by Celia Styles
Slipping on my heels, I inspected my make-up in the mirror. Re-touching my eyeliner, I slicked on a layer of blackberry-purple lip stain and wiggled another coat of mascara over my eyes. Stepping back so I could admire myself, I had to admit I didn’t look half bad. Fluffing out my dark brown, breast-length hair, I pulled my dress down so it showed a little more cleavage (of which I had plenty), and smoothed it over my ass so it showed off every curve. I didn’t work this hard for this body so I could hide it every day. But the main thing I noticed in my reflection was the sparkle in my eye; the kind of look that said “hey, anything could happen tonight, because you just dumped your good-for-nothing fiancé”. And that was a look I really liked. Only one more touch- I slid my engagement ring off my finger, and left it sitting next to the sink. I didn’t need it any more.
Marching out into the lobby, I caught a couple of heads turning to look my way- damn, that felt good. I usually avoided looking as straight-up sexy as this, but it was awesome to be noticed, and the feeling sent a little shiver of excitement through my whole body, spreading over my belly and down my groin. It had been a long time since I’d last had good sex, and I promised myself that tonight I would find someone to hook up with. Maybe now was the time to explore those fun lesbian fantasies I was always having? Slow down, I thought to myself- you’ve only just broken up with him, and you’re here for three nights. Might as well spread out the debauchery a little.
The hotel was attached to one of the bigger casinos in the area, and, as I stepped out on to the floor, I could see why this was such a popular destination. It was opulent in a completely over-the-top way, packed with gilded gold this and deep scarlet that, the whole room studded with that kind of cheap luxury that generally leads directly into dirty sex in a hotel room after a big win and a lot of cocktails. Or maybe I was just getting a bit ahead of myself. I sincerely hoped not.
Suddenly, I spotted a large, bustling crowd across the room, packed around a garish pair of auditorium doors. There must have been a couple of hundred people, at least, and there were more people gravitating towards the crowd from across the room. What the hell was going on in there that made it so special?
Wandering over to one of the many bars peppered around the casino, I casually glanced over at the sign over the auditorium door. In glittering gold letters, it read “White & Brown”.
Well, even for me, those were two names that didn’t need any introduction. White and Brown were one of those double-acts that became eponymous with the industry they were working in; Laurel and Hardy for comedy, Woodward and Bernstein for journalism, and White and Brown for magic. I had never been much of a fan of magic myself, but the thought of getting a few cocktails and shooting glances at handsome strangers as the night wore on was very tempting, so I casually wandered over and joined the queue. It was surprisingly liberating to be doing this by myself.
Suddenly, the crowd surged forward in one motion as the doors opened. There was a rush for seats near the front, and I idly wandered to the middle till I found a one-seater table that gave me a perfect view of the stage. Catching the eye of a passing waiter, I asked for a rum and coke- make that a double- and settled back in my seat. Now that I thought about it, I remembered spotting White and Brown posters up at my local theatre, and almost losing my train of thought as I ogled at the pair of handsome men that stared back at me, grinning mischievously. Hmm. Maybe I wouldn’t have to look too far to share some meaningful looks tonight. The waiter arrived with my drink, and I took a long sip, trying not to grin to myself, as the lights went down. Damn, that was quick; I wanted to scope out any surrounding hotties to flirt with during the show. Oh well, I would just have to try and enjoy the magic for what it was.
Then, of course, I saw them.
When Eric White and Oliver Brown stepped out on to stage, it was if the whole world was holding its breath for a moment. And then there were cheers; thundering, explosive cheers, the likes of which I had never heard before, as the room rang with applause and whistles. But I couldn’t move. These were two of the best-looking men I had ever seen in my life. I couldn’t take my eyes off them. I was staring with openly carnal appreciation at these two fantastic specimens of male beauty. Eric White was definitely the more conventionally handsome of the pair, with a strong jaw and long nose that spoke to generations of good breeding, and Oliver had the more distinctive face; with big brown eyes and a face-splitting grin, I could have sworn that he looked directly at me in those few moments before the applause died down. They were both wearing old-fashioned tuxedos, dressed to the nines, and I felt glad that I’d put on my best dress. Shifting up in my seat, I stared at them, hoping for another glance or a look. Hell, if they needed an audience participant, they could be damn sure that I would be beating off anyone who dared tried to get in the way of my big moment. Eric held his hands up, calling for silence. The noise in the room slowly dimmed down to nothing.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome. I am Eric White, and this is my partner, Oliver Brown. And tonight, we want you to be the first to enjoy our new show- Tales of the Unexpected.”
He was momentarily drowned out by a spontaneous round of applause. I was surprised by how passionate people seemed to be, but then, this was a packed-out show for two of the most instantly recognisable magicians in the world. Just because it wasn’t the first thing I’d have chosen to do didn’t mean that some people weren’t crazy about it. I pulled my brain back into focus as Eric continued to talk.
“Over the course of this evening, Oliver and I will be weaving many a tale- from tales of loves lost and found again, to tales of wanton debauchery the likes of which most of you will never even be able to imagine.”
Try me, I thought.
“So, settle in, and be prepared for a show which will have your mind doing somersaults and your eyes playing tricks on you. Are you ready for a night of magical entertainment?”
There was a deafening cheer from the audience around me.
“Very good. Oliver, shall we begin?”
Eric turned to his partner, and they exchanged a tiny smile, the kind you could only see if you were sitting as closely and watching as intently as I was. I wondered what kind of relationship they had; friends? Lovers? I shivered a little at the thought; the image of these two perfect men, naked, enjoying each other’s bodies, struck me in a way that I didn’t expect it to. I shifted my weight in my seat, hoping that my sudden shock of arousal wasn’t showing.
The show was a truly magnificent one, the kind that drew you in and didn’t let go. It was clear the two of them had spent months practicing the old-style vaudeville act, with each smoothly taking over from the other as they wove tales about saucy housemaids who wound up sawn in half by jealous wives, rich husbands who lost their money to secret lovers, and other tales that seemed plucked from an eighteenth-century penny dreadful. The way they bounced off each other, sliding into roles and taking on personas with ease, kept me enraptured; their chemistry together was really something else. And, of course, it didn’t hurt that they looked as damn good as they did. I pressed my knees together as my mind drifted without permission to the thought of being with one of them; the feel of their strong hands on my ass, their teeth on my breast…
Shut Up! And… Kiss Me
By Celia Styles
One
Matthew Ahearn was stretched out on the living room couch, thumbing through his copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray. He had read it more times than he cared to remember, but he always made it a point to review it before every semester’s teaching began.
“Matthew!” he heard his father call out from the kitchen. “Amanda and her son are supposed to arrive in an hour. Get off the couch and make yourself useful.”
He rolled his eyes, and slipped in a bookmark before shutting the book. Amanda was his stepmother, whom his father had married in Glasgow last weekend. Matthew had refused to go point-blank, since the prospect of some random woman invading his mother’s house along with her teenaged son hadn’t exa
ctly endeared the marriage to him.
But Matthew was nothing if not a dutiful son, at least for the most part. So he got up, and padded towards the kitchen.
“Amanda’s son will occupy Melina’s old room. I’d like you to go and set it up,” his father said, while chopping onions.
“Set it up with what? And does this son have a name?”
“Oh, James. I’m not sure, though. Could be Charlie. Or Alfred.” It horrified Matthew to see that his father hadn’t even bothered to learn his would-be stepson’s name.
“Jesus Christ,” he said, and went upstairs to his mother’s old room.
The room hadn’t been used in five years, ever since his mother had died. So it was clean for the most part, and the maid did dust it every other day. Matthew couldn’t figure out exactly what his father had meant by ‘setting it up’, but perhaps the subtext had been to remove anything that might remind anyone of Melina Ahearn.
And there wasn’t much. In the wake of his mother’s death, they had cleared out everything that might be a painful reminder: her clothes, her glasses, her cosmetics. Only her books remained, and that too because Matthew had put his foot down. They now resided in his room, the only remnants of his mother he was left with.
So Matthew checked if the lights and heating in the room were working, if the cupboards were empty and if the restroom was clean. Wondering what young whatever-his-name-was would be like and how he would treat this room, he shut the door behind him and went downstairs.
His father had prepared a scrumptious dinner for the four of them. Troubled though his relationship with Arnold Ahearn was, Matthew had to admit that the heartless bugger was a darned gifted cook. Amidst all the confusion about the wedding and the fights with his father, he had completely forgotten that today was St Patrick’s Day, and it was only upon seeing the mouth-watering Shepherd’s Pie, Potato Scones, Corn Beef and Steak & Guinness Pie that he remembered. Realizing that if nothing else, at the least the food would be worth tolerating Amanda and his mysterious stepbrother, Matthew felt his spirits rise considerably.
Around an hour later, the doorbell rang. Arnold got up to get it, and Matthew’s attention was focused on the dining table. But he couldn’t deny that he was slightly curious to know what his sort-of-family was like. He remembered Amanda McLoughlin from the pictures his father had shown him, but he had no idea what his stepbrother looked like.
Matthew’s speculation came to an end as Amanda and her son burst through their door. They were both carrying a duffel bag and suitcase each, and Arnold ran to envelop Amanda in his arms.
“Hello, laddie,” Arnold said to the boy once he was done with kissing his mother.
“Um…hello, Mr. Ahearn,” he said. Matthew couldn’t help but notice that he had a deep voice for someone his age, and the Scottish accent gave his voice a pleasing guttural edge. Suddenly, his father’s second marriage didn’t seem like such a bad idea after all.
“Meet my son, the reclusive Matthew,” his father said, indicating where he was sitting. Remembering his manners, he got up and walked towards them.
“Erm. Nice to meet you finally, Amanda,” he said, extending his hand.
“You too, Matthew. He seems like a fine boy,” she said, looking at Arnold. “I don’t know why you kept warning me about his standoffishness.”
Matthew shot his father a dirty glance, but his stepbrother’s voice turned his gaze away from Arnold.
“Hi, Matthew. I’m Charles,” he said, employing that intriguing voice. For a moment, Matthew forgot where he was.
He hurriedly shoved his hand into Charles’ outstretched palm, and was surprised to discover how warm and soft his hands were. He allowed himself to look at Charles’ face properly, and noticed that he had beautiful hazel eyes. His forehead had a few beads of sweat, from carrying all the luggage, and a drop of sweat was making its way down his nose. Matthew had a sudden urge to wipe it off, but wisely kept his hand in Charles’.
“Hullo?” Charles called out, trying to withdraw his hand from Matthew’s. It was then that Matthew realized that he had lost track of the time, and had been holding Charles’ hand for far longer than would’ve been polite.
“I’m so sorry…got a bit…distracted,” he said, licking his lips. All of a sudden, all the air seemed to have gone out of the room, and the feeling of Charles’ hand in his was all that he felt aware of. Wanted to feel aware of.
Reluctantly, he withdrew his hand from Charles’, and croaked out a “Nice to meet you.”
Charles nodded, looking a little befuddled, and if Matthew was being honest, slightly creeped out. Fear and anxiety clenched at his stomach, and he resolved to never let his guard down in front of Charles again. He couldn’t know. No one could possibly know what Matthew really was.
As their brand new family of four sat down for dinner, Matthew’s eyes kept darting towards Charles. He wanted to engage him in conversation, and possibly apologize for giving him such a creepy welcome, but he wasn’t sure how to do it without coming across as even more creepy and overeager. The last thing he wanted was for Charles to run to Amanda and Arnold, accusing his new stepbrother of being a pervert. Which, in fairness, Matthew knew he was. Charles wasn’t a day older than eighteen, and here was Matthew, twenty-seven, and rapidly falling in lust.
“So Matthew, little Charles here will be attending Blackrock, obviously,” his father said, taking a large bite of his steak.
“Uh…what?” he said, looking at the other three as though they had lost their minds.
“Yes. Amanda and I discussed it thoroughly,” he said, while she leaned in to him for a kiss. Charles shot Matthew a glance, who couldn’t help but roll his eyes. To his surprise, Charles grinned, and nodded commiseratively. The grin made Matthew feel just a bit better, so he pressed on.
“I don’t think it’s such a good school,” he said, trying to sound conversational and totally not personally invested in their decision to send Charles there. There was no way he was letting Charles be around him all the time. Already, Matthew knew he wasn’t to be trusted around the unsuspecting teenager.
“It’s good enough for us,” Amanda said, still holding Arnold’s hand. “Besides, my Charles here is a bit of a self-learner. It doesn’t matter what school he goes to, and Blackrock is the nearest.”
“Plus, you can look after your little brother, make sure he doesn’t fall in with the wrong sort,” his father said, through big mouthfuls of steak.
At this, both Matthew and Charles snorted at the same time, spraying drink all over the table. He caught Charles’ eye, and before they knew it, a hysterical fit of giggles had overtaken both.
“What’s funny?” demanded Amanda.
“Mum, I’m eighteen. Hardly worth being called ‘little brother.’ I can take care of myself,” Charles said, wiping the drink off his face. Matthew’s eyes hadn’t left him, and he wished it were his fingers doing the wiping.
“I agree,” he said, tearing his gaze away from Charles. Little or not, he’s still your brother, for all intents and purposes. And you’ve got no business looking at him like that, he tried to chastise himself. But his groin had a mind of its own, and twitched at the sight of Charles’ cranberry juice-wetted pink lips.
Matthew deliberately spilled cold water on himself, and moved his crotch under the table, hoping it would do something to hide the inappropriate thoughts that were coursing through his mind.
“Oh watch out,” Charles said, and Matthew groaned inwardly, realizing that he was past the possibility of caution. If Charles was going to be around him in school as well as at home, there was no way he would be able to retain his composure, and the truth was bound to get out, sooner or later.
After dinner, Matthew was asked to show Charles to his room, something he had very mixed feelings about. He was glad to get the boy to himself for a while, but not acting on his overwhelming desire was a task for a man stronger than he. He had managed to suppress his erection somehow at the dinner table, but now that he
was alone in Melina’s room with Charles, it roared back into existence.
Dark Stallion
By Celia Styles
Chapter 1
“Over there.” Sara jabbed her finger at a waiter who seemed rather confused about the placement of the hors d’oeuvres. “The cheese doesn’t go out with the petite fours, please.”
The waiter nodded even as Sara turned away, her attention drawn to another waiter who was sticking his fingers inside each and every wine glass.
She hated planning this party—still couldn’t believe she’d gotten talked into it. It was torture, right up there with watching her stepbrother give a speech at their high school graduation when she knew that she should have been the one up there—she had the grades, the volunteer hours, the clubs and student council—but he had a flirtation with the assistant principal.
Elliot and his damn charm.
He was always winning the privilege of doing things that he shouldn’t be allowed to do, or getting out of things he should be doing, all because people thought he was so pretty, so perfect.
He should have been here, helping Sara with this party. The thing was his idea in the first place. He was the one who agreed to plan it, to make sure everything went off without a hitch.
But was he here?
Of course not!
It was their parents’ fifteenth wedding anniversary. Fifteen years since Sara’s mother turned her life upside down and brought her to this place, to live with people she didn’t know and couldn’t have cared less about. She would have been perfectly happy to remain in Houston with her friends and her Aunt Janey. Heck, she would have been perfectly happy to be the first ten year old to live on her own with only her favorite teddy bear as her companion.