Saved Between the Sheets: An Anthology of Stories that Get to the Point

by R. M. Walker

  I feel tears well in my eyes again. “Just leave me alone.”

  For a minute I think he won’t listen, but then, he disappears. I stay there on the top of the building for a long time. I hate Drake for taking my family from me. I will find out where they went, if only to know they’re really safe. But I’ll also listen to his advice, as much as I hate it; I’ll find something to keep me going.

  My job. Saving lives is the only way I’ll be able to find any peace in my role as a Reaper. And if curing people in his hospital is what I need, it’s what I’ll do. Screw his edict to stop.

  I think of the hospital, but immediately my thoughts turn to Brad, Connor, and Ajax.

  No, I don’t need anyone to keep me going. My job will be enough.

  And yet, it isn’t my job I think about. It’s the three men who cared when I cried, three men who make me want to go back to my new house, even though it isn’t yet a home.

  But it could be. A tiny voice whispers in my mind.

  And for one moment, I pretend that tiny voice might be right.

  Did you like Unlikely Reaper? Well, soon enough there will be a whole series about Jules and her guys! Until then, check out my steamy reverse harem, Medusa’s Destiny.

  A Note From The Author

  If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review. Your reviews help other readers find my work. They’re also a great way for me to learn what my readers want to read more or less of. I have so many ideas for stories, that if one series isn’t gaining a lot of interest, I’ll move on to another one!

  Thank you for reading this story from my heart,

  ~Lacey Carter Andersen

  About the Author

  Lacey Carter Andersen loves reading, writing, and drinking excessive amounts of coffee. She spends her days taking care of her husband, three kids, and three cats. But at night, everything changes! Her imagination runs wild with strong-willed characters, unique worlds, and exciting plots that she enthusiastically puts into stories.

  Lacey has dozens of tales: science fiction romances, paranormal romances, short romances, reverse harem romances, and more. So, please feel free to dive into any of her worlds; she loves to have the company!

  And you’re welcome to reach out to her; she really enjoys hearing from her readers.

  Want to contact her?

  Email: mailto:laceycarterandersen@gmail.com

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  More by Lacey Carter Andersen

  Mates of the Realms: Mortals

  Renegade Hunter

  Cursed Hunter

  Betrayed Hunter

  Mates of the Realms: Immortals

  Rebel Lover

  Rebel Lies

  Rebel Loss

  The Dragon Shifters’ Last Hope

  Stolen by Her Harem

  Claimed by Her Harem

  Treasured by Her Harem

  Harem of the Shifter Queen

  Sultry Fire

  Sinful Ice

  Saucy Mist

  Alternative Futures

  Nightmare Hunter

  Deadly Dreams

  Mortal Flames

  Twisted Prophecies

  An Icelius Reverse Harem

  Her Alien Romance

  Steamy Tale of Warriors and Rebels

  Gladiators

  Monsters and Gargoyles

  Medusa’s Destiny

  Keto’s Tale

  Taking It Off

  Jessa Lucas

  Taking It Off

  Elle McCloskey’s life isn’t too super, even though she kind of is. A part-time hero of the mundane, her biggest life goal is to conquer her fear of being... on top. After fleeing a handsome mystery man to save a cat in need, she finds herself initiated into a ragtag group of feminist superheroes who need her help taking down the Arc de la Patrie. But what happens when the guy she’s falling for just might be on the wrong side of history?

  A satirical tongue-in-cheek tale with a whole lot of sex, hugs, and stop drop and roll, Taking It Off is a quirky feminist Cinderella story about a woman learning to be strong in more ways than one.

  Chapter One

  Ducking through the crowd and past two overly flirty colleagues, I readjusted my mask. The tulle in my dress was scratchy, and the long skirt of my ball gown kept snagging on passersby. The masquerade theme was a bit over the top for a company party, but after 50 years being the cornerstone of Metroshire architectural firms, people were ready to go big (and get a little wasted) on the company dime.

  Especially me.

  “Elle McCloskey!”

  I turned just in time to see wide arms coming at me. A man collided with me and I haphazardly withdrew a hostage arm from the hug and patted his back.

  “Angus,” I said, tone becoming warmer as I took him in. We’d gone to school together, entertaining a brief and unfruitful romantic fling. Time had worn the poor guy down; bright red and gleaming with a light sheen of sweat, the smile plastered to his face was overly eager the way it always had been. He gestured wildly to the tall, pudgy Frenchman behind him whose stoic expression was at odds with the revelry.

  “I believe you know of my partner, Etienne E. Coque?”

  “Oh, yes!” I reached out a hand and the man reluctantly took it, eyes skirting over me with uncertainty. I minded my grip carefully – it wouldn’t do to crush all the bones in the hand of our top client. “Enchanté.”

  “Working with him has been one of the triumphs of my career,” Angus said enthusiastically.

  “Ours too,” I lied, wondering if the magic stick-on bra I hadn’t trusted to do its job was doing it a little too well. Coque’s gaze kept dropping lower and lower. “We’re all so excited for the Arc de la Patrie’s grand opening this week. It’s been a true honor working on it.” My mouth curved into an awkward smile as I tried to pretend like the project hadn’t nearly killed me.

  Angus rambled on about what a feat of architecture it was, and I composed my internet review of my stick-on bra: Warning, it would say, this bra defies the laws of gravity as described, but also turns average-sized breasts into the attention whores of your company party. Best paired with good posture and pepper spray.

  “Are you, hmm,” I cleared my throat, “enjoying the party, Monsieur Coque?” I was suddenly grateful for the mask that covered the red blooming along my cheeks. His name always sounded dirty, but it felt especially wrong with his gaze buried down into the far reaches of my manufactured cleavage.

  “Excuse me,” I heard, turning my attention to the intrusion of another man. He was tall and sophisticated in his tuxedo, smile bright beneath his simple black mask. The stranger looped his arm into mine and I raised my eyebrows at the presumptive claim on my arm. “Would you mind if I interrupt to ask this lovely lady for a dance?”

  Angus smiled reluctantly and Coque lifted his hand to shoo us in the direction of the dancing couples. I wandered dreamlike to the floor, following the man’s lead as he took me into his arms.

  “May I have this dance?” he asked, eyes glinting beneath his dark mask.

  “It seems you already do,” I said dryly. His black hair curled down over his brow. Even with most of his face covered, it was easy to tell the guy was intimidatingly attractive. “Do you work for the firm?”

  I already knew he didn’t. That charming smile was impossible to miss, shining like high beams in a landscape of sleepless nights.

  “Isn’t the intrigue exciting? I could be your new intern. Or your potential client. You could be flirting with d
anger right now.”

  I pressed my lips together. “I’m not the one flirting.”

  He grinned and something inside me lurched.

  “You’re a good dancer,” I stuttered, “but please don’t show off on my account.”

  “I’ve been waiting to dance with you all night, and that conversation looked like the perfect rescue mission.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Who says I’m the type that needs rescuing?”

  * * *

  One more glass of champagne and four dances later, we found ourselves buried deep among the layers of fabric and fur hanging in the coat check. Mystery Man tugged on my hips, pulling me closer, his hands climbing across my back to steady me. There was a push and pull to our kisses, his lips grazing mine and then retreating, mine following in pursuit. I pressed closer, feeling the hard muscles that contoured his lean body. A soft moan escaped my lips, and he swallowed it with a kiss.

  Don’t crush his pretty face, don’t crush his pretty face, I repeated to myself, coming dangerously close to doing exactly that as I cradled said pretty face between my two hands. I swore to god I was about to come just feeling that jawbone.

  His tongue slipped in and out of my mouth expertly. I’d never been kissed quite like this – like I knew precisely how other body parts would move inside me, like I wasn’t entirely sure I wasn’t already having sex at this very moment because it felt that good. Every part of my body was on high alert, the sensations he lured out of me ultraviolet.

  “We should get out of here,” I suggested, and Mystery Man nodded eagerly. He wound his fingers around my mask to peel it from my face and I reached up to still his hand.

  My mask had gotten all kinds of knocked around during the course of our makeout session, but he’d had a point. “You were right– it’s kind of sexy not seeing each other’s faces.”

  He gave me the kind of grin that sends a girl’s instincts spiraling for the gutter, full of hunger and lust and unmet desire. He came at me again, large hand bracing the back of my neck, fingers tangling up into the curls I’d spent way too long creating for how quickly they were falling out. His other hand cupped my ass, a steel grip holding me close enough that I could feel the bulge in his pants.

  A groan rose in his throat as his teeth pulled lightly at my bottom lip. Chills shot up my spine, and a heavy weight dropped somewhere between my legs, opening up a chasm of desire that needed to be filled.

  “In here, Ryan? Oh okay, thanks,” a woman said, slurring slightly as her heels stumbled into the coat check.

  Mystery Man and I froze, making burning eye contact as we waited to see if we’d be caught. He pulled the sleeve of a fur coat over my face and winked as if it would keep me safely hidden. We shared silent laughs, but the humor was short-lived as he slowly moved his mouth back to my neck, kissing and biting a trail along it as I stared up at the crown molding with goosebumps, listening to the woman and her partner shuffle around for their coats.

  “It’s fun to be a little dangerous,” he murmured into my ear. Then he pinned me to the wall in such an orgasmically male way that I just about died. I’d never let a guy pin me down before – not that they could have. But him?

  Oh, I’d let him pretend.

  I lifted my thigh and he shoved back the folds of my satin skirt, pulling my leg around his hip. It was so delicious, so provocative to have my legs spread like this, with just mere layers of fabric separating us from the deed I so desired to give into. He ground against me, his mouth and his hips moving in the same rhythm. I braced against the wall and lifted my second leg, balancing on his hip bones. His muscles were well-defined underneath his suit, his six-pack pressing into my stomach as he kissed me passionately. It was all too easy to imagine him unbuckling his belt, slowly pulling it from its loops and casting it aside... me, peeling down the top of his pants, licking a line down his happy trail as I made my way enthusiastically to the good stuff.

  Were we really going to have sex in the coat check? Because if that was the case, I was totally down. I just needed to mentally prepare myself to get fired.

  At least if I got fired, I could sleep again like a normal person.

  And have sex in the coat check.

  His lips were tickling my neck, meandering over the line of my shoulder and wandering farther down. I wondered if he’d pull my dress down and be just as shocked about the coverage of my bra as I was. If he’d peel it away from my skin and replacing it with his large warm hands, if his head would lower and his tongue sweep circles around my nipples. Thinking about it made me need it so much more. My hips swung in small circles around the shape of his cock the way they would have if it were free.

  Don’t be too vigorous, Elle, I had to remind myself. I had this little problem of getting too forceful when I was stressed, or intimate. Don’t clamp your thighs too tight in ecstasy or that boner will be a goner. Forever.

  I moved my hips up and down the length of him, feeling his girth, easily imagining him inside of me.

  This was so unlike me, to be on the verge of sex with a stranger at a company party. But I was riding the high of free champagne and the way I imagined his dick looked, and all my inhibitions were out the door.

  Well, most of them.

  With the thrill of a sexy stranger and forbidden activities shooting through me, I licked the tip of his earlobe and savored his full-body shudder. He growled with pleasure, pushing me harder into the wall as he stepped even closer and took my face into both hands, peering into the only part of my face that was his to see.

  “Come home with me,” he said roughly, the desire at the perimeters of his words tinging them with the sexy quality of someone who can’t handle not having what they want a second longer.

  I stared into his eyes. They were rimmed with dark lashes that make him look like he was wearing bad boy eyeliner. We’d danced the night away, and he hadn’t so much as looked at another woman. I warred with myself between the satisfaction he was promising and its potential consequences.

  He’s too gorgeous to die, Elle.

  A chiming sound erupted, startling me. I knew that sound. “Oooh. Oh nooo,” I said, hoping he couldn’t hear the relief in my false reaction as I dug around in the folds of my dress.

  “That thing has pockets?” he said, sounding amazed.

  I nodded, looking at my watch’s text alert while he moved his hands to the fabric of my dress, searching unbelievingly for the pockets I’d claimed were there. “Amazing,” he muttered when he found them.

  “I have to go,” I interrupted, the relief now full blown in my voice. “I’m so sorry–”

  I rushed to stand, pushing down my skirt over my soaked panties as I eyed him, hoping I’d see him again, and that on that day I’d have the balls to go home and suck his. His mouth hung open and then he licked his lips reluctantly, offering a smile. “Quite alright.”

  I gazed over his ruffled black hair, admiring my handiwork for a moment longer than I should’ve. I gestured, “You might wanna–”

  “Oh, right.” He reached a hand to smooth his hair at the same time I did, our hands touching. I withdrew mine quickly.

  “Well, I had a nice–” Makeout sesh in the coat check? Shut up, Elle.

  I lifted my watch again to indicate I had to leave and gave him a quick hug before rushing out.

  “Wait!” he called. “What’s your name?”

  For half a second, I considered telling him. But with my mind cleared of the presence of his mouth, I knew better. Telling him meant he’d Google me. Googling me meant he’d find me. And finding me meant I’d eventually and happily find my way into his pants.

  That, I knew, would only end poorly for both of us (and maybe the neighbors).

  I cast a glance over my shoulder to get one more look at that beautiful specimen of a man as I kept hobbling away in my heels, the shoes rubbing painfully against the back of my foot. Scrunching my face up into an apologetic expression, I fled.

  It was at that moment that I decided in the
stories I’d tell my grandchildren, the handsome masked stranger would be called “Max” in honor of the best climax I’d never have.

  My gaudy masquerade mask obscured my vision, and I whipped it off as I scrambled out the front door. I set it on the stone railing, and pulled out my watch to see where I was headed.

  Avenue D and Femme Street. Great – wasn’t far.

  Digging around in the bushes, I withdrew the small duffel of essentials that I had stowed there that evening. Saturday nights were always a clusterfuck of chaos, and one never knew when a quick change would be needed.

  Slapping on a sleeker, daintier mask, I rose from the bushes and looked around. The coast was clear, and I sprinted out into the street lights, my black spandex suit so much better for agility than piles of tulle and satin.

  I stole away into the fresh air of the night, pushing the trembling want of my body out of my mind. I was needed.

  Chapter Two

  My breath was still jittery as a stood before the roaring flames of the house. Bailing on the chance to alleviate a lady boner was a pretty big ask from the Universe, even for the sake of good deeds.

  A crowd was gathering, the wails of an approaching fire truck nearing. I’d have to move fast.

  “Is anyone in there?” I heard a man ask frantically, turning to an older woman who burst into tears.

  “Just my Mr. Mittens.”