by Lora Ann
Making a wrong turn toward the antiquities, I saw Ben Hunt’s office. The lights were on inside, so I decided to take a chance and give seeing him a shot. As I went to knock on the door, it slid open. The office was empty, but there was a teacup on his desk and it was still steaming. Clearly, Mr. Hunt wasn’t far away. I instantly regretted leaving my one photo of the statue I was seeking with the information desk, but there was no going back to get it now. I couldn’t help but look around the elegant office; I’m nosy like that. Ben Hunt’s masculine office was filled with objects from his exploits; a suit of armor stood in the corner and the walls were covered with works of art from all over the world. His desk was ancient and could easily have been sitting there for fifty years. The office had a pleasant smell, a combination of a spicy men’s cologne and antiques. On his large oak desk there was a mask on a stick, a beautiful and ancient-looking object that lured me toward it. I have no idea why I had to touch it that afternoon, but I did. My fingers ran across the sleek ivory porcelain, delicate but yet powerful. As I pulled my curious fingers from it, somehow I lost my balance and the exotic item crashed to the floor. I attempted to break its fall, but failed miserably.
Oh, shit, now you’ve done it Jane! My mind raced as I bent down to pick up the broken pieces—I had no clue what I intended to do with them, but leaving a crashed work of art on Ben Hunt’s floor wasn’t going to score me any points with him. Eventually realizing the futility of hiding my calamity, I instead decided to just leave. As I rotated around to stand up, I froze. A pair of shiny black wing-tipped dress shoes stood inches from where I was crouched on the floor. I followed the impeccable shoes up to the attached legs with my eyes—a charcoal suit, very expensive I guessed, even though I knew nothing about fashion. The spicy masculine smell from the office emanated from him; I felt like a pauper kneeling before royalty. I didn’t belong in front of him.
“Leave it.” His voice was sharp, far more annoyed than angry.
“Uh, I’m so sorry, I’ll pay for this Mr. Hunt…” His well-manicured hand reached down to help me up from my crouch of shame on the floor.
“That is, well that was, a rare seventeenth century Carnival mask from Venice.” His accent was smooth, educated and lovely; nothing like the sharp guttural way the solicitor and Mrs. Carr spoke. His refined accent reminded me of Uncle Stuart’s.
“Oh! Um, well…” He pulled me to my feet firmly so that I stood in front of him, but I avoided making eye contact. He let go of my hand and slipped his perfect one back into his pant pocket. I felt a warm blush of embarrassment rise from my chest up to my cheeks. My eyes refused to lift higher than his deep maroon tie. I’d assumed Ben Hunt would be old and gray, the sort of sage scholar who smokes a pipe and wears a wool cardigan. This Ben Hunt, however, was far from old and decrepit. He was young, not as young as me, but maybe in his mid-thirties. Not only did he smell like heaven, he was tall, solid, and beautiful.
I finally managed to muster the courage to look into his eyes, and then died a slow death when I was frozen there for several long, catatonic moments. His eyes were blue, but like no other blue eyes I’d ever seen. They were pale, but warm—the unnatural color of pure blue topaz. His eyes entranced me and I was completely incapable of coherent speech as he asked me why I was in his office causing mayhem. Yes, he really used the word mayhem.
“I’m sorry, I’m Jane Andrews. My great-uncle Stuart left me a work of art in his estate. I mean…he left me a photo of it. I’m to locate it and—”
“So you broke into my office and vandalized my possessions in order to get me to look at a photo of what?”
“I-I…they wouldn’t let me see you. She said to come back next Tuesday, I don’t have until next Tuesday…”
“Someone said they’d see you next Tuesday?” He chuckled, clearly getting the crude joke.
“Yes, um. May I sit down and talk to you for just a minute about the angel statue? My uncle said that only I could locate it, using clues from the stories he told me as a kid, but I’m not even sure what it is.”
He didn’t move from his position, his feet stoically planted a few feet in front of me, and didn’t invite me to sit down. The rich smell of his cologne was distracting, and my voice stammered as I spoke. He ran his long fingers through his spiky blonde hair in an impatient gesture. A long sigh slid from his perfect lips as his hands settled at his hips.
“The estate lawyer, I forget what they’re called here, he told me to find you—that you might be able to identify the statue and give me a clue as to where to begin looking for it…”
“A clue? Like a scavenger hunt, Jane?” When he used my first name, my legs buckled as I fought to brace myself. In a nervous habit, I began to chew my index fingernail.
“Don’t bite your fingernails, it’s disgusting,” he said with a sneer, as if I were picking my nose.
“Will you please just look at the photo? I have to get back to Toledo soon, I’ve lost my job and I can’t afford to—”
“Toledo?” He said the word as if it were some sort of curse; as if a modest city in America was the reason for his ruined piece of art—as if Toledo was wasting his time rather than me.
“Show me the picture,” he said dismissively, like a parent giving in to the temper tantrum of an errant child.
“Uh, well, I left it up at the information desk. I’ll go get it and bring it back…” Through the open door of his office, a woman glided in. She was stunning—tall with long wavy blonde hair drifting across her shoulders. Her skin was like flawless china, her lips a perfect pouty pink. She was staring at me; her tight red sheath dress gleamed above her matching red heels. She seemed amused when she asked, “Who’s your friend, Ben?” I was a joke to her, standing in front of these two perfect specimens of humanity in my ratty old cheap coat, soaked and tattered Chuck Taylor sneakers, and faded worn jeans. My hair wasn’t even dry yet, and once again my finger nervously found its way into my mouth as Ben snapped, “Don’t bite your fingernails.” The woman chuckled at his rebuke as he turned toward her, his long arm wrapping around her slender waist.
“Give her a break, Ben. She’s clearly had a hard day.”
She reached a flawless hand out to me, her nails painted bright red. “I’m Verity, nice to meet you.”
“Jane,” I managed to mutter as my shaky, sweaty palm found her firm, dry handshake.
“Right, Verity and I are late for an appointment. Miss Andrews, it has been…interesting. If you’d be so kind as to show yourself out? Thank you.” Just like that, I was dismissed from Ben Hunt’s superior world.
“Will you look at the photo, please, my contact information is on the back?”
“Of course,” he mumbled, his attention now fully on the beautifully perfect Verity.
I turned and left his office, the broken mask still in a pile on his gleaming wooden floor. As I pushed the heavy door closed behind me, I could hear Verity giggle loudly and say, “Ben, you’re incorrigible! Being harsh with a poor little waif like that!” Poor little waif…I should have told them both to kiss my American ass. I glanced at the Timex watch on my wrist; it was thirty minutes before the museum was closing, and Mr. Hunt said they were leaving—there was no way he would be able to see my photo that day if the witch at the front desk left. She didn’t seem like the type to stay after hours.
I found myself standing at the information desk once again, with Ms. Witch pretending not to remember me from an hour ago. “Can I help?” she chirped, her standard line apparently. “I left a photo with you earlier. May I have it back please?” She shuffled through her desk and slid my photo back to me as if she were relieved to have her workspace free of that pestilence. “Thank you,” I said as I turned to leave her desk with the photo tucked under my arm. “The Fitzwilliam closes in promptly thirty minutes, Miss,” she scolded as I walked toward the corridor to Ben Hunt’s office.
The lights were out in his office, the door pulled shut. I intended to slide the photo under his door in the hope that he w
ould see it first thing in the morning. However, as I leaned down to leave the photo, his door pushed open—it hadn’t fully latched shut. Verity was bent over his large desk, her red silk dress pushed up above her narrow hips. Ben Hunt was behind her, his suit pants at his ankles as he fucked her hard from behind, her entire body slamming into the giant oak desk with every thrust. His large hands held her hips as he thrust into her, his eyes locked not onto Verity but on the very thing that shocked me the most. In front of Verity, splayed out on the desk with legs wide open, was another woman. She was small, of Asian descent possibly, with bobbed black hair. Her navy blue shirtdress was fully unbuttoned, and her dark eyes were locked on Ben’s pale blue ones. As Verity eagerly lapped at the woman’s smoothly shaven sex, she moaned and writhed on the desk, the brown nipples on her tiny breasts rock hard. My level of sexual experience up until then had been very limited—I’d had two sexual partners in my brief twenty-three years; one was a boyfriend of six months, and the other had been a brief high-school young love type affair. I’d never seen a threesome before, not even in movies. As Ben grabbed a handful of Verity’s hair, growling at her to, “Fucking eat that pussy like the naughty slut that you are,” I turned to leave. I heard a loud slap of a hand to skin as Verity, I assumed, yelped. I’ve never made such a quick exit in my life. I was shocked, horrified, and ridiculously turned on. So turned on that I almost stopped by the restrooms to get myself off. It wasn’t until I was on the upper level of the bus on the way back to the B&B that I realized I’d dropped the photo at some point—I couldn’t find it anywhere and it was my only copy. Like Verity, I was thoroughly fucked.
The Hunt for Eros, an erotic adventure in art, is available on Kindle, Kindle Unlimited, and Paperback. Full-length standalone novel.
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Sneak Peek from Cade (A Society Novel, Book 2) by Mason Sabre
Chapter One
There was something about shifting from man to wolf that Cade MacDonald loved. He thrived on it and sometimes, he wondered if it would be better to live his life as his wolf rather than the man; it was certainly simpler. But it was more than just the simplicity. There was a sense of peace and home — a yearning deep inside that every bone popping spasm quenched. As Cade's transformation completed, and he stretched into his new shape, his mind sharpened to his surroundings. Rain had fallen over the days before, leaving petals laden with rainwater and leaves weighted down with nature's burden. Tiny droplets of water clung to his grey fur as he padded away from the safety of his clothes and towards the trail that led into the trees.
The wind changed, gently ruffling Cade’s fur. He paused and raised his snout to catch the sweet scent of heather in the crisp evening air. The sun had already begun its descent as he turned to the path, inhaling once more and savouring the sweetness of the night. He took it all the way deep into his lungs, savouring nature's aromas before darting off into the darkness of the trees.
He ran.
He ran fast and free. His paws hit the ground and propelled him forward with each powerful step. He ran until he was out of breath, and yet he still went on. With each step, his strides became longer. He pushed himself, endeavouring to gain speed and run faster than he ever had before. A guiding hand from the depths of his soul urged him forward.
His heart sped up. It beat with every echo of his paws as they pounded onto the ground.
He fought his mind as he ran. He refused to give it permission to wander to places it wanted to go — to forbidden desires. She was there in his mind, relentless; always in his thoughts. She was an addiction he could not shake. Faster he ran, trying to satisfy the ache inside with something else, but it was no use. The longing inside was that of a starving man, and no matter how much he ran, he couldn't sate the hunger that burned within him. His soul ached for one thing only. One person.
Gemma.
He burst out from the trees and onto a country lane. He dug his paws into the mud to stop the momentum of his run and skidded. Lurching forward, he unsheathed his claws in a desperate bid to save himself from tumbling into the middle of the track. Relieved that there had been no oncoming traffic at the time, he mentally chastised himself for getting so lost in his thoughts that he had put himself in danger. Picking himself up, he spun around and shuffled back to the safety of the woodland’s edge.
A low rumble in the distance caught his attention; the thunderous sound of an approaching vehicle. Its tyres crunched on the gravel, the sound growing steadily louder. A flashing blue light swelled on the horizon until it became identifiable. He scrambled back as an ambulance approached and sent dirt and twigs flying into Cade's face. He turned sharply, closing his eyes as he spat out dust.
The sound of the siren faded just as fast as it had come. The blue lights dissolved into the distance until there was nothing left to see. The lane was empty once again. Cade slunk back into the shade of the trees. Something was happening. Something close. He chose to go down a different trail — one that ran alongside the road, but not too close. It broke away through sparse bushes, and into a thick carpeting of last season's foliage. He trod carefully. A small twig snapped underfoot and echoed through the woods. The trees thickened overhead, blocking out the last rays of sunlight as he moved deeper into the forest. Cool air met him, carrying with it the pungent aroma of rotted earth … and something else. Something infinitely worse. The scent made his flesh crawl and left goosebumps in its wake. He came to an abrupt halt as all his senses went on alert, suddenly painfully aware of how loud the silence was around him. He could smell blood — Human blood.
He stood frozen to the spot, trying to gather his thoughts. Dread seeped into his skin. The scent of Human blood was the scent of disaster. The wind had died down and deathly silence remained. It was only when the sound of another siren filled the air that he realised he had been holding his breath. He let it out slowly, trying to calm his racing heart. He moved then, running quickly and determinedly. Whatever shit was unfurling was maybe closer than he wanted to know. He needed to be gone before trouble found him.
He scampered through the fallen needles, ignoring the stray ones that dug into the pads of his paws. He trotted along as lightly as he could manage, moving with as much speed as was possible without making any sound. The sound of his racing heart, however, thundered loudly in his ears.
The path Cade had taken gently sloped with the gradient of the land. He trotted down the trail and slowed when flashing lights lit the trees up in blue, a heartbeat of colour as they flashed every fraction of a second.
Cade could hear muffled voices. A crowd. He crept closer, hiding behind the trunk of a tree. Crouching and keeping low, he padded sideways, moving from tree to tree as he inched closer. The voices became clearer, and Cade could now hear the crackle of police and ambulance radios as well. Sobbing and crying accompanied the chorus of sounds, the night air now filled with an overwhelming sense of chaos and despair. Cade edged even closer until he had an unobstructed view of the tumult below. Keeping to the shadows so that the flashing lights wouldn’t illuminate him and make his presence known, his eyes took in the grim scene. The police had portioned off a section, and Cade peered closer to catch a better glimpse.
Not yet covered, a mutilated body lay on the ground. The scent of blood and death hung thick in the air, the smell of urine and vomit acrid as it burnt the back of his throat, even from this distance. Bright red innards appeared like a mound of meat on a butcher’s slab, slivers of intestine scattered around. The blood marks on the ground resembled spattered red paint. It made a clear and easy trail for the Humans to follow when they started hunting down the culprit of this hi
deous act. Of course, right now they were nothing but cowards. They all spoke with confidence — big men with big words — but no one had even ventured into the forest yet. Cade would have smelt them. But the woodland remained untainted by the stench of Humans. It would be a while yet. The Humans had Others who worked for them, and no doubt they’d prefer to leave it up to them to hunt for whatever — or whoever — had done this. Fucking Human cowards. Cade knew the relevant calls had already been made and that the Others were already informed and preparing to get involved.
The scent of blood surrounded him and the trail he could see led into the woods. Cade sniffed the air and began to head that way, the cries and whining of the Humans following him as he went.
“It was a monster,” someone sobbed. “He came along the road and then he attacked us. We were doing nothing.” The voice was young and high-pitched and snivelling. Humans and their stupidity, Cade thought with disgust.
“No. It sat outside and waited for us,” another one cried.
Someone wept, deep, gut-wrenching sobs. If they weren’t Human, Cade might have felt an ounce of sympathy for them. But the lies were already starting.
“This is why we should execute them at birth,” a woman shouted.
“I always tell my Jack that,” another said. “I was telling him just last week that we should get these things gone.”
“Kathy told me that she knew someone who had caught it from them. This girl had played in the sandbox and she cut herself. Their germs were all over the place from the night before. Next day, her mother woke up. Found this thing.”
