by Alison Tyler
Table of Contents
Also by Alison Tyler
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Introduction
LUCIFER AND VENUS
FIRE WOMAN
WHITE HEAT, WHITE LIGHT
CARRYING A TORCH
OUT OF THE FRYING PAN
THREE ON A MATCH
ONE HUNDRED DEGREES IN THE SHADE
BURNED
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
ONE HOT SLUT
TRIAL BY FIRE
WHERE THERE’S SMOKE
TEXAS HOT
FLICK THAT BIC
THE SALSA BAR
FANNING THE FLAMES
ON A HOT TIN ROOF
HOT OFF THE PRESS
SCORCHED
THE LAST CIGARETTE
SOME LIKE IT HOT
FIREBOY
JUST ADD WATER
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
ABOUT THE EDITOR
Copyright Page
Also by Alison Tyler
A Is for Amour
Afternoon Delight
B Is for Bondage
Best Bondage Erotica
Best Bondage Erotica, Volume 2
C Is for Coeds
Caught Looking (with Rachel Kramer Bussel)
D Is for Dress-Up
E Is for Exotic
Exposed
F Is for Fetish
Frenzy
G Is for Games
Got a Minute?
H Is for Hardcore
Hide and Seek (with Rachel Kramer Bussel)
Hurts So Good
The Happy Birthday Book of Erotica
Heat Wave
I Is for Indecent
J Is for Jealousy
K Is for Kinky
L Is for Leather
Love at First Sting
Luscious
The Merry Xxxmas Book of Erotica
Naughty or Nice
Never Have the Same Sex Twice
Open for Business
Red Hot Erotica
Slave to Love
Three-way
For SAM
Water, water I desire,
Here’s a house of flesh on fire;
Ope’ the fountains and the springs,
And come all to bucketings…
—Robert Herrick
INTRODUCTION: LIGHT MY FIRE
I don’t have to tell you that I’m the type of girl to hold my hand over a flame. I don’t have to confess that the glow in a man’s eyes over a lit match makes me wet. And I don’t have to whisper to you that I have an undeniable urge to move closer to incendiary situations, when I ought to flee in the other direction.
But I am telling you.
I’m telling you that danger doesn’t just turn me on.
It lights my fire.
In this collection of twenty-one erotic stories, couples set their boundaries aflame, like in Shanna Germain’s “White Heat, White Light”:Despite her stare, I take his cigarette. I take it and slide it into my mouth to taste the spongy paper that is supposed to filter, to protect me from something: the smoke, the heat; myself.
Sommer Marsden’s “Fire Woman” focuses on a different type of warmth:Buried deep inside her heat, I had fucked her until I thought my vision was going, bright white spots appearing in my sight in the murky purple light.
While A. D. R. Forte’s “Texas Hot” is all about the weather:Heat-soaked air, moist and sticky like my fingers on my clit as I watch him from my window: Shirtless, denim shorts. Skin glistening with sweat.
See, there’s hot and then there’s hot. Some writers poured out the emotional kerosene and tossed on a match. Others watched the temperatures rise indoors and out. One creative author wooed me with a water tale, which I used to end the book—a cool refreshing finale to a crackling collection.
Be it a flick of a BiC or the glowing embers of a bonfire, these stories will stoke anyone’s fire.
XXX,
Alison Tyler
LUCIFER AND VENUS
Nikki Magennis
When I think of him I smell the hot gravel tang of phosphorus.
He lights matches with his thumbnail. He’ll burn a whole box, flicking each red-tipped head until it flares into life, shaking out the brief flame and tossing the blackened stick at his feet. Profligate. Fickle. Mesmerizing.
Every night he circles, restless, glittering at every woman he passes. And later still, when the night’s bleaching pale, at last he’ll drag that sharp nail across my throat, between my breasts, over my belly, and down to the soft dark shadows.
He’ll strum until I catch light and turn brilliant.
Venus (“The morning star”) used to be called
Lucifer as it rose in the morning “like a second sun.”
— Pliny the Elder, Historia Naturalis
“Lucifer,” or light-bringer, was also a term used for early friction matches.
FIRE WOMAN
Sommer Marsden
Emma likes to watch the fires. The ones we set for rookies so they can practice. She sits back on the perimeter so the chief doesn’t catch her and she paints herself. The first time I saw her doing that, I thought she was doodling on her skin. Instead she was painting her smooth tan skin with invisible ink some bouncer named Mac had given her.
That first time, I tried not to be distracted with her sitting out in the high weeds. She sat in a canvas camping chair like she was at a baseball game. Her hair, the same color as wheat in the fall, whipped in the high wind—the same wind that was driving the flames to dangerous heights. I was watching her when I should have been watching Brian, the new kid. My gaze kept pulling to her way out there, hunched forward like she was about to cheer. Then she would look down and write on herself with that pen that looked like a kid’s magic marker.
“Little attention here, Zach!” the chief called, and I yanked myself back into the moment. Gustafson is a really nice guy and following my gaze, he said, “Anyone gets hurt and her ass is out of here, got it? I know you have yourself a little firebug. That’s cool as long as this is the extent of it, but I can’t have anyone getting hurt because your dick’s got you distracted.”
I nodded. “Got it. No problem.” I stopped watching her but in the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but wonder about what she was writing. I found out. And my dick was happy.
Now we’re out in the sun, and it’s about a hundred in the shade. Emma’s in her cutoff sweat shorts that should be illegal and a tank top. Her honey blonde hair is tugged up into a messy knot that almost makes it look as if she’s been electrocuted.
“You’re fucking up the hose, Nelson,” I bellow and my eyes go to her on their own. She’s writing again. And responding to the stimulus like Pavlov’s dog, my cock grows rigid and my pulse amps up. The hot humid air becomes even heavier as I try to draw it into my lungs.
I glance back in time to see Nelson right his wrong and I yell, “There you go. Keep it straight!” so the captain will know I am paying attention and not daydreaming about fucking Emma up the ass like two weeks ago when she had written little instructions along her skin. Then she had taken me home and turned on her black light. I had followed the instructions explicitly, reading her creamy tanned skin as it glowed neon white in the odd heavy light.
Eat my pussy…had been written above the waistband of her shorts. I had followed that order with glee until she squirmed, thighs clamped around my head, and moaned ab
out how my stubble rubbed and hurt but felt so good. She came for me then, sweetness sliding over my lips and my tongue, three fingers buried in her sweet cunt.
Fuck me doggie style…had been written on one thigh. And I had flipped her over, giving her tight little ass about six good smacks. I alternated the way she liked until her back arched and her head flew back. I pressed my cock to her and slid in with one agonizingly slow stroke. Buried deep inside her heat, I had fucked her until I thought my vision was going, bright white spots appearing in my sight in the murky purple light.
I had reached around to rub her clit until she flexed under me, thin but strong, the muscles in her back bowing with the force of her orgasm.
“Read my right calf,” she had gasped, and I had glanced down to see it. I’d almost come right there. Right then.
Fuck me up the ass, Zach…the impossibly greenish white letters had read and I felt my cock jerk involuntarily. I had made some deep caveman sound and she had said, in a voice full of knowing, “Lube’s under my pillow.”
We used nearly all of it. Until she was coated in the cool slick gel and I was slicked up and so slippery handling my own cock had been like handling a wet eel. When I pressed to her and she pressed back, I’d nearly lost it again. But after two false starts, I had buried myself in the hot tightness of her ass and in six glorious strokes had come like I was dying.
I pull my attention back to Nelson, who has now stumbled and somehow in the heavy gear, with the heavy hose, strapped himself under the monstrosity. I run ahead and whip it to the side so he can roll out. “Cap sees you and you’re fucked. No time for rolling around on the ground when the fucking house is on fire,” I say, a little more harshly than I intend.
Just then a yellow orange tongue of flames licks at the hot blue summer sky and I see Emma in my peripheral vision. Her head is thrown back like in orgasm, her eyes wide when she pushes her sunglasses back. Her hair whipping in the hot dry wind. She squirms like she is wet between her legs and my cock jerks again—wanting her and what she has. The feel of her, the heat of her, the little sounds she makes when she comes that make me fucking crazy. In my mind I hear the song I always sing to her, T-t-t-t-twistin like a flame in a slow dance, baby. You’re driving me crazy. Come on, little honey. Come on now…
But we barrel on, Nelson and I and the other guys on duty today, the other ones who are sweating and panting and ready to die to teach a handful of rookies how to keep other people from dying. But in my mind, I’m fucking Emma in the black light.
When my shift is done, she’s sitting in the SUV with the engine running. The inside is cool and her sweat shorts have bunched up and show the tops of her smooth thighs. I can see the swell of her pussy lips because she isn’t wearing panties. The tinted windows give the inside of the vehicle a secret cave feel.
“Get in the back,” she says, shifting in her seat in that urgent way that instantly gets me hard.
I climb between the seats, shoving my bulk through the too small opening. The back seats are down. I hadn’t noticed. I hear the power locks engage and then she is backing through the opening, her ass coming at me in her super-short shorts. I put my fingers up under the ragged hem and touch her ass, find her slick heat, finger her as she tries to maneuver, a low laugh escaping her.
“You have no patience.”
“True.” I yank her back to me and push at her shorts. “God, I want to fuck you.”
She hands me something small and black. Made of smooth plastic, it fits in my hand. “What is it?”
“Thumb the button.” She kisses my lower lip and runs her small hand over the ridge of my cock. My Dickies are filthy and harsh with dust. They rasp under her touch. She squeezes and a warm slow pleasure takes me over.
The black light springs to life, and the inside of the car is now a nightclub. I can only assume this is on loan from the infamous Mac. She turns and smiles, her white teeth glowing like the Cheshire cat’s in Alice in Wonderland. I do feel like I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole, but I like it very much. Along her cleavage she has written, Unzip your pants. Show me your cock…
“Well,” she says. “What are you waiting for?”
I do as instructed and stare transfixed as my cock springs free and aims right at her. It’s got a mind of its own, or so it seems. She leans forward, on hands and knees. A gorgeous creature with wild hair and a wilder nature. She takes me between her lips and her teeth glow surreally as she sucks me in. I watch my hands as I shove them into her mass of hair, watch the white nails shine like phantoms as they disappear to burrow in the honey-colored mess. “Oh, god.”
“Your cock is hot. Really hot.” She licks up the back and then swallows me down. I clench my jaw to stave off the orgasm that is rocketing toward me.
She sucks and licks until I’m fucking her mouth like I have no manners at all. But she likes it. She always has. And that leaves me free to fuck hard and pull her hair a bit. She pushes me back and lifts her top to bare her midriff.
Ride him cowgirl…glows along her flat belly. I can’t help but laugh as my cock points straight up in the small dim back of the SUV. She climbs aboard, the inside of her unbelievably hot, hotter than the burning building I have just left. Emma leans in, kisses me, bites my lip.
“This won’t take long,” she says. “I want you so bad. But don’t come, Zach, don’t come, okay?”
I nod, grit my teeth, pray I can keep my word as she starts to move.
The small light has lit the inside of the car and I watch bits and pieces of her body, her skin, her clothes flashing like sunlight off of water. When she tosses her head back and cries out as she comes, her cunt clenching around me so tight it nearly hurts, I pinch her nipples and she makes a lower noise that almost pushes me past my ability to hold fast.
“I don’t think I’m good for much longer, Em,” I manage.
She slides down me and she’s humming. “I like to watch you with the fire,” she says. Her tongue drags along my thigh; her teeth flash surreal and bright.
“I know, baby.” I’m touching her hair again.
“I like to smell the smoke on you,” she says and licks along my shaft until I have to shut my eyes.
“I know, baby.” It is a smell that most women hate.
“I like how hot you are when you walk through the fire,” she says and swallows me whole. I feel like I’m all the way down her throat and her tongue is dancing over me and I am turning into smoke and flames and bright fairy lights that glow like the sun.
“I know, baby. God, I know.” And I am coming, clutching at her hair.
WHITE HEAT, WHITE LIGHT
Shanna Germain
Night is falling. In the rising dark, I am free. For now. The bonfire lights my way to him, a grounded star trail a thousand hours long. I travel with the speed of light on winged sandals until I am there, in front of him, fierce and free in my summer dress. In the wind, my hair whips around my head. It makes untamable snakes with pretty patterns.
He notices. We’ve noticed each other all day, with the kind of noticing that happens in the eyes and the mouth and the body. The kind of noticing that is only noticed by the people doing it. Or so we’d like to believe. Now, we drift toward each other around the bonfire, pretending this is not a predestined course. Pretending this orbit does not end in collision.
From here, with the bonfire so close, with him so close, I look back and barely see the light that shines from the window of my cabin. Inside that cabin, there is a man sleeping. I won’t think about him. Instead, I’ll look into the face of this other man, the one who stands in front of me now, holding out a cigarette.
I don’t smoke, but I take the cigarette from his fingers. He has blue eyes, the kind of blue that I’ll see in the crash of waves a hundred years from now and that will knock me to my knees. I know this, like I know what sadness is coming on the blue dawn. What pain.
It doesn’t matter now. In the dark, the blue dawn is a thousand hours away. First, there is this bonfire, big a
s a horse, a house, a barn, burning down the sky. In the middle of nowhere, lake on one side, forest on the other, the fire is the only thing bright enough to scare away the stars. As it grows, more stars blink out. The tiny Dolphin has already disappeared in the dark sea of sky. Part of the Eagle’s wing has folded from sight. From her black bedspread, the chained lady—Andromeda—watches still, her bright stars glittery as eyes.
Despite her stare, I take his cigarette. I take it and slide it into my mouth to taste the spongy paper that is supposed to filter, to protect me from something: the smoke, the heat; myself.
My dress is too flimsy for the night. The fire licks at it with its heated tongues but doesn’t come close enough to warm me. I slide closer to him, let his silhouette cover me like a blanket.
The wind picks up, gathers sand and sparks and grinds them together in small whirlwinds that grit my eyes. I can’t close them. I’d miss something in the far reaches of his eyes, in the hidden corners of his fingers. Is this how Andromeda feels? I wonder. Destined to see all, to watch forever, even as her eyes thunder and bring rain.
“Want me to light it for you?” he asks. I do. Of course I do. He doesn’t lean in with a lighter or cup his hands around a match. He slides the cigarette from the stickiness of my lips. I taste the smoke of the night. Filter gone. Protection gone. Gone.