Contents
Cover
About the Book
Also in the Series
Title Page
Mind the Gap: Mae Nixon
The Art of Fucking: Nikki Magennis
Lust for Glory: Mathilde Madden
A Stranger, and Yet Not: Teresa Noelle Roberts
Barely Grasped Pictures: Olivia Knight
Behind the Masque: Sophie Mouette
A Whole New City: Nikki Magennis
The Highest Bidder: Sarah J. Husch
Wet Walls: Kristina Lloyd
Perks of the Job: Jan Bolton
Reflections: Maddie Mackeown
Stag Hunt: Elizabeth Coldwell
Vacation: A. D. R. Forte
Fish: Stella Black
Copyright
About the Book
One of the most popular, darkest, dangerous and edgy fantasies around, and it never goes out of fashion: sex with the stranger. So is it the thrill of instant gratification? Or being absolved of all that comes with familiarity? Or is it the ecstasy of pure abandon? The mystery of the unknown? Or the novelty of something new? Let’s find out, because the writers in this collection have gone deep and wide to capture the suspense, the anticipation, the drama and the adventure that comes with sex and the stranger.
Black Lace has never been naughtier. Our short stories are kinkier and more daring than ever before; this new collection of fantasy fiction will make you blush, flush, squirm and dream.
Also in the Series
Look out for other themed Black Lace short-story collections
Sex in the Office
Sex on Holiday
Sex in Uniform
Sex in the Kitchen
Sex on the Move
Sex and Music
Sex and Shopping
Sex in Public
Black Lace – Paranormal Erotica (short-stories and fantasies)
Mind the Gap Mae Nixon
IF I HADN’T worked late that night and if I hadn’t wasted five minutes going through my bag in the ticket hall looking for my Oyster card, I’d never have caught that particular train.
Looking back it’s hard to believe it was all the result of nothing more significant than chance and circumstance. But it’s often like that, isn’t it? We like to think we’re in control of our own destinies but sometimes it just depends on being in the right place at the right time.
I’d got my job that way; I’d sent out literally hundreds of CVs after I graduated but it was walking into an employment agency to register at precisely the same moment as a new company had phoned asking for a trainee that had finally got me off the dole.
And I’d only taken business studies in the first place because my A levels weren’t quite good enough for me to do the course I’d planned. But the funny thing was, I’d loved it. It turned out to be what I was born to do and I’d never have known it if I’d done better in my exams. Was it luck or fate? I’ll never know but it’s funny how chance often leads us somewhere we seem destined to go. And that’s exactly how I feel about that night. Utterly random, yet utterly magical.
The brightly lit tunnels and escalators were eerie and empty. The clip-clop of my heels echoed as I walked. I heard the whoosh of a train arriving and I ran down the steps to the platform as the doors began to close. I jumped on, just managing to squeeze through the gap in time.
As the doors slammed shut I realised I hadn’t even checked that it was a District Line train and, for all I knew, I’d be ending up in Heathrow or Uxbridge. I looked up at the display and saw the familiar list of stations. I heaved a sigh of relief and sat down.
The carriage looked like a twenty-first century version of the Mary Celeste. The seats were littered with abandoned newspapers and food wrappings – detritus of the day. As I looked around I noticed another passenger sitting at the far end of the compartment. A young man in a raincoat, his laptop bag on the seat beside him. He was sprawled back in his seat with his arms folded and his eyes closed.
I’d assumed I was alone on the train. I didn’t like travelling late at night; everyone knew there were muggings and worse on the Tube after dark. For a moment I considered moving into the next compartment. But the man seemed harmless enough. Just another office worker on the way home after working late.
We stopped at a station but nobody got on. My travelling companion never stirred. He just sat there, lying back in his seat, seemingly asleep. I wondered how he could sleep through all that juddering and rattling.
As I looked at him lying there I gradually realised that he was actually rather handsome. Short dark hair, masculine jaw and just the hint of a five o’clock shadow. And I’d always had a thing for men in suits. They seemed so archetypically male, designed to emphasise a manly figure and cut to create that illusion even if nature hasn’t made him that way.
But nature had done a good job on my fellow traveller and his broad shoulders owed nothing to padding. He’d loosened the knot of his tie and undone his top button as if the formality of the day was an unwelcome restriction. But rather than ruining the effect of the suit, somehow it had made him look all the more masculine, bringing a rough edge to the formality of his appearance.
I was staring, I knew, taking advantage of his closed eyes to drink in every detail. His lips were unusually full for a man, softening what might otherwise have been a harshly masculine face. And his expression seemed gentle and somehow vulnerable.
The effect reminded me of Clive Owen, my favourite actor, who somehow manages to embody a dangerous combination of strength and sensitivity that I’ve never been able to resist. I’ve sat through several terrible movies just because Clive was in them, and no matter how dire the script or how slow the plot he’s always guaranteed to make my nipples harden and my knickers grow damp.
As I sat there looking at the young man I realised he was having exactly the same effect on me. My heart had begun to beat a little faster and there was a watery shiver of excitement sliding up my spine.
I found myself wondering what he’d look like naked. Were his shoulders as muscular and broad as they seemed? Would his chest be hairy or smooth and was there a six-pack hiding beneath his shirt, hard and sculpted?
I bet his thighs were strong and thick like a rugby player’s. I was just thinking about what might lie between those thighs when his eyes snapped open and he looked at me. I felt instantly guilty, like a voyeur caught in the act, but before I even had time to look away he smiled at me. His eyes were chocolate dark and his teeth were even and white. He held my gaze for several long seconds, then his eyelids closed again and I realised I’d been holding my breath.
The train shuddered to a halt and the lights went out. My heart seemed to lurch in my chest. Though I used the Tube regularly I’d never quite conquered my claustrophobia. Being trapped on a train in the dark was the sort of thing I had nightmares about.
It would be over in a few minutes, I told myself, and then I’d be all right. I’d probably even feel foolish for having been so scared. I forced myself to breath deeply, ignoring the sound of blood pounding in my ears.
I couldn’t see a thing. I don’t think I’d ever been in such a dark place. Outside, even if there were no street-lamps or buildings nearby, there was light from the stars and the moon and after a few minutes you could make out shapes. But down here it was inky black and terrifying.
My heart was thumping and I felt my composure slipping.
‘Are you all right? Only you’re breathing like a steam train. Try to calm down. I think I’ve got a pen torch in my bag, I’ll see if I can find it.’
I almost leapt out of my skin when I heard the young man’s voice and even though his words were reassuring, somehow they made me feel more imprisoned and helpl
ess. I wasn’t just trapped, I was trapped with a total stranger.
‘I … I’m claustrophobic.’ I felt ridiculous and ashamed saying it out loud. This sort of thing happened on the underground everyday and I felt childish and melodramatic.
‘I understand. Try to stay calm. Let me find that torch.’ I heard the rasp of Velcro ripping and then the sound of him rummaging through his bag. ‘Here it is.’ He turned it on and I could see his face and upper body illuminated from below like a Halloween mask. For a moment I was terrified, then I realised that his face bore an expression of concern and anxiety. He got up and walked down the carriage towards me, pointing the torch’s tiny beam at the floor to illuminate a path.
He sat down beside me, plonking his laptop bag down on the seat. We sat silently for several moments. He held the torch in one hand, pointing it up at the carriage’s roof. We sat in the cocoon of dim light.
It had grown hot since the train had stopped and I was growing sweaty and uncomfortable under my clothes. The front of my hair was sticking to my face. The damp sooty smell of the tunnels seeped into the train. I could hear my breathing. It seemed to exist outside of me like the tangible embodiment of my terror.
‘Here, you take the torch.’ He held it out and I took it. ‘I know it’s scary but it can’t last long. We’re quite safe.’
‘But how do you know that? Maybe there’s been a terrorist attack up ahead and we’ll be stuck here for hours. Or maybe it’s a city-wide power cut like they had a couple of years ago. It could be anything.’
‘Might be a power cut, I agree, but I doubt if it’s anything more sinister. I mean, they’d do that in rush hour wouldn’t they? Maximum disruption.’
‘If you’re trying to reassure me you’re not doing a very good job.’ I felt sick and light-headed.
‘Sorry … But you must try and calm down. Hopefully it won’t last long, but we might be here for a while.’
‘And you don’t want to be stuck with a hysterical woman?’
‘No, no, you’ve got me wrong. You’re obviously very distressed. I’m concerned about you.’ He was sitting directly beside me, our thighs touching. I held the torch in both hands, a talisman of comfort.
‘I feel such a fool. I know it’s just a phobia but it doesn’t seem to make any difference knowing it’s all in my head.’
‘There’s no need to feel foolish. With me it’s spiders. I could sit here in the dark for days but if a spider scuttled across the floor I’d fall to pieces.’ He shrugged his shoulders and smiled at me as if embarrassed by his vulnerability.
‘Spiders?’ I smiled back at him.
‘Last week I saw an enormous one at the office and I jumped up onto my desk like a girl. I felt such an idiot. It’s a silly phobia I know – they’re harmless anyway and you can tread on a spider and problem solved – but I can’t help it.’
‘It’s hard to believe a big macho bloke like you is scared of something so tiny. You look as though you’re not frightened of anything.’
He shrugged again. It was a gesture I was already beginning to find charming.
‘Well, now you know my secret.’ He leant close and whispered. I could feel his warm breath on my face and I just caught a hint of his aftershave. In spite of my anxiety, under my dress my nipples peaked.
‘I’d have been at home now if I’d caught my usual train. We’ve got a very important presentation in the morning so the whole office stayed late. Talk about bad luck.’ I was rambling and I knew it, but anything was better than sitting there in terrified silence.
‘Me too. We’ve got a big case on at the moment. I’m a lawyer. I’ve been working on it for months and it finally comes to court tomorrow. Otherwise I’d have been curled up in bed hours ago.’
The thought of him curled up in bed – even if it wasn’t mine – set off another bout of palpitations and this time it wasn’t caused by anxiety. Close up he was even more handsome. Even by the weak light from the torch I could see that his skin was smooth and even and had a sort of golden tint to it. His eyes were dark and sparkling and his lips always seemed to be on the edge of a smile.
I couldn’t help staring but the funny thing was he didn’t seem to mind. He just looked back at me, his big brown eyes examining my face like an explorer taking a claim. You could get lost in his eyes; they seemed to hint at depth and sensitivity and a deep seam of wickedness which was as inviting as it was terrifying. And all the time he was smiling to himself. His full lips were berry dark and shone slightly in the torchlight.
My nipples were rigid and painful and the hairs on the back of my neck were erect and tingling. I was still scared, but it seemed to be fading into the background, overshadowed by the more powerful sensations of arousal.
‘Where do you work?’ I sensed he’d asked me the first thing that had come into his head, just so he could go on looking at me.
‘Collins and Read. It’s an advertising agency.’ My voice sounded dreamy and far away. I gazed into his eyes.
He laughed. ‘Almost as disreputable as my profession.’
The torch went out, plunging us back into total darkness.
‘Oh no!’ My terror came rushing back, crashing over me like a flood. I felt his hand on my arm, reassuring me.
‘It’s probably just the batteries. I think I’ve got some spares in the front pocket of my bag, let me look.’
I heard Velcro rip and the sound of his hand sliding against the fabric as he felt around for the batteries. I took some deep breaths, trying to calm myself. After all, I was in no more danger than I had been a moment ago before the light had gone out.
‘Here, I’ve found them. Give me the torch.’
I handed it over and listened to him fiddling with it, trying to interpret the sounds. I heard the discarded batteries hitting the floor and then metal tapping against metal as he tried to insert the new ones.
‘Hurry up, please.’ The final word came out in a sibilant rush.
‘I can’t work out which way they go in. It won’t work unless you put them in the right way round. It’s fiddly.’ Something clattered noisily to the floor. ‘Shit!’
‘Don’t tell me that was the new batteries.’
‘One of them anyway, sorry.’
‘Maybe I can find it.’ I started to bend down but he caught my arm, preventing me.
‘Don’t bother, it could be anywhere and even if you find it you’ll never be able to tell it from the spent ones.’
I sat back in my seat, defeated. ‘I felt safe with the light on. I know it didn’t really make any difference, but it didn’t seem quite so frightening.’
‘I understand. But you said yourself it was an illusion. We’re perfectly safe and, anyway –’ he fumbled for my hand ‘–I won’t let anything happen to you.’
His skin was warm and smooth. His hand was much bigger than mine. Something about their relative sizes made me feel safe and protected.
‘Thanks.’ I leant against him, pressing my upper arm against his. It was an unconscious gesture, seeking comfort, and it never crossed my mind that it could be misinterpreted. I felt him dip his head and heard him inhaling. He was sniffing my hair.
My heart thumped so hard I was sure he must be able to hear it.
‘You smell as beautiful as you look.’ He nuzzled his face against my hair.
‘You can’t see me, how do you know I’m beautiful?’ Goose pimples rose on my skin. I was tingling all over.
‘I took a good look at you before the lights went out. Just like you did. I caught you looking, remember.’ His mouth was close to my ear. I could feel his hot breath on my neck.
‘At least the darkness is covering my blushes.’ I turned my face towards his.
‘I wish I could see that.’ He laid his hand on my cheek and brushed the tip of his thumb along my lower lip.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Finding your lips.’ He bent his head and kissed me. His mouth was hot and soft and hungry. Air rushed out of his nostrils, like d
ragon’s breath. I reached out in the dark, running my hands over his raincoat trying to locate the landmarks of his body. I slid one hand between his arm and torso and pulled him close.
My nipples were rigid. My crotch felt hot and liquid. I could feel his heart beating against my chest. His body was hard and muscular and comforting. His big hands slid up and down my spine, making me tingle.
Unable to see, every sensation seemed magnified and intense. The slightest brush of his fingertips elicited a wave of shivery tingles which started at the nape of my neck and slid all the way to my toes.
I could smell soap and deodorant and the individual components of his aftershave: citrus, a woody note and musk. I could smell fabric conditioner on his clothes. Cutting through all that, was the unmistakable scent that was all his own. Earthy, masculine and irresistible.
He stopped kissing me and slid his mouth down my face and onto my neck. I felt his hot wet tongue trailing along my throat. Instantly, goose pimples rose and my nipples prickled with pleasure. I tilted back my head, allowing him access.
I felt his hands at the front of my dress, fumbling for an opening. His clumsy fingers moved between my breasts. I covered his hand with mine and noticed that his was trembling.
‘There are buttons all the way down the front, let me.’ I undid the buttons, practically ripping them open. One of them pinged off and I heard it hitting the floor. I fiddled with my bra. It was the only one I owned that opened at the front and I couldn’t help thinking how fortunate it was that I’d chosen to wear it today.
I took his hand and gently laid it on my bare breast. He let out a soft sigh of appreciation and his fingers instantly found my nipple. It tingled and came to life as he rolled it between finger and thumb. I moaned.
The seat creaked as he moved to take my nipple in his mouth. I gasped at the sudden hot wet intimacy of it. I could smell his hair now: shampoo and hair gel and an undertone of hot skin. I found the back of his head with fumbling fingers and pulled him closer.
He began to nibble, stretching my excited nipple with his teeth, and I arched my back. I could hear blood pounding in my ears. Between my legs I was hot and tight. My skin was alive with pleasure, tingling and sensitive.
Sex with Strangers Page 1
