Serviced_A Reverse Harem Novella_Little Black Book Club
Page 9
Fuck that. Slap my ass and pull my hair for fuck's sake.
I remember the first time I tried to be vocal in bed. Just like I had read about in my secret vice, dirty erotica books that I read on my phone. There was something about reading those powerful words that turned me on, those women between the pages that had no inhibitions—no hang-ups at all— about telling a partner what they wanted to do to them in bed. I wanted to be like that.
I lost my virginity at sixteen. It was pretty much the average age for sexual activity, at least in my high school, and it was as boring, vanilla and awkward as one would expect. I didn’t pick up my first piece of sex fiction until I was almost eighteen years old, and my mind was blown.
This was the thing I had been missing.
Filled with this newfound knowledge, confidence, and power, I went into sex with my then—boyfriend optimistic and happy. Until I told him I wanted him to “eat my pussy like you paid for it,” and all of that power and confidence flew out the window as he looked at me in horror. It was awful, actually, watching his teenage erection fade at my first attempt at dirty talk. I hadn’t meant to make it awkward—all of the men in my books seemed to love it when a woman was naked and mouthy. Apparently, to a seventeen-year-old boy, a talkative bed partner meant a loss of control like I was trying to take the Alpha position away from him or something. He couldn’t handle it. And as I saw the expression of disappointment spread across his face, the one that said I had shattered his expectation he had created for me, I knew I couldn’t continue on like this.
I wasn’t a toy. A pretty little blonde doll for these boys to play with. I was a woman, and just because I was small and cute didn’t mean I should be treated like a child. That relationship didn’t last long. Neither did the next three. I was excited after high school because college meant an entirely new pool of dicks to choose from. People who didn’t know me, and might not be so quick to judge me based on my looks.
No longer was I the teenage girl from Southern Texas who spoke with a slow drawl. Nope, going to college in Pittsburgh meant that I could meet new people, try new things. The population was huge compared to my little hometown. There had to be someone that shared the same sexual vision as I did.
I made some mistakes.
Apparently, to some people, wanting to be adventurous in the bedroom is akin to sexual deviancy. And while I fail to understand why those two should be hand-holding lovers, I learned the hard way that not everyone thinks like I do.
When I was a freshman in college, I found the back page ads in the paper. Not the city paper mind you, but the free paper that pretty much anyone can contribute to—including those pages of missed connections, looking for’s, and skeevy sex ads. I found out from reading those pages that I am not a fan of being passed around, spit on, humiliated, or used.
Swinging and orgies are also not my thing.
I just want a regular loving relationship with a man who is open enough to new experiences that we can experiment in the bedroom. That’s all. I don’t know why that is so difficult to achieve, but by my junior year of college I had given up trying. I was tired of wasting my time getting to know someone, having feelings for someone, and then finding out that we were not sexually compatible.
By my experience, anyone who was wanting to talk about that up front and right away tended to be someone not interested in the relationship part, and just wanted to get down to business. I got tired of looking and tired of trying. I was too busy with school to keep investing so much of myself in trying to find the perfect partner. So, I stuck to my books and my battery operated boyfriends. My fantasies stayed a private thing.
Until they were ripped from my hands and put on display in the most delicious way.
Overnighter Chapter 2
Sample
I met him by accident. I wasn’t even looking for that angel with the voice of a demon. Or the demon with the voice of an angel. Whatever. I had actually been looking for a book. Not even an erotic book either—I’d been looking for a textbook.
What the hell kind of campus bookstore didn’t even carry a required textbook for a class being held at the same damn university the bookstore was located? Apparently both of the ones I tried because I had to search long and hard to find “Intro to the Sexuality of Shakespeare” textbook to satisfy my Romantic Nature course, which was a required class for my English Lit degree. Not even the internet yielded me any clues.
I finally found the book after ten phone calls and an accidental misdial. A bookstore a half hour away in another city had my book. One copy, and since they couldn’t hold it for me, being it was the last one, they did let me purchase it over the phone. That was great, but I needed it for class the next day, so I had to pick it up before closing—which was in one hour. There was no need for a car on campus in a busy city, public transportation was everyone’s normal. Most days it worked just fine for me, but now, knowing that I would have to take two buses just to get to the middle of bum fuck nowhere to get my book fast and in a hurry, I cursed my lack of a personal vehicle.
But I had to have the book.
So I endured the bus change and the thirty-minute ride out into the suburbs with the e-reader up on my phone. I like to read on my phone more so than a tablet or other device because people are less inclined to interrupt you if you are reading on the phone. They see you reading a book on something larger, and it is almost an invitation to discuss your preferences.
“Oh, I see you are reading! What book is it?” I don’t like to be interrupted by strangers on the bus, but if they ask me that innocent question I will tell them with a straight face.
“Shifter ménage with a focus on male/male/female triads. I tend to like them better for Alpha heroes and the sex is usually hotter.” Most times, that’s a conversation ender right there. I don’t care if people think my books are weird—play stupid games, win stupid prizes. It wasn’t my fault they thought I was a teenager and made assumptions based on my appearance. It wasn’t my fault they were prudes.
By the time I stepped off the bus in front of Seconds, the bookstore sandwiched snugly between a charming dance clothing boutique and a coffee shop, the sun was getting low. I had fifteen minutes to get my book before they shut the doors for the evening. On Sundays most places had early closing times, but I didn’t have a choice. I had procrastinated for too long, and I needed that book for Monday.
I was not the only person who had waited until the last minute, as was evident by the cluster of bodies up near the register. I squeezed up to the front, waved at the frantic cashier and hollered, “I have a pickup – it’s being held for Violet Lindsey.” I showed my driver’s license just in case they were going to ask me for proof of identity, but the harried store clerk didn’t even pass it a glace.
“Yeah, I remember you. I took your call a little bit ago. It’s been so busy I haven’t even been able to leave the register,” the scrawny young man the overgrown mop of blonde hair and a green nametag said. James, it read. Poor James had a lot on his plate, but I needed my book. Like now.
“You guys are closing in like, fifteen minutes,” I said with a scowl. I took two busses for this shit. Gimme my book.
“The doors won’t lock until the last customer is gone,” James said as he continued to ring up each customer while barely making eye contact with them. “Today is Sunday, and there are actually a lot of students like you who waited until the last minute to get what they needed. Let me guess. Campus bookstore was already sold out of what you needed, and you called here as a last resort?” My face must have answered his question because he barked a laugh as he continued to ring up sales on the register. “It happens to a lot more people than you think,” he said between dings as his register drawer opened and closed. An audible stamp signifying the close of a deal. Here is your change, ding, thank you come again.
I was frustrated, but I couldn’t take it out on James. He was just a kid trying to do his job in what was clearly a busy environment. “Here,” he said su
ddenly, ripping a piece of paper off a stack next to the register. “This is your book ticket. Go to the back and around the corner,” he pointed vaguely towards the back of the store, “and see if you can find Avery stocking books and cleaning shelves. He isn’t doing anything important—tell him to grab this for you. That way you don’t have to wait for me to finish because let’s be honest, I’m going to be here for a minute.” Ding, thank you come again.
I took the ticket and graced him with my most charming, country girl smile. Normally when I gifted those smiles, the receiver couldn’t help but smile back—on account of how wholesome and sweet I looked. James barely looked at me again after handing off his assignment. The register drawer opening and closing the end of our interaction. Ding, thank you come again.
Grateful for the reprieve, I grasped the paper and wandered down the aisles towards the back of the store, looking for this person named Avery. Probably a geeky kid with glasses. Avery sounded like a guy who probably got wedgies in the locker room and played the cello in the orchestra because the bass was too tall and heavy to work around.
Less inclined to hurry now that I knew the store would be open for as long as it took for the last customer to be helped, I moseyed slowly past tall shelves teeming with books, their spines straight and gleaming. Back, further still, until I reached the back wall of the store, and upon taking a right I saw him. He was standing next to a cart overflowing with paperbacks looking for their proper home.
He was there, and holy shit if my tongue didn’t become glued to the roof of my mouth while my brain sent electronic impulses to my breasts and thighs. Toes curling in my Reeboks, forgetting that it was not appropriate to get sexually excited in the dark shadows of a musty bookstore. My brain didn’t remember simple rules like that, I was lucky I remembered my name as I processed the site in front of me.
I’d found Avery.
Coming soon from Remi Richland
Overnighter - A dark erotic romance releasing June 2018
Friends Like You - a Menage novella releasing late summer 2018
Show Me Your Voice - An M/M Novella releasing Fall 2018
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