October 28, 2008
Barnes & Noble
Barnes & Noble
Domination or submission? Ménage a trios or man on man? What about voyeurism? A tease? A taste? Sink your teeth into this collection of erotica short stories from six top erotic storytellers.
Everyone has them. Those secret thoughts that bring forth your hottest dreams and desires. The ones you don’t share, the ones that make your heart pound and your blood heat.
What do you fantasize about? In the Secret Thoughts: Erotique collection, you’ll find all sorts of deliciously erotic scenes from the naughty minds of Beth Williamson, J.J. Massa, Laura Bacchi, Nix Winter, Sasha White and S. Desires.
Southern Heat by Beth Williamson — Read an Excerpt
It was midnight when Emmeline put away the last of the mess Martha had made in the kitchen taking her bath. She’d have thought her cousin was nine instead of nineteen the way she splashed and acted.
She was absolutely miserable and as exhausted as she ever remembered being. She stepped out on the back porch and threw the last bucket of water out. She yelped in surprise to find Uncle Virgil standing on the porch, smoking.
“Uncle Virgil! I didn’t know you smoked.”
His face was illuminated in the glow of the cigar as he took a puff. He was grinning a bit.
“Neither does your aunt, so don’t tell, okay?”
Emmeline smiled back. “Won’t say a thing.”
She turned the bucket over and sat down, scratching her filthy head. What she wouldn’t give for a bath herself.
Uncle Virgil sat down on the steps next to her.
“I’m sorry your aunt has been so hard on you.”
Emmeline shrugged. “Life gives you only as much as you can take.”
“I reckon that’s rightly so, sugar,” he drawled. “You know, there’s a pond not too far from here. I’ll bet on a night like tonight, the water is just the right temperature for a swim.”
She perked up a bit. “A pond? Really? Where?”
He ground out the cigar, then put the rest of it in his shirt pocket and stood.
“About half a mile north. It’s on town property so no one owns it. Most folks use it to, ahem, take baths on hot summer nights.” He pointed toward the trees across the meadow. “The moon is real bright tonight, so you should be able to find your way easy. Right through those pines over there, can’t miss it. Be careful, now, ya hear? There are only a few critters out there at night, but that don’t mean there aren’t any two–legged ones too. Holler if you need help, I’ll be listening.”
With that, he patted her shoulder and went inside.
A pond! Swimming! Oh, Hallelujah!
Emmeline bundled a towel, soap, her brush, and clean clothes and marched out into the night. She should be afraid, but she was too excited. The sweet smell of the magnolia blossoms and the honeysuckle bustled through the breeze and teased her nose. The grass under her feet was damp with dew and tickled her calves like small tongues licking her skin. Her dress swished softly in the night, blending with the sounds of the crickets and katydids chirping around her. The moon hung high, shining like a new coin. The stars sparkled and twinkled in the black velvet sky. It was so peaceful, so beautiful, and for the first time, she didn’t miss her old home. Living in the wilds did have its blessings.
She reached the trees and headed in cautiously. She hugged her bundle to her chest and tiptoed in, careful not to step on any sticks or twigs. She didn’t know why, but somehow she knew she wasn’t alone.
And oh, how she hated being right. A splash in the darkness confirmed her fears. Then she heard a voice, a male voice, humming off-key. She crept closer, skirting around the pine trees, grateful for the prickly needles that coated the ground beneath the prolific pines. When she got closer to the water, she could hear him more clearly. She didn’t recognize the song, but that didn’t mean much. He was humming it badly enough to make the frogs stop croaking.
Emmeline finally arrived just beside the pond. She pressed her damp, sticky back against the rough bark of the pine and felt a small broken branch pushing into her spine. Ignoring the discomfort, she braced herself to peek around the tree.
And promptly forgot her name.
The moonlight shone through the trees onto the pond like a porch light, illuminating both the water and the wet, naked man.
He was beautiful. It wasn’t a word she had ever applied to a man. But he was.
He was tall and slender with broad shoulders and a matt of hair on his muscular chest. She couldn’t tell the exactly color of his hair, but it was probably blond. He was floating on his back, sweeping his long arms up and down, gently moving from one side of the pond to the other. He looked like a creature of the sea, full of liquid strength and grace.