Sexy to Go Volume 2

by Unknown

  “Would you like me to join you?” The corners of her eyes crinkled when she grinned. She tossed a small shoulder bag on the table beneath the vid screen. It had hookups—hard and wireless—to accommodate all types of computers.

  “Sure.”

  ‘I won’t charge any extra.” She drew the window curtain closed, turned on a lamp, then came to his side and tugged his vest off. She unbuttoned his shirt and reached around to unhook the clasp of the leather pouch he wore at his waist. He grabbed it from her and laid it on a table. Huong dropped her gaze. “I do not steal from my johns.”

  “Didn’t think you did.” He took a deep breath. “Look, you probably should know I’m a cop—”

  She gasped and spun away from him, grabbed her purse, and headed for the door.

  “Huong. I’m off duty. I’m not here to bust you. I just thought I should tell you. You’ll see the tattoos once you get my clothes off.”

  She stopped, one hand on the night latch chain. “Please don’t arrest me. My family—” Her voice broke.

  “Come sit. I promise I won’t arrest you. For one thing, my jurisdiction ended at the city limits. For another, prostitution is legal here.”

  She turned slowly and faced him, but made no move to sit. “That’s not what the last city cop said.”

  He waited, but she didn’t elaborate. His jaw tensed with anger. He was pretty sure he knew what one of his fellow officers had done. “I’m betting he told you you had to service him or he’d arrest you.”

  Clouds of long, dark hair fell over her face as she nodded.

  “Well, if that ever happens again, you can tell him to go fuck himself.”

  She giggled, tossed her hair back, and looked at him. “You know something, cop, I like you.”

  “Good. Want to keep undressing me?” He winked.

  Fingers busy again, she murmured, “It’s a hundred fifty credits for an hour. I’ll give you two for that.”

  “Do you have a way to transfer credits?” He’d always assumed hookers dealt strictly in cash, all of which was black market. The government had outlawed anything but credits about the time they forced shifters underground.

  “Sure.” She pulled his shirt out of his jeans and pushed it up his chest. She leaned close and licked his nipple. An electric shock radiated through his belly to his groin. “You need to pull your shirt off. I’m not tall enough.”

  He whipped his shirt over his head and dropped it on a chair.

  Huong whistled, and then ran her hands down his chest. “Nice muscles,” she breathed, fingering the tattoos on his upper torso. “This is the cop one. What’s this?”

  “It’s from my tribe. I’m half Paiute. The stag is my family symbol.”

  She arched a brow. “Indian. Interesting.”

  “How so?”

  She grinned. “Means you’re a brown-skinned foreigner, just like me.”

  He laughed. “I suppose that’s one way to look at it. Just remember, my people were here before any of the rest of you.” He started unbuttoning his jeans. She shoved his hands aside and pushed the well-worn fabric down his legs with practiced ease. He stepped out of them.

  “No underwear?” She ran her tongue over her full lips. “Sure you weren’t cruising for a woman?”

  “Never wear any.” He considered explaining about Native traditions, but decided not to. Men from his tribe who lived on the reservation avoided things they considered white man’s inventions.

  “I can see why. Probably doesn’t fit so well over this.” She reached for his cock, already half erect, but he shook his head. “Shower first.”

  She untied a knot at her shoulder, and her sarong slid to the floor. His eyes widened as he took in her nakedness. She was lovely. Her breasts, tipped by brown nipples, rode high on her ribcage. A flat stomach, flared hips, and a smooth shaven pussy nestled between long shapely legs, took his breath away.

  For the first time since he’d met Huong, he forgot all about Kate Roman.

  His cock sprang to life. It had been months since he’d hired a woman to satisfy him. Devon wanted to toss her onto the bed, spread her legs, and plunge inside. Instead, he strode to the bathroom and flipped the taps. He felt the heat of her right behind him.

  Needle jets from a shower obviously sporting a low-flow showerhead pummeled his body. She pumped the wall-mounted soap holder a few times, rubbed her hands together, and lathered his body, lingering over his erection.

  His heart thudded against his chest. He sucked in steamy air and backed her against one of the plastic-paneled walls. Her arms went around him, and she tilted her face upward. He kissed her. She opened her mouth to him, and her tongue sparred with his. Either she was a consummate actress, or she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. He felt her nipples harden where they pressed against him.

  She broke away from the kiss. “Clean enough, cop?”

  He realized he’d never told her his name, but there was no reason to. “Yeah, probably.” Lust thickened his words. He turned off the jets. By the time he stepped out onto cracked linoleum, she was there with a towel. He didn’t care about being dry. His cock curved along his belly, as hard as it ever got. He knew he wouldn’t last beyond a few strokes.

  She knelt in front of him, but he pulled her upright. “I want to be inside you. Condoms?”

  Huong scampered into the bedroom and pulled a foil packet from her bag. He grabbed it from her, ripped it open and rolled it over himself. “Been a long time, huh?” She eyed him. One of her hands toyed with her nipples, the other hand dipped between her legs.

  Devon couldn’t talk. Her wantonness definitely turned up the heat factor. He tugged the faded bedspread off the bed. She understood and lay down, holding her arms out to him. He sank into them. It felt so good to have a woman close her arms around him. It didn’t matter she was a hooker. For the next few minutes, he could pretend whatever he wanted.

  He took her in his arms, pressed his body against her, and kissed her. Huong reached down to guide him home. He sank his full length inside her, and she circled his lower back with her legs, clinging tight.

  He groaned at the feel of her, hot and snug around him. She thrust her hips upward and opened her mouth wider under his. He tried to be still, but his cock had other ideas. It wanted to move, hard and fast, until it emptied inside the woman around it.

  Her fingers tensed against his back, nails digging in. She tore her mouth away from his. “Move, goddamn it,” she urged, her voice raspy with passion. “You got me going the second I saw you run past my door.”

  He didn’t need more of an invitation. He drew back until only the tip of him was within her, and then slammed himself home again and again. Her muscles clenched around him. She cried out. If she were faking it, she was damned good. Devon stopped thinking. If he got any harder, he’d burst into a million pieces. Heat poured through him, electrifying his nerve endings.

  A sudden vision of Kate, naked with all that wonderful hair falling down her full breasts, danced behind his closed eyes. He was holding her, fucking her. She loved it. Loved him, couldn’t get enough… Climax pounded through him. His cock jerked and came and jerked some more. He barely recognized the grunts filling the room as his. They sounded so primal, he felt embarrassed.

  He’d been supporting his upper body on his arms. They folded and he collapsed atop Huong, panting. She murmured wordlessly and stroked his back. “If I could have a man in my life, I’d want him to be just like you.”

  He grinned and pulled out of her, careful to keep hold of himself so the condom wouldn’t leak. On his feet, he rolled it up his shaft and chucked it. “Bet you say that to all the boys.”

  “No.” She gazed at him, her dark eyes serious. “I don’t. It doesn’t matter, though, cop. You have your life and I have mine.”

  He reached for his discarded clothes and dressed. She was right. He’d had buddies who’d been gullible enough to fall in love with hookers. Occasionally, it worked. More often, jealousy tore the couple apart. He
picked up his wrist computer. “Money?”

  She unfolded her body from the bed, gathered her sarong, and tied it into place. “Code?” She pulled a wrist computer out of her small bag. “Hold on a sec. I’ll get the voice recognition software up.”

  He punched a few buttons and rattled off the string of numbers which flashed across his display. It would authorize a credit transfer into her account. She tapped keys on her computer. “All set.” She smiled at him, but he saw sadness behind her curved lips.

  “Do you want me to walk you home?” he asked.

  Huong shook her head. “No.”

  “Now I know where you are, maybe we could—”

  She shook her head. “You don’t really mean that. Goodbye, cop. Thanks. It was fun.”

  “The room’s paid for until tomorrow at eleven. Feel free to stay as long as you like.”

  Huong nodded solemnly. “Thank you again.”

  Devon undid the deadbolt and night latch. He walked toward Berkeley and his small, almost unfurnished, flat. Huong was right to tell him not to come back. Women had ways of knowing when the man between their legs imagined he was fucking someone else.

  Kate filled his mind, and he settled into an easy lope. He had to find a way to get close to her. By the time he ran up his steps an hour later, he had an idea. If he could stonewall his bosses at the cop-shop for a few days, it just might work.

  If you want to know more about Kate and Devon’s story, Roman’s Gold, a full length science fiction romance, is available wherever e-books are sold.

  About the Author:

  Ann Gimpel is a national bestselling author. She’s also a clinical psychologist, with a Jungian bent. Avocations include mountaineering, skiing, wilderness photography and, of course, writing. A lifelong aficionado of the unusual, she began writing speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared in a number of webzines and anthologies. Her longer books run the gamut from urban fantasy to paranormal romance. She’s published over 25 books to date, with several more planned for 2015 and beyond.

  Lust in Bloom

  Shiloh Saddler

  August, 1850

  Columbus, Georgia

  Burlap sacks draped over their shoulders, James and Daniel picked the cotton boles in bloom. It had taken Daniel a long time to get the knack of pulling them from their pods without destroying the cotton. His lover had taken to the task much quicker.

  “For our first time this is a good harvest,” Daniel said.

  “Yes, hopefully it will bring in enough money to pay off your loan.”

  While James had kept his voice steady, attention on the task at hand, Daniel heard the fear in his words. If not enough money had been brought in then the bank could take his small dirt farm and James, too.

  He never thought his livelihood would boil down to price of cotton. They had a small wheat harvest as well, but he’d planned on the food feeding their bellies and being sold to supply their nearly bare storeroom—not giving the profits to the bank. A man had to live off something.

  Jaw tightened, James silently cleaned one stalk after another. Sweat dripped from his ebony forehead, and his butternut colored shirt was soaked with perspiration. The man had not uttered one complaint since they’d been thrust into poverty. He, on the other hand, had cursed plenty. It didn’t seem fair his father’s overspending and mismanagement of assets should destroy his life, too.

  Of course, life wasn’t fair.

  Hot and dirty, Daniel wanted nothing more than to bathe and cool off in the river with his lover. Alas, that would have to wait until the end of the tiring work day.

  Guilt slashed through him and pulled him out of his thoughts. Here he was pondering life and not picking. It was important to him to pull equal weight. Readjusting his burlap sack, he resumed pulling off the cotton and trying not to prick his fingers.

  James glanced over at him. “You need a break soon?”

  Daniel took a deep breath. “No, I’m fine,” he said, his voice curt. He could suffer through the blazing sun shining on him like a cherry red poker if James could. Not to mention all the muscles in his arms and back protesting. His white skin had tanned to a dark golden brown. Yes, they had both transformed to farmers rather well, he mused.

  “Hard to believe skilled field hands can pick two hundred to five hundred pounds of cotton a day.” James shook his head. “Good thing we don’t have that many acres to harvest.”

  “That’s one small blessing at least,” Daniel agreed. He wasn’t sure he’d survive picking any more than the meager rows on his dirt farm.

  Hunger gnawed him from the inside out. Pushing it aside, he kept working. He wouldn’t take a break before James did. The silent agreement had been reached shortly after the field had been plowed. James set the hours.

  James’ lips twitched; clearly he’d heard the stomach rumbling. “Reckon we’ll stop and eat when we get to the end of this row?” he asked.

  “Sounds good to me,” Daniel said, relieved his lover wasn’t going to make him wait much longer to sate both of his appetites. Having James near and yet unable to touch nearly drove him mad.

  Knowing what waited at the end, the row seemed to go three times as fast as usual. Both men set their sacks on the ground beside them and reclined against a large pine tree, the shade welcoming. Daniel unwrapped two pieces of salt pork and a loaf of bread. Breaking the loaf in half, he handed James the larger one along with a strip of meat.

  James closed his eyes as he chewed. “Feel like a field hand?”

  “Maybe.”

  James grunted. “Your father is probably turning over in his grave.”

  Daniel merely shrugged. He’d thrown gentility out the window a long time ago. James seemed to be savoring his basic meal, but he’d devoured his share in minutes. Sliding lower on the ground, his head dropped to James’ shoulder. “Perhaps we could take a nap.”

  James laughed. “Not sure when we’d wake up. Not that I don’t like being this close to you. Even if we both stink.”

  Daniel was used to the smell by now. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was having James near.

  James uncorked the canteen, took deep a swig, and passed it to him. “You need to drink.”

  With great difficulty Daniel roused himself and took a pull, the cool water running down his parched throat. That revived him some, but a nap still seemed inviting. He resumed resting on James’ shoulder, breathing in his musky, earthy scent. The man’s heat seared his cheek. “I need to rest,” he mumbled.

  “Make it short,” James replied. “My muscles don’t like sitting still and when I get up I don’t want to feel like an old man.”

  That was the closest thing James had come to a complaint. The words coiled his insides, pain increasing with each knot. “Ten minutes,” he whispered. “Wake me up in ten minutes.”

  James reached over lightly caressed his cheek and then stroked down his side. “Yes, sir. I see how it is. Boss gets to sleep while I just sit here.”

  “Yes.” Daniel yawned, ignoring James’ playful jab. “Ten minutes of privilege.”

  James continued petting him and Daniel’s tense muscles relaxed. Sleep reached out to him with long arms.

  His lover shook his shoulder. “Wake up.”

  “Hmm.” Daniel didn’t stir. Had it been ten minutes already? He didn’t know if he could raise his heavy lids. “A few more minutes.”

  James shook him harder. “Rider coming.”

  Daniel jumped up, the mantle of exhaustion replaced by anxiety. The last thing he wanted was for someone to see him nestled close to James. Damn it. He hated visitors and he hated his neighbor even worse. Hand shading his eyes, he peered at the road leading to his house. “Whitaker,” he growled.

  James pushed to his feet and lifted his picking sack. “I best get to work then,” he ground out.

  Daniel’s throat thickened and he reached for the canteen to wet his dry mouth. How he despised that bastard. The snake had been trying to get h
im to sell his land from the first week they moved in. Apparently he figured if he hounded Daniel enough he’d give in.

  While not born into hard labor he was not a quitter. “Pay him no mind, James.”

  The tall colored man grunted.

  “Good afternoon,” Whitaker called out, his black stallion prancing in place. That top-dollar piece of horse flesh liked to move.

  “Afternoon,” Daniel replied in a level tone.

  The upper-middle class man glanced down his pointy nose at him. Or maybe that was because he was mounted and Daniel stood on the ground.

  “Looks like you have a decent crop there.” Somehow Whitaker made decent sound dreadful.

  His chest clenched and he worked on not letting the man get under his skin. “Thank you.” He would not say sir. The man was not his better despite the current financial circumstances. Besides, he didn’t respect Whitaker one bit.

  Rumor around town was the man had fingered his partner for a hanging. Supposedly he’d been the only witness to the man murdering a tinker. His partner had denied the charge to his dying breath, and many now figured Whitaker had done the deed himself to get full ownership of the horse farm.

  Whitaker dismounted. “Still, running a farm isn’t meant for a man like you. You deserve a better life.”

  Daniel eyed the crops he’d carefully tended with James. The two of them would be taking the fruits of the labor to market soon. It was hard work but very rewarding. As long as they could survive on the slim profit he’d be happy.

  “It kind of grows on you,” Daniel replied.

  Whitaker snorted. “You’re a gentleman. You shouldn’t be wasting your life away rooting in the ground.”

  I used to be a gentleman. He’d never look like a dandy again.

  James continued picking cotton acting if he was deaf to their conversation. Daniel knew better. His lover was hanging on their every word.