Read an Excerpt
'Amuse Me' by Lexie Davis
Wilmington, North Carolina
I sat at my computer stuck in a writing rut and listening to the Eagles on my iPod. My boyfriend had left me at the same time I was due to turn in my latest erotic romance to my editor—and I had nothing.
I massaged my temples hoping something would strike a chord in my brain. A mere spark of an idea that would be fun to write, fun to read and leaving my fans breathless and begging for more. The more I thought about it, the harder it was to convert my thoughts to the blank computer screen.
The blinking curser mocked me as I stared at the white page. Dammit, Rich may have fucked my life up but he wasn’t going to take a way my passion for writing. I wouldn’t let him, no matter what it cost.
In high school, young love blooms like tulips in the spring—sometimes developing into loving, lasting relationships and sometimes setting one up for heartache. Rich, I thought, would be the loving lasting relationship kind of guy but, boy, was I wrong. We’d dated throughout high school and college. I’d heard sex changed the relationship, but I was stupid and naive. Rich was a sexual being and aroused feelings within me no other man had. If only those feelings had been mutual.
I’m twenty-five years old and it took me seven years to discover the man I’d thought I loved—the mushy, gushy kind of love—had cheated on me. Not once or twice—no that was too easy. He’d fucked every girl he’d come in contact with.
For six months he’d been out of my life, yet he still haunted my dreams. I’d found out two days ago, from my best friend, that his latest conquest was having his baby. The more I thought about it, the more I hated him. I wanted payback. I needed it for some weird reason.
I started typing, letting my anger fuel the words on paper, my fingers flying across the keyboard as my thoughts sputtered from my brain. For once in my life,
I was taking all the writing advice I’d thought was crap and putting it to good use. I wrote what I knew.
I made my real life story an act of fiction.
A few hours later I’d plotted, planned and brainstormed about all the events I’d experienced and a few from my imagination as well. I had a five-page plan of events, a storyline and the perfect ending. Funny, how something so obvious was hidden right under my nose.
My side of the story mixed with a little imagination would be my vengeance. After all, paybacks always were hell…
'Faithful Beginnings' by Lacey Thorn
Faith looked back at the house sitting on the hill behind her, the house that held all of her childhood memories and nightmares. She hated to leave her sisters behind but there was no longer any choice for her. Today was her twenty first birthday and everyone knew what that meant. Today would be her wedding day.
Her father had made it clear that since he had nothing but stupid daughters that he would get out of them what he had always wanted most. Sons or at least the equivalent. So on their twenty first birthdays they were to be wed to whatever person he had already chosen for them and become someone else’s problem from that point on. But Faith couldn’t do what was expected of her, was tired of even trying. So today was the day that she left this dead end town behind and faced her future on her own. The only thing she regretted was the four sisters she was forced into leaving behind.
Hope would be the oldest now, but at least at eighteen she would still have a few more years to look after the others before she was placed on the marriage block. Then there was Charity who was just sixteen and already the beauty of them all. Prudence was fourteen and all long legs and arms. And baby Destiny was just twelve and still so much a needy child that it broke Faith’s heart. She had tried so hard to be the mother they had been denied. But there came a time when you either had to give in or take a stand, and Faith was ready to take a stand.
'Lust Detector' by Ann Cory
Savannah Scott pulled her cherry red Ferrari over the moment she noticed the flashing lights. With her manicured fingernails, she unfastened the top two buttons of her tight knit shirt low enough to show off her lacy red push-up bra. With hurried grace, she checked her lipstick and smoothed a hand over her perfectly coifed hair. From the mirror, she gazed longingly at Officer Downs as he sidled up to her car, dressed in his fitted uniform, his powerful legs well concealed. With a deep breath she put the window down, offering a demure look.
He nodded, face devoid of any emotion. “Ms. Scott.”
Goosebumps spilled along her skin at the close proximity of his cock, restrained tightly inside his pants, just beyond her door.
Reaching up, he removed his sunglasses, revealing his smouldering brown eyes. Eyes she imagined undressed her every time they had one of their confrontations. And to her delight, there’d been many.
Voice full of sweetness, she prompted him for conversation. “Pleasant day for a drive, don’t you think, Officer?”
He stroked the back of his neck, and switched the weight on his foot, swinging his groin closer in her direction. The gesture alone sent a fresh batch of goose bumps along her skin.
“Yes, it is. But not above the speed limit,” he added huskily. “We both know it’s thirty-five miles per hour through here.”
Savannah toyed with her necklace, the silver pendant circling between her breasts. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s the weather. My air conditioner at home is broken, so I came out here to cool down.” In a quick motion, she swept her hand across her chest and traced the neckline of her shirt, until she hit the swell of her breast.
If her eyes didn’t deceive her, his bulge grew bigger.
'Hot and Humid' by Shermaine Williams
“Jeanette…Jeanette, de bus comin’,” my aunt called with an unnecessary sense of urgency.
I had heard the music playing but ignored it on the basis that music was always playing and anyway, I was busy getting ready. Taking another quick look at myself in the mirror, I wondered whether it was wise to wear shorts, but it was too late now. Besides, the shorts were quite long and baggy and served to cover my ample backside—known as ’The Bubble’—pretty well.
Despite the music blaring from the speakers, the driver still felt the need to announce his presence by beeping the horn, which didn’t please Aunt Yvonne.
When I had called her to ask if I could come and stay, she made it seem like I was being ridiculous by even asking. She was happy to accommodate me on my whim.
In order to briefly escape from the rut that was my life, I’d decided to take a spontaneous holiday in my parents’ native Grenada, determined to have as much fun as possible before returning to my life of work, bills, cold weather, useless men and general malaise. A life that was just too damn boring for words.
Once I’d made the decision to go away, there was no question that I would opt for anywhere other than The Isle of Spice. I’d been several times before, though not for a few years, and just felt comfortable. It was like coming home. Sometimes I liked to imagine what my life would have been like if I was born here, if I emigrated even, but alas, it was merely a pipe dream. I have a mortgage to concern myself with now.
Grabbing my rucksack, I hurried out of the bedroom in time to hear my aunt complaining about the apparent impertinent gesture.
“Wha’ da damn man blowin’ for?”
I could only smile, knowing that as cantankerous as she seemed, she was a lovely woman. She had organised this day out for me. Usually when I’m in Grenada my time is spent either visiting family and friends or lying on the beach. But when I told her that I wanted to enjoy myself and blow off some steam, she told me about a man she knew who might be able to help in that regard.
He worked at one of the hotels in St. Georges and organised the excursions for ‘de rich people an’ dem’. Although I wasn’t staying at the hotel, he agreed to get the mini-bus to stop off and pick me up for a day of hiking in the mountains. Now I’m not the fittest person in the world, but even if I was, who in their right mind goes hiking in this heat? And that’s coming from a sun worshipper!
But Aunt Yvonne was still enthusiastic on my behalf, saying it would be nice for me to see some parts of the island that I hadn’t seen before. It was a good point, so I tried to put my apprehensions aside and enjoy it. Besides, I could probably do with getting in shape—my figure wasn’t exactly attracting any fine specimens—and what better way to start than to go for a hike? With a quick hug and kiss, I said bye to my mum’s sister before stepping out into the blazing sun. As I skipped down the few steps from the veranda, I felt rather strange wearing socks and hiking boots in this weather.
“Take care, you hear.”
She stood on the veranda watching me leave, and I replied by giving her a quick wave as I approached the mini-bus. It looked full up and I don’t know why, but I was surprised by how many white people were on board.
As he saw me approach, the driver got out and walked around to meet me, and he could only be described as a man mountain. He looked like no man I had ever seen before and though I could feel myself staring at him, I couldn’t look away. The men I had met back at home always tended to be too weedy or laden with a beer belly. But this guy could only be described as a tall, dark, broad vision of loveliness.
'Misery Loves Company' by Ellen Ashe
“How long you reckon to stay, honey?”
Lola smiled politely. “I paid for the cabin for two weeks.” Despite the forced etiquette of her smile, her tone hinted no such decorum. The man’s marauding stare raking up and down her body made her skin crawl. It was likely unwise to antagonise him, especially seeing they were in the middle of nowhere and if he actually tried something on her no one would hear the scream. Still, Lola wasn’t about to back down even though the caretaker’s sneer turned into a snide chuckle. “So two weeks it is,” she added stiffly.
“Yeah, okay,” he said, as though he held more than the key to the cabin. He leaned against his rusty half ton and stuck a hand-rolled cigarette between his knife thin lips, cupping the match so that the stiff wind off the water wouldn’t kill the flame. He sucked the cigarette hard, blowing smoke out his nose like an infuriated dragon. It evaporated within seconds. The smile, such as it was, suddenly dropped off his face. “But I highly fucking doubt it.”
He stood there, staring at her with black, sunken in eyes. Obviously he wanted her to squirm. It worked. Her skin crawled. She was very anxious for him to give her the key and leave.
“Why would you say that, Mr. Darci?”
Those beady eyes shifted sideways to the cabin. Then back. His mouth pinched a grin. He thrust his hand in his jean’s pocket and passed over a key. When she reached out to take, it he took hold of her wrist. He squeezed.
She stiffened, fearing the worse.
No one will hear me scream.
His breath stunk of nicotine. Intermingled with it was a whiff of whisky. “Don’t touch the typewriter,” he growled, barely moving his lips. He hadn’t blinked. “Its former owner wouldn’t like it.”
“Why?” The question fell out, not because she wanted this conversation to linger but because she was frightened while trying hard not to show it.
He leaned forward, his mouth against her ear. “Don’t say you ain’t been warned, Honey.”
He let go of her wrist, wrenched open the door to his truck, and hopped behind the wheel. The window was down. He shifted the gears. The truck slowly rolled backwards. “Bottle of Jack in the fridge,” he said, the cigarette hanging out one side of his mouth. His voice cracked with sinister laughter. “You’ll need it.”
As defiant as she’d tried to be, a deep foreboding, like a fever, flushed her flesh. Was it the old man’s sadistic mannerism? He was playing some pathetic head game on her, perhaps? Why? She was a recovering alcoholic, but he had no way of knowing that. He was a complete stranger.
Strangers. Strangers had been known to force themselves on other strangers. Sometimes they even killed other strangers just for the thrill of it. The old man was getting a sadistic pleasure out of scaring her. She knew his name—the property’s owner had told her the caretaker would meet her with the key—and they were both strangers. Lola sighed. Even those we think we know, those we even profess to love, can turn out to be complete strangers.
A long shadow over the freshly mowed lawn coaxed her to hurry inside the cabin. She took her suitcase from the backseat of her compact, leaving the sketchbooks and pencils until last.
The step leading up to the veranda squeaked beneath her foot. A mouse scurried under the pile of wood within reach of the front door. The screen bumped slightly in the growing breeze. And just as she pushed the key into the lock and heavy sigh drifted over the back of her neck.
Mournful. Desolate. Isolated.
She froze for the moment, letting a wash of misery pass through her and sink from her heart to her stomach, weighing her down like a heavy black stone. And then she softened. The melancholy flowed through her, taking nothing of her soul with it as it passed, which gave her the distinct sensation this sadness was not her own.
She was, however, being watched.
'Confessions of a Nympho' by Ashley Ladd
Wantonly squirming in her chair, Tatiana Reece viewed the erotic photos of naked big busted women riding the juiciest, most engorged cocks she’d ever seen. They were meatier than any of the ones she’d found in her older brother’s erotica when they’d been kids. Feeling like a cat in heat, she sensually rubbed her pussy back and forth against the buttery leather seat. Leaning back, she reached inside the gaping bodice of her filmy teddy, pinched her budding nipples, then rolled them between her fingers. After shivers of delight raced down her spine and the earth quaked, she typed the sensation into her new blog, “Confessions of a Nympho”.
Our gazes locked across the crowded, smoky club and my heart stopped… I couldn’t breathe. He was so perfect—gorgeous, tanned, and so deliciously muscular—even the gods would be jealous. He was the clichéd tall, dark, and ruggedly handsome. Just the way I lusted after them. Who cared if the guy possessed a brain or personality? I only cared how wonderful he’d make me feel for the night since I doubted I’d ever see him again. I longed to gorge myself on hot, wet, wild sex until dawn.
My blood sizzling, I licked my lips in slow, deliberate invitation. Not waiting for him to make the first move, I went on the prowl, sashaying boldly up to him and gazing deeply into his deep brown eyes.
My gaze lingered on his luscious chiselled lips before I let it drop to his firm, outthrust chin, and then lower still until it caressed the inviting bulge in his sinfully tight jeans. A predator, I sat on his lap and curled my arm around his neck as I slid against his hard length.
“Hi handsome,” I drawled as I pressed my breasts against his warm chest. “Are you looking for some company?”
Passion eclipsed the shock in his eyes, and he winked at me. “Hello to you, too.” He took my hand and put it on his delicious bulge as he nuzzled my neck.
God, but his lips felt sensational as they feathered kisses down the arch of my neck and then nuzzled my shoulder, primitively erotic, driving up my fever.
“Let’s go somewhere more—private.” I’d almost said my place but didn’t want him hanging around if he turned out to be a serial killer or a stalker like my ex. The second scared me more since I’m a second degree black belt in Taekwondo and I can take care of myself. To punctuate my special request, I unbuttoned his jeans and slid my hand inside his pants. Finding his feverish cock, and I curled my fingers around it and began to pump the thick, heated shaft. Rock hard and huge, it throbbed just for me. I creamed my panties as I leaned closer and stuck my tongue down his throat.
Caught in a web of delightful lust, my heart hammering against my ribs, my thighs quivering, my mind in a heady haze, I’m not quite sure how we got out the door. In a tangle of arms and legs and tongues, I’m sure. The next thing I knew, we were kissing, caressing, and practically having sex on the street as we dragged each other to the nearest hotel. I can’t even tell you the name. All I cared about was the king-size soft bed and clean sheets. And it was ours until noon—a lifetime…an infinitesimal moment frozen in time.
We tore off each other’s clothes as we stumbled across the threshold and they puddled at our feet. Mr. Wonderful ripped my blouse to shreds, but hell if I cared. I yanked his jeans down to his knees and took his underwear prisoner in my teeth and dragged them down.
Begging me to take a taste, his cock sprung out. Milky droplets of his seed clung to the end of the velvety red head of his shaft so I stuck out my tongue and caught a drop. His flesh seared mine, and yearning to feel the satiny flesh against my lips, I leaned closer. When I opened my lips wider to take the head into my mouth, he pushed his staff deep into my throat.
The curly hair on his legs tickled my face and my bare breasts. The door slammed and only then did I wonder if anyone had seen us, but that only enflamed my desire. Little had I realised I was a voyeuristic until that moment, but I’m not exactly shocked. I mean, I write erotic romance. I kiss and tell. Right?