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In the darkest corner of the heart there throbs a secret yearning, where even the purest lover dreams of supernatural seduction. These five spine-tingling tales will introduce you to lovers both sensual and bizarre. From naughty tentacles to slippery slime girls, eloquent demons to horny dinosaurs, this second volume of monster erotica will indulge your darkest temptations.

In "Dinner for Slime," a weary soldier stumbles into an enchanted swamp and falls for the shapeshifting wiles of a slime girl. In "Kraken in a Jar," Corrina discovers the evil secret at the heart of her village and calls forth a tentacled savior. In "Coward's Keep," a powerful demon steals a princess from her betrothed (much to her delight). In "Deinonychus Dom," Marcy Delaney offers rich husbands the chance to be cuckolded by horny dinosaurs. Finally, in "Slime Girl Dessert," a brave captain must end his war by offering himself to his slimy paramour.

This compendium of eerie erotica is 40,000 words and recommended for adult readers. Cover art created by Bashko.

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

She lay upon the muddy shore, her eyes twinkling like the water. Green tears dripped from her cheeks and beaded slowly into her bosom. The sight of her took Dru's breath away.

Her legs were long and bare, her feet untouched by the muck and mire that surrounded her. Her individual toes were topped by small, perfect toenails, unblemished and unbruised by the hard labor that discolored human skin. Her hands were buried in the mud, the green tendrils of her hair writhing over her face. Her body shook from the intensity of her sobs. Her curves jiggled. With every gasp, her large breasts rolled like jelly tarts. Her thighs rippled like the cesspool she was born in.

He was a young man, and she was everything he'd dreamed of.

His hand fell from his sword. He licked his lips, still tasted blood when he swallowed. And her slime. It was not poison, like the water of the bog, but reminiscent of pine and white water lilies. "Why are you crying?" he whispered. Her thick hair flew back from her face. Her big eyes grew bigger still. "I didn't know...that you cried," Dru said. "I don't know anything about this place," he added. "About anything."

The slime girl hesitated at the water's edge, her wet eyes studying him intently. Would she slither back into the swamp? Would she attack? Dru didn't know. He could only stare at the beautiful thing, the naked body he craved to touch again. "You?" she said quietly.

"I know I'm an idiot for coming back here," he said. "It's just...are you lonely?"

Hand over hand, she crawled from the shore. Her knees flattened the cold mud and her toes dug ten round divots behind her. Cautiously, she climbed to her feet. Her nose was level with his chest but her hair rose higher, thicker, twisting like the tails of clear, wet snakes. Her green fingers touched his chest. Her big eyes stared up at him. "Are you lonely?" she asked.

"Gods," he groaned. "I am. I am."

"I am," she echoed, sliding her hands through his arms. He let his fingers slide down her wet backside, to the warm and bubbly posterior. She molded around him like jam, suctioning to him. Dru grunted in surprise, and the slime went up on her toes to kiss his open mouth.

That taste, he thought. Nothing at all like the foulness that surrounded them. She was life itself. He did not know if she had a mind as he did, but he could feel the yearning in her trembling form. Her lips slimed down his neck, her tongue lapping at his nervous perspiration. Yes, she hungered for his moisture. Any moisture...

Abby hates her punk neighbor. She hates her piercings and her tattoos and her short blue hair. She hates the way she walks and the freewheeling way she lives her life. Most of all, she hates the way she smiles at her in the halls. It's like Leticia knows what Abby's thinking, like she can feel what Abby feels every time she brings home a new girlfriend. Abby's certainly not jealous of the sexy, smirking, blue-haired weirdo... Abby wishes she could just ignore her nasty futa neighbor. Unfortunately, she's still the best lay Abby's ever had!

This erotic tale is 12,000 words and for readers 18 and up.

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

It was insufferable that Leticia knew when I was horny. She didn't always comment, not aloud, but she teased me even so. It was like she had a sixth sense for my arousal. When she smelled it on me, when we passed each other in the hall, she'd casually turn her head and offer what she called her best "lesbo smirk." I usually scowled back at her and said nothing (though my cheeks burned like two guilty roses).

The most recent indignity occurred while I was getting my mail. I looked up and she was opening her own mailbox, not even looking at me but with that stupid smirk on her little lips. They were soft and pink, too cute for the cruel eyes that glinted beneath her faded blue hair. "How's it going?" she asked, in a tone that knew exactly how it was going.

I hated her. I put out no vibes at all, not intentionally, not like at the end of a good date or drunk at a bar and feeling sassy. On those rare occasions I flirted, I smiled, I touched the man I wanted to take me home. That afternoon, as I shuffled swiftly through my spam, nothing in my demeanor said I wanted human contact. What I wanted to do was scream in her face.

How did she always know? After a long day at the office dealing with idiot customers and my idiot bosses and trying not to suffocate in my cubicle, the desire to just be pushed into my pillows and taken to oblivion was overwhelming. Maybe it was the junk mail, maybe it was the inherent loneliness of my building's grungy postal corner, but something about twisting my key in the metal box brought my horniness to the fore.

It was gross. After an exhausting, awful, thankless day, the last thing I felt was sexy. But Leticia knew I wanted it.

"I'm fine," I snapped at her.

She never snapped back. She just shrugged and went back to reading her mail. But the smirk remained. "This would all be so easy," her eyes said, "if you'd just admit the truth."

Sometimes she left her door open when I returned to my apartment--as a signal to my nervous libido that relief was on call. From inside I'd hear her awful punk music or the clang of pots and pans and know her stupid smirk was just out of sight. Usually I hurried up the stairs to my apartment. But then there were days when she didn't play games. She'd wait in the doorway leaning against the threshold like an imperious cat, arms crossed, eyes too big for her mouth, mouth too soft to ignore. Those were the days I ended up inside her apartment. Those were the days Leticia had her way with me.

I hated her. The kisses were soft at first but soon came the teeth. She'd bite my lip and make me moan to the ceiling, above which resided my own barren apartment. How many girls had I heard her seduce while trying to cook or sleep or read in peace? And so I wondered, not for the first time, was I angry because I was just like them or because I was just like her?

For eighteen years Rapunzel has been a captive in the witch's tower. Desperate to know the world beyond her narrow window, the girl prays for sweet release. It is not only the witch and the tower she seeks to escape but the nameless ache inside her restless body. When a handsome thief charms his way into her bedroom, she knows salvation is at hand. This erotic tale is 16,000 words and for readers 18 and up.

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

Laertes warred within his soul. He craved this maiden with a passion indescribable, the peerless beauty whose very lust blossomed from a font of sweetest purity. She begged to know the ways of men and women and he was fain to indulge her. But what great sin would it be to profane a heart so true? He touched the hand upon his trousers and whispered, "With all that I am, dearest Rapunzel, know that I love thee. But I cannot grant this wish. In the world you know not, disgrace follows women who are loved by men such as I."

"Men such as you?" she asked. "A prince?"

"A lie," he said. "I am a prince of thieves, no more. I scaled this tower in the hopes of plundering its vaunted treasures. Instead I have found the greatest treasure in the five kingdoms...and she has unmanned me with her goodness."

Rapunzel's fingers touched Laertes' trousers. "That is another lie. You are not unmanned, sir."

"Any wretched criminal would ravish you in a heartbeat," he said. "I shall not. I swear it." He dared not look at her again.

Rapunzel gasped to see the tears well in his sapphire eyes. Tenderly, she held his cheek. "Look upon me, Laertes. I bear the marks of your passion and know no shame. What you are a prince of makes no matter to me. I am a princess of despair! I would give you any treasure in this tower just to be rid of the smallest piece of my prison. And I would not interrupt this joyous union for the sake of a world I've never known. I promise you every treasure in this wretched tower if only you will take me too."

Laertes laced his fingers through her own. "I will take you, Rapunzel, I swear it."

"And will you show me your manhood?" she whispered.

"I wish to," he groaned. "I want to! But I pledged to my lost mother's soul I'd never rob an unwed woman of her virtue."

Rapunzel freed her hand from Laertes' grasp. "My virtue! If my virtue prohibits you from bestowing the knowledge I have waited my whole life to know, I charge you to plunder it as you would plunder my tower!" With haste, her nimble fingers began to unlace his trousers. "My virtue has gained me naught but sleepless nights," she scoffed. "I long to be rid of virtue!"

Laertes seized her hand. "Rapunzel, I made a vow! As God as my witness, or even your precious moon, I shall not break it."

Rapunzel wailed with fury. She clutched the man by his thick shoulders and searched his sky blue eyes. "Then do not break your vow!" she said. "Make me your wife."

Laertes gaped at the girl. "What?"

Rapunzel pushed herself into his lap and hung her arms about his tan neck. "Wed me, Laertes. Now! In this very moment."

"I haven't the power to do that," he whispered.

"Yes you do," she whispered back. She tugged at her ruined neckline and pushed her naked chest into his tunic. "Say I am your wife," she said. "Marry me now and we shall consummate it here in my bedroom."

Laertes clasped Rapunzel's cheeks between his callused palms. "As God as my witness, and your moon, I declare that we are man and wife."

Their kiss made the constellations gallop in the dimming sky.
Harper may be a virgin, but it's not by choice. After 21 years, she's too nervous and too tight to experience sex. Thankfully, Dr. Evelyn Avery knows just how to loosen the girl up. Her extra anatomy makes her the perfect size to break in a sweet young virgin. Can Harper say no to this seductive futanari? She's never been attracted to a woman before, but Dr. Avery makes her pulse race!

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

The woman must have been standing outside the door to reach her so quickly, or else she just appeared out of thin air. From the enigmatic smile on her rescuer's ruby lips, Harper's not ruling out the latter. The woman's skin is remarkably clear, freshly exfoliated and with very little makeup; her nose is small and turned up with the most delicate and commanding twist. Harper can't tell how much of her eyebrows are real, but they are dark and bold and pointed at the ends. Clear, rimless glasses frame the most striking feature in her oval face: Cinnamon eyes, so bright they sparkle. In the morning's light they appear faintly red, a match for her full, smiling lips.

"You okay now, honey?" she asks. Her voice matches her smile. Low and smooth, it eases round Harper's ears with an effortless friendliness. It reattaches her feet to the ground and gently nudges the last of her dizzy anxiety away.

"I'm fine, really," says Harper. "I just...I got so nervous in there, and..." Words fail her again, but the woman's firm hands give her a reassuring squeeze. Swallowing, the muscles in her throat relax and she lets out a sigh. "I've never done this before," she finishes lamely.

The woman's smile downshifts from its enigmatic brilliance to a softer, compassionate grin. "What, you're not thrilled at the prospect of some stranger poking around in your hoo-ha?"

Harper indulges her with a miserable chuckle. "I know, right? Everyone else must be lining up for the fun."

The woman shakes her head in affectionate commiseration. Her hair is dark, a milk chocolate mix between chestnut and black and done up in a Dutch braid. Her hands are still holding Harper up...but she's surprised to realize she likes that. The firmness of the woman's fingers, the warmth in her palms, helps to balance out the feeling of weightless frailty that's floating in Harper's gut. And this older woman (younger than any of the clinic's staff, Harper thinks, but she must be in her late twenties or early thirties) seems content to hold her until Harper tells her not to. It's at this point that Harper realizes the woman is wearing a white coat with a bronze name tag over her breast. It reads DR. EVELYN AVERY.

"You - you work here!" Harper squeaks.

The woman, Dr. Avery, quickly glances over each shoulder and in a breathless whisper warns Harper, "Don't say it so loud! If they find me out here they're going to make me go back inside and attend to my patients!" She grins at Harper until the girl is giggling in her grasp.

There is a confidence in everything the woman does, Harper realizes. It makes her feel like she's been dropped onto a stage with an actress that will never let her fail. Even in a wet parking lot at ten in the morning, gray clouds just barely rolling back from a cold sun, she feels surrounded by a friendly crowd.

In reality, it's just Dr. Avery's smile that makes her feel warm and protected.

"I'm going to let you go now," she says. "Can you promise me to keep your feet?"

Now Harper's not sure. There is a lightness in her stomach unlike the sick ache she felt before. She tells herself it's the rush of emotions she's experienced in so short a time, fear to panic to something like tranquility...but she wonders if it's something about the doctor herself. The woman is beautiful and a little bit silly, but Harper's never felt attraction to a woman before (or at least, never this strongly).
It's here! Three of erotica's most prolific writers have teamed up to bring you their first-ever body-swapping anthology! If you've ever wondered what sex was like from the other point of view, wonder no more. These sizzling erotic stories will light your fire, and leave you breathless and aching for more. Don't miss the steamy no-holds-barred fun!

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

"He's A Lesbian Now" - Brian and Jia have been best friends since they were children. Everyone says they're perfect for each other. But the lovely Jia is a lesbian, and Brian...isn't. Then one morning Brian wakes up to find himself in a brand new body! He isn't Brian, but Brianna! Will he get his old body back? And with Jia starting to look at him in a whole new way, does he even want to?

"The Woman Who Wasn't" - Charlie Nelson is just walking down the street, minding his own business, when he’s suddenly killed in a brutal drive-by shooting...or is he? When he regains consciousness, he finds himself inhabiting a sexy teenage girl's body. It can’t be true--he's a strong, virile man! He doesn't know a thing about being a woman--and he doesn't want to learn! Then if that's not bad enough, his lifelong best friend thinks he's hot, and wants to pop his cherry. What else can possibly go wrong?"I Stole My Boss's Body" - Sasha can't stand her boss. Sure, Trent's handsome as hell, but he's got the manners of a pig! More than anything, she wishes she could put that arrogant, sexist egomaniac in his place. When her wish abruptly comes true, Sasha awakens to find herself in Trent's body! Now she has all the power in the office and Trent must submit to her demands. And not only Trent, but Sasha's slutty neighbor too...
Kimberly wants to be good, but how can she when being bad feels so much better? Ever since she unearthed a strange artifact in the desert, this beautiful scientist has been cursed with a relentless sexual desire. It's a delicious addiction, but it's ruining her life! Can she discover a way to break the spell, or will she spread her legs for every man in Cleveland?

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

While they chit-chatted their way through the awkward phase of getting to know each other, she watched his eyes, his mouth, his nervous hands. Scott was probably a sweet but succinct lover. Going down on her would be his most daring gambit between the sheets. He'd want to maintain direct, unswerving eye contact while they made love, and get embarrassed if either of them made too much noise.

A perfect gentleman or a perfect wet blanket, she didn't care. It was all she needed tonight. If they actually had chemistry, if there was anything remotely hot behind his dumb, doe eyes, she'd be in trouble.

She hadn't counted on the waiter.

From the moment he seated them at their table his eyes were taking surreptitious dives down her cleavage. The looks were fleeting, furtive, and he always turned to Scott afterwards with a smile. The man had slicked back hair and weasel eyes, and under different circumstances she might not even notice the looks, or not care. But from the first she knew he'd be trouble. Looks would lead to dirty thoughts, and the dirtier his thoughts the hornier she'd have to be. That was how the curse worked.

She was reduced to rocking in her seat to ease the throbbing ache in her bottom. Every hole in her body wanted to be filled - even the most inconvenient ones. When the waiter returned, she felt his desire pass over her like a hot cloud. She moaned aloud when he poured fresh water in Scott's glass.

Both men stared at her, one intrigued, the other scared. Kimberly's eyes locked onto the waiter's…and a devilish smirk bent his face.

When he'd gone Scott leaned over the table. "Do you know him?"

"Um, no." She chewed on a nail. "I mean, no. I mean, maybe. Sorry. I have to use the bathroom."

"Didn't you just-?" His words were swallowed up by the ringing in her ears. She rushed between the crowded tables, flames licking at her tender buttocks. Men turned to watch her pass. Was she so extraordinarily desirable? Or did all men need to picture her naked before they went back to chewing their garlic bread?

It didn't matter. All that mattered was that she felt it too. She felt the waiter's desire reflected and magnified inside her. If she didn't act on it, she'd explode. She wasn't sure if she'd literally explode, but when the urge came over her, when she absolutely had to have it, her heart beat like a rabbit with twenty wolves on its tail. She needed him. He overwhelmed her senses. His smell, his eyes. She longed for the feel of his fingers in her hair. Tight, curling fingers. Needed him. Needed to please him.

He was thinking of her. The hornier he got the sharper the connection became. He was thinking what he'd like to do to her, right there on the table. If she hadn't gotten up when she did, she would have begged him to, right there in front of Scott. No, she couldn't control the curse, but she knew how it worked and could at least channel her nymphomania to where it would bring her the least embarrassment.

The least humiliation.

The least shame.

Oh, but she wanted to be shamed. She wanted to be controlled, dominated, spanked, penetrated. She wanted to submit.

Abner Beal is a stuffy professor in a lifeless marriage, but he's just made the scientific breakthrough of the century: A serum that temporarily turns organic matter invisible. Testing it on himself, he discovers that his beautiful neighbor has left her window open—and is longing for someone, anyone, to satisfy her. This stuffy professor is about to become a very naughty invisible man!

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

I could smell her. It was a thick, bold smell, the smell of a young woman in primordial heat, the smell of a healthy runner's sweat, the smell of the night barely added to the mix and buffeting the perfume of her wet sex into my face and nostrils. Shaking, I came closer. I stared down at the impressions I made in the dense carpeting. If she suddenly sat up and saw the invisible footsteps coming toward her, she'd scream. She'd have to scream. But I had to know. Hadn't I? For science? For myself? For what?!

Suddenly I was leaning over her, at her side. I could taste her frustration, the struggle to release herself from her body. It must have hurt, because she said, "Please…"

That's all she said. That's all she was saying. "Please… Please…" she went on, breathing it. Her breasts flattened and jiggled as she lay on her back and she seemed to fumble between gripping herself, her abdomen, and running her fingers back down between her legs, but all the while she kept saying, "Please…"

If I were a demon I might have ravished her. If I were an angel I might have flown away. But I am just a man…

Now that Catherine has agreed to be Tom's personal call girl, she wonders if she can keep his business and her pleasure truly separate. And as she gives in to Tom's fantasies, she questions whether she and Bobby are really in love. As her heart and her libido collide, there's only one thing Catherine is truly certain of: Tom is the politest pervert she's ever met.

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

Once we got to my house, Tom set his helmet on the table and slipped his gym bag off his arm. He reached into it while I bent down to untie my sneakers. I watched him rifle through it and then pull something black and box-shaped from inside. He dropped the gym bag to the floor and wiped his wet hair out of his eyes.

He slipped my shoes off for me and stood up. I stared at the thing until I was sure of what it was, then I laughed. “Where did you get that?”

He gave a small, crooked smile and shrugged.

I wiped the moisture from around my nose. It had been a very hot day and both of us were even sweatier than usual. “Seriously,” I said. “Who even sells polaroid cameras anymore?” I suddenly realized what he probably wanted and I shook my head. “Wait, no way.”

“You get to keep the photos,” he said peacefully. He took my hand and started to lead me upstairs. I sighed and went with him. When we got to my room he took his shoes off and set them next to the bed. Then he pulled five crisp hundreds from his wallet and set them on the dresser.

He flipped the camera open and wandered to my nightstand. He walked towards the mirror, and then he turned. I was still standing by my doorway.

“Take your clothes off,” he said.

I gave him a sidelong look while he peered through the camera.

He smiled. “Do it. You can count the money first.”

I pulled my shirt up over my head and threw it down on the floor. I was wearing a black sports bra and the fabric was almost soaked completely through. “Actually,” he said, taking a step back against the mirror, “yeah, count it now.”

I tried to give him the look that I thought this was stupid but he ignored it. “Take your shorts off,” he said. “Do it in the bra and panties.”

I hooked my thumbs into my waistband and wiggled out of my shorts. I bent low to hook them off my ankles and get my socks off too. “Stand up and count it,” he said.

I rose up and stepped to my dresser. The bills slid off the wood and into my hands and I started to count. 1…2… The camera flashed. The thing let out a loud mechanical whirr and the picture popped out of the mouth. I licked my thumb and slipped the third bill down. I counted the fourth. And when I folded the last one the camera flashed again and the first picture fluttered to the ground and the second followed it down.

Tom reached down to the floor and took the two pictures. He laid them on my nightstand and turned around to face me.

Half of him was in the mirror. In the other half I could see myself standing in front of my doorway. Tom held the camera up to his face.

 In the conclusion to this tawdry tale of personal prostitution, Catherine is divided between Bobby, the man she thought she loved, and Tom, the enigmatic client that may truly need her. After having her way with both of them, Catherine separates herself from these men, seeking emotional (and physical) comfort in the arms of her best friend Allison. Who will she ultimately end up with, if anyone?

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

Without Tom's bi-weekly visitations to look forward to the days ground on. I didn't stop hitting the gym, but I never saw him there. Allison's acting dreams weren't panning out like she'd hoped and so we became gym bunnies again, getting smoothies afterward, talking about guys, work, and other parts of the daily grind. I didn't tell her about Bobby, or Tom. I tried not to think about it.

I'd saved up enough from our contract to make a down payment on an apartment. If I kept the secretary job I could scrimp by. It wouldn't be a comfortable existence but the few grand would act as a nice buffer while I continued my job search. If that was really what I wanted to do.

I hated to admit it, but without Tom's bi-weekly visitations I lost a little bit of color in my world. In the beginning, I was afraid of him and afraid of what I was doing to myself. Towards the middle, I saw it as a job, as an enjoyable job, but a kind of employment (not a career or a calling, certainly) nonetheless. By the end... I'll be honest, I missed him. I missed his kisses, and I missed his loud, stupid motorcycle. I didn't miss the mystery, because I realized I'd wanted to know more a long time ago.

The orgasms were rough to lose, too.

I tried not to concentrate on that, tried to keep myself in reality. I was at home, it was nearly March, and I was staring at several browser windows of job applications and graduate school websites and trying to figure out if it was weird that Tom had just disappeared from my life. I could call him whenever I wanted, but I didn't know if he'd pick up. I didn't know where he lived. I couldn't find him online. He was like some tricky phantom who'd blown in with the season and blown away, sad and strange. But Tom was more than a ghost. He'd been flesh and blood, hard, never mean, rough and gentle.

It bothered me that I missed him, because I didn't know if I missed him because I missed him, if I missed him because it was over with Bobby, if I really missed Bobby, or if my life was just directionless and I was looking for anything halfway decent to prop me up. It was an uncomfortable position to be in.

With her boyfriend back in town, Catherine puts her prostitution on hold. Tom agrees without argument, but for some reason Catherine can't stop thinking about him. He's satisfied her in ways no other man ever has—and he's the one who's been paying her! Backdoor fun, lewd phone calls, and a threesome with Sara are all in her future. But which man does she truly love, Bobby…or Tom?

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

Where I was conflicted before I was now much less so. I still considered myself with Bobby but I saw my arrangement with Tom more and more as another job, one I happened to actually like. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't about to sell myself on the street. But it's pretty hard to dislike having a man massage you, make love to you, then pay half a grand and be on his way without pushing any other agenda. When I thought about it like that I almost felt like Tom was getting shortchanged. But then again, I was what he wanted, and I did what he wanted.

Case in point, it was near the end of January and I was sitting at home in a tight green apron that I'd found in my mother's closet. It was small, and very old, but it suited the purpose I had for it. I watched myself tie it around my naked body in the mirror, making sure that it was as knotted as it could be (Tom didn't want it to be too easy), taking note of the generic floral print running over the borders and the way it faded and frayed at the edges. I smoothed it over my front and stomach. The frilled bottom just barely covered my upper thighs. I checked myself on the sides. The round slopes of my breasts were clearly visible between my arms and the apron front. After that I sat down and applied makeup. More makeup than I would have, than any girl would have past, let's be honest, 1955.

I read in the paper the other day that when men and women get depressed, they tend to get more sexually active (something about wanting to pass our genes on while survival seems low). That could have been it. I didn't like my current career; and while I didn't expect to be a secretary my whole life, and was almost certain that, somehow or other, I'd eventually get to graduate school, and then a real career, it was all still so far away (it seemed). And I didn't like it. In fact, I hated it. That I took pleasure in what Tom and I were doing was a relief to me. So, when he'd mentioned the apron and the makeup, I went to the gym earlier in the day and came home to prepare. I told him to come by at the usual time.

When the doorbell rang, I blew myself a big red kiss in the mirror. Working a little more wiggle into my hips, I traipsed to the door and opened it slowly…

These hot MILFs have got it going on! In this collection of five erotic tales, young studs discover that nothing beats the sexual experience of a hot older woman. Whether it's lusty librarians, mischievous masseuses, or sweet little homemakers with secret desires, your naughtiest MILF fantasies are about to come true! Lie back, light some candles, and snuggle up with The Bad Girls of Erotica!

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MILF Masseuse

Tom Beecham doesn't mind that his girlfriend Sandy is from the wrong side of town. But on his birthday, Sandy gives him a gift certificate of a free massage from Valerie, a professional masseuse. What he doesn't know is that the two women have a plan. And that plan is to share everything. Including him!

His Rules

When Cathy first met him, Jack was a young up and coming man who was dating her best friend, Kristin.  As his fame and fortune grew, his relationship with Kristin started to come to an end, while feelings started to develop between Jack and Cathy.  Unfortunately, he has rules for dating women who are best friends with women he used to date.

The Librarian’s Horny Assistant

Toby isn’t your average teenager bookworm. He’s seriously well-hung, and he has a taste for sexy older women. He’s also a very fast learner, as his boss Cassia learns when she catches him looking at dirty pictures one night in the breakroom. She can’t resist seducing him and teaching him everything she knows…and now that he has a taste for sizzling-hot sex, his erotic adventures are just beginning!

Submitting To My Son-In-Law

Annie prides herself on being a good mother and an even better wife, but she'll have to betray her morals if she wants to save Carly's marriage. Michael wants to divorce Carly for cheating on him…unless Annie submits to his passionate lust!

Her Best Offer

Nineteen-year-old Kenny is upset. His parents are going away for the weekend, and he planned on two days of doing whatever he wants. Then his father ran an ad to sell their old furniture this weekend, and put Kenny in charge of it…so now he has to hang around the house waiting on phone calls and showing furniture.

But it turns out better than he thought when Jasmine, a smoking-hot redheaded MILF, shows up and is interested in their dining room table. She only wants to pay half of what Kenny's dad wants for it, and he tells her no. That's when things heat up—because Jasmine really wants that table, and she makes Kenny an offer he can't refuse!

Sasha's boss is a chauvinistic pig. Sure, Trent's handsome, but that doesn't mean she wants his hand on her while she gives the most important presentation of her career. Infuriated by his sexist antics, Sasha turns to her mystic grandmother for help. To her surprise, Grandma switches their bodies! Now Sasha is Trent and Trent is Sasha, and neither can resist the temptation of their new form!

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

She planted both palms on her scalp and screamed. It came out guttural, nowhere close to how she expected to sound. And then there was the absence of weight on her…

There was hair on her chest! She grabbed her rock-hard pectorals and realized her boobs were gone. Her forearms were thick with muscle. Her legs bristled with hair. And between her thighs…

"Oh wow," she murmured. She had a… And it was awake!

Sasha trembled as it stared back at her with its one slitted eye. The head was bulbous, like a rubbery crown, and its ruddy skin was almost purple in the morning darkness. Tentatively, she reached for it, and jerked when her fingertips brushed the shaft. It was sensitive! "Oh…" she breathed. It was definitely hers. Sasha wrapped her fingers around the shaft and gently pulled it to the side. She felt new muscle down in her pelvis, and the luscious pleasure of stroking away its stiffness.

Sasha gazed at the thick vein that ran down the side of it, into a trimmed thatch of black pubic hair. It was not the prettiest thing she'd ever seen--in fact, it was fair to say it was ugly--but it was wider and meatier than most she'd encountered. It was an impressive specimen.

Sasha squirmed on the mattress every time she moved it, but she couldn't stop exploring. The foreskin was mottled in places, just like any patch of skin, but its erection made it bloom a healthy red. And it moved! She watched it pulse with the beat of her heart. As she moved it, she felt the organ pulsate with pleasure. "Shit…" she whispered. It felt good when she touched it.

How had this happened? She slid from the bed in the unknown apartment--no, it was bigger than an apartment--and searched for a mirror. As she stumbled towards the bathroom, she realized she was taller than before. She was over six feet. Hell, she towered over the furniture!

She padded into the bathroom on her hairy feet and slammed the light switch. She screamed when she saw Trent in the mirror. He was naked, and staring back at her with the stupidest look on his face. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

Her jaw dropped. Her eyes bugged out of her skull. She slid her fingers over her cheek and the sandpaper rough stubble that grew there. "Oh no…" she said. Her heart pounded in her chest (in her finely sculpted chest, she had to admit). Her thing bobbed below her waist like a snake struck by rigor mortis. "Oooooh!" she growled at the uncomfortable thing. "Go away!" she hissed. "I can't deal with this right now. Go down!" She grabbed the shaft and angrily squeezed it.

"Oh!" she gasped, and bent double.

She leaned against the bathroom counter, her shaft still gripped in her hand. "Go down," she ordered it. But it didn't listen. She tried flexing her new muscles, but none of them seemed to control it. "Damn it," she gasped, when she squeezed it again. "How do I? How does it…?" But she knew. It was obvious.

Having cracked the code to invisibility, Professor Abner Beal returns to the Institute to solicit the aid of one Priscilla Coker, M.D. Priscilla hates Abner, but when she learns that he's made a breakthrough, she's willing to do anything to join his team—even jumping his invisible bones! But that's not the only surprise waiting for Professor Beal. Upon returning to his house, Abner discovers that his wife has been having an affair of her own. What will this God-fearing woman think of an invisible man beating up her paramour? Why, that he's some kind of demon, of course! A demon that she must satisfy in every wicked way imaginable…

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

The security guard started moving towards her and she shrieked at him. "Get away from me!" The man spoke some stuttered words into his walkie and backed away terrified. Priscilla clomped about ten more steps before cracking one of her heels. She swore loudly and kicked the shoe off, then ripped the other one off with her hand and continued to march across campus back the way we'd come. I followed behind her.

"Are you there?" she snapped as we strode back into G. We were in the hallway again.

"Indeed I am."

She clawed wildly at the air behind her, realized she looked insane, and let out another stream of enraged curses.

"You might have gotten me fired!"

"Principles," came the floating voice over her shoulder.

She groaned and shook her platinum head. "You touched me…" she muttered. We were stomping back to her office.

"You're taking this rather well," I replied.

"Well you're obviously invisible." We banged back into her office and she whirled on the space behind her. "Where are you?"

"I'm reluctant to say."

She stepped backwards in her bare feet and sat on her desk. "Is this easier?"

I stepped forward cautiously. "Maybe."

She flipped up her skirt. "Is this easier?"

"…I'm confused."

"Come here…" she said huskily and reached out for me. ”Are you naked?"

Before I knew what I'd done I was standing over her desk and she was reaching out to me. "Oh my God…" she whispered. Her manicured nails roved up my stomach and chest. "You're…you did it…" Her fingers continued across my shoulders. She kept pinching and poking, dragging her nails down my sides. All the while I noticed that she was spreading her legs over her perfect desk. "Do something to me," she whispered.

"What?"

"I—I don't know. My hair!"

I reached out and swept my fingers through her blonde hair. I let the hair slip through my hand as I pulled it towards me. Priscilla watched wide-eyed as her hair floated before her eyes. She let out a low, earthy laugh. "Do something else," she whispered.

"What?"

"Do what you did on stage."

"This?" I laid my hand over her left hand.

"No…" she said. Her legs opened wider on the desk.

"This?" I breathed softly into her ear.

She shivered. "No," she said. "But you don't have to stop doing that…" While I moved in closer her hands reached up to run down my chest and stomach again.

I pulled my hand away from hers and dragged my trembling fingers up her soft thighs. "This?" I breathed into her ear.

"Oh…" Her breath was coming so rapidly that it was catching in her throat. "Yes," she groaned. She pressed her head against my temple and reached behind me to claw at my back.
Aching for more than a one-night stand? Then you'll savor these five tales of tender love. The Bad Girls of Erotica are back, and this time they're revealing their sensitive sides. Snuggle up with this collection of passionate encounters, magical mysteries, and love where you least expect it. Because even bad girls know: kinky sex can be fun, but sweet romance is even better!

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

Gaelic Goddess

No one grieved for Mick Phelan when he died. The old lawyer had been a terrible father and a horrible man, poisoning his children with his hate.

But an unexpected inheritance was waiting for his grandson Thomas. An Irish goddess who Mick had ensnared decades ago showed up on his doorstep, begging him to free her from bondage.

Now Tom and Rhiannon must navigate a treacherous road. Will their growing attraction for one another allow them to part the mists of time and release her from slavery? Or will Rhiannon be bound forever, a fate worse than death for this Gaelic Goddess? 

Girl Fight

Four lives. Innumerable secrets. A tragedy that binds them all…

 - Sara: A survivor of longtime sexual abuse, she is a girl with a shattered past who has, since childhood, fought for her life. Literally.

 - Tanya: The most invisible girl in school, she cuts to ease the pain of her life. And things are only getting worse.

 - Antonio: A man with a heart just as massive as his libido, he is trapped in a relationship built on unrequited love; a fact that is slowly breaking his heart and driving him insane.

 - Fatima: A girl hellbent on revenge. Though popular and social, she is slowly decaying over the secrets that she holds.

Tragedy brought them together, lust makes them inseparable, and love just might be the only thing that can save their lives…

Destiny’s Desire

Destiny has every reason to hate men—her mother is the infamous pornstar Serena Siren, and she despises every part of her mother's flamboyant lifestyle. But all that changes when a gorgeous injured man stumbles on her remote cabin in the middle of a violent storm, and Destiny must care for him. Passion flares between them, and intrigue crumbles her resistance when she catches him masturbating. Now she's determined to learn the truth about sex, starting with a hot anal reaming that will rock her entire world! 

One Weekend With My Best Friend's Father

Lindsey's always had a crush on Richard, the kind and dashing widower who lives next door. Of course, Richard also happens to be her best friend's father… The two of them have always been flirtatious, but when an accident on a hiking trip forces them to share a sleeping bag, they can't keep their hands off each other! 

That’s What Friends Are For

When he was younger, Justin promised his mother he would be nothing like his womanizing cheat of a father. Part of that promise included waiting to lose his virginity until he met the right girl. Now 18, Justin is finally going to have his first time! His mother is going away for the weekend, and his hot blonde girlfriend, Jen, promises she is going to come over and spend the weekend with him.

Things are looking good for Justin except that his best friend, tomboy Samantha, doesn't trust Jen, and thinks Justin is making a mistake. "Sam" turns out to be right when Justin finds out Jen has been sleeping around on him, and he’s heartbroken and frustrated. But he won't be for long, because Sam says she is on her way to cheer him up.

When she arrives, Justin is surprised to find his normally plain friend dressed to kill, and looking just as beautiful as any girl he has ever been interested in. The surprise continues when Sam tells him that she would be happy to be his first lover. After all, won't best friends do anything for each other?

Your slimiest dreams are about to come true. In this collection of fantastical erotica, women are seduced by the strangest and horniest lovers in the galaxy! From naughty tentacles to lustful orcs, Veronica Sloan brings you four tales of breeding, bondage and impregnation.

In the first captivating tale, a new addition to the aquarium pulls intern Kimmy Noguchi into a sticky situation. How can she refuse the creature's clammy caresses when an entire species depends on her? In "No Orc's Whore," a beautiful barbarian must distract a tribe of orcs with the one weapon they're powerless to resist. In "Ménage à Tentacle," a naive marshal journeys to the planet New Dorado and befriends a beautiful bounty hunter and her partner, a tentacled alien that feeds on female arousal. Finally, in "Defiled by the Dragon," an arrogant princess is kidnapped by a dragon...and accepts a most indecent proposal!

This bundle of eldritch erotica is 34,000 words and is for readers 18 and up. Cover art created by TheKite.

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

From "Ménage à Tentacle":

One rambunctious tentacle wiggled its beak into her deep cleavage and she slapped it like a naughty child. "I said behave, you creep!" The tentacle retreated, beak downcast in an unmistakable sulk. "Ohhh, baby," she intoned. She took it in her hands and gently pried the beak open with her thumb. The tentative tongue reappeared. And with it, the slick pink head.

I watched with a curious mixture of disgust and fascination as the tongue slithered into her mouth and gently probed her cheeks. She bit down on it playfully and giggled as it made a sound like a raspberry. The tongue retreated into the glistening slit on the pink head, which Thorn stroked with her satin thumbs and then kissed. Mollified, the head retreated into the beak and the tentacle rolled against her neck like a sleepy snake. "Grapla are psychoforms," she said. "You and I need material things to survive. Food, water, sunlight. Grapla resonate to life itself. They prefer raw emotions. Fear is particularly potent, which is why they make such effective partners."

The Grapla took great pride in what she said. Its tentacles rose in a lethal chorus and trilled a dozen haunting tones that melted and faded and complemented each other. It was a stirring sound, accompanied by the hollow clacks of its deadly beaks opening and shutting like hungry birds.

For a moment, the saloon went silent. Large men, cyborgs, and thuggish hybrids of all shapes and sizes, clutched their drinks in fear.

The sound had its most visible effect on Thorn. Her cheeks flushed, her bosom lifted with unconcealed longing. She pulled two tentacles from the pack and let them drape across her chest. "But love is their life," she said. "They die quickly without companionship. They don't grow large in the wild. Some can get by scavenging at the fringes of population centers, but they need a mate to thrive. Someone who loves them unconditionally." She kissed the tops of her lover's heads.

"Do you ever miss the touch of your own kind?" I asked.

Another smirk. "I had plenty of lovers, men and women and otherwise, before I began my trial. There were skilled lovers, certainly, but even the greatest geishas on Rao's moons cannot compare to Strabo." The tentacles, excited by her praise, wriggled beneath her like a bouncing throne. She stroked a thick vein that throbbed beneath its skin. "No one has ever loved me longer, deeper, more completely. No lover has ever trusted me so fully or given me such respect. I am his wife, his mistress, his one and only. And he is my world."

Abby refuses to confront her feelings for her futanari neighbor. If it was just the kinky sex that drove her crazy, she could bury her passion with her prayers, but there's something else going on. Leticia cares for Abby in a way that scares her senseless. The futa girl wants them to be more than secret lovers, but can Abby accept that? It goes against her religion, her upbringing, her sexual identity. Just when she thinks she's made up her mind, Letty appears at the mall with a very naughty proposition... This erotic futa tale is 14,000 words and for readers 18 and up.

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

That was hardly the most daring aspect of the dress. The tag said it had a plunging V-neckline, but the neckline was more of a suggestion than a reality. The front was a cutout that needed to be tied, and tightly. Without a bra to hold me back, my chest pushed against the lightweight weave and turned what was supposed to be a cute dress into a sultry proposition. If I was skinnier, and less endowed, this would be a fun little number to wear to the beach, but the way it fitted against me was more tantalizing than teasing. It was sensual.

My fingers shook as I tied a loose knot in the cutout, knowing full well that I'd never wear this thing again. Though every second I spent in the dressing room ate into my commute, I sacrificed them for the fantasy that this belonged to me. I combed out my hair and let it fall over my shoulders, I pouted, I posed. I played with the loose sleeves. I twisted in place to see how the fabric draped over my butt.

I suddenly remembered that Letty was behind the door. With the exception of my brain (which tumbled into a bucket of ice water), every part of my body turned uncomfortably hot. The contradiction left me dizzy and reeling for the wall again. I didn't have to let her see me in this, I promised myself. I didn't owe her a thing. But the warm parts of me rebelled.

With weak fingers shaking like leaves on a brittle branch, I slid the bolt out of the dressing room door. The door swung back.

Awkward in my own skin, I curled my shaking fingers into the skirt. I wished the hem was longer, wished her eyes would end their long journey up my bare legs and stomach, and not linger on the knot. I wished she didn't sway from side to side and wrap her arms around her hips in quiet contemplation. I wished I didn't say something stupid like, "What do you think?"

I wished I could tell her no when she reached for my hand and lifted it over my head. She spun me in a slow circle. I wished I could control my breathing better, wished my ragged panting wasn't made so obvious by my naked cleavage. I wished I didn't close my eyes when she brushed her lips against my ear.

"I think you look beautiful," she whispered.

I heard her close the dressing room door behind her. "I know you think that," I said, trying to be stronger. "I mean the dress. What do you think of that?"

She locked the bolt.

I felt her near me again, just in front of me. I felt her hands on my thighs slowly pushing up the skirt, felt her body through her t-shirt. I felt her warm breath on my nose. "I was thinking..." she said, "of you. In this dress. In a little cottage by the ocean. Barefoot. Nothing under here..."

"A cottage?" I murmured. I finally opened my eyes. She was gazing down at me with an unholy hunger. "That's a very domestic scene," I said. "Do we have a little dog, too? Do I make you dinner when the sun goes down?"

"No, I think we order out," she said. Her voice was low, and I wondered if it was because she knew it made me wet or because the mousy clerk was sitting just outside. Letty's fingers began to untie the loose knot I'd made in the cutout. "But you do let me undress you when we get back inside."

She kisses like a woman. She smells like a woman. She loves like a woman. But between her legs? She feels just like a man. She is a futanari, and her passion cannot be tamed.

In this collection of four erotic tales, three women and one man are seduced by lovers that straddle two worlds - not only male and female, but carnal and romantic. In "My Futa Doctor," Harper's gynocologist offers a sensual solution to her unique anatomy problem. In "My Nasty Futanari Neighbor," Abby hates the punk girl next door but can't deny her attraction. In "The Futanari's Gigolo," Eddie is hired to satisfy a frosty cougar with a connection to his past. In "Suddenly Futanari," a magic spell transforms Cassie's body...much to her roommate's delight!

This bundle includes four previously published books and is 57,000 words. For readers 18 & up.

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

From "Suddenly Futanari":

I grinned. Softer this time, I slid my finger around the rim of her bellybutton. That odd little orifice had teased me for so many weeks, and now I found that its lip was as soft as baby down. "You're so gentle," she whispered.

"Do you want me to be rougher?"

"No," she said quickly. "No, it's nice. You're so nice…" Her slender fingers cupped my jaw and drew me in for another, tentative kiss. "Why are you so nice to me?"

Because I love you, I wanted to say. The words gripped the base of my tongue like the cocked hammer of a gun. I wanted to confess. I wanted to grab her, kiss her harder, squeeze her soft thighs until she whimpered the same. But that would have crossed a line there would be no coming back from. I knew Rebecca wasn't gay. I knew this was comfort to her. She wanted my touch, maybe a soft kiss or two, but more would have confused her.

It hurt not to tell her. It triggered a physical ache deep in my chest that spread up my arms and tightened my veins. You're giving me a heart attack, I thought, as I gently slid her hair out of her eyes and kissed her nose. "I want you to feel better," I whispered. "We're just having fun, right?"

"Sure." A smile broke over her peach lips. "Oh God, I was just thinking of that girl you used to date. Tiffany? I think she was Japanese?"

"Teresa."

Rebecca's brows knit together. "She was so mean to me. I never understood why she was such a bitch."

I laughed. "She wasn't that mean…"

"Not to you!" Rebecca exclaimed. She turned bright red when she realized how loud her voice went. We'd been whispering together on the couch for so long that she actually put her hand to her mouth. We giggled together, as if somehow we were interrupting an invisible crowd of people in our secluded apartment. "Not to you," she repeated, more quietly. She idly drew her fingers through my hair. "You had her wrapped around your finger. But she always gave me these looks. She rolled her eyes whenever I said something. I felt like I was offending her in some secret lesbo code."

"I didn't have her wrapped around my finger…" I murmured.

"Oh shut up," said Rebecca. "She was so into you."

I shrugged. "Maybe she felt threatened by you."

"Why?"

It was my turn to play with her hair. "Because she knew I was protective of you. I had to leave a date once to pick you up from the club. Do you remember?"

"Ugh," the girl moaned. "Barely. That was a bad night." She gripped my hand—sliding mid-way through her purple tress—and squeezed. "Thank you."

I squeezed back. "She thought we were sleeping together."

Rebecca's eyes bugged out. "Seriously? Oh, that explains a lot." She scooted down on the couch and moved my hand from her hair to the space just below her breast. It was provocative. Deliberate. And she gave me a mischievous little grin when she did it, as if to say, "Your ex's worst fear has finally come true."

Of course I knew that wouldn't happen. Rebecca didn't want to sleep with me. I kept reminding myself that, hoping she'd prove me wrong.

Gabrielle Jones is a chaste young woman who will do anything for her husband. When the drunken fool gambles away $10,000, the owner of the casino offers the couple a disgusting deal: For every man that Gabrielle can pleasure, he'll remove one thousand dollars of debt. Can Gabrielle satisfy ten men in one evening? It's so humiliating! But for the sake of her marriage, she'll do it!

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

Mr. Howle leaned back in his luxurious leather chair. "You are a very beautiful woman, Mrs. Jones. I hope your husband tells you that every day."

Gabrielle realized her hands were shaking. "Mr. Howle...what do you want me to do?"

The old man licked his lips. "I am an old man, it pains me to admit. Were I several decades younger I might have some other method of repayment in mind...but I have lived a long and lust-filled life, and merely enjoying your body is not quite enough to satisfy my desire."

Gabrielle rose to her feet. "This is grotesque," she said. "I understand how much money you have, Mr. Howle. I've heard your name before. Maybe you're used to people doing whatever the heck you want, but I will not be treated like some common whore!"

"There is nothing common about you but your husband, Mrs. Jones."

She summoned all the fire within her and spat, right on his fancy marble desk. She slung her purse over her shoulder and angrily clacked back down the red carpet in her heels. "Come on, Walter. I've heard enough."

But Walter didn't come. He was still hunched over in his chair, eyes fixed on the floor. "Walter?"

Kennedy laid his thick-knuckled hand on her husband's shoulder. "I'm afraid Walter is out of options, Mrs. Jones," said Mr. Howle. "Either you and I come to an agreement, or your husband pays for his sins in blood."

Gabrielle dashed back to her husband's chair. She flung herself between Walter and Kennedy and glared at the dark, silent man. "No!" she said. "Please don't hurt him."

"That's very touching," said Mr. Howle. He gestured for her to return to her seat. Reluctantly, she obeyed. The knot in her stomach wound tighter with every passing second.

"I won't lie to you, Mrs. Jones. If you consider yourself a chaste woman, what I have in mind will sound unpleasant. However, if you keep an open mind, I think-"

"What do you want me to do?" she said coldly.

Mr. Howle was not used to being interrupted. He was charmed by its novelty. "I have a simple system in place, for matters like these." He opened a drawer and drew forth a single piece of paper, printed in a regal script on heavy letter stock. "It is a contract, which states that you will submit your body to my pleasure for this evening. For every man you give yourself to, I will remove $1,000 from your husband's debt."

A fierce shiver rolled down Gabrielle's spine. "I don't understand... 'Every man?'"

Mr. Howle gestured to his bodyguard. "Mr. Kennedy will introduce you to the rest of my security detail. They are all strapping young men - and most of them quite well-endowed. It's a prerequisite to joining my staff, you see. I have a little theater that adjoins this office. If you and your husband sign this contract, that is where you will perform for me...and Walter, if he'd like to watch."

"If he'd...?" She couldn't believe what she was hearing, but his piercing blue eyes were deadly serious. She had to do it. For the sake of her poor Walter. He was a wreck, shaking in his chair, curled into a flabby ball of nerves. He was sweating profusely, his chins jiggling in terror. What would they do to him? Would they go so far as to kill him? One look at Mr. Howle told her they may do far worse.

"Okay, Mr. Howle," she said. "I'll sign your contract."

Mr. Howle's thin lips curled into a lustful grin. "Excellent."

Rachel Brighton isn't your average civil servant. She's a sexual ambassador for the human race. It's not a bad job, if you don't mind prudes calling you a "star slut." The year is 2030 and the aliens have landed, but they don't want to rule the planet. They want to woo it. An insidious plague has rendered human women the last fertile females in the galaxy, and transformed Earth into its number one mating destination. After rounding up the male population, the aliens make a deal with the new female-led government: Teach us how to make love to human women and we'll return your men.

Rachel used to think nothing on Earth could satisfy her weird desires. But Earth, and her libido, are no longer alone in the universe. To save the human race, to save the aliens, she'll embark on a journey of erotic discovery. This tale of interstellar sex is 20,000 words and for readers 18 and up.

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

He made a sound in the front of his mouth that I realized was a chuckle. "Are you considered attractive among your people?" he asked.

"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

His ears twitched. He leaned lower to gaze into my eyes. "I cannot say that I find you attractive in the manner of my people," he said, "but I understand why you were chosen for this position. How do I describe this feeling? I find you...is the word 'cute' appropriate?"

I nodded. "There's a few ways I can take that, most of them complimentary."

Cautiously, Aurelias raised his upper left hand and swept his large fingers through my hair. "And you smell pleasant," he said. "Our females did not apply artificial scents."

"But you have your pheromones."

"Yes," he said, "and they are effective. Still, I enjoy the smell of jasmine as much as the next creature." His eyes moved over my body, curiosity tugging at the corners of his lips. "And this is part of human flirtation? The looks you were giving me in the meeting, the gentle pressure of your hand on my knee?"

"What do you think?"

All four of his wrists turned up, his palms to the sky. "I have another question. Was your job always as complicated as this?"

"Actually..." I reached for his chin and gently pulled it down to my eyes. "I was a teacher."

"How strange, and how fitting. A position that requires patience and a desire to impart knowledge. A nurturing instinct. The ability to work within an established system. Such traits are perfectly suited to a human emissary, but--"

"But it's not the whole story," I said. I slid my palms up his long jaw, enjoying the sleekness of his sea foam skin. I pulled him lower, down to me, and planted a soft kiss on his lips.

Aurelias reared back, astonished. "Was that a kiss?" he asked.

"A very chaste one," I said.

The Hisanian licked his lips. "I confess that I find myself more attracted to you the more you speak, or perhaps I am simply eager to begin this strange act." He seemed puzzled by his own impatience. "Forgive me," he said, after a moment. "I have not copulated since my wife was taken by the plague. I had thought my will more than adequate to restrain me but...you are extremely fertile."

"Your wife, how long ago did it happen?"

"The same time it struck all our females. They went quickly, which is our only solace."

"I'm sorry," I said.

He cocked his head. "Why?"

I shrugged. "It's what we say. It's a brief way of showing respect for your loss."

"That is kind," he said. "I do not know what she would think of this state of affairs. We are a proud race and do not easily change. She was...traditional."

"I'm not," I said.

Aurelias smiled and, slowly, gracefully, returned to his full height. He gazed down at me and ruffled his mane. "Much of the League was surprised by the adaptability of your species. Not the men, of course. They behaved as expected. You, however, are an exemplar of your gender."

"Would you like me to show you how much?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, his voice husky. "Standard procedure is for the two of us to compare our mating rituals but, as I understand it, there is no real ritual for humans."

"Not unless you count dinner and a movie."

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