Once: A Collection of Sinfully Sexy and Twisted Tales

by Anthology

  I know Leah’s smile is meant to be encouraging, but I have trouble returning it.

  She takes me by the shoulders looking me straight in the eye. “Katherine, relax. It’s just open mic night at a small town bar. No pressure here.”

  What’s that code for? Expectations are low?

  “Okay, I’m off to my seat.”

  Giving me a quick peck on the cheek, Leah’s gone, leaving me a bundle of nerves.

  A moment later I hear the host introducing me asking the crowd to give me a warm welcome. I take a deep breath in an effort to calm the hammering of my heart in my chest.

  The lights in the bar dim as I step out onto the small stage and into the spotlight. The chattering of the crowd peters out and an expectant hush hangs in the air.

  This is it; time to see if two months of rehearsal have paid off. Gerry plays the opening bars on the piano. I take another breath and close my eyes.

  Maybe I should have chosen a different song, but if I can make it through the first lines I know I’ll be okay.

  Evan always used to love me singing this to him. But he’s not my anything anymore, funny or otherwise. And the bastard left me just before Valentine’s so it’s doubly poignant. But it’s also a favorite of mine. And if any song can put the past behind me, it’s this one.

  The first words slip past my lips and I relax into it, my confidence growing with every line.

  There’s a moment’s pause as the last note of the piano fades and I hold my breath, too nervous to open my eyes.

  Then the applause starts, and grows. There are shouts of “more” and I look over at the host. He nods encouragingly. We’re only supposed to be on for one song, but thankfully Gerry and I have rehearsed another.

  I look over the crowd as they settle, and prepare to sing again. Green eyes return my gaze as it lands on a familiar face.

  Gerry plays the opening notes of the second song and I close my eyes. I can’t look at him as I sing.

  “Embrace me. I want your arms about me…”

  The last lingering note of the piano hangs in the air and I open my eyes, my gaze instantly finding his. People are on their feet, but he remains in his seat. His lips are slightly parted; the look in his eyes soft as they hold mine.

  Leah’s loud ‘whoo hooing’ breaks the spell.

  I step down from the stage and immediately find myself enveloped in her effusive hug.

  * * *

  There’s warmth to the sun that heralds a beautiful day ahead. Of all the seasons, spring is my favorite.

  The ornamental cherry trees lining the sidewalks are in full bloom; a gentle breeze sending their delicate blossom fluttering ground ward like a benign snowfall. The pale golden glow of the early morning sun reflects in the dew of the manicured lawns like carelessly scattered diamonds.

  My neighborhood always looks its best at this time of year and I can’t help but smile. For all its faults, the snobbishness, the over-zealous residents association, the quickness to judge, it’s still a beautiful place to live.

  My heart swells as I turn at the intersection, driving down the familiar road into town. Spring is a time of renewal; rebirth, and I feel like I’m doing the same. Singing at the bar last night was just the beginning.

  Life is good.

  A sudden loud rapport like a gunshot jolts me from my thoughts. The back end of the car fishtails wildly. I battle to maintain control, taking my foot off the gas as the car skids across the lane. The hood of the car dips at an angle as it comes to a halt with the front wheels stuck in the ditch that runs alongside the road.

  I sit gasping for breath as my heart beats wildly in my chest. My hands are shaking and I take them from the steering wheel.

  A moment later I startle as the driver’s door is wrenched open.

  “Are you okay?” a male voice close to my side asks.

  I hadn’t heard a vehicle pull up behind me, my pulse pounding in my ears drowning out all sounds.

  “Are you hurt?” he asks; his tone more urgent now, needing an answer.

  “No. I−”

  The man reaches in and takes my arm, helping me to get out.

  I look up at him. The brows above his green eyes crease in concern. His mouth is formed into a line of worry. The jaw below it shadowed with stubble. Even through my adrenaline-fuelled haze I register it’s him.

  “You’re shaking.”

  He wraps his arms around me and I sink into his strong embrace. It feels comforting, and safe. An unconscious murmur slips from my lips as he pulls me tighter to him and strokes the back of my head.

  And I hear his long, low sigh.

  My breathing slows as my heart rate returns to normal.

  Releasing me from his arms, he takes a step back. “I was behind you and saw the blow out. You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. It was just the shock; the suddenness of it.”

  “I haven’t got a tow-rope in the truck, but I can give you a lift into town or wherever you’re headed.”

  He leans into my car to remove the keys and reaches across to the passenger side for something.

  I probably shouldn’t be admiring his ass, but hell, the way his jeans hug it, what woman wouldn’t?

  The scent of pine needles invades my memory. I blush inwardly, recalling how I’d used the fantasy of him to fulfil my sexual needs that night.

  Closing the driver’s door, he hands me the keys and my bag. “I’ll call the garage and have them tow your car to the shop and get the spare tire put on.”

  Placing his palm on the small of my back he leads me to his truck.

  Little darts of pleasure pulse through me at the feel of his hand sliding down to cup my ass as he gives a little push, helping me climb in.

  Closing the passenger door he makes his way around to get in his side.

  “Here, let me,” he says, leaning over as I fumble with the seat belt.

  His knuckles brush against my thigh as he clicks the buckle in place. He looks up, his gaze locking with mine.

  My breath catches in my throat at the intense look in his eyes.

  His mouth is inches from mine. If he kisses me now I’d kiss him back.

  Leaning back in his seat, fastening his own belt, he starts the truck’s engine and pulls away.

  “Thank you.”

  “Think nothing of it Mrs Jefferson.”

  “It’s Taylor now.”

  “Ah, yes. I remember seeing the photos of the autumn fundraiser in the local paper. I’m sorry.”

  So he knew Evan is my ex-husband, which means... Interesting.

  “Don’t be, I’m not. Not anymore.”

  Without blatantly looking at him, from this angle it’s hard to tell, but I swear I see a small smile playing on his mouth.

  “And seeing as you’ve so gallantly come to my rescue, it’s just Katherine.”

  “Oh you could never be just anything, Katherine,” he murmurs, more to himself than to me.

  Even more interesting.

  “Well you know my name. Are you going to tell me yours?”

  He glances over to me. “Landon. Landon Carter,” he says before returning his attentions to the road.

  I look at his large hands gripping the steering wheel; thoughts of them caressing my naked thighs slinking across my mind.

  “So when you’re not rescuing damsels in distress what else do you do?”

  “I build eco-houses, and renovate old ones to be more environmentally friendly.”

  “And is business good? I wouldn’t have thought there was much call for that around here.”

  “There wasn’t, but people are beginning to realise we can’t keep depleting the planet’s resources without suffering the consequences.”

  He checks the rear view mirror before indicating and making a turn. “And we usually notice an upswing in the renovating side of business after people have gotten their winter bills.”

  “Now that I can believe.” I’d been shocked when I got mine. I had no idea. Ev
an had always taken care of the bills.

  There’s no traffic approaching from either direction, but he stops at the intersection; the ticking of the indicator sounding loud in the truck’s cab.

  He draws in a deep breath releasing it slowly. “You have a beautiful voice,” he says, turning his head to look at me. “You should sing every day, Katherine.”

  There’s something about how he says my name that has my pulse quickening and arousal pooling between my thighs. A soft huskiness that has me wanting to hear him murmur my name just like that while he’s buried deep inside me.

  He licks his lips, triggering another fantasy. His face between my thighs, tongue-fucking me as he sucks on my clit.

  Inappropriate.

  I come back to reality and realise my lips are slightly parted and I’m staring at him. Did I moan out loud or only in my head? Dear God, let it have been in my head.

  There’s a softness to his gaze that holds mine; a tenderness that speaks of deep longing. And he smiles; a warm, affectionate smile that causes little lines to form at the corners of his eyes.

  “Are you in a hurry? I mean, are you expected some place?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  The way he draws out the word causes a tingle of desire to scurry down my body and burrow into the warm wetness of my cunt.

  “There a great diner I know. It’s probably not what you’re used to, but you know what they say about change.”

  I don’t know what they say, but I’m thinking change can sometimes be a very good thing.

  “And they serve the best pie.”

  “Pie for breakfast?” I laugh.

  “Why not? Let’s live dangerously... You do like pie, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I tell him. “I like pie.”

  The End

  ABOUT TERRI GEORGE

  From a small child I've loved to lose myself in stories. I'm a firm believer that if heaven exists, it contains every novel ever written and has big squishy sofas to curl up on and read for all eternity.

  My comedy play, The Magazine was performed at The Bush Theatre in London and my poetry has been published in several anthologies. However, what I really wanted to write were novels. With several unfinished manuscripts languishing in the depths of my computer’s hard drive, it was my discovery of erotic romance that led me to the realisation this is the genre I should be writing.

  As English as they come, I couldn’t survive without tea. From Rachmaninov to Aerosmith my taste in music is best described as eclectic. And I make a mean chocolate cake.

  I currently live in London, England, but dream of moving to the coast. A long held desire I really hope to fulfill one day.

  Room Number 5

  By Alora Kate

  Chapter One

  Michael J. Johnson had a good life. He was the manager of a pet store, had a pretty wife and a lovely step-daughter. He was overall an honest, good and trustworthy man. For the most part he never lied, never stole and had never cheated on his wife or in life. He worked hard, harder than most others and took pride in his store and reputation.

  However, tonight--the night of his thirty fifth birthday--Mike was in a bit of a predicament. He was blindfolded, gagged and hand-cuffed to a chair.

  His last memory stirred in his head, slowly coming into detail. He was at the bar having drinks with his buddy’s to celebrate his birthday. He knew he had had a lot to drink, but he didn’t think it was enough to pass out and get himself kidnapped. He remembered going to the bathroom then leaving to go back to his table, but that was where the memory stopped.

  His arms were bent uncomfortably behind his back, his wrists secured tightly with the cuffs. He tried to wiggle free by raising his arms up and over the chair with no success. He felt the metal tearing into his skin followed by a burning sensation making him believe he might have broken the skin open. On top of the pain in his arms and wrists, he also had a horrible headache.

  His ankles were also bound and secured to the bottom of the chair. He couldn’t even get the chair to tip over. He relaxed the best he could, saving his energy and thought about why anyone would want to hurt him.

  Maybe this was a birthday prank from the guys, he thought. Or maybe my wife wanted to surprise me? A million questions ran through his mind but none of them made sense.

  His employees were dedicated and worked hard. They’ve worked for him for years and were loyal to the point he trusted them all. He met his wife ten years ago right after her daughter was born. His wife was loyal and he trusted her as well. He just couldn’t come up with a valid explanation with either of those as options, so he thought about it more.

  He knew he had a good marriage. He was happy. He couldn’t even remember them having any arguments over the years beyond little tiffs that were quickly settled, most certainly before bedtime. The only thing that bothered him was the lack of sex. Hell, over the span of their entire relationship there was a lack of sex. While his friends were talking about blow jobs and fucking their wives doggie style, Mike could only nod, smile and agree with them. His own stories would bore a Priest at confession and were most definitely not worth sharing. All in all, he was jealous of his friends.

  In the ten years they’ve been together they’ve only had sex a handful of times that he could recall. He doesn’t complain; he doesn’t beg, and he has not once mentioned anything to his wife. He lives his life day by day, going through the motions of life and hoping that one day things might change. That one day when she might come to him and actually want to fuck him.

  Prior to marriage they only had sex once. It wasn’t spectacular, the stars didn’t fall from the sky, but Mike enjoyed it. They both found their orgasm and he thought that after marriage things would change. He respected his wife’s decision to wait until their wedding night before they had sex again but Mike learned soon enough that two rings changed nothing.

  Mike concluded his wife had nothing to do with tonight’s activities.

  “Good...you’re awake.”

  He heard a woman’s voice echo in the room and could tell she was opposite of him. Even though the woman’s voice was soft, it sounded a bit husky, as if laced with some kind of hidden emotion. It only took a few seconds for Mike to realize this as-of-yet unknown woman had an agenda---and that agenda was him.

  He heard the heels of her shoes clicking on the floor growing louder the closer she got to him. His breathing picked up, having no idea what was about to happen. All he could do was try and stave off the panic.

  He moved the best he could in his chair. He tried to yell or scream for help but it only came out in a strangled muffled cry because of the gag in his mouth. He tried to push himself over, but the chair wouldn’t budge. He was stuck. It was useless. He was stuck with some crazy-ass bitch God only knew where.

  It was silent again but he could feel her presence. He knew she was close because he could smell the perfume on her skin. It was light vanilla mixed with a soft peach that only made him gag as his mouth began to water and he struggled to swallow the extra saliva.

  There was a gentle touch under his ear and his heart flew into panic-mode. She slowly dragged her finger down his neck and across his collarbone. It was then he realized he didn’t have a shirt on. He had no time to think about this new information because the woman spoke again.

  “I heard today was your birthday,” she softly whispered into his ear, increasing his heart rate even more. How did she know that? This chick was fucking nuts.

  He struggled with his restraints again...he wasn’t sure why.

  “Honey,” she purred into his ear. “You’re not going anywhere, at least not for a while.” She gently licked his ear and then placed a kissed just below it.

  “Delicious, Mike,” she purred once again while trailing a hand over his chest. “You taste fucking delicious.”

  His cock twitched. He panicked. He thought his heart was trying to free itself from his chest it was banging so hard. This couldn’t be happening.
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  She placed another kiss just below the first. Her lips were soft as she continued placing small kisses down his neck and stopped halfway across his collarbone. She leaned into him and he could now feel her breasts pushing up against his back. Plump, round, and bigger than average breasts he knew would not even begin to fit in the palm of his hands. His wife was a solid B-cup. Not the double-D’s or larger that were rubbing into his back. Despite his predicament, Mike was getting turned on.

  Stop thinking about her tits! he yelled at himself. You’re married!

  Her hands slowly moved down the back of his arms and her breasts were gone. She touched his wrists and he thought he heard her say something under her breath but he couldn’t be sure. The loud pounding in his ears was making it hard to hear.

  Her hands suddenly pulled away and he heard her heels click on the floor once again, this time moving away until he could hear them no more. She was gone. Mike couldn’t think, rationalize or comprehend what the fuck was going on. He was starting to get pissed. Why did she touch him that way? Why did she kiss him?

  Moments later the mystery woman was back, her heels clicking again and stopped behind him. She said nothing. He only felt a cool cream being applied to his wrists and then being wrapped up. She never removed the handcuffs and she never spoke. Mike thought this was a sweet gesture, but he was still pissed.

  After she was done tending to his wounds, things changed. Her hands slowly moved from his back, up over his shoulders and down to his chest. He had the luxury of feeling her breasts against his back again. He could feel her hard nipples through the material she was wearing. Her hands stopped just above his waist. She hooked a finger in his boxers and snapped the material against his skin. Mike flinched even though it didn’t hurt.

  “This is going to be fun, Mike. By the time I get done with you, you’ll be screaming my name and begging me to ride your cock. You’ll want to be buried deep inside my sweet, wet pussy over and over and over again." Mikes breathing was all but hitching now. "I’m going to make you come so hard, you’ll pass out. Then you’ll wake up and beg me for more.”