Victoria Lawson: The Ultimate Erotic Short Story Collection 17

'Don't tell me you've finished for the night,' he said.

She shook her head. He kissed her neck, then lifted her leg; dragging it back over him and spreading her so he could access her slit. His cock coasted into her wet pussy, as he returned to fucking her. With her outer leg wrapped round his waist, he used his free hand to flick her clit, occasionally holding it firmly between his thumb and index finger.

The delight was too much. She wanted his cum inside her. It was as if her head was transparent. He pulled out and flung the condom on the floor. Draping her leg over him, he returned to her slit, ensuring his rod was covered in the warmth and wet her vagina offered. He held her tight against his sweaty chest, powering into her as if his life depended on it. Her bare skin stuck to his and she slipped against him.

Keen to have more of him inside her, she reached round and grabbed his arse, digging her nails into his cheek.

'Touch yourself Juliet. Let's come together.'

Juliet positioned her free hand between her legs. Even she was taken aback by how moist she was. Her clit welcomed the familiar fingers and she bought herself to the brink quickly.

'I'm close now,' she whispered.

'Okay let's do this.'

He gave one last slam and she shuddered as she came on his cock. She could feel him filling her up as they both peaked.

Unlike the previous night, Charles stayed inside her wanting to prolong the intimacy between them.

'What the fuck?'

As her eyes flew up to see Pam in the doorway, she felt Charles shrivel inside her.

'I can't believe you'd fuck my brother.'

'Hey, calm down Pam,' said Charles, pulling the sheets over them both.

'Don't tell me to calm down. I can't believe you'd sleep with a skank like that either. Where's your taste?'

'Pam don't speak to her like that,' shouted Charles in Juliet's defence, as angry as his sister.

'I can't believe you'd use this holiday to fuck my brother to get your hands on his money to help out your little problem.'

'What?' said Charles, turning to Juliet confused.

'I can't believe you'd think I'd do that,' retorted Juliet.

She was hurt her friend would even make such a connection.

'You must have been so happy when I got food poisoning.'

'Don't be ridiculous Pam,' said Juliet, half laughing, 'you can't hold me responsible for the food.'

'I bet you had a good laugh behind my back.'

'No one's laughing. I'm sorry you've been ill, but I'm not sorry I met Charles. I'm certainly not sorry I slept with him.'

'You're a gold-digger and a home-wrecker.'

'Pam he's your brother and his own man. My falling for him has nothing to do with my friendship with you.'

'I want you out tonight,' screamed Pam, slamming the door.

Silence descended on the room.

'That didn't go too well,' quipped Juliet hoping to lighten the atmosphere.

'What did she mean?' asked Charles quietly.

'When?'

'When she said you fucked me because you needed my money,' his voice was cold and distant.

'Please don't tell me you think I'm like that. That you'd even take that comment seriously.'

'What did she mean Juliet?'

'Work's been slow for me. I told you that. We talked at length about it over a cup of hot mint tea. It was a horrid thing to say. I had no idea you had money, let alone that you'd be so darn attractive. How could I… why would I plan such a thing?'

'Everyone needs a roof over their head.'

'Charles, trust your heart on this. Don't let something Pam said in anger, spoil what you and I have.'

Months later Juliet was setting up her market stall. The pictures were influenced by her brief visit to Marrakesh. Rather than reflecting the sun, sand and ochre, they were black, gloomy and smacked of heartache. It turned out most people had an affinity with heart break. Juliet's new series of paintings were flying off the shelves, keeping Juliet financially secure, which was exactly what she needed at six months pregnant.

Charles had taken his sister's word over hers and driven her to the airport straight away — happy to buy a new ticket in a bid to dispose of her as quickly as possible. Pam had screened and avoided all her calls. She couldn't make contact to patch things up with her best friend or let Charles know of her predicament.

Whatever Charles felt, Juliet was sure there had been the potential for the two to fall in love. That strong instinct was what secured her decision to keep the baby. Life as a single mother, with her trade being that of an artist promised more adventure than security, but Juliet was determined she could make it work.

She sat down on her fold out chair and reached for her flask of tea from her backpack. As she took in the market her eyes landed on the stall opposite which had a large, eye catching white cardboard sign saying 'Forgive Me?' with Charles sitting underneath it holding a bunch of red roses.

by Emma Bishop

Josie stood outside of an apartment door, staring at the numbers until she was fairly certain she would see them in her sleep. She raised her hand to knock, but let it fall to her side again as she lost her nerve for the fourth or fifth time since arriving. She had been standing there for at least twenty minutes, attempting to work up the courage to interrupt the individual inside. She and the apartment’s occupant had-as her friend was apt to say-history. Not history of a particularly pleasant type, either.

Josie took a deep breath and stood straighter, closing her eyes a moment and steeling herself. She lifted her hand and balled it into a tight fist, knocking on the door in quick, sharp raps before her mind could convince her to do otherwise. In the still summer air of the apartment building, she could hear stirring within. A muffled curse from the other side of the door told her that the object of her errand was at home.

Her heart felt as if it would leap out of her throat and land on the floor, it was hammering so hard. When she had taken on this responsibility, she had put it off for as long as possible. She had been avoiding the man in the apartment for months now, keeping to her part of town, her circles of friends, and leaving him to his own.

She knew from the few friends they still had in common-those who hadn’t precisely sided with one or the other-that he had poured out poisonous vitriol about her all over the city, to whoever would listen to him. Those of their friends who knew both of them either sympathized with him completely-and shunned Josie-or they understood the issue was complex, and rolled their eyes when they were told how evil Josie was, how manipulative.

She heard more movement on the other side of the door; another explosive curse and the sound of something tumbling to the floor. She grimaced, thinking that if he was hungover, it would be even worse to deal with him. She had almost convinced herself to run away, to let him think some child had decided to play a prank, when she heard the sound of the deadbolt being shot, the door chain being dragged along its track. The door opened with a pop and a heavy moan of the hinges. Josie straightened her spine again and met the unsteady gaze of the man who answered the door.

He was half a foot taller than her, with a heavy-boned frame that belied how slim he actually was. His big, dark eyes were bloodshot, his full lips already pressed into a firm, sulky line. His dark, choppy hair was a tangled mess around his face, adding to the impression that he had stumbled out of bed across the apartment to answer the door. “You,” he said, his voice hoarse.

He coughed dryly into one thick-palmed hand and leaned against the door jamb, waiting. Somehow, it was as if he had sobered up instantly the minute he recognized her. Josie knew the truth; he was never quite as drunk as he put on. The drunken act was something of a defensive mechanism for him-a way for him to say what he felt like without any real consequences.