by Belle Aurora
A huge grin spreads across his face. “Next year? Does this mean…?”
“Yes, I do believe a tradition has been established. We’re Superhero Halloween central, and with all the time to plan, I’ll be in prime spandex shape by next year.”
He grabs me and twirls me around in his arms. “You’re the best!”
When he sets me down he strokes my cheek as he gazes deep in my eyes. “It was pretty awesome wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, the party was great but the way the evening ended was especially epic. It was so erotic how you set me free last night—and it wasn’t just with the scissors, Nathan.”
He sets his hands on my sides and with a look of longing, slowly slides them down over my bondage-free, curvy hips. When he gets to my thighs he slips his hands under my skirt and slides them back up my bare skin, ending with his hands holding my ass. “Do you feel how perfect you are when I touch you? Do you know that when I see you all naked and gorgeous in our bed I only crave you more?”
“I think I’d forgotten, but believe me, I’ll remember now.”
“Do that, sweetheart. You made me feel incredible last night. I hope I did the same for you.”
“You sure did.”
He lets out a long sigh. “It was out of this world, wasn’t it? Damn, at one point it felt like we were flying.”
I gaze at him thinking about where we were long ago when he started showing up in my office at Sketch Republic with hand-drawn coffee cups—and where we are now. This man, with his gentle soul and fierce love, is my everything.
I take his hand. “You know you may have felt like Clark Kent when I first met you, Nathan, but you’re all Superman now.”
The End
About the Author, Ruth Clampett:
I grew up in a cartoon world with a father who was an animation director and my mother, a cartoon producer. That upbringing inspired me to write about animators and share with the world why I love them so much. I’m also a fine art publisher by day and obsessed writer late at night, all while being a mother to a snarky teenager who loves comics and cartoons too.
While visiting my blog www.RuthClampettWrites.com also check out Mr. 365, a love story about Sophia, a reality television producer, and Will, an irresistible man who goes a little overboard with Christmas decorating.
You’ll also find information about my upcoming release that I’m wildly excited about, book one of the trilogy, Work of Art.
Author’s Note: Ruth Clampett
I hope you’ve had as much fun reading Spandex is for Superheroes as I had writing it (which was a lot!). If you’re inspired now to learn more about Nathan and Brooke’s auspicious beginnings I encourage you to check out their story: Animate Me. You can find purchase links and an unbelievable cute (and short!) trailer on my blog: www.RuthClampettWrites.com
You can also connect with me at:
https://www.facebook.com/RuthClampettWrites
https://twitter.com/Ruthywrites
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4115217.Ruth_Clampett
instagram.com/Ruth_Clampett
I’d like to thank the terrific authors on the Shiver team who included me in this anthology…and you, the awesome readers who are doing something really good for St. Jude Children’s Hospital with your purchase of this book. Thank you.
Macabre Magic by L.H. Cosway
Halloween. A bet. One spooky magic trick.
Part One: The Bet
“Scary movies have never really done it for me,” I said with a shrug.
I lay stretched out on the bed in the gigantic hotel suite. Jay and I were spending our honeymoon in a five-star resort in Miami. Having lived in rainy Ireland my entire life, it was a whole other world from what I was used to. I could definitely learn to appreciate all the sunlight. You’d never find yourself suffering from seasonal affective disorder in this part of the world. The sun was everywhere; it infiltrated every nook and cranny.
“Not even The Ring?” Jay asked in a curious voice as he lazily traced circles on my arm. “Everybody gets freaked out by The Ring, especially the original.”
I shook my head. “Nope. It’s like when it comes to horror films, I have this inability to suspend my disbelief. I just burst out laughing when the scary bits start. Plus, the title of The Ring is comical in itself. I feel like the person who came up with it was having their own little private joke at everyone else’s expense.”
Jay gave me a wry but amused look, and shook his head. “One week as my wife, Matilda, and already you’re making ass jokes. I must be a bad influence.” Despite his tone, he seemed pleased by that fact.
I grinned. Every chance he got these days, he was reminding me we were now married. Our wedding was a small affair; it took place in Las Vegas (which to me was glamorous with a capital “G”), and I got to wear a swanktastic dress. In comparison to the women on that Bridezilla show, I was particularly easy to please.
“Well, you’ve hardly let me put mine away since we got to this ritzy place. I’ve almost forgotten there’s such a thing as clothing.”
He feigned a confused look and put on a haughty voice. “Clothing? What is this sorcery of which you speak?”
I giggled, because my husband looked like the ultimate cool dude when you saw him on the street, but behind the bad boy façade lay a bit of an oddball.
His hand slid from my neck and down the center of my chest to rest on my belly. I could tell from the heated stare he was giving me that he was getting turned on, and we’d just had sex a half hour ago. This was verging on the ridiculous. I knew we were on our honeymoon and everything, but I did want to leave the hotel room and take a look around at least once. We were flying back to Vegas tomorrow. Since Jay had a full run of shows booked and our wedding was something of a spontaneous affair, we only had a three-day window in which to honeymoon.
Before my next thought could enter my head, Jay was parting my legs and climbing between them. For a moment I was mesmerized by the way his muscles moved and flexed as he held himself above me, the way his tattoos came to life as though dancing on his skin.
“Jay,” I half sighed, half whimpered, and leveled my hands on his shoulders. “We’re not having sex again. I’m going to be walking funny as it is.”
He cocked a sardonic eyebrow and tilted his head. “I don’t mind you walking funny, Watson. Besides, we’re not leaving this bed for the rest of the day, so it’s a nonissue.”
He started to push inside me, and I couldn’t help the moan that came out. Still, I clenched my thighs around his waist to hinder any further movement. He bit his lip and groaned. “Man, you’ve got strong thighs. Must be all that cycling. My wife is sexy as fuck.”
I shivered at him mentioning the words “wife” and “fuck” in the same sentence in that husky Boston accent of his. But I stayed firm; he wasn’t getting around me on this.
“I’m being serious, Jay. I think we should take a breather. And anyway, I’m starving.”
Bringing his mouth to my neck, he licked a long line from my throat to my jaw, and my pulse ratcheted up a notch. “Hmm, me too.”
My momentary distraction caused me to loosen my thighs, and his hips thrust forward, filling me up in one smooth motion.
“Ah! Jay, stop,” I gasped, my protest weak, my fingers digging into his shoulders.
His deep, satisfied chuckle did all sorts of wonderful butterfly-like things to my stomach. He slowly withdrew and flopped over onto his pillow, his arms thrown up above his head. Then he reached for the phone and quickly dialed room service, ordering enough food to feed a small country.
“What about The Exorcist?” he asked once he’d hung up, returning to our earlier topic of conversation.
“Hilarious, especially when the girl’s head starts to twist around.”
Jay’s mouth formed a flat line as he studied me, perplexed, and I could tell he was thinking real hard. “I bet I could scare you,” he murmured low, his voice giving me momentary shivers.
I rubbed ab
sently at the gooseflesh on my arms. The thing about Jay was that even though he was laid bare to me and all his secrets revealed, there was always a hint of mystery beneath the surface, always the idea that he could be thinking of something far beyond the realms of my paltry imagination. His mind was a kaleidoscope of trickery, and I was still learning how to navigate the terrain.
“That sounds ominous. Do you mean you could scare me because you’re in fact a psycho killer, or scare me with a magic trick?”
His eyes crinkled at the edges, and there was mischief in his gaze. “The latter, obviously.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Your tricks are cool and everything, but they mostly astound and amaze me rather than scare me.”
I loved that Jay was an illusionist. It was so incredibly exciting to live with someone who was constantly coming up with new ways to surprise people. It was also incredibly sexy when he was on stage. However, I was now accustomed to strange things happening, so the fact that I knew it wasn’t real made it hard for me to believe I’d be frightened. If something out of the ordinary occurred, my husband was usually behind it.
“Halloween’s in a few days, too. I think I’m gonna have to come up with a spooky trick just for you.”
“Go ahead,” I told him breezily, “but it will be a waste of time.”
His grin spread wide, and devilry played on his features. “Oh, yeah? Care to make a wager on that?”
“That I won’t be scared? Sure,” I said, and presented my hand. He took it in his, his thumb brushing along my pulse as he pulled me closer. “What do I get if I win?”
Jay’s eyes went dark, his voice low as he asked, “What do you want?”
I chewed on my lip, thinking about it. Finally, I responded, “How about if I win, you have to let me choose your stage outfits for a whole week, and you can’t argue with my choices?”
I managed the wardrobe for Jay’s magic shows in Las Vegas, which was where we’d usually be if we weren’t currently honeymooning, and he was often difficult when it came to what I chose for him. I wanted to put him in designer suits and those sexy V-neck shirts, but he always wanted to wear plain old combats and vests. He said a V-neck was a man vag, and he wasn’t going to be caught dead in one. I could wrangle him into a suit on occasion, but those occasions were few and far between. Apparently, you sweat like a motherfucker in a suit on a stage (his words, not mine.) I was also dying to get him into a Dixie bow. Don’t ask why — it just needed to happen.
He looked amused yet indulgent, giving me a tickle. “That’s what you want, you little weirdo?”
I gave him an expression that was half scowl, half ambiguous smile. “We both know dressing you is a secret pleasure of mine. Remember the suit I was making for you when you proposed? It was probably the thrill of seeing you put it on that made me say yes,” I teased.
Jay smirked and knelt on the bed, his hands braced on his knees as he stared down at me, his eyes smoldering. “You would have said yes regardless, but back to this bet. What do I get if I win?”
“I don’t know. What have you got in mind?”
It barely took him a second to answer, so I knew he’d already been thinking his prize up as we had our conversation. “You naked for twenty-four hours.”
Oh, typical.
“Jason!” I scolded jokingly. “What would the neighbors say?” Technically, we didn’t have neighbors, since we were living in a hotel until he finished his string of shows, but that was neither here nor there.
“Fuck the neighbors,” he swore, and gave me a hot look. “Anyway, we wouldn’t be leaving the suite for the entire twenty-four hours, if you catch my drift.”
“Oh, so your prize is basically sex for twenty-four hours. You were simply trying to dress it up all fancy-like.”
His eyes flashed at me, and I knew he was enjoying the way I baited him. “More like strip it down.”
I smirked. “Was that a pun?”
“It might have been.”
Stroking my chin, I affected a thoughtful expression. “Hmm. Okay, I’ll agree, on one condition.”
“And that is?”
“If you win, you get your day-long sexathon, but until the bet is over, which would be Halloween, there can be no more bedroom action.”
Jay shook his head ever so slightly, his disagreement simple. “Nope.”
“Hey, hear me out. If we don’t have sex for the next few days, it’ll make the prize that much sweeter, don’t you think? Otherwise, you’ll just be getting something you already have. My prize is something I don’t have, so I think your prize should be, too.”
A breath escaped him as he eyed me for a prolonged moment. “This is presuming I win.”
“Of course.”
He narrowed his gaze, trying suppress a smile. “You drive a hard bargain, Mrs. Fields.”
I held my hand out so that we could shake on it, and finally he took it. “I guess this means we have ourselves a bet,” I declared. “I’m confident you won’t be able to frighten me, but how do we measure it? How will you know if I’m covering up my fear?”
One eyebrow rose again, and I guessed it was a silly question. Jay had studied behavioral science for years, knew all sorts of mentalist tricks and ways to read people, so I presumed he’d be able to tell whether or not I was scared pretty easily.
“I have my methods,” he replied enigmatically.
“I know that. But we need to make a checklist. Break my fear down into a science so that the end result can’t be refuted.”
He considered me a moment. “People show fear in different ways. The most common symptoms are a widening of the eyes, raised brows, increased heart rate, flared nostrils, dilated pupils, tensing in the muscles, a dry mouth, sweating, trembling, and, of course, screaming.” He reached out and stroked a hand down my face. “A lot of these reactions are similar to arousal, when you think about it. Fear and sex create the same extremes in humans, although only one brings pleasure.”
I swallowed and tried not to blush. “Well, that sounds fairly extensive.”
We might have been married, but I still got goose bumps whenever he was suggestive. It was bizarre that I could still get shy around him, but there it was. In the grand scheme of things, we hadn’t really been together for very long. Still, I knew that I loved him, knew he was the only one for me.
“I’m nothing if not thorough,” he murmured, and leaned in to place a soft kiss on my mouth before climbing off the bed. He went into the bathroom, and I heard the shower come on. When he emerged fifteen minutes later, he was fully dressed, where usually he’d come out wearing a towel around his waist, hair wet, droplets of water still on his skin….
He must have seen the dreamy look on my face, because he chuckled. “What are you thinking about, darlin’?”
“Huh?” I bit on my lip, paused, then answered, “Just about how you normally come out of the shower wearing a lot less.”
More chuckling. “Well, I don’t want to go tempting you, now, do I? It’d be a sorry reflection on the both of us if we couldn’t stick to our sex embargo for more than thirty minutes.”
Oh, he was enjoying this. I had a feeling he was going to do his best to torture me for the next few days. I was, after all, the one to come up with the no-sex rule. A minute later, the room service arrived, and I decided to console myself with spaghetti carbonara. Carbonara consoling, I liked to call it.
After we were done eating, Jay retreated to the desk in the living area with his laptop. I got the feeling he was already researching his trick for the bet, and I began to wonder if I’d bitten off more than I could chew. It was true that I never really got frightened of horror films, but that was because I was sitting safely on my couch, watching them through the medium of a TV screen. Jay’s trick would be a trick, but there would be no safety blanket, no distance.
It would be happening to me in real time.
The idea made my skin prickle. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so difficult for him to scare me after all.
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***
For the rest of the evening, Jay had gone into “the zone,” as I often referred to it, when he was so consumed by an idea that he barely noticed the world passing around him. You could almost feel the air thickening, crackling with energy, could sense that something special was happening as he scribbled down notes unreadable to anyone but him and furiously looked for information in books or on his computer.
He was like that in most things.
Intense.
Obstinate.
Perilous.
It was a heady combination, and probably the reason why I was so fascinated by him. Often it felt like his energy consumed me to the point it was hard to focus. That was why I liked having my sewing. It didn’t take too much brainpower to stitch by hand, which was what I’d been doing while we were here, since I didn’t have my machine with me. It was a good way to distract myself from the man in my life and gain some focus. When I had nothing else to do, my hands always seemed to itch for a needle and thread.
After a while, I threw on a summery maxi dress and some sandals, and decided to take a walk around the resort. I ended up at the bar, where a handsome and flirty bartender mixed me a Sex on the Beach. He had suggested it, if you must know. Women who order sexily named cocktails while sitting alone at bars are just asking for trouble, especially when being served by young, available, flirty-mouthed males.
Can I have an Angel’s Tit?
You can if you show me your tits, angel.
How about a Screaming Orgasm?
Oh, those are my specialty.
I’m in the mood for a Bend Over Shirley.
I’d be happy to bend you over any time, Shirley, dear.
I could go on and on. Sometimes I wonder if some sneaky perverted barman invented all those drinks for his own personal enjoyment. Or for furthering his own personal sex life. Anyway, I was oblivious to the fact that this particular barman might find me attractive, until I went to take some money from my purse and he informed the drink was on the house while giving me a saucy wink. I was about to insist on paying, but he quickly turned around and went to serve two women sitting on the other side of the bar.