Once: A Collection of Sinfully Sexy and Twisted Tales

by Anthology

  “Do it,” I begged, and he flipped me so my face was against the tile and angled my hips up to his. I felt the tip of his hard length nudge my entrance, and I worried that it would hurt. But he slid deeper without any trouble, sinking himself to the hilt with a growl of satisfaction.

  “Still so wet,” he marveled, his breath ragged in my ear. “My god, you feel perfect.” He held my hips and thrust into me, each deep undulation reviving my earlier pleasure. “It’s been a long time for me, too,” he rasped. “I don’t know how long I can last, Leila. But I’ll make it— up— to— you.” His words matched the rolling tempo of his hips and the gorgeous bloom of ecstasy I’d felt earlier with his mouth on me unfurled again. When he nipped my shoulder I exploded, slapping the wet tiles of the shower wall and moaning his name until he followed behind me with a hearty final thrust, choking, “Fuck!”

  We stayed slumped against the shower wall for a while, until Wyatt reached for the soap and a washcloth and wiped every inch of me clean before scrubbing himself. Then he wrapped me in an old beach towel, apologizing for his linens as he dripped all over the floor in order to dry me first. It was endearing and ridiculous and I was still tingly from the third orgasm, so I giggled through the whole thing. He kissed me in between drying body parts until I was ready to beg for him again.

  * * * *

  Much later he took me to a street festival in the next town. I hadn’t been to one since college, because Kip didn’t understand the point of things like that. But Wyatt said he’d been to this one every year since he moved to Fairfield. Strings of lights criss-crossed the streets, and there was a cacophony of fair sounds - rides, games, and the shrieks of happy children. We wandered hand in hand, looking in every vendor stall, buying way too many greasy snacks, and laughing often. Every now and then he pulled me in for a kiss, and I allowed myself to imagine a life as uncomplicated as this weekend. Waffles and coffee and sex and street fairs with a gorgeous, caring man. Could it really be that simple?

  Wyatt registered my quiet. “Stop thinking,” he said. “For once. I’m forcing myself not to do it this weekend, and it feels amazing. You should try it.” We were under a broad oak tree at the end of the street, his hand curled around mine, and he pulled me toward him. “I know this has an expiration date. You’re someone else’s wife, for Christ’s sake. But this night is ours. Yeah?”

  I didn’t answer. His words had left a sour taste in my mouth. Someone else’s wife.

  “Stop. It.” He shook me a little and cupped my face in both hands. “This is happening, right now. We are here and we like each other. I want to kiss the taste of cotton candy off your lips and smell your hair and touch you on the Ferris wheel. And then I want to take you home and make love to you for as many hours as we can both stay awake. Tomorrow can belong to reality. Tonight is a magical night. So don’t break the spell.”

  I thought I’d heard him wrong. “What did you say?”

  “Don’t break the spell,” he repeated again, punctuating it with a kiss.

  “I thought that same thing,” I blurted. “This morning. When I was waking up. I felt you, and I didn’t want it to end. I wanted to stay in your arms, safe and warm.”

  “You would be safe,” he vowed. “Always, with me, you would be safe.”

  “I know.” My voice was no more than a whisper, swept away by the carnival music and lost in the night. “I want that. Everything you said. The Ferris wheel and you, all night.”

  He buried his face in my neck. “I don’t want you to leave. I know you have to, but for the record - I wish you could just stay.”

  My eyes stung. “Take me to the Ferris wheel.”

  “Okay,” he agreed softly. “Ferris wheel it is.”

  It was a tiny Ferris wheel, but I could still see for miles into the night. The tiny clusters of light in each town made a haphazard pattern in the darkness, and I stared out at a world of possibility while Wyatt kissed me and traced little patterns on the tops of my thighs with his fingers.

  “I’m a writer,” he declared at the top as we swung in our tiny basket. “I make shit for money bartending, but I’ll do it as long as I have to. I’ll never be a rich man. But I would never treat you - or any woman - like he treats you. I’m a good guy. I’m a relatively smart guy. And I’m loyal. I know it’s crazy, but I’d let you move in with me tomorrow if you wanted. We’d figure it out. Just think about it.” Our basket started its downward descent and he repeated it. “Just think about it, Leila.”

  “I will,” I promised.

  Later, in his bed, Wyatt worshiped me with his fingers and his mouth, and there were stars behind my eyelids as bright as the possibility I saw from the top of the Ferris wheel. I cried when he was inside me, but they were not tears of despair or pain. I shed tears in an apology to my old hopes and dreams. I wept when I came because it was everything I had forced myself to believe I didn’t deserve. Wyatt wrapped his arms around me and we slept so tightly entwined that I felt cocooned, and safe, and real.

  I woke first and studied him as he slept - the freckles dusting his forehead and cheeks and shoulders, the relaxed pout of his bottom lip, his blond-tipped lashes. I gazed at his rumpled curls and rubbed my cheek against the stubble that was just a few days away from a beard, and I lay my head on his chest and listened to the strong, soothing cadence of his heartbeat.

  Be free, it urged me. Be free, be free, be free.

  I watched his eyes twitch, and he reached for me before they fully opened. He made some little purring noise in the back of his throat as I kissed and nuzzled his chest, and as I nibbled my way down the trail of sandy hair toward his stiffening dick he sighed happily, and I knew.

  It could be this easy.

  It could be this good.

  I wrapped my hand around his firm flesh, and he whispered my name, and I decided, just like that.

  The End

  ABOUT L.E. CHAMBERLIN

  L.E. Chamberlin is a foodie and former librarian who never returns her library books on time. She has a weakness for all things British, including cream teas, Wellies, fish & chips and the full spectrum of scrumptious accents. An aficionado of steamy romances, she wrote her first one at age thirteen and still has all eighty-six handwritten pages of it in a box under her bed.

  These are a few of her favorite things, in no particular order:

  Dominant men with hot hands and cool heads. Pinterest (come pin hot tattooed boys with me!). Coffee. FMPs. Ink. Craft beer. Key West, FL. Big, slobbery dogs. British accents. Gingers. Singer/songwriters of the 1970s. Traveling. Love, sweet love.

  Ivy’s Rule

  H.Q. FROST

  "Tonight we're getting white-girl wasted!"

  Female giggles from the six women filled the Suburban.

  "You ladies can get… 'white-girl wasted', but I have responsibilities that need my attention early in the morning."

  "Okay, but, Iv, are your responsibilities here right now?" Kate condescendingly chided.

  "I know, but—”

  "No buts. You said you wouldn't do this. You said you'd have fun!" Her scolding became whiney.

  "Girl, I don't even remember the last time you got out of the house,” Ashanti added.

  Ivy's eyes rolled. "I get out and go to that job I have, everyday."

  "But this ain't your job—”

  "You need to pretend this isn't even your life." Marilyn sent all the girls into a laughing fit, except Ivy.

  The other five ladies killed their laughter and each looked at her, including Marilyn, who was driving.

  "Okay. Yeah," Ivy breathed with annoyance, but was trying to be a good sport about her closest friends telling her her complete existence was too mundane for them.

  "We love you, Iv." Ashanti softly rubbed her shoulder. "But you really need to try and have some adult fun."

  "Got it. White-girl wasted." Ivy's green eyes rolled to the roof of the Suburban again.

  "Ya'll bitches speak for yourself. This girl ain't white, and in no way am I get
ting 'white-girl wasted'."

  "Ashanti, you're white-girl wasted every weekend," Kate teased.

  "Jealous," Ashanti mumbled, rolling her eyes to look out the window.

  Wanting to prove to her friends that she remembered how to have fun, Ivy let loose and worked on obtaining that 'white-girl wasted' status.

  ***

  "Okay. Okay." Ivy put her hand out, trying to get the attention of her friends as they sat in a booth with a table full of drinks. "I know I don't go out anymore, and I miss you guys." Her pink lips drooped into a frown. "I miss having fun. I miss my friends." Emotions were threatening thanks to the nice state of intoxication she was already in.

  "Aw, stop. You're gonna make me cry," Kate said, blotting her napkin under her eyes.

  "I know." Ivy giggled, fanning her face. "But it's true. It's just… just…" She pensively stared at her sweating glass.

  Ashanti softly exhaled, knowing where this was going.

  "After Derrick.…" Clearing her throat, Ivy hoped it'd break up the building lump. "Just." Her watering green eyes floated to each of her five friends faces. "Things were hard."

  "We know, baby." Ashanti took her hand, giving her a gentle squeeze.

  "I just want to be the best mom I can. I just wanted to focus on Deluché." With a quick yank to free her hand from Ashanti's, she batted away her alcohol-induced tears.

  "Iv, you're the best mom, and D is beautiful, so smart, freaking hilarious." Marilyn laughed and wiped her own tears. "Derrick would be proud of both his girls."

  Ivy's eyes found Ashanti’s; she'd know best, Derrick was her brother.

  Giving an assuring nod, she said, "He would, baby. And he would also want you to be happy."

  Giggling again while wiping her face, Ivy said, "Would he want me to get white-girl wasted?"

  The girls' laughter lightened the mood once again.

  "He would, and he'd want you on that dance floor shaking that ass."

  Ivy quickly grabbed the shot in front of her for a little more liquid courage before she found the dance floor with the other intoxicated women.

  "Hey, Kate." A hand went to her shoulder and Kate spun to physically and painfully remove it.

  "Todd!" She threw her arms around him. "What're you doing here?" With a cocked eyebrow, she looked around for his girlfriend.

  Knowing exactly what she was looking for, he smirked. "Bachelor party." He nodded toward his table of friends.

  "Awesome."

  "Yeah, so." His eyes drifted around the other five girls. "My friends want to buy your friends drinks."

  A grin floated over her face. "Come on, girls, free drinks." Kate grabbed Ivy's hand and the linking of hands continued down the line of all six girls.

  "Guys, this is Kate. She's friends with Heather." After he named his girlfriend, a few of the men scowled. "Dicks." He laughed, then looked at Kate again. "I don't know your friends."

  "This is Ashanti."

  Ashanti sat, pulling Ivy to sit next to her.

  "That's Ivy, Marilyn, Jamie and Karen."

  "What're you ladies drinking?"

  Before anyone else could respond, Ashanti took the initiative and said, "The special."

  None of the girls were drinking what was on special because they didn't want to spend close to ten dollars on a bunch of liquor thrown together.

  "Expensive company," one of the other men muttered with disapproval.

  "It's called class," Ashanti retorted, giving him a hard glare.

  The drinks were bought and the girls blended with Todd's friends well, except Ashanti. Already put off by Todd's complaining friend, she morphed into her stuck up persona that the girls were used to.

  Ivy sipped the unidentifiable, disgusting drink. "I don't like this," she whispered.

  "It's good." Ashanti rolled her eyes while Ivy cringed.

  Minutes later, another drink was set in front of Ivy and she turned her attention to the glass before looking up to see who gifted it.

  Their eyes locked. With a genial smile across his face, Rule held her gaze.

  "Thanks,” quietly floated from her mouth.

  "You look more like a Negroni girl." He held her gaze while wearing a smile that sent flutters through her stomach.

  "I actually don't drink, but thanks." Prying her eyes from him, they went to the drink she lifted to her lips. "Much better."

  "You're an ass!" Ashanti boasted, grabbing Ivy's attention again. "You're classless and annoying." She was scolding Todd's friend, the one who complained about Ashanti wanting the most expensive drink.

  "You're stuck up and obnoxious," he snipped.

  "At least I ain't sittin' here in a twelve dollar flannel and jeans from the thrift store." The disgust on her face had Ivy silently laughing. She wasn't laughing at the man taking the tongue lashing, but her sister-in-law could be ruthless.

  He smoothed his hands down his chest, over the bright blue flannel that he knew looked good.

  "Ya know." He looked down at his shirt. "I don't even think I paid money for this shirt—”

  "Someone should pay you to wear it." Her eyes narrowed. "Although, maybe it's not the shirt that's ugly."

  He feigned hurt. "Is that why you dress in expensive clothes? You think it keeps the attention off your face?"

  Her mouth popped open and a strangled noise left her throat, but she was stunned silent. With a frustrated grunt, she stood and stormed to the bar.

  "Luke," Rule sighed, shaking his head.

  "What? She's a bitch." Luke shrugged.

  Ivy’s mouth opened and she glanced around the table noticing her other friends hadn’t caught any of that little tiff. When Luke’s friend continued scolding him, she held her lips tightly shut, keeping the straw between them while she stared at Luke.

  "This is why you're single. You know that, right?" Rule chuckled at his helpless friend.

  "What's your excuse?" Luke clapped him on the back. "Good guys, bad guys, we all lose." With a shrug, he walked away.

  "Him and his girlfriend just broke up," Rule said to Ivy, who nodded, then was startled by a loud noise and the table rattling.

  "Shots!" The bachelor called out and began passing the shots around the table.

  Ivy indulged because she could either drink more or go home, and she knew her friends weren't going to let her go home before eleven.

  "I want to dance," she told Kate.

  In mid-conversation, Kate held her finger up.

  "Marilyn, want to dance?" Ivy asked her.

  "Hold on, hold on." Marilyn laughed while listening to one of the guys drunkenly tell a story.

  "Jaim—” Ivy sighed seeing Jamie was already in a lip lock with an unknown man.

  "I'll dance with you," Rule spoke and she quickly looked at him.

  "You don't have to." She laughed.

  Karen stopped her conversation when she heard Rule tell Ivy he'd dance with her. "But he wants to," she said, pushing Ivy to stand. She knew her friend would need a push and she gave it to her, literally.

  Ivy stumbled forward, but Rule caught her arm.

  "You okay?" He glanced back at Karen with furrowed brows. "Your friends are a little aggressive."

  "Drunk," Ivy quietly muttered. "You really don't have to dance with me."

  "But I want to." He saw the skepticism on her face. "How about this." He stopped the shot girl and grabbed two shots from her tray, then threw a twenty on it. "Thanks."

  After taking a shot, loosening up was easy while getting lost in the music. Ivy dropped her head while swaying her hips. Her strawberry blonde hair shielded her closed eyes. It'd been years since she was drunk, and she was savoring it.

  Rule slowly got closer and closer and when his hand went to her hip, she stepped into him. He pushed the hair from her face.

  "You're sexy.” His breath fanned her lips as he stared into her eyes.

  With a weak giggle, she turned her head and moved a little closer. Their bodies moved in a rolling grind to the pulsing song. It was
the first time in a long time that someone other than herself turned her on. Rule was tall, like Derrick had been, so dancing with him was like riding a bike and she knew exactly how to fit against his body to give them what they both wanted. Being only five two sometimes made life difficult, but looking up at a tall, handsome man had never been a burden. She grinded a little harder and he tugged a little closer. For two songs, their bodies stayed connected like maybe they were joined at the hips. Needing a drink, she stepped back at the start of the third song and watched his smile fade.

  "I need a drink and to use the bathroom."

  "I'll get the drinks, you take care of the bathroom." He smiled.

  The line to the bathroom was ridiculous, but there was no putting it off. Her eyes wandered and she found Ashanti animatedly bitching at Luke. Ivy could only imagine what was being said. Once you were on Ashanti's bad side, the good was on a different planet. She giggled, shaking her head, then let her eyes wander again. They landed on Rule, who was at the bar. A woman touched his arm, offering him a drink. He shook his head no and said something, making her frown before walking away.

  Stepping out of the bathroom, she looked right and saw the back of Ashanti's long, black hair as she was willingly being pulled toward the darkness. Before it was too dark to see, Ivy caught a glimpse of the arm of Ashanti's guest and the bright blue plaid surprised her. Laughter bubbled from her and she headed toward the dance floor.

  "Hey." Rule stopped her, handing her a drink.

  "Thanks." Her eyes drifted down the hallway toward the dark and he followed her gaze.

  Ivy looked up at him immediately, thinking he got the wrong idea.

  "I saw Ashanti," she blurted and pointed. "With your friend. The one in plaid."

  "Huh." Rule stared down the hall and mumbled, "Really? They didn't really seem to get along. I saw her screaming at him by the bar."

  "Yeah." Ivy laughed and glanced down the hall again, then leaned against the wall, not minding the support.

  "You know… this is terrible, but I don't even know your name."