Love Slave: Heatwave

Love Slave Heatwave “I almost wish we were butterflies and liv’d but three summer days—three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.”
— John Keats, Bright Star

I’m pleased to announce the release of LoveSlave.org’s erotic summer themed ebook anthology, Love Slave: Heatwave!

The folks over at LoveSlave.org are running a raffle featuring ebooks by a handful of my fellow Heatwave authors. Visit their site (and scroll to the bottom) to peruse their offerings and enter for a chance to win free books.

Enjoy an excerpt from my short story, “Wild Things”

I retrieved the flashlights and stepped out into the humid night. Shane was already in the yard, shirtless, staring up at the moon. His chest muscles rippled with each deep inhalation of the lilac-scented air and I couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to run my hands over his skin. He lowered his gaze from the night sky to me, his eyes cloudy with whiskey and moonlight.

“I already checked the bins,” he said. “Blocks are in place.”

“Oh, all right.” I paused. “I guess we can go back inside.” The second I said it, I knew I didn’t want to. I felt oddly at home under the stars with my estranged friend, the trees towering overhead, the woods inviting us to come and play.

Shane walked up to me, hand outstretched. “Give me one of those.” He gestured to the flashlights. He fiddled with it for a few seconds, as though weighing an idea in his mind.

“Let’s play a game,” he said, his eyes boring into mine.

“Which one?” I croaked, painfully aware of his closeness.

“Come on. You know the rules.” Shane put his hands on my shoulders and turned me toward the nearest opening in the trees, the sweet scent of expensive whiskey on his breath. He pressed himself against me and I felt the distinct impression of something firm and rod-like at the small of my back. My pussy tightened automatically.

“I’ll count to one hundred.” His lips grazed my ear.

“Oh. Okay,” I stuttered. My breathing was erratic. I swayed against him as though my body needed confirmation that his erection was real. It was. He slid a hand down my arm, across my belly and slipped it deftly into the waistband of my shorts, giving my entire pussy a squeeze and slight fondle. I gasped.

Shane emitted a low, animalistic growl before withdrawing his hand and hissing, “Now, get.”

He smacked my ass and sent me sprinting into the darkness, my right butt cheek smarting and the rest of me horny as all hell.

My legs carried me through the woods faster than they’d had to in a very long time. I ran as far into the canopy as I could before the density of the trees forced me to turn on the flashlight. Fumbling with the on/off switch, I paused for a moment and crouched low, listening.

There was a slight breeze, but not enough to muffle any significant disruptions to the natural stirrings of the forest. My pounding heart reverberated through my chest and up into my head as beads of sweat dripped down from my hairline. I heard nothing. No footsteps, no voices, no snapping twigs. He was probably still counting.

I took a deep breath and pressed on, hoping I’d placed enough distance between us that he wouldn’t be able to see the glow of my flashlight in the dark. I wondered what would happen if he found me. Scratch that, when he found me.

I ran, dodging prickly shrubs and exposed, gnarled tree roots. I recognized the thick trunk of a sycamore as though I were traversing the route from memory, and dove behind it, shutting off my flashlight and taking a second to catch my breath.

The only sounds I could make out were the soft buzzing of mosquitoes, frogs chirping in the nearby creek, and the water’s quiet gurgling. For a moment, I wondered if Shane had been too drunk to navigate the darkness alone. Maybe he’d lost his footing somewhere and tripped over a fallen log or protruding root system. I considered going back.

About forty yards behind me, I heard the sharp crackle of a pinecone being crunched underfoot.

“Fuck,” I breathed.

There was just enough moonlight piercing the canopy that I could make out the thin, glimmering line of the creek about twenty yards away. I had to try.