Coming Soon

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  “You were?” He feigned surprise, but there was undeniable mirth in his voice.

  “You know I was,” I said, punching his arm for good measure.

  Trey played me like a bluesman did his favorite guitar, with an irresistible blend of confidence, cockiness, and love. He could coax me to heights I’d scarcely imagined, which of course, made me imagine even more . . .

  I slid my hands down to Trey’s ass, pulling him tighter against me and wrapping my legs around his thighs to hold him there. Trey chuckled.

  “Easy Liv—I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Damn right you’re not,” I growled, thrusting up against him and squeezing his cock tightly inside me.

  “Oh fuck . . .” Trey’s hips rocked forward almost helplessly.

  “That’s right,” I murmured. Trey liked to control the tempo, but two could play games, and I wasn’t in the mood for any more leisurely lovemaking.

  “If I had a cock like yours and a hot, wet pussy wrapped around it, I’d want to fuck it nice and hard,” I said. Trey didn’t say anything other than to grunt, but the teasing strokes were gone, replaced with a steady rhythm that had definite promise. Trey liked it when I talked dirty.

  “I’d want to be so deep inside that girl that she’d make these little breathy sounds of pleasure, tell me that I fucked her better than anybody else.” He was moving the way I wanted now, deep strong strokes I knew would take me right to the edge.

  I’d never been with a woman, and Trey had never been with a guy, but both of us were open-minded enough to play with the idea from time to time, though I suspected I was a little more interested than Trey.

  “I’d fuck her so good she’d start digging her nails into my ass”—I flexed my short nails where they gripped Trey’s backside—“thrusting up against me like she couldn’t get enough, telling me to fuck her harder, to make her come.”

  We were both caught up in the fantasy now, our rhythm faster, our bodies fused together, sweat pooling between our bellies and chests.

  “And then her back would arch up off the bed and she’d cry out and come on my cock so hard she’d almost push me right out.” My orgasm was intense, sweeping through me just like the girl I’d been imagining. Trey was on the verge, building up to his own release.

  “And when she was done, I’d pull my cock out of her pussy and I’d make you suck it clear.” Trey shouted as his climax hit, shuddering and emptying himself into me.

  As fantasies went, this one stuck.

  It went from sexy bedroom talk to kitchen table talk, from something imagined in the heat of passion to something fleshed out with form and substance. Could we do it? Were we secure enough in one another to bring someone else into our bed? Neither of us was jealous by nature—I enjoyed the looks Trey got when we were out together just as much as he appreciated the ones I got—but what we were talking about went far beyond that.

  These were the questions we pondered as we went about our day to day. Trey was a music producer and I was a photographer and our work often overlapped. It was how we’d met; he’d hired me to do a photo shoot for a band he’d been working with, and the rest was history. Working in the arts had afforded us both many opportunities, and as we considered our new adventure, it seemed poised to do so again.

  Creative types tended to be more . . . creative . . . in ways that went beyond their chosen medium. In my experience, they tended to be more liberal minded about just about everything. As Trey and I opened to the possibility of allowing more into our relationship, it felt as though the world around us responded in kind. It was a subtle shift: an appreciative glance became a questioning one; a handshake lasted a fraction too long; a friendly hug became a little friendlier.

  We navigated the waters as deftly as we could. There was a fashion designer we met through a job I was working, but she was definitely more into Trey than me. Then there was a drummer in an all girl punk rock band, but she hardly noticed Trey existed. We were like Goldilocks, searching for that elusive just right. That’s when we met Samira.

  A friend of Trey’s needed a photographer to shoot a gig one of his clients was playing at a hip blues bar downtown. It sounded like a fun way to mix business with pleasure, so we went.

  She was already on stage when we walked in the door, her honey brown skin almost golden in the glow of the spotlight. Long black hair brushed the curve of her breasts seductively as she moved, and her eyes, when they hit me, were the most luminous shade of green I’d ever seen. She stopped me in my tracks.

  “That voice . . .” Trey was right; it wrapped around you like a lover, warm and sultry, as though she was singing for you and you alone.

  She smiled as though she knew exactly what kind of effect she had on us.

  Trey’s friend clapped him on the shoulder and broke the spell.

  “She’s something, isn’t she?”

  Trey shook his head like he was coming out of a dream. “Incredible.”

  “Liv, I reserved you guys a table up by the stage if you want to set up. Trey—let’s talk.” The two of them made their way to the backstage door, but I barely noticed them leave. All of my attention was on the woman who sang to me like a siren.

  I worked as unobtrusively as possible, capturing her again and again, swapping lenses for more intimate close-up work, adjusting speed and aperture to add warmth and depth. She sang about love and loss, but also desire. Her eyes were fixed on the camera as she sang about longing for a lover’s touch, and yearning for the taste of a kiss. The camera loved her, and by the time she’d finished her set, I was halfway in love with her too.

  After she left the stage, Trey and I sat reviewing some of the images I’d captured. He’d wrapped up his business and grabbed us a couple of bourbons from the bar. The house band had taken up in Samira’s absence, and the smooth sounds of an old Robert Johnson song mingled with the low murmur of conversation in the dimly lit club.

  “Do you like what you see?”

  I started at the voice in my ear. Samira’s laugh warmed the skin on my neck a second before her arm slipped around my shoulder. Her other arm was around Trey’s shoulder; my breath caught as his eyes met mine in a moment of perfect accord. We wanted her. The question was, did she want us?

  “Please—” Trey was quicker to recover than I was. “Sit. Let me get you a drink?”

  Samira smiled like the cat that got the cream.

  “Bourbon. Neat.”

  As Trey headed to the bar, Samira slid into his seat, pulling it closer to mine to look at the photos.

  “You’re very talented,” she said, scrolling through the shots.

  “You’re very beautiful.”

  I hadn’t meant to say that. The bottom dropped out of my stomach, but she just smiled that same smile and held out her hand.

  “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Samira.”

  “Liv.”

  Her hand touching mine felt more like a caress than a handshake.

  “A pleasure,” she said.

  Trey’s return saved me from having to find something clever to say. He settled on her other side as they made introductions and I took a fortifying sip of bourbon.

  Samira wanted to see everything I’d shot, and as we worked our way through the deck she’d stop me with a hand on mine, or squeeze my arm when she saw something she particularly liked. She’d turn to Trey to ask his opinion, resting her hand on his thigh when she did. We’d reached the bottom of our bourbons when she declared that that was enough business, and ordered us another round.

  Glass to her lips, she eyed us speculatively.

  “Is this the first time you’ve done this?” She sipped at her drink before setting it down. My eyes shot to Trey.

  “Done what?” He tried for casual, but his breath caught when she leaned in and stroked his jaw.

  “This.”

  She breathed the word against his lips, teasing his mouth open beneath hers. Arousal flared hot and bright inside me. I’d never seen Trey kiss another
woman, and it was so much sexier than I’d imagined. But it was more than that—it was Samira too. As she ended the kiss and turned to me, all I could think about was how her mouth would feel on mine.

  Her full lips glistened from Trey’s kiss, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from them. She placed a finger beneath my chin, urging my gaze upward until I met her eyes. Desire shone bright in their green depths. She was mesmerizing.

  I leaned in slowly, watching her lips part in anticipation. The first touch of my lips to hers was tentative, but she was soft . . . so soft and warm, that I couldn’t help but deepen the kiss, pressing more fully into her, biting back a moan when her tongue curled sensually around mine.

  Samira shivered when it ended.

  “I hope you’re going to invite me home with you?” she said.

  I loved her boldness; I loved sitting in the backseat of a cab trading kisses with her and Trey even more.

  By the time we made it to the bedroom, our hands were shaking in our haste to rid ourselves of our clothes.

  “Tell me what you want,” she said, when there was finally nothing left between us.

  She was beautiful. Full breasts, tucked-in waist, generous hips; the photographer in me wanted to capture every peak and valley, explore every shadowy curve. As I watched, Trey pressed flush against her back, drawing the black silk of her hair aside to kiss her neck, his hand sliding forward to cup her breast.

  Samira moaned, tilting her head back to allow Trey greater access. I knew firsthand what an incredible lover he was, but watching him with her, watching her respond, it was like I was seeing him for the first time all over again, and I’d never seen anything half as sexy in my life.

  He released her breast, hand trailing down her ribcage, over her stomach and further still, to the soft, smooth skin between her thighs. He stroked her clit and kissed her, then lifted her leg so it rested over his thigh. Taking himself in hand, he teased her wetness with his cock, then pushed inside with one smooth thrust.

  I couldn’t stop watching him move, watching his gorgeous cock fill her again and again. Samira moved with him, her body writhing sensually against his, her pussy coating them both with her desire.

  “Liv . . .” Her voice called me from my reverie, beckoned me closer. I moved in for her kiss, felt the thrill of her breasts pressed against mine.

  “Tell me what you want,” she said again, and this time, so close, her breath mingled with mine, I whispered it against her lips.

  “I want to be inside you like Trey is.”

  I felt the tremor go through her.

  “Yes,” she said, “oh yes...”

  It was the work of a moment. The strap-on I’d purchased when Trey and I had begun fantasizing about this was in my nightstand drawer. I fastened the harness around my hips, felt the weight of the heavy cock between my thighs. Samira and Trey both watched me hungrily, as arousal thrummed through me watching them in turn.

  Trey withdrew slowly. He rose to his knees on one side of where Samira lay, mirroring my stance on her other side. Reaching out, he touched the curve of my breast, my waist, then let his hand drift lower, just brushing against the smooth shaft of my cock. He didn’t say anything; he didn’t need to. As much as this was my fantasy, we were flirting with his too.

  “So beautiful . . .” Samira murmured, running one hand up Trey’s thigh and the other up mine. She wrapped her hand around Trey’s cock and drew him into her mouth, taking him deep before releasing him and then doing the same to me.

  I couldn’t stop the moan that escaped my lips any more than I could stop my hips from rocking forward at her touch. The way she held my cock made it press snugly against my clit, and watching it disappear between her full lips made me want to come so bad I felt weak in the knees.

  We’d been spread sideways across the bed, but we moved now with wordless harmony. Samira shifted so that she lay against the pillows, thighs spread in invitation, while Trey sat with his back against the headboard beside her, stroking his cock. His moment would come, but this one was mine.

  I moved up her body, learning her taste, her shape, what made her writhe against the sheets and what made her moan. When our bodies were flush from chest to thigh, she wrapped her legs around me and rocked up against me.

  “Please, Liv.” She breathed the words against my mouth.

  I had a hand on my cock to guide me, and then I was pressing into her, until I was as deep inside her as I could be.

  “Fuck, that’s hot.” Trey’s voice was low with desire. He was steadily working his cock in his fist, watching as I started to move, as Samira and I began to find our rhythm.

  Her body felt like fire around me, she was so hot, and already I could feel the beginnings of an orgasm tugging at me. I wasn’t ready for that though; I wanted to feel her, to make her feel so good she’d come all over me.

  I braced myself on my arms, opening up the space between us, watching my cock sink into her again and again, watching her watch it too.

  “You feel so good.” Her words came out a breathy moan. She slid her hand between her thighs, two fingers pressed against her clit, stroking herself as I fucked her. A flush rose on her chest, rising until it colored her cheeks, and if I’d thought she was beautiful before, she was even more so now—eyes closed, lips parted, dark hair fanned across the pillow as she chased her pleasure.

  Sweat broke out on my skin as she picked up her pace, hips rising off the bed to meet my thrusts, driving my cock against my clit so hard I didn’t know if I’d last until she came. Then suddenly her body arched and she cried out, shuddering as she reached her climax. It went on and on, and every second brought me closer to my own release. But as much as I wanted to come inside her, there was something else I wanted even more.

  “Trey.”

  He was already moving, and as Samira’s body stilled, I pulled out, kneeling on the bed. Trey’s mouth closed over my cock, and the sound he made, the sight of him sucking me off, made me come so hard I saw stars.

  My legs felt like Jell-O as I collapsed on the bed next to Samira. She kissed me languidly, stroking my body as my heart rate slowed. I unbuckled the harness and let everything fall to the side and we lay for a moment in a satisfied tangle of limbs. As though on cue, we both looked at Trey, still sporting an impressive hard-on.

  “Someone isn’t finished yet,” I said.

  “Finished?” Samira smiled her sexy feline smile. “I think we’re just getting started . . .”

  THE VOICE IN YOUR HEAD

  Victoria Diane

  There’s something life-changing about dying, even when you survive that death. Usually, though, this is a once-in-a-life-time occurrence.

  Hitomi’s life has been anything but usual, lately.

  Her room on the Orion feels colder than she’s used to, even though the environmental controls haven’t changed by even half a degree in weeks. She knows it’s the thrum of energy just under her skin heating her up, making the air seem cool in contrast. In the midst of a high-intensity adrenaline crash, she wants nothing more than to crawl out of her skin.

  Usually, combat is easy to recover from: a hot shower would do the trick. A particularly trying day would require an orgasm or two, even if they were simple and self-induced. Confronting the Caliph face-to-face would have been bad enough, but she had also saved the Endurance—their primary habitat ship— saved its captured crew, lost the Endurance’s captain, and she had died.

  Again.

  Hitomi is going crazy, and nothing seems to help. Meditation. Yoga. Sparring with Devon. Naked yoga—not with Devon. A hot shower. Two orgasms in said shower. Nothing has released the tension pulling at her shoulders, her chest, her very being. As a matter of fact, she’s pretty sure she’s wound more tightly now than when she first got back.

  And she can’t quit fidgeting. Stars fly past as she stands naked and damp from her shower—another failed attempt to relax—in the center of her room. She stares out at the endless streaks of light, the waves and particle
s of color reflecting off her pale skin. Though it’s artificial, a projection, she loves the way it dances off her curves. While she stands, foot steadily tapping away, she debates what she should do.

  Her rich, deep brown hair is still wet; she should dry it properly before the wild curls get out of hand. Drying her hair seems beyond pointless, though she can’t really come up with anything better to do. When she shakes her head in frustration, her hair flicks about, fanning out around her. A smile creeps onto her lips at the way the ends slip across her skin and tickle at the bare skin of her breasts.

  With the lights dimmed and the silence closing in around her, Hitomi gives up on trying to think of something to calm her and flops down onto the bed, feigning sleep, the only option left.

  Before she can even convince herself to crawl under the covers, she knows it won’t be a viable option.

  Most nights, she is content with just the overhead lights out, but with the nerves still crackling under her skin, every little glow is another distraction. The globe for the artificial intelligence that connects her to the ship and helps maintain her body is out, but the soft blue light illuminating the base gives ELI, the AI, away. All the other screens and lights in her room suddenly seem excessive; hell, she doesn’t even use half of them. But even after she gets the forward viewscreen, the ship status screen, and all of the others shut off, each one has a unique light of its own near its manual power button. They aren’t too bad, she tries to convince herself. She can work with consistency, at least.

  The email indicator on her otherwise dark computer terminal, however, makes her want to scream. It’s a tiny, softly flashing orange light meant, under normal circumstances, to act as an unobtrusive reminder that everyone in the galaxy apparently wants her attention.

  She had told ELI weeks before to stop notifying her when new messages came—she checks the damn thing religiously— but she still hasn’t figured out how to deactivate the light. Not that she’s really tried, to be honest. Damn thing is so broken. Sometimes it wouldn’t be flashing despite her inbox overflowing and other times it would light up incessantly even though she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the damn inbox was empty.