The Lady Smut Book of Dark Desires (An Anthology) Read online

  That first hollow explosion she felt was replaced by a supernova going off behind her eyes as her pelvis shattered into song, a song of liquid pleasure. Her knees collapsed and Turner followed, falling on top of her. The bed frame dug into her shins, his chin buried into the hollow of her neck and his cock giving a few mindless pulses while his breathing charged along, a whistle in her ears.

  Wolverines. He was the world's expert on wolverines.

  "Jennifer," he said. He kissed her neck.

  "Wolverines," she said. She turned her head. His next kiss owned her. She wanted her lips dominated by his lips. She wanted his hands doing what they wanted to do, which was come up and cup her breasts. She wanted her own hands to know what to do as well, and surprisingly, that was to find his length, let it throb wet and still hard in her own hand, while her lips tasted the salty skin along his infinitely desirable shoulder.

  Jennifer didn't talk. She didn't need to. Jennifer didn't worry after sex, and everything was okay.

  He roused himself, lifted himself up. Withdrew. No condom, she realized. So that was the smell. She'd always, always used condoms with boyfriends and she didn't realize how it smelled differently without. Less like the faint smell of ammonia mixed with latex, more like she's been marked with his scent. She'd been walking around for weeks marked with his musk and not even known it.

  He went into the bathroom, came back with a condom on. That horse has already left the stable, buddy.

  Wait, no.

  She froze for a split second. She knew what he planned to do next. Her first thought was the jig is up. No way, no way, no way. She was going to have to say something. But he was already grabbing her, and her body melted and accepted the way he handled her.

  His body was already sliding against her backside, and the sliding felt so good. She was deeply conflicted but she was also melting. His chest was rubbing against her back, his stomach and those rock hard thighs, so long, so deeply muscled, they were in between her own thighs. She was so turned on her pelvis was no longer talking, now it was the round circle, the slit of her pussy that wanted this. He was plunging in again, but only to get wet and lubricated it seemed, for after about four deep thrusts he was out and pressing the head of his cock to that inviolate tender button of her ass.

  She was so confused, so aroused. She felt the stubble of his shaved pubic hairs against her damp, tender lips. She was very slick there. He rubbed himself against her and she felt herself widen. Then the tip of his penis was in her and she waited. As she waited there was no pain, no discomfort, just that he was wide and deep inside. She writhed with embarrassment that she was actually doing this. And with him. And, and…He went further and concentric circles of pleasure spread from the rim of her ass. He moved another inch deeper, then two. It was intense, so intense, but that wasn't hurting exactly and he pulled out again so fast she didn't have time to even figure out if the intensity was pleasant or unpleasant.

  Then he was in again, slower this time, and it didn't hurt at all. He thrust, slowly, going deeper but slower still. That felt good. Oh so good. His hands on her hips, those large hands, they made her breath tremble, they made her belly slide to the sheets. Oh my god. He spread her legs more, which arched her ass up more, and her belly was full of dancing shrimp, because it's like nothing—

  He started moving, slowly, but she was so damn wet. The thick concentric circle of stimulation went from the outer ring of her ass and spread. It spread and diminished a little with each move, until he was firmly a few inches in. Then it was more intense, and then… he's waiting again. While he waited the deep inner thrill at doing this dirty girl thing took over her. She lifted her shoulders and stretched out like a cat, which excited him. He moved faster. Soon they were rocking together but they didn't stay pressed together for long.

  "What's it going to take Jennifer?" Stab, stab. "What's it going to take," stab, "for you," stab, "to talk to me?" Now it was something, something tight and hard but not enough.

  Then his finger slid under her, which brought him close against her again, and that closeness made her skin sing. And while his fingers stroked her clit, it was the enveloping warmth of his skin covering her that fed her frenzy. She rocked her hips as he stroked her.

  "Harder! Oh fuck me harder!" She submitted to all those licks of pleasure until she couldn't bear to stop, she couldn't speak, or think… Even if she wanted to.

  Now now now now. He was taking over, rapid thrusts, then waiting with those strong hands holding her so she could feel him inside pulsing, then his finger on her clit wouldn't stop. She couldn't tell if she was driving them harder or if he was, but they were both slick and wet with sweat and her juices. His six pack was slapping her ass and her feet were arched, her neck fully extended, mouth open as she gave in to his relentless finger on her clit and the slick fullness in her tight ass and started coming her brains out. They both took a big final breath and strained together at the same time. Finally she lay back, and he withdrew and collapsed on top of her. Done.

  Okay, she thought, through the thick feeling of orgasm, that's how it's done. Stranger hook-up complete. Yeah. Wow.

  He was laying there, half on top of her, silent, but not so out of it. He was looking at her. She half-lidded her eyes to be able to bear looking at him. She should get up and go. Get those clothes on and get out. She didn't think she could do that right this second. Whew. Not sure she could even hold herself upright—

  "Something's different," he said, his eyes shrewd. Her heart took off like a jackrabbit. He took her chin, looked her face up and down.

  "You're…awake."

  "What gave me away?"

  "You let me kiss you. Jennifer doesn't kiss like that."

  Of course not. She didn't kiss well—was that what he was saying? She looked at him, frustrated and puzzled.

  "You waited for me to come with you. You didn't try to pull off the condom. You…cuddled."

  He thought about it some more. "And then when I was done on top of you, you kind of stroked yourself back against me. Jennifer never does that."

  "Yeah, I'm just an amazingly thoughtful lover."

  He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her half up looking closer at her.

  "What's all over your face?"

  She realized he was looking closely at the dots. "So you knew," she said. "You knew I was asleep."

  "Not at first,"

  "No, you did. I heard you both talking. You knew I was asleep."

  He frowned and then his gaze shifted away. "I saw you hanging out with that sleep researcher. I started thinking about it at dinner, and then did some googling. Put two and two together."

  He shifted around, put his head on that bicep. She wanted to bite the soft smooth skin there. She stroked it instead, but he tucked it away from her and she pulled her hand back.

  "Was that the first time…you know, while you were awake?" he asked.

  "The first time I had my ass penetrated. Without anyone asking first."

  "Hate to tell you, but that wasn't the first time."

  This was starting to feel uncomfortable. She wanted to pull up the bedclothes but he was lying on them. She started picking up her clothes and found herself putting them on. Was there a bell tolling midnight somewhere? Couldn't she just drop a glass slipper instead of getting the third degree?

  He was getting dressed too. Having his eyes anywhere but boring into hers gave her time to think.

  They were entering the realm of doom, the place where they were supposed to talk. The more they didn't say anything, the more compressed his mouth got, and the more she started wondering how long he knew she was asleep.

  Why did she have to take his word for it that he'd just sorta maybe figured it out tonight? On the other hand, why the hell should she? She didn't know this guy. He was a smooth dude. She was a pathetic idiot.

  She held up his hairbrush, apparently never used before.

  "May I?"

  "Sure," he said, but what was he thinking. Those eyes et
ched into her until she was blushing so hard she thought her face would explode.

  Thank God it wasn't Bonifellow, she thought, brushing. Thank God it wasn't Rick, or the psych guy.

  Chapter 5

  The sudden rapping on the door in the middle of the night scared the hell out of both of them.

  "Harrison, shut the f—" Turner said, opening the door. But it was Nadia.

  Nadia obviously couldn't take it anymore and had sprung at the door thinking she was being raped.

  "He knows Nadia," Jenny said.

  "He knows!" Nadia said, not looking at Jenny, keeping her eyes on Turner.

  "Where do you get off?" was her first comment.

  Turner looked shocked.

  "It's like sleeping with an unconscious woman. It's—"

  Turner interrupted her. “She’s not asleep this time.”

  "The point is not tonight," Nadia, said, undaunted. "The point is all the other nights. Like yesterday when I found her half undressed and reeking of sex in the morning. A hickey the size of New Jersey on her neck."

  It looked bad when Nadia put it that way. But feeling loose, and in fact almost floppy, from great sex, Jenny felt the acute misery of a few hours before grow distant in her mind.

  Now Harrison was up, his door open. Great. Just great.

  "You could have told me," Jenny said, turning on him. "When you knew. You would have saved me so much torment. You don't get it."

  "I didn't hurt you," Turner said.

  "No, she was just coming back bruised and marked up," Nadia said, her tone scathing.

  Nadia, Jenny thought, you're a true friend, though she found herself wishing Nadia could be full of peace like her at this moment—Or maybe if this wasn't peace, still, chock full of goodwill.

  "He's had bruises too," Harrison said, sticking his oar in. "Not to mention some…wicked…rug burns." His cheeks burning pink, Harrison decided to wisely shut up.

  Jenny turned to Turner. "It's not about that. I was doing things in front of my colleagues on my way here."

  Turner gave her a blank look. He seemed so calm, so relaxed. She kind of started to hate him a little again.

  She could feel the agitation cranking up inside her slowly. "It's not like 6th grade sleep away camp where we go home and never see each other again. These are professional colleagues. If you'd told me when you knew—"

  "I don't even know when I knew. It was probably too late by then. It took me time to figure it out. I mean, I'm only one step ahead of you. I didn't really truly get it until you were so different tonight."

  Turning to Nadia he said, "She's been like two different people."

  And you only want the one I'm not, Jenny thought. The one that's confident, easy come, easy go.

  He said those things, she reminded herself. But he never said he liked you better, her wicked side prompted. Jennifer was the name on his lips. Not Jenny.

  Suddenly she had a bone-deep conviction Jennifer was her enemy. Not just her less repressed subconscious but the It, the thing inside her against her will.

  The peace of Turner's unrestrained lovemaking ebbed swiftly, replaced by a claustrophobic panic. Meanwhile, his arms crossed, Turner was clearly on the defensive.

  "I don't know what your game is," he said, making Jenny blink with surprise at the change in his tone. "But you came here to me. You know I've been trying to chase you down for two weeks—two weeks to straighten out what the fuck was going on. I've met border collies that have better communication skills than you. If you just stopped whimpering and running away, and tried having an adult conversation—"

  She gasped.

  "Then maybe you wouldn't be in this muddle. I'm sorry but the nasty hot sex we've been having may not go with your gosh golly church girl image—" Another blow. "—But it's just sex. Your colleagues will get over it. As for them," he said, pointing to Harrison and Nadia. "I'm not comfortable with where this conversation is going. I forced no one," he said.

  Turning to her he stabbed out his finger. "You—or your alter ego as the case may be—came after me, and did so rather aggressively."

  Harrison was giving little nods to the speech his friend made.

  "They," pointing again to Nadia and Harrison, "may not have witnessed it," Turner's voice dropped with emotion, "but you know and I know you liked it. You. Loved. It. Asleep or awake you fucking came your brains out, and I made damn sure you left satisfied every time."

  He paused. Struck by the force of this speech Jenny filled up with intense bitter longing, knowing that in some way this— the most honest moment they'd had so far, a moment that she completely agreed with in her heart of hearts—this was the moment she'd lost him.

  He gave her a jaded look, "Unless for some twisted reason you were faking everything."

  "No," she said, "No, don't say that."

  Harrison pointed out Nadia's monitor and said, "Check the machine. The machine don't lie—"

  Turner bent his stare upon her again. "Why are you so willing to give yourself all this slack but not give me any?"

  "Because she was asleep," Nadia said. "She didn't know, she wasn't awake."

  But I am now. Except she was also tired, the brunt of exhaustion slamming into her chest.

  Nadia was looking at her, but her mind grew thick with the unhappy feelings all around her and she had nothing to say. She'd lost Nadia. The woman was walking into the hall, plainly disgusted.

  "I'm out of here. You're giving him too much slack as it is." She fussed with her bag and walked out.

  Harrison was quick to follow, "Hey, Nadia—" he said, following the scientist down the hall.

  "Do you hate me?" Turner asked.

  So many feelings and uncertainties jostled in her mind, she wished she could pick one and stick with it. Do you hate me? Jenny wished she could say.

  He already seemed colder in the pause of her uncertainty.

  "Nadia would say I should," she admitted.

  "But do you?" He was so vulnerable, the sex was so good. Even if he was delivering an award winning performance, she couldn't dislike him. But could she trust him?

  "No."

  "If you didn't run away, could we just talk a minute?"

  She sat on the bed. He sat down too. "I didn't like her."

  "…Jennifer?"

  He took her hand. "Jennifer. I like you."

  But I'm Jenny. How much did one nit-pick at a time like this?

  "But you had sex with her." At least he also thought It was apart from who she was.

  "Okay, I was initially attracted to you, and then she – I mean, you, asleep – but not seeming asleep at all—though maybe a little stoned—you came and attacked me. And I'm sorry, but I'm a guy. I might have been surprised, but I wasn't going to say no."

  She looked at him, feeling more tired, and more drawn to him. He was doing a good job of being a little tortured over it all.

  "But you know, unlike Nadia," he said, "you know I've been trying to connect with you. In the daytime. When you were definitely awake. And I had no idea what the hell was going on."

  "So. What do you want, Turner?"

  "To get to know you. I mean, you you, not—"

  "Me. Jenny. You like me. Not Jennifer."

  His smile lit up her heart. "Not Jennifer. Jennifer scares me a little."

  She gave a small smile. "Me too."

  "So maybe the summer isn't a total loss."

  There was something so flattering, so moving about the way he looked at her. Like he was very concerned. He'd won her over. Partly for overlooking what a blithering idiot she was, partly for their mind-blowing chemistry, and partly because he seemed like he was a good guy. She was falling for him, no doubt.

  "Maybe Jennifer can bring us together?"

  Harrison burst into the bedroom again, obviously having no luck with Nadia. He did however, have a bright pink hand imprint on his face. "So now that we know what's what, can I have my video recorder back?"

  Jenny stood up from the bed.
r />   "What?"

  "Can I have my video recorder back?" Harrison enunciated each word.

  She backed off like a trap had sprung. Turner sat on the bed looking utterly confounded. Harrison saw his face and was instantly on the alert.

  "Unless you wanted to do another sex tape…"

  Jenny swiftly followed him, and Turner was behind her. Something in his expression was making Harrison swiftly back into his room. She could feel Turner's malevolent will like heavy gunpowder igniting behind her.

  "'Cause if you do decide to make another tape," Harrison said, his voice going up to the edge of a break, "feel free to keep the camcorder long as you like…" His door slammed shut, and she heard the lock sound.

  She'd just escaped. She would have bought the farm, she would have done whatever he wanted, bought all his explanations. Don't look at him, she thought. Run.

  She ran.

  She dodged her way through the lounge seeing his body erupt from the dark hall. His voice, don't listen to him, it's all charm, he sounds reasonable, he'll make up some excuse but you don't know him. Stranger, he's a stranger. Move! Go! She ran to the glass door at her end of the bridge—which for some reason that night was propped open by a small rubber wedge. She got to the door, popped the wedge out with her bare foot, and pushed the slow spring on the door shut, flipping the lock just as Turner's body slammed against it.

  The econ men came out of their rooms, drawn by the noise of his voice and the slamming of his fists on the shatterproof glass, the rattling frame of the door, his voice muffled on the other side as he shouted her name.

  Shame put tears in the corner of her eyes as she walked by the same greasy looks that had been crawling over her skin for weeks.

  "Who's the guy?" Rick asked. Bonifellow stood in the doorway of his room, looking devilishly tousled, his lower face blue black. He was in a loose navy blue T-shirt and sweats and nodded at Jenny, chin up, those wolfish white teeth slashing through his half-Italian, half-Indian face.