Boudoir News - August 8
Greetings from a warm and sunny Swed…
Just kidding. We’re in the middle of a storm. It’s cold as if it’s March. A train has derailed. Trees are flying around. There are landslides. Sewer water pours up into basements.
I’m happy I live on the third floor in an apartment in a rock solid 120-some years old stone house.
And I have trouble sleeping. When I was asked if I wanted to write for an anthology that was meant to be a fundraiser for a mental health cause (we never got there), I knew what I wanted to write.
I suffer from it.
I saw two people in a bar, both lonely, sleepless, and hopeless. And they were on some backwater planet faraway. I asked the organizer: ‘can they be in space?’ ‘Sure’, she said.
Anomaly was born. Ailee and Reece met and they set the universe on fire.
The anthology never happened, but the book did.
This is the last day Anomaly is FREE! Have you grabbed yours?
On H-666 the only thing more dangerous than love is hope…
The All Lights Celebration isn’t for me. I have nothing to celebrate.
I’ll spend my last night of freedom drinking my misery away. Then I’ll submit to forced labor in the mines, where my body and spirit will be broken, and the toxic fumes will destroy my mind. It’s my lot in life, and if I want to spare my sister the same fate, I must accept it.
I wasn’t expecting to meet him, though.
Reece is…different. Stronger. More dangerous. His mesmerizing eyes see everything. I should run away, but instead, I run to him.
He needs my help to get to Earth—and in return, he thinks he can save me. I know better. There’s no hope for me. I’ll die here. But I can’t let that happen to him. He deserves better than this place.
Better than me.
So, while I can give him my body, I can never give him my heart. Because in this place, love is an anomaly. It can’t be trusted.
I can only pray I have the strength to let him go when the time comes…
Are you ready for a NSFW excerpt?
"So soft," he mumbles against my lips, "and so little. I could hurt her so bad."
It's as if he's talking to someone else, trying to talk himself out of this.
His hands ravage my curves. He's everywhere, gripping, pinching, pulling me even closer.
"You won't hurt me," I whisper. He probably doesn't hear me.
I stroke his chest, push my fingers through the dusting of hair, his ripped belly, and enjoy his muscles twitching beneath my fingertips. Then I slide lower and cup the hard length that seems to want to burst the front of his pants.
"You won't hurt me, Reece."
I unhook the top clasp, then the next, and the next. A musky scent of man, of sex and desire, wafts up—his and my arousal mingling.
The pulsating whirring, the purple hue that dyes everything: it all combines into a surreal, out-of-body experience on the roof in these, my final hours of freedom.
I wrap my fingers around his cock and stroke it. He twitches and groans.
"I want to feel you," I say. "Let me feel alive one last time."
I rub his length up and down while he pushes up my top and my bra to expose my breasts.
He is deliciously rough, my nipples taut buds between his fingers. One hand wanders along my belly and pushes inside my pants. He doesn't get much further. My belt is wide and unyielding, and my pants are tight.
I hold his heated silvery gaze then stand on shaky legs and snap open my belt, remembering at the last moment to tuck the blaster into a pocket. I pull down my pants, trembling from the excitement and the arousal.
He grabs hold of the belt and holds it up.
The gilded letters mock me. I was always owned.
I shrug. Thinking is pointless.
Hopping on one leg, I kick off one boot, then the other, falling over him when I've freed myself of the offensively restricting items. In the next moment, his hand is between my legs, pushing long fingers inside me, thrusting, making me mewl from the ravenous intrusion.
I straddle him. We stare at each other's purple-tinted faces, wide-eyed, for a moment sobering up, then he removes his hand from my pussy, grabs my hips, and I sink down on him.
He stretches me beyond anything I've felt before, his intrusion stinging, delicious, exciting, and uncomfortable. I pant, fight to accommodate. "Gods!"
"I'm hurting you."
"Kiss me, please."
"I don't want to hurt you, little one. You're so tight. So—"
I put my finger to his lips, and then I kiss him as I tense my thighs, rise a little, and sink down again.
His fingers dig into my hips, squeezing my flesh, a groan climbing his throat.
I move again, encouraged by his gasps, spurred on by his desperate clenching hands.
The rhythm from the rocket engine buzzing in the distance builds a hum in me, transfers into a need to feel him deeper, to ride him harder and faster. Sweat breaks out on my skin. I crave more air than I get. He slams me down, over, and over.
More. More. Give me everything.
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