By Valerie Twombly
Stirling tried not to stare, but it was damn hard. Speaking of…so was his cock, and it was pressing painfully into the zipper of his slacks. This was one time going commando had been a bad idea. The fabric of the dress wrapped around her breasts as if they’d been dipped in amethyst, and there was no missing the fact she was bra-less. Her nipples pointed at him and begged to be tasted. It was all he could do to keep his tongue from rolling out of his mouth. Fortunately, he was quick to remember his manners and offered his arm.
“Thank you. You certainly look dashing tonight.” She wrapped her fingers around his bicep, and he stifled a moan. The woman’s touch was like fire, and it burned straight through his jacket. It was going to be a long evening.
“I must admit,” he answered as he escorted her down the sidewalk where Gus waited with the limo door open, “I hate formal attire. I’m much more at ease in jeans and a tee.”
Mary smiled. “I know exactly what you mean.” She released his arm and bent over to climb into the limo. He wasn’t so sure her ass could look any more delicious unless it was naked and bent over in front of him, while he pounded into her from behind.
His erection throbbed and reminded him to make a quick adjustment before he slid across the seat. He’d think about baseball but that would only encourage him to try and run all the bases with her. He’d have to come up with something else, or he’d be all over her before they left the curb. Pulling the bottle of champagne from its icy bucket, he wrapped a towel around it and poured two glasses. Once finished, he landed the bottle back in its place and offered her a glass. They had a thirty-minute ride so might as well take the edge off with a little bubbly.
He held up his glass. “To a successful evening.”
They clinked and she sipped. “Mmm, very good. So tell me, what kind of success are you hoping for this evening?”
He couldn’t help the grin that lifted his lips. “I’m hoping the fundraiser is successful. What did you think I meant?” His cock was hoping he’d succeed in other areas as well.
“Well, of course…the charity. I just didn’t know if there were…” She ran her fingers down her neck, stopping just above the swell of her breasts. “Perhaps there were other ventures you hoped to conquer.”
“Indeed. One of which is to kiss you.” If he read her signals correct, she wanted it as bad as he did.
“Really? Then what would be stopping you?” She licked her lips.
He took the glass from her hand and set them both on the table as he slid closer. In one bold move, he had her pinned to the corner. First, he kissed the corner of her mouth.
She parted her lips slightly.
Stirling was one thing if nothing else: a man who never passed up an opportunity. He slipped his tongue into the depths of her mouth. The taste of champagne and mint mingled with the scent of strawberries. The combination caused him to press further into her; her breasts against his chest had him cursing the fabric between them. She moaned and kissed him harder. He cupped her breast and brushed his thumb over her nipple. The bud hardened in response, and his heart beat faster.
“Mr. Drake. We are five minutes out, sir.” Gus cracked over the speaker.
Stirling broke free, both of them panting as they stared at each other. “Thank you, Gus. Looks like you’ve been saved by the bell,” he whispered.
She lifted a delicate brow. “Saved from what?”
He grinned. “From me hiking that dress over your hips and finding out what your other lips taste like.”
By Chanta Rand
Mary stepped out of the limo and stood on shaky legs as Stirling clasped her hand in his. The man’s kiss had nearly made her knees buckle. She held on tight, hoping she didn’t fall and bust her ass wearing these five-inch stilettos. The sparkly pumps were a far cry from the comfortable sneakers she normally wore. Tonight her mission was dress to impress. By the way Stirling’s tongue was hanging out, she’d succeeded.
Before they could reach the door, a photographer sprang up like a jack-in-the-box to snap a photo of them. Stirling wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, settling into a picture-perfect pose. It wasn’t hard to smile, especially feeling the heat of Stirling’s palm scorching through the material of her dress. Desire snaked through her veins like liquid fire. She was still thinking about his promise to find out what her other lips tasted like. If his kiss was any indication, this man would live up to every fantasy she’d ever had about him.
Moments later, clinging to his arm, she stepped through the door of the posh Palladium Club. Bittersweet sweet pride replaced passion as her eyes swept across her handiwork. Even beneath the dim light of the glittering chandeliers, she saw her stamp of classiness everywhere. She was responsible for everything—from the velvet, burgundy drapes parted with gold tassels to the gold tablecloths and white lily centrepieces. She’d even picked the venue. Her dumbass boss didn’t have the connections to secure a party here. Ironically, when she booked this place (at a substantial discount), she never thought she’d be attending with a man who made her panties wet.
A waiter approached, carrying a tray laden with flutes of Cristal champagne. Stirling plucked two flutes from the tray and passed one to her. If he kept this up, she’d be as drunk as her boss had falsely accused her of.
No sooner had she tipped the glass to her lips, did the man suddenly appear. His jaw dropped the moment he set eyes on her. Within seconds, his short, stubby legs stormed into her personal space.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “I thought I made it clear you no longer work for me.”
Before she could reply, Stirling’s six-foot-plus frame stepped in front of her boss. “I’m Stirling Drake. Ms. Reynolds is my date. Is there a problem?”
The frost in Stirling’s voice generated enough ice for an igloo.
“Oh, um…my mistake,” her boss stammered. “I, uh…didn’t realize—”
“Shouldn’t you be attending to the guests instead of harassing my date?”
If Little Napoleon were of fairer complexion, he would have turned beet red. But his coffee-color skin betrayed no emotion. Only the slight twitching of his right eye let her know he was pissed. She’d seen the tick plenty of times—because she was usually the one pissing him off.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Drake.” Her boss practically saluted. “Is there anything…else I can do for you?”
“You’ve done enough. In fact, the best part about you letting her go is that I get to have her all to myself.”
Her boss walked off, clearly flustered and embarrassed. Mary giggled, fighting the sudden throbbing between her legs. “What exactly do you have planned for me, Stirling Drake?”
A devilish grin crept across his handsome features. “Magic, baby. We’re going to make beautiful magic together.”
By Kris Calvert
Theirs was the VIP table—the only VIP. This made Mary walk a little taller through the crowd of enthusiastic onlookers. It seemed everyone wanted to know who Stirling Drake had brought to the gala as his arm candy. It occurred to Mary as they made their way through the sea of people, just as many women were eyeing her as the men.
Sterling leaned into her as they approached the highly appointed table dressed in red roses, candles, and exquisite linens. “You’ve attracted some attention but don’t be self-conscious. They’re merely jealous of your beauty,” he whispered.
The glow of his compliment showed on her flushed cheeks, and she couldn’t contain her smile.
The flower arrangements were bigger at their special table; there were more candles and a more attentive staff. Mary felt like the belle of the ball—a ball that she herself had planned.
An invisible spotlight seemed to shine on them, and she wasn’t mad about it—not one little bit. Tonight it seemed as though everyone wanted to be the woman on the arm of Sterling Drake. Mary was happy she was the lucky girl.
Sterling held the chair for his date, eyeing her perfect ass as she slid it into the red chair.
“It all came together beautifully,” she whispered to herself as she surveyed the room, noting all of her hard work and plans had been executed impeccably for the event.
Sterling took the seat beside her, leaning into her shoulder to steal a kiss from her exposed skin. He wanted everyone in the room to know Mary belonged to him. She greeted his advance with an inviting sigh.
“This is too much. It really is,” she said, looking into his dark eyes.
“Too much?” he asked with a flirtatious laugh. “Nothing is ever too much, my dear. Not for us. Not tonight. Not any night. Now,” he said bringing his voice down. “Let me pour you another glass of Cristal and discuss the Pastry Bitch.”
Mary brought the fresh glass of champagne to her lips but paused to giggle at his statement.
“I don’t want to spoil this beautiful evening. Besides, she’s not worth it.”
Sterling looked into Mary’s eyes. “Your lips are saying one thing, but the sparkle in your eyes tells me something completely different.”
“Really?” she asked with a hint of sarcasm.
Stirling placed two fingers on his full lips before transferring them to Mary’s. “The lips will lie,” he whispered. “The eyes, never.”
Mary couldn’t help but squirm in her seat. The man was turning her on and turning her inside out at the same time.
“So,” her voice cracked in hesitation. “Pray tell, what are my eyes telling you?”
“That they seek something.”
Mary swallowed hard, the party around them faded into white noise that merely filled in the gaps of her now focused mind. She did seek something. The man sitting in front of her. Stirling Drake. Instead, she begged the question, “And what is that?”
“If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you us tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not…” Stirling paused in his Shakespearian quote for effect. “Revenge?”
“You think I want revenge?” she asked.
He didn’t say a word but nodded only once. Once was all that was needed.
“So what if I am?”
“So what if we do something about it?”
Mary took a long pause. Her mother had always taught her not to seek revenge, always saying, If you’re looking for revenge, you’ll surely find it. Just be sure to dig two graves. One for the victim and one for yourself.
Still the thought nagged at her. Maybe her eyes were telling the truth. “What could we do?”
Stirling cleared a space on the table in front of them, pulling an antique silver pen from jacket of his tuxedo.
Using the cocktail napkin from under Mary’s Cristal, he drew a star and circled it—the ink blood red. He then handed the pen to Mary.
“As I say the words, you say the words. As you write the words, you say the words.”
Mary cocked her head in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“As I say the words, you say the words. As you write the words, you say the words,” he repeated. “Spoken to intention, intention to word.”
She poised the pen to the napkin, the red ink immediately spreading from the fountain pen with only a touch.
“Come Evil. Evil Come.”
Mary said the words as she wrote them on the flimsy paper napkin. “Come Evil. Evil Come.”
“Do my bidding to the one.”
Again, Mary wrote the words as she repeated them.
“Darkness Darkness hear my plea.”
“Mark the words, I commandeth thee.”
When Mary was finished writing all that Stirling had dictated, he took the small paper napkin from her hand and held it to the flame of one of the many candles that lit the table.
In a puff of fire and ash, it disappeared.
She watched in amazement, nearly oblivious to the fact that Sterling now held her hand inside his. Lifting her delicate hand to his mouth, he brushed her knuckles with his soft lips. “It is done, my beautiful Mary. It is done.”