The loud rasp of leather yanked through Carson’s belt loops sent her attention to his torso.What are you doing? London’s panicked gaze shot to his face.I don’t have a collar on me.I am wholly disinterested in being collared.One weekend, London. He grasped one of her hips with his free hand. If you’re disappointed at any time, you can walk. I’ll never speak of it again. Our work together will go unaffected. No one—and I mean no one—but us will know.Would you put that in writing? Her eyes filled with mischief.Priceless. London lured him toward a lightning storm. He could play. Hell, nothing appealed in the moment more than a weekend playing with London. Yes, this is what he wanted. Now he needed to know if she was willing.I’ll do one better. He snaked the belt around her waist until the leather rested against her hips.I’m not a notch on a belt.You could never be a notch, London Chantelle. You’re the whole belt, sugar.Her face softened and the playfulness in her eyes died. He recognized the deliberation behind them, the wonder if she’d be safe, here and at work. London needn’t have worried. She might get scared, but mutual satisfaction was the only way his brand of sexual fulfillment worked.Say yes or no. He pressed his torso to her corseted body, the last space between her body and his obliterated. But say yes.What will happen if I say yes?What you want. What you’ve probably always wanted.Her eyes misted with a surprising vulnerability. Yes.
Elizabeth SaFleur
What do we have here? Grant slurs at me. He seems different and it raises flags in my mind. His fingers wrap around a section of my hair and it scares me. His face is flushed red and his eyes are glassy and bright. I can smell the smoky scent of whiskey or scotch rolling off his tongue as he speaks and breathes heavily.I’m lost and I need a ride home. My voice wavers as I speak and I hate it. I fist my hands in the hem of my blazer.I’ll get Albert for you, but first spend some time with me, he slurs again, sounding like his tongue is too large for his mouth. As if sensing my attention, the tip of his tongue sneaks out and slides along his supple bottom lip. He smiles as he tastes the alcohol that’s staining his mouth. His eyes are bright and shiny and glazed over. He has a smirk on his face that shows off his dimple. It no longer reminds me of Whitt. It seems sinister and dangerous- promising something I’m not ready to experience.The feel of his fingers playing with my hair gives me goosebumps and I shiver as my scalp tightens, sucking up the pleasant attention. I do my first stupid-girl moment of my life. I shameless crush on a guy and let it turn my thoughts to mush.Okay, if you promise to call Albert first. I try to negotiate with him and he gives me a naughty smirk for agreeing.He backs me up with his physical presence. His front touches mine- chest-to-chest. His lips part and breathes the smoky, whiskey scent onto my chin. My back hits the door behind me with an audible thump. He reaches around me and I don’t wince. I anticipate him touching me and crave it. Instead, his hand twists the doorknob by my hip and I fall backwards.I’m pushed into a dark room until my legs connect with the edge of a bed. I can’t see anything and the only sound is our combined breathing. I feel alive with caution. I’m aware of every hair, every nerve on my flesh. My senses are so in-tuned that I can feel my system pumping the blood through my veins nourishing my whole body.
Erica Chilson