Strong Silent Type by Gregory Norris

The door to the cottage banged open. The first rain of autumn was falling outside, just beyond the threshold. A cool breeze swept into the house, carrying his scent to her: raindrops on bare skin, a hint of the soap he’d washed with that morning, the clean, piney musk of his sweat.

He stood in the doorway, the wood he’d gathered for the fire abandoned somewhere among the weave of branches, which were beginning to show a trace of fiery color around the edges. He was wet from the downpour, the dark thatch of his hair dripping, his clothes soaked through. His open cotton shirt, unbuttoned to the taut ridges of his stomach muscles, was plastered to his flesh. The line of coarse hair cutting him down the center of his chest glistened. So wet…

And so was she, merely at his image. His eyes, a vibrant green, glowed through the storm’s palette of gray tones. Those magnificent twin emeralds pinned her in their sights, undressed her, and gently massaged her most-sensitive flesh with invisible strokes.

She saw he was standing hard at the door, his cock a prominent bas-relief tenting his damp jeans. One enormous bare foot breached the threshold. She heard herself gasp. He was poised to penetrate the house. So handsome, painfully so, she thought, he had transcended mere humanity. He was a force of nature, some long-forgotten Pagan forest god, desperate to be worshipped, hungry for sacrifice. And he’d come to her in search of these tributes…

Tabi’s fingers flew across the laptop’s keyboard. She didn’t realize she’d stopped blinking until her eyes began to water and sting, or that she’d ceased breathing until the last sip of air she’d taken started to boil in her lungs.

Words raced across the screen. Tabi tipped a glance at the blocks of black text hovering over white background. A misplaced comma, a paragraph needing to be indented, and a typo that had slammed a subject into a predicate – he licked – all tried to distract her.

Stop writing, go back and edit, Tabi…

Oh, the temptation! To just halt the flow of words, to backtrack and streamline what was already written instead of forging on, deeper into her novel. To ignore the spirits presently in control of her fingers, pulling on the literary equivalent of marionette strings. The words on the screen were powerful magic, a computerized spell no mortal should dare bring to completion.

He licked his lips…

She continued stroking keys, too consumed to fix the typo now, too excited to care about breathing or blinking, or the icy-hot pinpricks that teased her nipples beneath the light cotton shirt. She ignored her pussy, too, pressing against its prison of lace and denim. She was wet, like the woman in her novel, like the rain her hero had walked out of.

…as if tasting the air, seeking her on its sweetness. He hadn’t shaved for at least two days; his tongue traveled in a maddeningly slow circle around his mouth, and the rough stubble surrounding those rain-kissed lips…

Tabi no longer felt the keys beneath her fingers. She was barely aware of their clicking cadence, the sound becoming that of distant castanets. A shiver teased the nape of her neck. She fought it, lost, and surrendered. As the chill tripped down her spine, other points across her body contrasted with blossoms of unbearable heat. Tabi’s nipples stood noticeably erect from beneath her shirt. Until the shudder, she hadn’t realized that she had unconsciously ground her hips forward and backward, humping the air with gentle rocking motions. But her pussy wasn’t alone in being teased to the verge of climax. So was the rest of Tabitha Lawford: her nipples, her bare toes with their pretty pomegranate-red paint, her heart, her throat, her earlobes, and especially her fingertips. They tingled with a sensation that was almost as glorious as the one consuming her core. She was close, so very close.

“No, please, hold on,” she whispered aloud to the empty apartment. Somewhere in the late night shadows, beyond the lamp’s glow in the corner of the bedroom containing her writing desk, the refrigerator answered with a wheezing grunt. Outside, a car chugged down the road.

“Focus, Tabi, focus!”

She closed her eyes and was no longer in the clean yet drab, unremarkable one-bedroom rental with the builder-beige carpet and white walls, utilities not included. She stood inside the country cottage, facing him. Rain fell, playing melancholy music across the roof. There was an undercurrent in the tense, turbulent air, electricity building toward flashpoint.

He entered the house, and the house responded. The walls and lanterns and rich jewels of Depression glass in colors of ruby-red, cobalt-blue, and forest green – the latter, having nothing against the emerald of his eyes – shivered out of focus in concentric waves around him, as though the cottage had climaxed in delight at being invaded by his presence. Then the ripple passed, and she understood the shudder had originated within her, not the house…

Tabi exhaled. Shifting a fraction of an inch in her desk chair set off a cannonade of fireworks inside her. She bit back a moan, froze. Her fingertips slammed a line of letters into the text that looked more like a basic typing exercise than creative witchcraft or sorcery.

asdfjkl…

She could erase it later, unlock the noun and verb lashed in their passionate embrace, slay the commas, kick the paragraph in the seat, launching it to the proper indentation. But now, she needed to finish.

She needed him.

He approached her, his bare feet gracefully navigating the floor, making little noise against the porcelain tiles. The swell of his cock was aimed in her direction, a divining rod attracted to the sweetest of water. His scent intensified, filling her shallow sips for breath. Her heart galloped…

Tabi held her breath.

…at the sight of his stubble-rough lips, the tip of his tongue testing their corners, telegraphing his plans for her. His eyes, so vibrant as to appear supernatural, glowing from within, reminded her of the eerie green glint one sees after dark along a remote country road when a car’s headlights connect with something wild. A powerful creature of the night. And his silence…

He seized hold of her in his large, strong hands, saying nothing before crushing his lips to hers, for words were not required…

Tabi’s excitement betrayed her. The moment her characters’ mouths connected, the imaginary fireworks exploding within her intensified to a supernova. Her fingertips recoiled from the keyboard, as if singed by the magic. One hand reached toward her heart and brushed her left breast and nipple en route. The other slid over the sopping patch of lace and denim separating her fingers from flesh that felt on fire. She came, biting back the urge to cry out to the limit of her voice, proclaiming her happiness. While shudders of pleasure wracked her body, it struck her that she was orgasming creatively – spiritually – as well as in the physical sense.

Crossroads Showdown by Keta Diablo

Baltimore’s humid, subtropical June climate suffocated Frank, more so after the air conditioning in his office went on the fritz that morning.

He pushed the intercom button on his phone. “Grace, are you there?”

“Every fan we own is working overtime, Frank.” A chuckle followed his assistant’s words. “Do me a favor so I can get some work done. Take the rest of the day off.”

“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it, but Hayworth is expected within the hour.” He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “When the hell is that repair man supposed to arrive?”

“An hour ago, so let’s hope he shows before tomorrow.”

“Gotta love your sense of humor, Grace, while we struggle to breathe.”

“I’ll buzz you when either Hayworth or A-One Air arrives.”

Frank disconnected and stared across the desk at a picture. Taken in happier days, the people he loved most in the world smiled back at him—Quinn, Emily, and their kids, Rand and Marlow. The children looked to be about nine and six respectively, the parents in their early thirties. The snapshot was taken long before his ex-partner, Quinn, had been gunned down in a run-amuck drug bust. Like he said, in happier days.

An exasperated sigh left Frank’s lips. Trouble brewed. What kind of trouble he didn’t know, but like the fans in the office, the precognitive cells in his brain had been working overtime for a week. Then a call came from Rueben Hayworth, the FBI agent from Washington, solidifying Frank’s suspicions. Rueben couldn’t discuss the conundrum over the phone, but requested a face-to-face meeting with him. Uh-huh, evil rode the wind again, and just when his relationship with Rand had finally reached a measure of accord, if not mutual contentment.

Rand had brought his pre-med grades up to A’s, Frank’s PI business flourished, and their sex life… well, Frank couldn’t even think about Quinn and Emily’s son without tamping down his perpetual hard-on. Mutual contentment, hell. Their relationship had advanced far beyond raw, primal lust. So why couldn’t he just accept it, admit it?

Frank rose from the chair behind his desk with a disgusted shake of his head. A moron, that’s what he was. A white-livered coward who couldn’t face his own demon. In his case, the demon stood on common ground with the word commitment. And, contrarily, one tiny word from him―love—would rock Rand’s world. “Say it out loud, you chicken, ‘Rand, I love you.’” A growl came from his throat. Why was it so hard to speak the words when they would mean so much to Rand?

Annoyed with the heat and with himself, Frank yanked on the heavy curtains in his office until they met in the middle. If he intended to connect with his inner spirit, he had to set the stage first. He walked to the light switch, dimmed the overhead track, and slumped into his chair again.

The subliminal messages arriving this time were so unlike all the others. Nothing haunted his dreams at night, but rather scenes flashed through his head during his waking hours. They nibbled away at his thoughts until he could think of little else. But that’s all they were at this point—a montage of snapshots, blurred and innocuous at best. The time had come to clear the mental barriers from his mind, engage in concerted meditation.

Frank closed his eyes. Moments later, patterns of light appeared. Drawing on a reservoir of meditation knowledge and experience, he focused on the light with reserved attention. His consciousness slipped into a deep state, the catalyst for a gradual shift into the highest level of consciousness. That’s right, come to me baby, give me all you got.

As if on command, vignettes rushed forth in muted snapshots, although they meant nothing to him at this point.

Picture one—a child, a young girl to be exact, no more than nine or ten. Picture two—long blonde hair that reminded him of corn silk, and round blue eyes. Three—frail, and aside from the baby blues, her other features appeared almost elfin in nature. Four—an aura enveloped her.

Oh, Christ, she was dead. Even in his meditative state, a chill ran down his spine. He hated working on cases involving dead children.

And lastly, picture five—her face masked in sorrow, she rose and walked toward him. Toward him! And she kept on coming, like walking toward the lens of a camera. Her image grew larger and larger, but she didn’t retreat or list off to the side.

Frank’s heartbeat launched into an erratic rhythm. The game had changed. He wasn’t just communing with the dead in this case; he had called forth the dead. The waiflike child had walked directly into his life.

The phone buzzed, jolting Frank from his meditative state. Sweat streamed down his back, ran in rivulets down his forehead and soaked the collar of his shirt.

He picked up the phone in a haze, a result of connecting on a subconscious level. Adding to his bewildered state, the last image of the girl walking toward him refused to fade from his mind. “A-One has arrived,” Grace said. “Toolbox in hand, and he’s working on the air as we speak.”

“So there is a God?”

“Speaking of thou Most Holiest, Hayworth just walked in and wants to know if we moved your office to the Sahara.”

“That’s my Grace, always the comedienne. Show him in, please.”

* * * *

“Jesus, Frank, had I known you couldn’t afford to pay your electrical bill, I would have come sooner to offer you a gig.”

With a flourish of his damp arm, Frank pointed to the chair. “Have a seat, Rueben. With any luck, we should feel a cool blast soon.”

Rueben slumped into the chair opposite Frank’s desk. “I saw the repair crew on my way in,” he said with a chuckle.

“And for the record, before you begin your sales pitch, I don’t need a gig. I’m up to my balls in missing person cases.”

“You haven’t heard my offer yet, or the gut-wrenching details.” The agent dropped a folder onto the desk and slid it across to him.

“Gut-wrenching? Ah, shit, it does involve children?”

Rueben gave him a knowing look. “Have you been having strange dreams?”

He lied and shook his head.

“You said, ‘Ah, shit―’”

“I know what I said.”

“How do you know it involves children then?”

Frank leaned back in his chair, locked his fingers together, and placed his hands at the back of his head. “I liked you right off, friend, even more by the time we closed the case on the maniacal Dr. McBride. But I told you before, dabbling in perfections is a hobby for me, not a lifestyle.”

“Which means?”

“It’s imprecise, vague, thus, the reason I don’t offer myself up to every Fed who calls my office.”

“I liked you right off, too, and I believed in you then, like I do now.” Rueben’s face took on a somber expression. “I’m not just any Fed, but your friend. If I didn’t think you were the right person for this job, I wouldn’t waste your time… or mine.”

A cool blast of air floated down from the ceiling. Frank arched his neck back and closed his eyes. “Man, what did they do before the invention of air conditioning?”

“Frank, stop changing the subject, and answer my question.”

He blew air through his lips and picked up the folder. “I know you won’t leave until I look at the file.”

Rueben shook his head.

“What was the question again?”

“How do you know this involves children?”

“What would you say if I told you just before you walked in and ruined my already shitty day, I saw images?”

“I knew it!”

A chill came over Frank and not from the air conditioning. “Blurred images, Rueben, nothing more. They could mean anything.”

“But you saw a child?” He leaned forward. “A boy? A girl? What did she look like?”

“Whoa! Who said I saw a girl? In fact, who said I saw a child?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Frank. I’ll fill you in while you’re looking over the file.”

A song came to Frank on a tiny voice and filled his head, or at least he hoped it was in his head. He hadn’t heard the tune before, but most definitely a small, heavenly voice recited the lyrics—something about dreams and the color blue. Frank looked at Rueben out of the corner of his eye and half-expected to see him scan the room for the sound.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Do you hear something?”

Rueben grew still for a moment. “Other than muffled voices through the door and the blessed whisper of the vent overhead, no. What should I be listening for?”

“Nothing,” Frank said and opened the file. “Three missing girls?” He looked at their pictures after spreading them out on his desk. “West Virginia?”

Rueben nodded. “Ever been kayaking, Frank?”

“No,” he said distractedly. “Can’t say that I have. Do you expect me to search for them in the river?”

A deep-throated chuckle escaped Rueben. “We don’t think they’re in the water. Just a guess, but…”

“Then why the question about kayaking?”

“They disappeared from some little towns in Barbour County. Home to Audra State Park, the area is known for hiking, fishing and white-water rafting. I thought maybe while you were―”

Frank’s head came up. “I never said I’d take the case. I agreed to meet with you and look at the file, see if I can give you some pointers.”

“I appreciate your hospitality, believe me, but what kind of a Fed would I be if I didn’t pressure you while here?”

“Why me? You have a shit load of special agents that work on missing children cases? And besides,” Frank smiled. “It’s smooth-sailing at home right now, and I don’t want to rock the boat.”

“How is Rand?”

“Doing well in college now, and I’m busier here than a one-legged man in a shit-kicking contest.”

Rueben clucked his cheek. “Damn.”

“What aren’t you telling me about this case? Why is it so important to you or should I say important to the FBI?”

“One of the missing girls is the daughter of Judge Kenton, that’s the Honorable Parker Kenton, brother to one of the upper echelon at the Bureau.” He put his hands in the air and shrugged. “We’re looking rather foolish at this point. Three girls missing without a trace and the heat is on.”

“Think they’re dead?”

“God, I hope not. If they were, wouldn’t you think the cadaver dogs or the search parties had found something? A shoe, a piece of their clothing…” He paused. “A grave?”

“Well, with all that water you’re talking about, it would be pretty easy to dump their bodies in a river, a stream. They float downstream, never to be seen again.”

“Something would have washed up by now.”

Frank studied the pictures again. “They’re all about the same age.” He looked closer. “Hmm, they resemble one another.”

“Not a coincidence, I’m sure.”

“It’s not uncommon. A child molester tends to pick similar-looking victims.”

“There are no child molesters within sixty miles of Barbour County, that we know of. It’s not a very populated area.”

“Great. Can’t you ever ask me to go to a city with at least one five-star hotel?”

“Sorry, Frank, I don’t pick the locations.” What do you say? The Bureau is prepared to double your hourly rate on this case.” Hope laced his words. He dug into the pocket of his suit coat and tossed an envelope onto the desk. “Two thousand up front, the balance when you find them, however long it takes.”

“Dead or alive?”

Rueben nodded. “They want it over. After ten days, the story is beginning to hit the news circuit. Doesn’t look good for the Bureau, and Judge Kenton is on us like ticks on a dog.”

Frank looked at the envelope. Talk about an offer you can’t refuse falling into your lap. Rand’s face floated before him. He wouldn’t be happy about this, not when things had been running so smoothly between them.

Still, maybe he could soften the blow with a promise he wouldn’t be gone long, and when he returned, they’d take the money and head off to Mexico for a week. Reluctantly, Frank said, “All right. I’ll take the file home with me and call you in the morning.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Barring a scene at home that would make the Apocalypse look like a picnic, yes.”

Rueben came to his feet and shook Frank’s hand. “Call me in the morning and I’ll have my assistant make the necessary reservations. Sorry to say it won’t be the Ritz, but probably a Super 8. Can you leave tomorrow?”

“Might as well get it over with.”

Tameka's Smile by Zena Wynn

Tameka Jones squinted in the bright sunlight that flooded her car when she came around the last curve. She hastily flipped down the visor, heaving a sigh of relief when the shade erased the glare from her eyes. County Road 17 was virtually empty. The last car she’d seen passed in the opposite direction three miles back. Today was a scorcher, with the temperature in the high nineties. Only the desperately bored like herself and those whose jobs required it were out in this unexpected, mid-Spring heat wave.

As she came out of the next curve and into a long stretch of straight road, she automatically glanced into her rearview mirror. The police cruiser behind her shocked her into checking her speedometer. She wasn’t speeding, thank goodness, but slowed anyway. It must have come from one of the side roads she’d passed, because this was her first time noticing it behind her.

When she glanced back again, the cruiser had its signal light on, preparing to pass. Good, let it. She hated driving with the police behind her. She slowed even more. The car moved out and picked up speed. As it drew even with her, Tameka’s gaze was curiously drawn to it. It was an annoying habit, the need to look at vehicles’ occupants as they passed her.

The male deputy looked hot and tired in his dark uniform, eyes shaded by mirrored sunglasses. Tameka gave him a blindingly bright, friendly smile when he glanced in her direction. It had to be rough, being required to work out here in this heat. That he was in an air-conditioned cruiser didn’t mean much. She had her AC on full blast and still felt sweat pooling between her breasts to soak into the elastic of her top.

She was puzzled when the cruiser seemed to hesitate for a moment, then dropped back into place behind her, but let it go. She wasn’t speeding or doing anything illegal. With one more reassuring glance at her gauge, she cranked up the volume as one of her favorite songs came on. She sang along with the CD, her head keeping time with the rhythmic beat through that song and well into the next one, before the sound of a horn blowing behind her caused her to jump and look into her rearview mirror. The deputy’s lights were flashing and he was gesturing with his hand, commanding her to pull over.

Her gaze went back to the speedometer. She was under the speed limit. Why was he messing with her? Maybe it was her out-of-state tag. She’d heard about small town cops giving outsiders a hard time. She searched the side of the road, looking for a good place to pull over. There wasn’t any. The road was heavily forested on both sides, and there was no emergency lane. When the deputy gave a brief blast of the siren, she reluctantly turned on her signal and slowed down so that she could ease off the road onto the grassy embankment.

She pulled as far off the pavement as she could to be sure the officer had plenty of room. She’d seen televised videos of officers killed by passing vehicles and she didn’t want this man’s death on her conscience. She stopped the car, put it in park, and watched in her side-view mirror as the deputy approached. He was a big, intimidating-looking man with those broad shoulders and mirrored sunglasses that prevented her from seeing his eyes. His gold-toned nametag read C. Wilson.

He tapped on the window, and she rushed to roll it down. “Is there a problem, Officer?”

“Turn down the music.”

“Oh, right.” She jabbed the button, cutting it off.

“License, registration, and proof of insurance, ma’am.”

Tameka retrieved her license from her purse and reached for the glove compartment to get the rest. She visibly hesitated when the deputy’s hand shifted to rest on the butt of his gun. “My registration and insurance card are here, in my glove compartment. I don’t have a weapon.”

“Just move real slow and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Nervous now, she did just as he instructed. “What did I do?”

He took the items from her and cautioned, “I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t move.”

She rolled up her window and watched in her side mirror as he walked back to the cruiser and got in. From the motions he made, he was running her license on the computer she’d seen earlier. Again she questioned why he’d pulled her over. She was a good, law-abiding citizen. No tickets of any kind or arrests on her record. She even returned her library books on time.

How long did it take to run a license, anyway? At least she was in the shade, which provided a small respite from the heat. Ten minutes later, he returned. She rolled the window back down.

“Ma’am, turn off your vehicle and step out of the car.”

As she turned off the motor, she asked, “Can you please tell me what this is about?”

He removed the sunglasses and tucked them into the front of his shirt. Tameka’s eyes widened. The man was handsome enough to make her drool, but his vibrant green eyes were those of a killer. Said eyes narrowed in warning, “Step out of the vehicle. Now!”

Thoroughly intimidated, Tameka got out of her car, leaving the keys in the ignition. Her tank top immediately clung to her curves as a light sheen a sweat coated her, caused either by the heat or her rattled nerves. She pulled at the thin material of her gathered skirt to keep it from sticking to her legs. The high grass tickled her ankles and calves, bared as they were by the flip-flops she wore.

Deputy Wilson lightly seized her arm and moved her from behind the open driver’s door, around the hood of the car, to the passenger side of her vehicle. “Spread your feet apart and place your hands on the hood of the vehicle.”

“What!” She must have heard wrong. Was she being arrested?

With his booted foot, he nudged her legs apart. “Spread your feet and place your hands on the hood, like this.” He took her hands and placed them on the hood, not allowing her to jerk free when the heated metal stung her hands. Their position forced his body into close contact with hers.

“I need to search for contraband. Do you have a husband or boyfriend who can come and get you if your vehicle is confiscated?”

“Confiscate my vehicle? Contraband? You mean … drugs? You think I’m a drug dealer?” Her voice rose with each question.

“Just answer the question, ma’am.”

“What question!” she snapped, seriously getting pissed. She’d heard about cops harassing innocent people, but she’d never expected it to happen to her. Drug dealer, my ass.

“Husband? Boyfriend? … Girlfriend?”

“Girl…no! None of the above.”

“Good,” she thought she heard him murmur. She forced herself to calm down. Her temper would only get her into more trouble and play right into the pig’s hands.

He was still standing behind her, his hands on top of hers. She could feel his breath on her neck. Slowly, and so lightly that only the hairs on her arms stirred, he drew his hands up her arms until they reached her shoulders. From there, they slid up the sides and back of her neck, under her hair until they were against her scalp, which he lightly massaged.

Tameka didn’t know a woman in the world who didn’t love a properly executed scalp massage. This man was an expert. The feel of his fingertips against her scalp caused goose bumps to break out all over her body and her nipples to harden.

When he’d thoroughly “searched” her scalp, his hands glided down her back to her waist. There they circled around to the front of her body and slowly drifted up. The law being what it was, Tameka figured he’d stop before he reached her breasts. She was wrong. He continued until he cupped both of them in his massively large hands.

“This feels suspicious.” He rotated the palms of his hands against her pebbled nipples. “Bears further investigation.” His hands stroked back down and slid under the hem of her tank.

“Officer, I don’t think this is …”

“Shhh, anything you say can and will be held against you.”

The familiar words of the Miranda, along with the memory of those ice-cold, merciless, green eyes halted her protest before it could fully form. His calloused hands gently skimmed her stomach until it reached the fragile elastic barrier of her tank’s shelf-bra, which provided little protection against his seeking hands. He dug underneath until his hands cupped both breasts, skin-to-skin. Then he rolled, tugged, and toyed with her nipples, “inspecting” them.

He manipulated them until the skin was puckered and tight, and her hips jerked with each pull. Then he released them and continued his search. The sun filtering through the rustling leaves, along with the quiet sounds of nature, gave the whole experience a surreal feel.

His hands skimmed down the sides of her legs until he reached her ankles. He circled them with his fingers. “Dainty.” The word floated up to her. He circled his hands to the inside of her legs and reversed directions. She tensed her legs in preparation of closing them.

“Keep your legs where they are or I’ll haul you down to the station and strip search you.”

The threat, spoken in that no-nonsense tone of voice, kept her still. A bead of sweat gathered between her breasts and rolled down to her stomach as his hands continued their upward journey.

At her knees, his touch shifted. Instead of using the flat of his hands, he used the tips of his fingers on both legs. When he neared the apex of her thighs, he commanded, “Spread them wider.”

Dime by Aubrey Leatherwood

I introduced myself as “Nix.” No idea where that came from, but I liked it. Thinking of myself as Nix helped me come out of my shell and channel some of that wildness that had cut up with Lorenzo the night before. I did the whole song by rote, didn’t miss a cue. It was shaping up to be the most fun I’d had in any single weekend for a very long time. And I was going to have hell to pay on Monday, but I didn’t mind.

I walked off stage and started toward Lorenzo. But before I made it, I felt a big hand engulf mine, dragging me back toward the dance floor.

Baron Odom.

Big, fine ass Baron Odom. Now, I know I said I was staying away from that, but I was feeling friendly…at least that was the word my mother used when she first told me about “relations.” She said, “One day you’ll start feeling really friendly toward a fellow.”

The energy from my onstage display, the drinks, and even my obsession with mortality due to my birthday helped get me amenable. The way the man looked got me…friendly.

“Was that really your song?”

“Yeah. Me and Lorenzo were just messing around in the studio last night.”

“It’s hot,” he said.

“That’s not even cute, Baron.”

The song pulsed and I moved with it. I really love to dance. Baron apparently didn’t share my love because he wasn’t that great a dancer. Then again, he wasn’t putting much effort into it. He seemed more interested in getting us both excited while using the packed dance floor as a cover. I didn’t like for guys to have their hands all over me when dancing.

I’m lying.

I loved it, at least when Baron did it. I know that sounds bad, but I didn’t sleep around, so I was getting my jollies where I could. I especially enjoyed Baron’s hands on my tummy, on my behind, a careful “accidental” brush against my breasts, him turning me around so my back was pressed into him, the feel of his lips grazing my ear. My whole body tingled in response to his attention. As I leaned back into him, my eyes closed and I licked my lips. It wasn’t long before a fantasy took hold and I was transported to a different setting altogether. He supported my rapidly melting body with his strong one. But then I stumbled and nearly fell when I felt his erection pressing into my back. I wanted to rub against it, but luckily I came to my senses. Embarrassment made my cheeks hot. He was only doing this because of the over-the-top performance I’d put on. He was thinking I was something—someone—I wasn’t. I stepped away from him.

“I’m sorry, Nicole.”

I tried to answer but instead threw up a hand and went back up to the reserved section. He followed, but went about making a big production of trying to find my jacket. I didn’t want to look directly at him looking directly at me. His goal was obviously to remind me that he was attracted like I was attracted and that maybe I could have the very best birthday present if I gave in a little bit.

I didn’t give in. At half past three, most of my friends were gone, and Tanika and Lorenzo were ready to depart, too.

Lorenzo tried to say our good-byes to Baron, but the producer decided to walk out with us as well. As we piled into the car, he came around to the passenger side. I rolled down the window so he could talk to Lorenzo.

Eyes glued to the dash, I felt my whole right side heat up from his gaze. Relieved when we finally took off, I sank down into the seat.

“So, Nicole,” Tanika started. She leaned forward and put her hands on my shoulders. “You and Baron seemed to be close on the dance floor.”

“You’re imagining things,” I responded.

“No, I’m not.”

Begging Ivory by M. Christian

When she saw it, Paula knew she had to have it. At first she almost didn’t—see it or have it, that is. High on the shelves in the dusty, dim back of Ajae Imports, in a battered wooden box, it was easy to miss. It was only because Paula had already carted off a good percentage of Ajae’s stock of rattan, dark woods, masks, and woven baskets that she even noticed it. Her gaze had to climb higher and higher on the rickety steel shelves for something new, something she hadn’t seen a thousand times before, or owned one of.

It was so high that it was almost lost in the shadowy rafters over the loading dock, obscured by clouds of monoxide fumes from Ajae’s one barely running moving van.

Luckily, being a good customer brought perks—like being able to wander in the totally unsafe and precarious warehouse and being able to ask one of Ajae’s huge ebony employees to “please” bring it down so she might see it.

The box was old, the greens and grays of mildew and water damage decorating one side—the map of a mad continent. It was strapped with two tight bands of thick leather, which instantly reminded Paula of Henry’s belt and so brought a hard scowl to her face. “Stu”—his name, evidently, on his jumpsuit in greasy-encrusted letters—watched, stern and unmoving, as she tied to undo the straps. She didn’t really know why she had to get the damned box open, but suspected in a more logical part of her mind that it mostly had to do with the straps too-resembling Henry’s belt—it was as if he stood between her and what was inside. She couldn’t normally shove him aside and get what she wanted, but she could at least, now, then, get inside that damned box.

“Stu” watched as she tugged at the thick leather bands, his face carved from coal. Pausing to wipe her face, she smiled up at him. Released from his cool stance, he reached into a back pocket, brought out a utility knife and deftly slit the bands.

Taking a beat of her mysteriously hammering heart to smile up at him again, she started working at the inner box. First, ancient excelsior, feeling and smelling like dead worms, and then ... it.

Then, there—she saw it she knew she just had to have it.

Seeing her fondling it with her slightly quivering hands, “Stu” smiled, showing immaculate teeth, as polished and ivory as the object, and said, “Quite handsome, ma’am. Do ja want that to go—or are you goin’ ta eat it here?”

Bending the Rules by Jack Greene

“I’m not sure I’ve got it, can you show me once more?”

Zach sighed and just barely refrained from rolling his eyes. “Of course, Janine,” he said with patience. He picked up the weight again and lifted it slowly, then lowered it, knowing full well the woman wasn’t paying attention. Well, she was, but not to what she should have been paying attention to. She held a weight barely a quarter the size of his, but she wasn’t lifting it. Her eyes were glued to his bicep as it flexed.

It wasn’t that she was unattractive. She was in fairly good shape for her age, but she was definitely over forty and too close to his mother in age for Zach to be comfortable with the thought of flirting. But he was a personal trainer, and an expensive one at that, so upper middle class housewives comprised the majority of his clientele. It wasn’t too bad. They usually just gazed at him, and he made good money.

Working for the gym gave him free access to all the equipment when he wasn’t on the clock, and it was no problem to keep in shape. He enjoyed looking good, and there were usually some attractive women to admire. He wasn’t allowed to date clients, of course, and that was his last-ditch excuse when one came on too strong, but in truth what the management didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

Dating the staff was another matter entirely. Of course, it was officially forbidden as well, but unofficially it was a fucking soap opera. Everyone knew everyone else’s business, and Zach was pretty sure most of the employees had been intimate with at least one person on the staff, making for a nice inbred, bitchy little family. He tried to stay out of it as much as possible, but when you spent most of your day around scantily clad, buff, and beautiful people, hormones always rose high. Tempers, too.

He finished his session with Janine, then checked the schedule. He had an hour before his next client, and he wanted to get in some weights and a shower. The gym was fairly quiet this time of day, and he had the room practically to himself. He set up on one of his favorite machines, nearly maxing out the stack of weights. He wasn’t trying to show off; there was really no one to impress. He wasn’t overly narcissistic, but he liked the way his biceps looked: big. He needed to look good for his job, after all. Who would hire an out of shape personal trainer?

When he trained, he tended to focus internally, only peripherally aware of his surroundings. He thought of each repetition, concentrating on making each one count, extending and contracting each muscle for maximum effect. He wasn’t really aware of anyone in the room.

Until a glimpse of long, silky black hair and a sleek, slender body caught his eye. He returned to the world as his lower stomach flipped, and he had to look more closely at the person who’d snapped him out of his zone.

He noticed the dark haired beauty talking with Sierra, the new receptionist. Sierra was tiny and cute and usually just his type, but he was determined to be just friends even though she flirted with him constantly and had made it abundantly clear that she was into him. He liked talking to her, however, and watching her wiggle across the room in her shorts.

This time he barely noticed the receptionist’s shorts. Her companion was much more compelling.

The second thing he noticed was that the person with Sierra was no girl.

No one here knew that Zach wasn’t strictly straight. He didn’t advertise it, but though he was mostly into girls, occasionally a really gorgeous boy grabbed his attention. And this one was stunning.

Sierra was a slender girl, but this boy made her look positively dowdy in comparison. He didn’t look a day over twenty, and he was nearly as tall as Zach. Tight faded jeans clung to impossibly tiny hips; Zach wondered where he’d managed to find jeans that small. He didn’t look skinny, though; he had lean lines that Zach recognized as the result of yoga. His body was toned and delicious. Zach wanted to pin him to a wall and fuck his brains out.

He suddenly realized he had stopped his workout and was staring. A giggle snapped him out of it and he noticed that Sierra and her companion watched him. He started moving again, working his pecs thoroughly, and from the corner of his eye he saw them whispering. He focused on his workout, but couldn’t help but hope the gorgeous creature was a new client.

When he finished his set, they were gone, and Zach felt vaguely disappointed. He didn’t see the slender man again, and soon it was time to head for the showers.

The locker room was deserted. He undressed quickly and wrapped a towel around his waist. He grabbed his shampoo and body wash and headed for the communal shower. There were private showers, but those were reserved for the VIP clients.

But today it seemed was different. As he rounded the corner he could hear the water running. Someone was showering already. He didn’t really care; he wasn’t shy or embarrassed about his body. But he stopped still when he caught sight of who was in there.

Zach immediately recognized the dark-haired man he’d seen with Sierra. His long hair cascaded down his back, and water coursed over pale, perfect skin covering slim shoulders that narrowed to those tiny hips, and his ass. Zach’s mouth went dry as he tried to tear his gaze away from the most perfect, firm buttocks he’d ever seen. The man’s legs were miles long, and his back arched as he turned slightly, angling his face into the spray. Then he turned more, giving Zach a full frontal view, and Zach stepped back quickly lest he be caught perving.

He leaned back against the wall, breathing hard as if he’d run a marathon. If there had been a question that the man was indeed a man, Zach had just gotten his proof. He wouldn’t easily forget that lean, smooth chest, or perfect hipbones that led downward to the gorgeous cock nestled between his legs. A small tattoo above his left hip only enhanced the view, and Zach dearly wanted to lick it.

Just then, he heard the water turn off. Fuck. He managed to recover enough to pretend he was entering the shower area, just as the man rounded the corner covered by a towel from the waist down.

“Oh, hi!” the man said, smiling. His voice was high and breathy and Zach loved the sound of it. “You’re Zach. Sierra told me allll about you.” The young man’s eyes sparkled with amusement, and he watched as they flicked down his body. “I’m Kieran.” He held out his hand.

“Um. Hi.” Zach tried desperately to take in everything with little blood in his brain. He reached to shake Kieran’s hand, and with horror he felt his towel loosen. He grabbed at it with his free hand, just in time. He felt his cheeks flush. “Nice to meet you.”

Kieran looked like he was trying not to laugh. “I’m the new yoga instructor, it’s my first day,” he explained. “So I’m sure I’ll be seeing lots more of you.”

Was that a double meaning? Kieran had very nearly seen all of him just then, and he’d already seen all of Kieran. Every glorious inch, and he wanted to see it again. And touch. He cleared his throat and said, “That’s awesome. I hope you’ll like it here.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Kieran said. “It seems like one big happy family.”

Zach barely repressed a snicker. One dysfunctional, inbred psychotic family, perhaps. Then Kieran’s earlier words sank in. “Wait, what did Sierra tell you?”

Kieran chuckled. He leaned forward and said, “Don’t worry, it was all good,” he said in a stage whisper, then he swept past. “Enjoy your shower,” he heard from around the corner.

It was a moment before Zach remembered what he was there to do, and he walked into the shower. He hung his towel on a hook and turned on a shower head. As the hot water sluiced over him, he tried to get the vision of Kieran’s naked body out of his head, but he feared he’d never forget it.

Cat's Eye by Will Belegon

Bonnie reached for the doorbell again, for the third time. Twice she had pulled her finger back, and twice she had started to turn and walk back to her car. The sounds of music and laughter came through the door and from the backyard, but she was alone on the front porch. She could walk away and no one would ever know.

The door opened and a blast of sound and light blew away any hope of escape. A booming laugh emerged from a shock of red hair and yellow-green eyes flashed behind a Mardi Gras mask.

“Well, hello, little kitty. Do I know you? Me-Wow!”

Bonnie felt flush. She knew the Catwoman outfit had been a bad idea. It showed way too much skin and did absolutely nothing to hide her ample curves, as evidenced by the man’s reaction. But that decision was in her past and it was too late to regret it now.

“Um, I was invited...by Todd? Todd Lundquist? Is this the right place?”

“Oh, hey! Are you Bonnie?”

She looked at him with suspicion. What about her appearance was so unusual that he would know her name? She glanced back at the long driveway leading up to the big house. Judging by the cars, there were plenty of people here. Too many for her to stand out that much, especially to someone she had never met.

“Yes. How do you know my name?”

“Sweetheart, I know everybody’s name. Well, everybody here anyway. Soon you will, too. Besides, we’ve been waiting for you. Longer than we thought we would need wait. I’m sorry, I’m forgetting my manners. My name is Marcus and I have the honor to be your host. Please come inside.” Marcus stepped to the side and bowed, his hand sweeping across his knees as his red hair cascaded across his face. He laughed again as he rose, brushing it behind him.

Bonnie stepped inside. A half-dozen people were scattered around the living room, drinks in hand. The music pulsated from the back of the house. She didn’t see Todd anywhere.

“Follow me, fair lady, and we will attempt to locate the scoundrel who invited you. But I suspect it will not be hard. And if you lose me in the press of admirers, just look for the tail. Easy to spot anywhere.” Marcus grinned and spun around.

He was kidding about the crowd, although the scattered individuals they passed on the way to the backyard did seem to admire her. They all nodded to her and smiled, a curiosity in their eyes that felt out of place. Sure, people tended to know each other, but certainly she couldn’t be the only new person here? But no one seemed hostile, even the women... and considering the way some of the men were looking at her, that didn’t make sense at all.

He was not kidding about the tail. A dusky red and white, the bushy accessory emerged from a split seam in the back of his jeans. It bounced with a liveliness that made Bonnie slightly jealous when she looked back at the limp stuffed one curling behind her. She wrote a mental note to corner Marcus before the end of the evening and force the website or costume store name out of him.

They slipped between a pair of men who looked to be identical twins in matching eagle costumes and emerged into the backyard. An open space that could hold the house they had just walked through twice with room to spare, bordered by trees. Paper lanterns were strung on both sides near the house, with the back edge fading into darkness. Here the guests were more plentiful and seemed to account for the variety of cars on the drive.

She spotted him instantly. Todd was near the barbeque pit, sipping on a beer and talking to a beautiful blonde woman who was at least four inches taller than him. Bonnie’s heart sank. It had been too much to hope for, after all this time, that he would invite her as a date. The ease and familiarity between the couple was obvious. Still, she straightened her spine, determined not to let him see her disappointment.

As they strode toward him, Todd’s head came up and he closed his eyes while looking at the sky. Bonnie was reminded of the surreal moment in the fight, five Halloweens past. As she had imagined the change in his eyes then, she could have sworn she saw his nostrils flare just before his eyes snapped open and he turned to face her, a smile on his face.

Marcus snickered beside her. “Can’t fool that nose.”

As she turned to ask him what he meant, she was swept off her feet. Todd twirled her in a circle, laughter emerging from deep in his chest.

“Finally! I’ve been waiting for so long. I’m sorry it took me so long to contact you, but it just seemed right to wait for our next gathering. I’m sure you have questions…”

She looked down at him, bemused. There was no doubting the joy in his face, but as she watched it was touched with confusion. Again the nostrils flared.

Todd set her down as a small crowd gathered. The party guests crowded around, a look of anticipation on their faces. The blonde, who Bonnie now noticed was dressed as a lioness, set a paw on his shoulder.

“She’s not awake.”

“I can tell that, Larissa.” Todd gazed into her face, the confusion growing. “What I don’t understand is why. I expected her memories to be…well, sketchy. Things take time. But she is completely unaware.”

Murmurs of assent arose from everyone surrounding them. The anticipatory mood was beginning to be replaced with one of concern.

Marcus spoke. “I think this is between you and Bonnie, Todd. The connection between the two of you has always been strong.”

“I agree,” added Larissa, if that was the blonde’s name. “The poor child must be horribly confused. Take it easy, Todd. Don’t let your loneliness push you to an unwise choice.” She punctuated her words by pulling his head around and looking firmly into his eyes. “Understand?”

“I can handle it. Trust me.” There was no room for argument in his statement.