand sliding up my thigh,pushing my dress
inappropriately high, his fingers gripping, squeezing, the heat of his palm
sliding over my skin like he owns it, his large hand ending on my ass, and he
feels every inch of it as if he is memorizing, worshiping,taking it in his mind
as his own.
“Yes,”
I gasp, lifting my leg and hooking it around him, the shift in my body opening
the place between my legs, his fingers finding and running reverently over the
line of silk that keeps me tied to the edge of sanity.
The
door next to me opens, shielding us for a moment, and I freeze behind it, my
body tensing. His hand drops from my face, wrapping around my body, the other
hand returning to my ass, both of them working in concert and lifting, carrying
me into the dark shadows where he had just stood, a new wall replacing the
brick, this one rough stucco, and I feel lines of it dig into my sunburned skin
as sets me down, his mouth taking a break from the kiss and moving to my neck,
the rough journey letting me know the level of his need.
Further
proof is against me, his pelvis pressed tighter than possible against my own,
the hard ridge of it against my sex making my breath hitch with every twitch of
him along me. God, I want this man. Am made weak from his touch yet have never
felt this aggressive.
Feather
soft brushes against silk. Teasing. Torturing. His hand keeping my leg in
place, though there is no way I’m moving it. Not when it opens me up to him.
Not when it keeps that iron against the place where I want it most. My panties
are so wet it is embarrassing. I pant against the night air, struggling for
silence, the murmurs of the couple who have stepped outside breaking the
silence of the night, the orange embers of their smokes reminding me of their
presence, their attention on each other, a giggle escaping from their
conversation and sending a moment of intelligent thought to my head. Am I
really being humped in the shadows against the side of a building? Is this
beautiful man really running the pad of his fingers back and forth, lower and
higher, finding the—oh my god. My head drops back, and I can’t stop the moan
that escapes me when my silk-covered clit is brushed by his fingers.
Jesus. It’s not a curse. It is a thankful
message sent upward. I have been lost and now, in that light brush against my
most sensitive place, I am found.
He
chuckles against my neck, his fingers moving back an inch or two, until they
are back at my soaked opening, pushing on the indent there,the silk moving far
enough inside for me to feel the brush of skin on skin, andI just about lift
off the ground in my need for more.
“Don’t
stop,” I gasp.
“Honey,
I’m not going stop until you fall apart in my hands.I need that. I’m not
releasing you until it happens.”
TOP 10 TV SHOWS THAT DOMINATE ALESSANDRA'S TV:
1. Vikings (I'll
take a threesome with the two brothers ANYTIME)
2. Black Sails
(almost makes me want to be a wench)
3. The Good Wife
4. Scandal
5. NCIS: Los
Angeles (LOVE me some LL)
6. Family Guy
(Stewie just said that!)
7. Spongebob (I'd
blame it on the 11 year old but... we love SB)
8. Seinfeld
9. Tosh.O
10. Nashville
My
body begins to writhe, its need to sate the burning ache a sharp contrast to
the warring emotions in my psyche. My only focus is on the slow slide in of his
fingers and the pressure and friction against nerves unexpectedly reawakened.
The tortuous withdrawal of leather not wet enough tugging softly on the most
tender of flesh, causing a different but equally arousing sensation.
I try
to fight it.
At
least I tell myself I do.
I try
to understand how this is possible. How an orgasm can rip me apart right
now—again—when fear still holds my breath captive.
I should have never accepted the
drink, never looked up to acknowledge him with a subtle nod of my head.
My
body vibrates as the swell of white-hot heat sears through me, taking nerve
endings hostage and overwhelming all thoughts.
I shouldn’t have looked up—no—so the
question is, why am I glad that I did?
I
refresh my red lipstick about twelve times before leaving the shrimp shack,
then point my Camry toward the water.
The
clouds are darker now, hanging low over the harbor. Gulls crisscross the sky,
moving frenziedly. I follow the instructions of my GPS and pull into a parking
lot that reaches to the water’s edge, where there’s a long, wooden dock lined
with boat slips.
I
shoot off an e-mail. “I’m here.” Then I grab my duffel bag, lean against my
hood, and wait.
What
will Gertrude look like? I watch the boats docked, serviced by fluttering
figures, heads bowed against a muggy but swift breeze, and I wonder which of
the boats could be hers.
My
phone vibrates. “Walk closer to the dock. The boat name is ‘Fog.’” My heart
hammers. My mouth feels dry. I tuck my hair behind my ears, adjust the bag on
my shoulder, and start walking. I walk along the long plank of the dock,
passing boats—“Double Trouble,” “Choppy Cass,” “Stupid Does.” The wind blows my
hair across my cheeks. A few strands stick to my lips. I’m pushing at them with
my fingertips, looking down a few slots, watching for a woman with gray hair
and my mother’s mouth. I’m walking slowly I see him: a tall man with broad shoulders,
a short beard, and piercing black-brown eyes. He’s wearing a pair of slacks and
a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, so I can see his muscled forearms.
His face is partially shaded by a baseball cap. And even so, I know he’s here
for me.
Before
his eyes even meet mine, my body flares like a lit match. He takes a few
strides toward me, and his gaze touches my face. The heat fades from my cheeks,
replaced by bloodless cold.
“You’re
Red,” a low voice says.
“You’re
not my grandmother.”
The
nerves on my neck lit up, tingling down my side. It woke me from my trance, and
I turned to find innocent eyes looking at me from one row up on the other side
of the aisle. When our gazes connected, she didn’t flinch, her eyes didn’t
widen, but a slight blush did appear on her cheeks.
The
strange current continued to move through me.
I was
caught, roped in, staring at her.
She
seemed young—early twenties maybe. I went from studying Jesus to studying the
woman who called to me. That was the only way I could explain the firing off of
every nerve ending in my body.
She
had large, blue doe eyes that bored into my soul. Dark brown, wavy hair curled
around her smooth, pale skin and full cheeks. She nabbed her full bottom lip
with her teeth before looking away, hiding from me.
It
didn’t stop me from staring at her. I tilted my head to the side, forehead scrunched
as I tried to figure out what the hell had just happened—and why my cock was so
hard. It was just a look, but at the same time, it felt like so much more. A
connection, and not that love-at-first-sight bullshit.
Base
level between a man and a woman—a need that populated the earth.
Our
strange interaction caused images of fucking her on the altar to course through
my mind. Was she as untouched as her innocent face suggested? She looked soft,
inviting, and corruptible. How would her full hips feel beneath my hands as I
thrust my cock into her?
I
turned back to the front and began to ask for forgiveness for the things I was
thinking about doing to her. My dick, however, continued to dream. A small
groan slipped from my lips, and her head snapped up. I cupped my cock through
my jeans, adjusting it so it didn’t press so hard against the seam. It twitched
against my palm as she squirmed in her seat.
Fuck.
I sat
still, staring at her profile. Her lips parted, skin pink, and she moved her
ass again. I blew out a breath to calm myself. It was ridiculous. I was just
horny because I hadn’t had sex since Monica gave me a break-up fuck three
months prior.
After
a few minutes, she stood and headed to the confessional. I couldn’t help but
turn to look at her delectable ass as she walked. Soft curves called to me,
begging me to touch them, own them.
As
soon as she stepped out of sight, I ran down the steps to the restroom and
locked myself in. I splashed some water on my face, staring at the image in
front of me. Someone else stared back. My brown eyes were almost black, lids
heavy with a force of lust I’d never experienced.
My
teeth clenched, muscles coiled tight as my hips rocked, searching for her. I
grabbed hold of the sink, my breath heavy and hard.
What
is wrong with me?
It was
overpowering. An internal battle for control waged as consuming need pumped
through my veins. I popped open my jeans and pulled my cock out. It didn’t
matter that I stood in the bathroom of a church—I had to get off before I went
insane.
The Devil in Me Soundtrack
Obsession by
Animoto
Tear You Apart by
She Wants Revenge
Fight Inside by
Red
My Songs Know What
You Did In The Dark by Fall Out Boy
Monster by Imagine
Dragons
Monster by Lady
Gaga
Monster by Skillet
Seven Devils by
Florence and the Machine
Bitch Came Back by
Theory of a Deadman
Killin’ It by
Krewella
Dark Horse by Katy
Perry
Closer by Nine
Inch Nails
Timber by Pitbull
