All Chapters of DARK DESIRE (short steamy stories): Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Some women you have sex with. Some women you sleep with. And then there are the women you have sex with and then sleep with. A whole night. And during that night, you cannot escape the warmth of their skin close against you on every blurry single occasion you half awaken, you sense their body in the darkness of the room, soft and pale so close to you it could be an extension of your own skin, and you have to repress the urge to pull her against your bulk and squeeze her to death as the tenderness races through your soul like a sweet poison invading your bloodstream, a runaway train with its ineffable cargo of lust and affection Those are the women who also break your heart. Those are the women who move your heart in quiet, ardent, hypnotic, mysterious ways. And she was one of those. No ifs and buts; no doubts about it. At the wrong time. In the wrong places. We’d met in the mountains. Snow fell on a picture postcard ski resort like a curtain of cotton buds floating, swirling down fro

Mark breaking a sweat unless he were running from a cop. But he had a sleek runner’s physique way back when. Could he have transformed himself to an athlete? Has he given up pot in favor of healthier substances? Has he hit the pavement to kill his demons? Googling takes my mind off my modern-day problems. Googling makes me forget about deadlines and pressures and what we’re going to have for dinner. Delivery pizza, again? Sounds good. Far easier to answer that mundane query than the other nagging questions pulling on me until my stomach aches: Should I pay the $29.95 and do a search of prison records? Because that’s where I’ll find him. I’m sure of it. I don’t enter my credit card. I don’t think I actually want to know. After spending hours on the computer, I dream about him. My eyes hurt and my head spins. I hit the pillow and recreate his image from the puzzle pieces that I remember: the black-ink Zig-Zag man tattoo on his upper arm. The way his blue eyes could turn grey or green de

Andrea bared her teeth, shoved the weapon harder and twisted it. Despite the chemical working its venomous magic, pain neurons sprang to life and Aaron’s leg twitched. An agonized groan escaped him. She relaxed as quickly as she had tensed to inflict the injury. Smiling once again, she said, “I can see what you’re thinking.” She chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m not going to separate you from your baton . . . or your lovely little castanets. God’s sake, Aaron, give me some credit for originality. That’s been done to death.” Still gripping the knife, Andrea rose and looked down at him. She inhaled then heaved a theatrical sigh. “Geez,” she said, “you’re bleeding all over the bed.” She snickered and turned away from him then went to the mirrored dresser. She laid the weapon down on the surface, opened up a small bag and took out a digital camera. A tiny beep sounded as she activated it then after making some adjustments, she pivoted to face the bed. “These will make really terrific public

The ghosts of her areolae were deliriously obvious beneath the flimsy material. Touching her body – and painfully aware of how close I was to properly touching her breasts – I came near to shivering in spite of the sweltering heat. “Well?” Katy prompted. She stroked my hand back and forth over her chest. Her skin was moist velvet with perspiration lubricating my caress. The ball of my thumb glanced against her breast and I was sure I felt the nipple stiffen. “Do you think that feels unattractive?” she asked. “I don’t recall touching anything that ever felt better,” I answered honestly. Her questioning expression turned into a mischievous grin. She lowered my hand to one breast so I was cupping her through a film of damp cotton. In the stillness of that moment I could feel her pulse through the hard bead of flesh that sat at the center of my palm. “In that case,” she whispered, “if perspiration suits me so much, why don’t you see if you can make me sweat a little more?” It was the beg

As part of the initial cost, I’d received five vouchers for replacement blood. Now I’d used those vouchers, and I discovered that in the meantime the cost of blood had risen by 25 percent. Bodies’r’Us was a significant user and retailer of blood, needing to buy blood – good blood, too – from healthy sellers. Nobody would donate blood charitably so that some rich woman could maintain a clone of her dead poodle, or me a cloned penis. Andorra had complained to me that the Donor Service, which supplied hospitals, was suffering a bit of a blood drain because former donors were choosing to sell rather than donate, but luckily altruism and generosity still prevailed on society, not to mention donations by way of the vampire churches as part of their safe sex campaign. At this point I consulted Andorra and she made me an offer . . . . . . To smuggle blood from the Donor Service – providing that I let her use the penis of my Beloved privately one evening each week, say every Friday. I was ast