Sexy Shorts

by Kathryn Nolan

  He smirked again, rubbing his jaw with his hand. “You’ve got a real mouth on you, don’t you, love?”

  “Don’t call me love,” I said swiftly. “Not the type. And continue.”

  “Well,” Edward said, reaching up to loosen his tie. A small patch of his smooth skin revealed itself, right at the base of his throat. “As I was saying, in retrospect, and granted, it’s only been three hours, Emily and I were more like polite friends than a couple in love. And that’s the way she treated our break-up. A mutual parting of the ways, although I was shocked to pieces.”

  “And the sex?” I asked.

  His eyes met mine, steady. A cool blue. “Not… like it was. Not like I, I mean… there’s a way I think I prefer, to be honest.” That blush again.

  “Oh… kay,” I said, rolling my eyes to cover up the incessant beating of my heart. What kind of sex did he prefer?

  I handed him a mug of steaming coffee, and he gave me a brief look of appreciation. “If this sobers me up, can I have that tattoo?” he said.

  “Nope,” I said. “And continue.”

  Edward’s fingers continued to loosen his tie. I was salivating a little. Even though he wasn’t my type.

  Not at all.

  “She’s always been a bit… cold. Distant. But I guess it’s been getting worse, and I never really noticed. Although, I thought, well… I don’t know, I thought we might be something. Two years is a long time. Especially when the assumption is that you’re to be wed…” he trailed off, staring into his coffee.

  My fingers itched with the desire to rip this girl’s throat out. “And then what?” I asked but softly.

  “For the past six months, she’s hardly been around. We’ve attended the proper social functions, of course, and made sure to be featured in the society pages as expected, but we’ve been lacking a connection. And then, well,” he lifted his mug in cheers to me, “tonight, at this very swanky, very elegant restaurant, she told me she’d been shagging my mate for six months.”

  I choked on my coffee, and he laughed sadly. “Oh, Roxy. I know we don’t know each other well—”

  “—or at all,” I interjected. “And I mean that literally. It’s been, what, twenty minutes since you walked in here?”

  He laughed again, but it didn’t sound as sad. “I like you, Roxy.”

  “And I think you’re really fucking strange,” I said, but there was mirth in my voice. Mirth I didn’t realize I had for corporate assholes.

  “As I was saying, my life feels like a cliché. My girlfriend sleeping with my friend. Who does that? And thus, I had drinks. And got the brilliant idea for a tattoo. Which now you won’t even give me.”

  “Having integrity as a tattoo artist makes me a real monster,” I said dryly. “Plus, doesn’t this break-up fuck up your plan with your hotel?”

  “Yes,” he said mournfully. “Yes, it does. I will continue to be my father’s puppet and never get to rightfully own the place I love the most.”

  I tilted my head, thinking. I wanted to tell Edward that the kind of parent that would withhold anything from their child for their ‘legacy’ sounded like a real fuck-wit. But then Edward shrugged out of his suit jacket and unsnapped his cuff links to shove the material past his forearms.

  His sexy forearms.

  “I was cheated on,” I said and immediately wished I could shove the words back inside my mouth. It’d happened a long time ago, and I barely even thought about it anymore, and I wasn’t in the habit of sharing intimate stories with strangers.

  “Someone cheated on you?” he asked.

  “Why do you seem so surprised?” I lifted my chin. “Bad stuff happens to good people all the time.”

  “Because you…” There was a strained silence as his eyes drifted back to my legs again. He swallowed roughly. “You look like the kind of woman who could cut a man’s heart out. Willingly. Maybe feed it to him in a creative twist.”

  I hid my smile behind my coffee. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Well, it could be the giant knives you have tattooed on your arms.”

  I twisted the limbs in question, grinning at the multiple knives inked there.

  “Huh,” I shrugged. “Well, all I’m saying is, it happens. And it sucks. But the flipside is now you know she was a she-devil and can move the fuck on.”

  Edward reached his mug forward, clinking it against mine. “I feel utterly pathetic, Roxy.”

  I almost said something cutting then decided against it. “We’ve all been there. Believe me.” Our eyes met. “I know what rock bottom looks like.”

  “Do you?”

  “Absolutely,” I said firmly. “Only way out is up.” I’d said something similar to my little sister, Fiona, after I’d found out Jimmy had been cheating on me: I’m so fucking pathetic.

  Edward slid closer, but I didn’t want a closer look at his refined, handsome face. The aquiline nose. Steel-blue eyes. I wanted to caress his forehead, shift the hair away.

  “Maybe it’s because I’ve been drinking and am filled with despair, but nothing looks up right now. Except permanently changing my body.” Edward looked at my skin. “You did it. Why can’t I?”

  I shook my head. “You’ll wake up tomorrow, still sad, but with a tattoo you didn’t want. And they don’t come off. The despair, though, will go away.” I gave him a tiny smile. “Promise.”

  “Plus, I was going to get it on my arse,” he said, and I spit my coffee out. All over his nice white shirt.

  “Oh my God,” I said. “I’m so sorry.” I tried to stand, but he reached out, grasping his fingers around my wrist. Holding me for the merest of seconds.

  “Don’t,” he said.

  And I sat back down.

  “It’s fine, really. It’ll be my memory of this lovely night we’re having together.”

  I bit my lip. Was this lovely night really happening?

  “Were you really going to get one on your ass?” I asked.

  Edward shrugged with a smirk. “You’ll never know, Roxy. And now you’ll never have the sincere pleasure of seeing it.”

  “Didn’t want to see it anyway,” I said.

  A silence stretched on, suddenly awkward. “I’m guessing I’m not the usual type that comes in here?” he said, finally.

  “No, you’re not the usual type,” I said. “Or my type for that matter.”

  And why in the fuck did I say that? But he was laughing fully now, and it was amazing.

  “I understand, love,” he said. I didn’t want to admit that I was warming to the nickname. He reached forward, trapping a strand of my hair between his fingers. “I’ve never dated a woman with hair this color. Or shaved for that matter.”

  “Sounds like you’ve dated some truly boring women,” I said.

  “What’s this color called?” Less pain in his gaze now. Instead, interest. Captivation. And something warmer, like kindness.

  “Rebel Yell,” I said, wholly aware of his finger, lightly stroking my hair. Nothing less, nothing more. And still, it was like a lightning bolt to my senses. I wanted to chalk it up to the fact that I hadn’t had sex in a few months, that I was stressed out with school and my failing business, and my body was only responding to the physical presence of a man.

  Another stroke of his finger.

  “Are you a rebel, Roxy?” he asked, and fuck that English lilt was getting to me.

  “Prob-probably,” I stammered out, shifting backwards and out of his grasp. My senses immediately cleared. “Did you live together? You and this she-devil?” I asked.

  He looked away. “No. In our social circle, it wouldn’t have been proper for us to live together before marriage, although she did have quite a few things at my place. And yet, even after two years we never even…” he paused, thinking. “Bloody hell, how many signs did I miss?” He gripped his coffee, knuckles whitening.

  “So marriage never came up?”

  “We attended weddings often together, and we’d make these very ge
neral comments about weddings but never anything about an actual marriage. If we were in love, truly, wouldn’t we have at least considered it?”

  “It’s better though,” I rushed to say. “The person who cheated on me. We did live together. And it was a mess. It’s been—” I tilted my head, thinking. “Seven years? And he still has some of my shit. But I was in such a rush to get out of there, I just left it.” I paused. “Should have lit that house on fire, now that I’m thinking of it.”

  “You do have the look of an arsonist about you,” Edward said with an appraising glance. “And is that for him?”

  His hand reached forward, but didn’t touch, the skin of my wrist. The tattoo I’d gotten an hour after that piece-of-shit confirmed that he’d been fucking other women for the entirety of our one-year relationship.

  “Never Again,” I said, tapping the block letters. “A reminder to myself. Never again would I let someone like that into my life. I got it…” I faltered, feeling myself start to blush and hating it.

  “What, an hour after you broke up?” Edward said. When I didn’t respond, his eyes widened in mock shock. “You filthy hypocrite. You got that tattoo afterward, didn’t you?” He was shaking his head, laughing, and I was searching for a lie. A half-lie. A quarter-lie.

  But instead I told the truth like an idiot.

  “The difference being,” I pointed out. “I’m a professional tattoo artist. I knew the risks. I knew the right people.”

  After sobbing with Fiona for an hour I’d called Mack. I’d barely gotten out the sentence ‘Jimmy’s been cheating on me’ before he was on his way to Fiona’s apartment, gear in hand.

  I smirked. “And I wasn’t fucking drunk.”

  “I’m not drunk, Roxy. I’m just not not-sober,” he said with a grin.

  I wanted to kiss that grin right off his stupid, handsome face.

  “And, in fact, I’m sobering up quickly.”

  “Well, good,” I finally said. “Maybe soon you can leave me alone so I can finally get home before, I don’t know, the sun rises?”

  “Mouthy,” Edward said, sipping his coffee. His eyes on mine over the rim. “So mouthy.”

  #

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  by clicking here.

  Author’s Note

  In late 2016, when I was a new indie romance author, I began writing short-form erotica based on sexy pictures I found online. Joyce coined them #SexyShorts! Before my Facebook group (Kathryn Nolan’s Hippie Chicks) I’d write them sporadically – but joyfully. They were a delight for me – a way to play around with different tropes and writing styles; to get swept away in hot sex and foreplay.

  When I launched my Facebook group, they premiered every Monday. Some were inspired by pictures sent to me by readers or polls compiled by my group members. I wrote a long #SexyShort serial called ‘The Suit’ that became a full-length novel called STRICTLY PROFESSIONAL. And this kept happening – shorts were becoming serials, released over weeks, and I was developing full characters and plots completely by accident. This is why #SexyShorts are so fun – they’re written purely for enjoyment with only my (dirty) imagination to lead the way.

  Readers have always loved my #SexyShorts and I have loved writing them for you. Your zeal and enthusiasm for bite-sized erotica never ceases to brighten my day. You asked for an anthology of #SexyShorts and I have delivered!

  So enjoy this collection of fourteen of my very favorite #SexyShorts. They’re erotic, steamy, filthy and slightly over-the-top. But it wouldn’t be a Kathryn Nolan story without a sweet HEA.

  This collection also includes one brand-new story that I think you’ll love…

  Yours in smut,

  Kathryn

  Acknowledgments

  For the many readers and friends who requested this anthology – I hope you enjoyed Volume 1!

  For Jodi, Joyce and Julia – my friends, confidantes and favorite supporters. Thank you for everything. I can’t believe this beautiful journey we’ve gone on together!

  For the Hippie Chicks – my #SexyShort cheerleaders! Thank you for your zealous enthusiasm, hilarious gifs, real-time-photographic-responses (looking at you, Sonal), sexy comments and creative inspiration. From historical romance to filthy MMF stories, you are my champions and I cannot thank you enough!

  For Faith, Bronwyn, Lucy, Tammy, Beth, Sonal, Kelsey, Claire, Pippa, Jessica, Steph and the many, many people who lift me up and support me every day. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  Always for Rob – the handsomest husband around. You’re the ultimate hero for me.

  About the Author

  I'm an adventurous hippie chick who loves to write steamy romance. My specialty is slow-burn sexual tension with plenty of witty dialogue and tons of heart.

  I started my writing career in elementary school, writing about Star Wars and Harry Potter and inventing love stories in my journals. And I blame my obsession with slow-burn on my similar obsession for The X-Files.

  I'm a born-and-raised Philly girl but left for Northern California right after college where I met my adorably bearded husband. After living there for eight years, we decided to embark on an epic, six-month road trip, traveling across the country with our little van, Van Morrison. Eighteen states and 17,000 miles later, we're back in my hometown of Philadelphia for a bit… but I know the next adventure is just around the corner.

  When I'm not spending the (early) mornings writing steamy love scenes with a strong cup of coffee, you can find me outdoors—hiking, camping, traveling, yoga-ing.

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  Books By Kathryn

  STRICTLY PROFESSIONAL

  Edward Cavendish III and Roxy Quinn couldn’t be more different. He’s a polite, wealthy hotelier from England. She’s a scowling, bad-ass tattoo artist. But when a night of heartbreak brings them together, their chemistry – and connection – is electrifying. Seeing each other romantically is not an option – until they meet again under strictly professional circumstances.

  BOHEMIAN

  Shy, nerdy Calvin inherits his grandfather’s bookstore in funky Big Sur, but has no idea whether to sell the bookstore – or take on the challenge of keeping the store’s literary legacy alive. When a bohemian-style photo shoot brings famous super model Lucia Bell to Big Sur, sparks fly between these two total opposites.

  LANDSLIDE

  Gabe Shaw has the perfect life in Big Sur. He’s the third-generation-owner (and bartender) at The Bar, the only place in this funky small town where the quirky locals can drink in peace. A hopeless romantic, Gabe’s only lacking one thing: his soul mate. And when a sudden storm traps a sexy, funny make-up artist named Josie in Big Sur, one night of searing passion turns into much more. Too bad Josie doesn’t believe in falling in love.

  RIPTIDE

  Avery Dacosta is an ambitious property developer, intent on building a luxury hotel on Playa Vieja’s last untouched beach. And she has no time for Finn Travis, the laid-back, hippie surfer who decides to protest this hotel – and her workplace – every day. Unfortunately, Finn’s not only the most aggravating man she’s ever met – but sexy as hell. Can these two enemies-turned-lovers ever find a middle ground?

  CUFFED

  Will Furey has spent his entire life as a Good Cop. Never breaking a rule. Never crossing a line. That is, until he begins tailing infamous con woman Violet D’Allegra. This is a slightly kinky, slightly dark novella.

  SEXY SHORTS (VOLUME 1)

  A sweet, dirty collection of fourteen sexy short stories

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  Kathryn Nolan, Sexy Shorts