Anthologies



Excerpt from Overcome:


It was dark, but Max’s silhouette was unmistakable, standing square and lean a few feet away from her.

“How did you know I was here?” Riley chewed her lip, huddled against the arm of the raggedy couch, eyeing the duffle bag at Max’s feet.

“Same way you knew I would come.”

“You didn’t have to,” she whispered.

“The hell I didn’t,”  

“You gonna turn me in?

“What do you think?”  He bent down to remove a grease stained package from the duffel.  “Brought you a burger.”

“Cheese?”

“Nah. I know you like cheese, but it was all they had at the gas station this time of night.”

Riley twisted her mouth into a teasing smirk.  “You’re such a disappointment.”

He returned her irony with a laugh, taking another step forward and cracking a smile in the moonlight, making Riley wish she could throw her arms around him.  Instead, she took the paper bag from his hand and set it on the coffee table amidst the dust and debris.

Headlights flashed into the room from the road.   Hardly anyone ever drove so far off the highway that time of night.  Her bare shoulders twitched as the high beams cut through the darkness.

Max still lingered at the edge of the couch, too far to reach her even if he wanted.  But the brief illumination gave him a glimpse of her face, stained in mascara, frightened.

“I’m in trouble, Max.” 

“I know, baby.”

“Why didn’t I listen to you?”

“You never did before,” he chuffed.  “Not one time in all the years we spent in this place.  That hard head of yours ... kept you in plenty of hot water with old Ms. Perry too, remember?”

Ms. Perry hadn’t let her foster children call her anything else.  The word ‘mom’ wasn’t part of either of their vocabularies and the concept of family was as intangible as the grayed woman’s constant plumes of smoke, blowing ghost-like through the rooms.  The stench of cigarettes still clung to the wallpaper of the abandoned house more than eight years later.

Riley started to explain.  “Devon was just supposed to pick up some product from his dealer.  That fucker didn’t tell me he was going to rob the guy. He just dropped the gun and left me standing there!  I called 911, Max, and I ran.”  She lowered her eyes.  “Did he kill him?  Big G, is he dead?”

“He got tagged in the shoulder, he’ll live.”  Max took a seat on the other side of the tattered couch.  “What the hell were you thinking getting mixed up with that lowlife?”

“Which one?”

He laughed, “Yeah right, you always had a talent for hooking up with the biggest asshole you could find.”

“Not always,” she whispered. The apology was unmistakable.






Excerpt from Highly Inspired:
"Welcome back Ms. Pierce.  Glad you're joining us today."

I responded to her perky greeting with a polite smile.  "Hi, Mandy.  Full house, huh?  Bet you’re ready for the weekend.  I know I am."  Too bad it’s only Thursday.

I’d flown that New York to DC air shuttle so many times before, I could use my frequent flyer miles to get to the moon. The flight attendants treated me practically like family. Once again, buttoned up in my most conservative of business suits, I was the perfect image of corporate sterility, predictability, reliability.  Ughh, what happened to me?  My life seemed like an endless blur of meetings and sales reports.  Work had become who I was, not what I did and I almost didn’t recognize the person in the mirror anymore.  That girl, the one who even surprised herself half the time—I wanted her back.

There was movement in the next seat and I glanced sideways at the reckless looking guy in a tight fitting skater tee and a sexy buzz cut raising the sun shield on the window.  The warm rays hit my face and washed his dirty blond stubble in an amber glow.  What a contrast between the two of us, though he looked to be about my same age.  He removed his sunglasses from his collar and placed them on the tray table along with his cell phone, then flashed a smile when he caught me stealing a glimpse of his bad boy looks.  I smiled back, but immediately returned to my papers.

“May I have your attention, please?”  Mandy’s tone hinted we weren’t going to like what she had to say. “Dulles is experiencing some difficulties with several of their runways due to bad weather in the DC metro area.  We expect about an hour delay on departure.”

Above the loud hiss of the ventilation system, a united sigh of disappointment flooded the cabin and I called the office to let them know I’d be pressed to make the morning staff meeting on time.  It seemed everyone was making calls, including my temporary neighbor.

When I was finished, I couldn't help but overhear, though he was careful to speak softly.  “... keep still.  I’ll have a taste of you soon, but not yet.  I just want to look at you first.”
I pulled my papers up to my face and smiled privately to myself, assuming he was talking to his girlfriend.  The call went on for five minutes or so, making me blush at his words.  Lucky girl, I mused.  But it was odd that he didn't seem to say goodbye or end the conversation in any recognizable way.  He simply finished with, "... and every last drop of you is delicious."  Then, he ended the call.
I looked away—stared intentionally across the aisle to hide the guilt displayed on my face for eavesdropping.  The moisture in my panties was thankfully not as obvious. 

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, leaning just slightly closer with a playful smirk.  “I’m not a serial obscene phone caller.”  When I turned to him with a frown, he smiled. “Well, not exactly.”




BWE 2011
Excerpt from Two For One:

I rarely have the time to treat myself to anything. Call me a work-a-holic, but starting a PR firm from the ground up has my days jammed packed with serving the requirements of others. Demanding as they are, I have to be grateful that my list of clients is rapidly growing and it’s looking like my business will actually turn a profit some day. Still, to keep my sanity I have a daily affirmation: It will all be worth it when I can hire someone else to put up with all the bullshit, and I get my ass on another plane to work my magic on some new product launch or fundraising breakfast or whatever. All that back and forth can be murder on your body; not enough sleep, too much time in coach … not enough sex. By the time I'm ready to return, I'm guaranteed to be stressed-out, mentally spent and in desperate need of a massage. After one particularly long and aggravating day on the road, I decided that some relaxation at the hands of another was just what I deserved.

I stopped at the concierge desk. "Your website mentioned that you have a spa," I inquired with a vapid looking young woman; interrupting her not so discreet conversation with one of the porters about her last bootycall. She glanced my way, clearly inconvenienced by my pesky desire to be helped. "I'd like a massage. Can I make an appointment here?" I asked her directly.

She sighed, and told the guy she would tell him the rest later. I wondered if that tactic would be successful for her; dangling the fruit on the tree to show off how ripe it is. From the look on his face, I'd have said that it was working. "Do you want a male or female therapist?" she asked finally, staring at the computer screen.

"I'll take whoever is available first. I know it's short notice, but I was hoping to get a back rub in about an hour," I tried to make a joke, "You know, it's like an emergency." It went completely over her head and she tapped at the keyboard, sucking her teeth in annoyance. "If it's not too much trouble," I added sarcastically, becoming annoyed a bit myself - confounded that a four star hotel could have such a two star employee working for them.




Excerpt from  Hypocrites:

The night he won his first city council election produced just a little bit more insight into what made Jacob tick. He stood there in front of his campaign staff, much like we do today, with a message of perseverance and a double entendre for only my ears to decipher.

“They said we couldn’t do it, but when darkness obscures your way, the sun will always follow.”

I grinned. No doubt, there would be a blindfold in my future that night and perhaps some revelations. After three years of marriage, I’d learned to appreciate his cues. His public for wilder thrills or render his ripened sexuality obsolete. As dedicated to his political career as he was, it would never sustain him alone.

We escaped the last of Jacob’s constituents around eleven, feigning exhaustion and the intention to get some sleep. But once his shirt lay discarded on the floor and his glasses were removed, the man who few really know made his appearance. The fuzzy cuffs were already on the bed, a present from a Christmas past. I only grinned while lying there in the flouncy little miniskirt Jacob loves to fuck me in and waited for him to materialize at my side; first to restrict my sight and then to bind my wrists.
persona was that of stoic dignity, yet even the highs of victory could not outdo his need for wilder thrills or render his ripened sexuality obsolete. As dedicated to his political career as he was, it would never sustain him alone.

We escaped the last of Jacob’s constituents around eleven, feigning exhaustion and the intention to get some sleep. But once his shirt lay discarded on the floor and his glasses were removed, the man who few really know made his appearance. The fuzzy cuffs were already on the bed, a present from a Christmas past. I only grinned while lying there in the flouncy little miniskirt Jacob loves to fuck me in and waited for him to materialize at my side⎯first to restrict my sight and then to bind my wrists.





Excerpt from  For the Good:

As Myra teetered on the ladder, Stacy found herself peering under her miniskirt, making out the round curve of her bottom.  What was it about her?  She didn't know, but the secret floated in the scent of the air when she passed, making Stacy want to take a deep breath. 

Myra shifted to maintain her balance and Stacy got a good view of her silky panties, unexpectedly sheer, the soft rise of her lips beyond.  She stared, and really didn't care to remember that someone might be watching.  In the shadows, she could just make out the barest of skin scarcely sheathed from the rest of the world in fine black mesh.  Stacy had thought about being completely bare … down there, but hadn't found the courage to go the salon and have it done.  A smile arrived with the idea of her and Myra going together.

Then Myra was losing her balance and Stacy reached to lend support, her hand reflexively slipping under her butt.  In that instant, Stacy was awash with adrenaline, and her hand lingered a moment longer than was appropriate. 
Myra passed a slight smirk over her shoulder down to Stacy.  

"I knew you'd come in handy.  Thanks."

 Stacy yanked her hand away, tucking it quickly behind her back.  "I’m sorry.”

Thoughtfully, Myra let her tongue dance slowly over her teeth while her eyes burned into Stacy’s skin, putting her further on the spot.

"Lunch."  The announcement from across the room delivered 
Stacy a welcome respite.

She cleared her throat.  "I'll grab you a sandwich.  Grilled chicken, right?"

"Thanks hon', I'll save you a seat."

Stacy claimed two neatly wrapped paper bundles and slipped into the chair next to her, marveling at how Myra tended to hold everyone captive with her gritty wit.

"I didn't go all the way to Queens just to hear about the price of milk.  The painful thing about mothers is you never grow up enough to tell them to shut it."  Myra laughed casually as did Jake and Marci who shared the table and nodded with knowing agreement.

Neither of them would have guessed that underneath the table she had begun to trail her fingers up Stacy’s leg.  Myra dared her to put a stop to it.  With each whisper of her fingers on her thigh, she challenged Stacy to brush her away.  Stacy did nothing.  And when Myra suddenly grabbed her, the action merely produced a jolt and an exaggerated blurt of laughter with the intent to deter any suspicion.
Myra smiled directly at her and continued, "You know it's like I spent my entire childhood listening to her tell me to be quiet and the only way I can escape hearing about my cousin's new McMansion is to fake a call waiting on the other line."  Those fingers slowed again on Stacy's thigh, circling and stroking, squeezing ever so slightly.

Stacy looked around, her heart thundering inside her neat cashmere sweater.  It was dizzying—the audacity, the sheer naughtiness.  But Stacy's silent invitation hollered for more with her passive acquiescence.

When Myra’s hand climbed all the way up, to the nest of warmth between her thighs, Stacy  only closed her eyes and rested her head on her index finger.  The image paraded in the darkness, Myra's fingers tracing the edges of her sensible cotton briefs through her leggings.  Then a pinky presented itself, small and skilled on her bud, circling and dabbing so very softly, barely detectable, but growing more present with every passing minute.  All the while, Myra continued to chat and eat, as if nothing were happening at all.

“Stacy, are you alright?”  Jake asked, noticing she had become quiet; her eyes still closed with a distant expression on her face.  He had to ask twice, calling 
“Stacy, did you hear me?” and finally bringing her back to the conversation.

 “I’m fine,” she said, but excused herself nonetheless.  In truth, Stacy had become uncomfortably wet inside her panties and needed to escape to the bathroom.