Black Lace Quickies 3 Read Online Free Page A

peaks. My orgasm rolls on and on, and Tom is still gasping into my mouth, still coming. It feels sublime, orgasm-without-end. Our lips slide and smear, and nothing else can touch us. It’s as if we’re melting into each other at every breath. And I am him and he is me, and we are all ecstasy, all delirium, all gone.
    Sex, I think, will never be the same again.
    We didn’t buy a carpet for the hallway that holiday. But sometimes it’s like that. You go out hoping to buy one thing and come home with something totally different. I’ve stopped drawing Tom in the middle of the night as well. I don’t feel the need any more. I don’t have that yearning to capture him. Because I have my Tom, I have him entirely, from now until the end of time. And if I ever start to doubt it, I just need to picture his face, glazed with rapture at the point of climax. He doesn’t know what he looks like. I don’t know what I look like either. People don’t, generally speaking, do they?
    All I know is that he’ll never look at another woman like that; he’ll never be able to. Because when he comes, something shifts in his eyes. He rides the wave, annihilated with bliss, the two of us breathing so hard and so deep. And when he looks at me, his beautiful blue eyes have black, slit pupils. And I am him and he is me. And I know we are possessed.
    Kristina Lloyd is the author of the Black Lace novels
Darker than Love
and
Asking for Trouble
. Her short stories have appeared in several Wicked Words collections.

The Game of Kings Maya Hess
    TESSA DROVE HER sweating horse down the field for the final time that day and clipped the ball with her mallet, sending it at an acute angle into the goal. The handful of onlookers sent a few casual claps her way before ambling back to the clubhouse, most of the other players and spectators having already retired to the veranda for pre-dinner drinks and talk of the impending matches.
    Tessa was the last player left on the field and, as she guided her horse back to the stable yard, she again noticed that strangely familiar figure leaning against the perimeter fence, one foot cocked on the railings, both hands gripping the top bar. Tessa knew he’d been watching her throughout the afternoon’s practice sessions. In fact, he hadn’t taken his eyes off her from the moment she’d arrived at the club earlier. She didn’t understand the man’s interest in her, especially as she was caked in sweat and dust. Tessa had an uncertain feeling that she knew him from somewhere and guessed that he recognised her too.
    ‘Last off the field. Does this mean that you’re dedicated or apprehensive about tomorrow’s play?’ The man stepped away from the fence and positioned himself in front of Tessa’s exhausted horse. The creature threw back its head and snorted indignantly.
    Tessa brought her leg across the rear of the saddle and slipped lightly off her mount. Mandarin-coloured dust erupted around her black leather boots. She raised her eyebrows, allowing herself a beat to study his face, to harvest any recollections about the man before she spoke.
    ‘Dedicated, of course. Apprehensive, never. My entire team is honed and ready.’ Tessa offered a terse smile but wasn’t sure why her voice hardened and her jaw clenched. She found herself tipping back her head and bringing her knees together in almost military style. She clicked her mouth and walked on, holding her horse’s bridle.
    The man remained by her side. ‘Jack Wentworth,’ he said, again positioning himself in the horse’s path and this time sending it into a series of frustrated whinnies.
    Tessa patted its shoulder and gripped the bridle. His name was vaguely recognisable but Tessa’s impatience of the man’s rudeness outweighed her desire to know who he was. Doubtless she’d heard his name mentioned at another match. He was evidently a Polo player, dressed in jodhpurs and team shirt and cap.
    ‘I have to get Nitro back to the groom. He needs water