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Rosanna Leo
They all watched as an old pick-up truck pulled into the gas station lot. As she pulled out the nozzle, Jules checked out the driver. And then she did a double take.
Driving the pick-up was the most scrumptious specimen of manhood she’d ever seen. He was tall and buff and had windblown blond hair. And, she noticed as her tongue dried out, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. As the truck approached, she could make out the clear definition of his pecs, the muscular shoulders and arms. And as he parked his truck next to her Jeep, she took note of a strong jaw, full lips and hair that kept falling into his eyes. Tom Brady at his finest could not have looked so fine.
Jules tried very hard to pick up her jaw and not drip gas on her shoes.
Somehow, she managed to insert the nozzle into her tank and watched as Mr. Mitchell headed over to speak to the man. She’d never seen him before. There was no way he was from Riverbend. She knew everyone in town and would never have forgotten someone so … edible.
Not that she cared. She was through with men. They no longer had anything to do with her master plan. If she wanted her B&B to be a success, she couldn’t spend her time drooling.
The stranger jumped out of his truck and his eyes landed on Jules. He grinned at her and nodded, but his brown eyes narrowed, as if her appearance annoyed him in some way. Feeling flushed, and a little annoyed herself, she gave him a curt, little nod and tried to concentrate on pumping gas.
The half-naked muscle man laughed at something Mr. Mitchell said, then spoke. “I don’t suppose you sell drinks in your store. I could murder a root beer right now.”
His voice was soft and deep. Upon hearing him, Jules felt a low throbbing in her belly, a clenching of her womb.
Oh my God. What is going on here?
Mr. Mitchell motioned to his grandson. “Gary, fetch the man a root beer.” And then he said something else, but she didn’t hear it.
She was too busy watching a lone bead of sweat as it trickled slowly between the stranger’s pecs. She dragged her eyes back up to his handsome face, only to find him staring at her. Grinning. His eyes knowing and seductive.
She felt her face combust, a veritable explosion of scarlet.
Mr. Mitchell’s lips were moving again, even though she barely registered his words at first. “Where are my manners? I should introduce you two young people.”
Feeling a sudden, overwhelming need to escape, Jules laughed nervously and got back into her Jeep. “Sorry, Mr. Mitchell. I’m late. Gotta run! Bye!”
And then, not knowing why and feeling the eyes of the blond man on her back, she fled the gas station. It was rude, she knew, but she didn’t want to know the gorgeous man’s name. Didn’t want Mr. Mitchell introducing her to the county’s next young stud. She had just made up her mind men were not going to be a part of her life. Certainly not such a hot commodity.
The stranger with the sinful bod was a prescription for heartache. Just as Kevin had been. It was best to give men like him a very wide berth.
So he might think she was a little flighty, possibly abrupt. If it helped her keep her sanity, it was worth it. What did she care what Thor thought of her anyway?
Her mind made up, and her behavior rationalized, she headed for home.
***
Siggy Buckley
We started out in the kitchen where I opened a bottle of white wine, leaning against the kitchen counter. Guy kissed my neck, my favorite erotic zone. How did he find that out so quickly? He let a few drops of wine drip into my T-shirt, and then lifted it to lick up the wine that had trickled down my bra. Then, to my surprise, he unbuttoned my jeans and let a drop or two run into my belly button, mopping it up with his tongue. The next trickled into my pants. Guy lifted me onto the counter, started to take off my jeans so that I could embrace him better with my legs.
“I want to lick you all over,” he whispered. I had no objections.
“I want to lick you all over,” he whispered. I had no objections.
“Where do you want to go?” he asked. “To the swimming pool on the rooftop?” That sounded a bit too chilly for me. I led him to my bedroom instead where we continued our exploratory journey on the black sheets. He watched me undress.
“Do you have whipped cream in the house?” I had a bottle of the spray variety, which may not taste as good as fresh whipped cream, but is very versatile. This too was a first for me, sensational in its concept and effect.
Everything felt wonderful: the sparks, the arousal, our playing around with each other, our intimacy.
“My biggest aim is to give you pleasure. Tell me what you want.”
***
“Mason, is that you?” Allen
asked from behind her.
“Yes. Is this amusing little
sub yours?” the man asked.
“Not mine. My responsibility
though. What did she do?”
“May I be so bold as to ask for
a formal introduction?”
“You may. She’s new and she's
agreed to allow me the pleasure of handling her introductions tonight,” Allen
said, taking the plate from Julie’s hand and setting it down. “Let’s move out
of the crowd. Maybe somewhere quieter?”
The man named Mason turned loose
of her curl after one final tug then ran his gloved fingers along the arc of
her shoulder. Julie didn’t look back. She kept her eyes down and followed Allen
from the hall.
As he
traversed the edges of the ballroom, her heart took up an irregular rhythm at
the thought that she was about to encounter her first Dom aside from Allen and
Dante up close and personal She was surprised he even wanted to meet her after
the way she'd spoken to him. What Dom wanted a disobedient, unruly sub? A cold
sweat beaded across her back at the thought perhaps he was a pure sadist and
liked an out of control servant he could regularly torture. Contrary to her
brain telling her that was the furthest thing from what she wanted, a silky,
smooth thread of need wrapped around her heart and drew tight before winding
its way down to vine around her womb, which constricted in response. She
shuddered. Definitely scary.
***
Kaylie Newell
A wife leaves her abusive husband, but soon realizes nothing will keep him away. Not even death.
"Who is this?" she repeated, trying to keep the edge of hysteria from her voice.
"Don't you recognize me?" The voice was no more than a whisper. She could barely make out the words.
"Excuse me?"
Nothing. Just slow breathing. In and out.
Her hands shook, rattling the phone against the small diamond studs in her earlobes. This was beyond any prank call she had ever gotten. Someone knew who they were calling. They had found her number somehow and decided, for whatever reason, to put the fear of God into her.
And it was working.
She took a breath, unable to hang up. She stood frozen, and as the light in the apartment grew dimmer by the second, the shadows stretched across the floor like gnarled hands reaching from beyond the grave.
Tears burned her eyes, and she bit the inside of her cheek in an effort to gain some sort of clarity. "If this is some kind of twisted joke, it's not funny."
The breathing on the other end of the line suddenly stopped. And then there was a long, sickening exhale of air. It reminded her of how her mother had sounded on her death bed, when she had been so riddled with cancer that it squatted in her very bones. She'd called to Josie, wanting to hold her hand and hadn't been able to speak. The raspy breathing was the only sound she'd made. Her chest wheezed and crackled with each intake of breath. Josie had been scared then. And she was scared now.
"No...joke," came the reply. And the line went dead.
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