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Excerpts
Summer Sensations 2
Balls In Her
Court
By Ann Cory
CHAPTER ONE
Misty raised her racket
to hit the oncoming ball when a man, more like a god, walked onto
the court with a movie star aura. It wasn’t just his bleached white
shirt tucked into a crisp white pair of shorts showing off a
gorgeous sun kissed tan, or the wild mop of dark hair she’d love to
run her fingers through, no, it was his smile and the way it
radiated sophisticated charm, sultry sex, and cool confidence.
She watched him reach up
to brush away a strand of hair from his eyes and got knocked hard in
the head by an oncoming ball. How embarrassing! That would teach her
to lose focus. She motioned to a teenage boy dressed in a navy polo
and khaki shorts and he ran out and stopped the automatic ball
machine.
The good-looking
stranger made a beeline right toward her, his forehead creased in
genuine concern.
“Wow, looks like it got
you good. Are you okay?”
She rubbed her forehead
and shrugged. “I’ll live.”
“I’ve been watching you
and I must say, I’m impressed. You have a mean backhand.”
Misty’s lips curled into
a polite smile. “I’m a professional, what can I say.”
His eyes, a stunning
shade of turquoise, locked on hers. She couldn’t remember the last
time a guy made her nervous, especially on her own court.
Intimidation had always been her forte.
He reached out his hand; a sleek gold
watch cinched loosely around his wrist, made a clinking sound. She
didn’t dare touch him.
“I’m Clay Monnaco,” his deep, sultry
voice made her right eye twitch.
“Mm hm,” she’d meant to sound
impartial, but a hint of interest popped in there unexpectedly.
“I thought maybe your coach might
have mentioned me. I’m here to play in the doubles tournament. I’ve
been instructed to help a Misty Valence with her style and
performance. Seems she has a difficult time being a team player.”
Misty felt the anger rise from the
pit of her stomach. The nerve of her overpriced coach going behind
her back and setting something up, as if she didn’t have a say in
her own damn career. If her parents hadn’t been such good friends
with Brolin Masters, she would have fired him ages ago and taken up
with someone more down-to-earth.
“Do you happen to know where I can
find Ms. Valence?”
She spread her arms wide and did a
full three-sixty. “You’re looking at her. But you already knew that,
didn’t you.”
Clay chuckled and took in a panoramic
view of the tennis courts before looking her square in the eye.
“You strike me as someone
very…independent, shall we say.”
“Thank you. I’ll take that as a
compliment.”
He looked her up and down and then
gestured toward the ball machine. “Please, don’t let me stop you
from your practice.”
Her eyes squinted. Was he trying to
suggest something, or did he always act cocky. His eyebrows were
deceiving, she decided. They were full and showed his emotion
depending on how he positioned them. He had them set in a challenge
and she vowed to show him.
“Don’t mind if I do. Not like I need
the practice, mind you, but I like to stay fit.”
His eyes once again traveled up and
down her figure and lingered at her legs. “You don’t have to worry
about your body, trust me.”
She smiled and motioned at the ball
boy to start up the machine again. A tennis ball came at her and she
met it with a strong backhand. The next one she did a short and
swift volley. Twice she winced as the balls came faster, some high,
others low and off to the right. Her forearm and wrist had been
giving her some trouble for weeks and today the pain seared.
If she mentioned it to her coach he’d
have a fit. It was bad enough he had a set ideal about women
athletes and their weaknesses. She didn’t need to point hers out and
listen to the “tough it out” speech.
Misty sensed Clay
analyzing her every move and she faltered on the next three balls.
Like a beginner she even ducked as one flew straight for her face.
Whatever grace she once held, disappeared.
Humiliated she decided it was enough
for one day. “Excuse me, ball boy? Could you put that thing on
pause?”
The pimple-faced teenager nodded and
pushed the button.
“Thanks.”
Clay clapped his hands
together and she considered giving him the bird. She wasn’t about to
let him get the better of her.
----------------------------
The Lesson
By Bridget Midway
Tamara held Rob’s chin and pulled his
face forward to meet her gaze as she straddled his nearly naked
body.
“You pay attention to me,” she
demanded. “Don’t worry about anything else going on in this room.”
He nodded.
As though undressing down to only a
sexy yellow thong wasn’t enough, Tamara pressed her perfect
handful-sized breasts against his bare chest. His hand slid up the
backs of her smooth thighs until they reached her firm, round ass.
The sensations of her silky skin, her
hard nipples sweeping against him and feeling his stiff cock
brushing the inside of his black silk boxers, Rob felt a release
could be eminent at any moment. He held off, wanting to get more of
the lesson from this skilled teacher.
Tamara took one of Rob’s hands from
her ass and brought it around to her tit. His eyes gathered in the
visual feast as he massaged it. A moan escaped her mouth as she
cocked her head, letting her golden brown hair cascaded down the
side of his face.
“Make my body yours, Rob. You’re
responsible for my pleasure,” she said then kissed the side of his
face.
Responsible for her pleasure? He
swallowed, thinking about that daunting prospect. But then again,
shirking back from risks was what got him to this point in the first
place, got him to seek her.
The touch of her lips made him moan
this time. She pushed him back against the red arm of the couch.
Moving her torso up, she hovered her other unattended tit over his
face, particularly his mouth.
Gazing at her cinnamon-colored areola
pumped more blood into his cock until it strained against his
boxers. He wasted no time latching onto the juicy orb. His tongue
swirled around her pebbled nipple making her body tremble with each
pass.
Without prompting, Rob brought his
hand down and hooked a finger onto the side of her panties. In an
easy pull, he brought her thong down to her knees that were imbedded
into the couch cushions.
Tamara took that moment to move back
from him, detaching him from suckling her tit as she lay back with
her head on the other arm of the couch. Raising her legs in the
air, nonverbally she asked him to remove her downed panties.
He did so, eliminating them from
around her ankles and tossing them to the floor. Her sweet but
briny aroma emanated from between her legs and up to his nostrils.
Rob took in a deep breath to inhale as much of her intoxicating
scent.
--------------------------------
Gin and Tonic
By Herbert Grosshans
“Well, have a good time, Gin.” Wendy
gave Ginger a hug and kissed her on the cheek.
“I’ll try.” Ginger returned the hug
and padded Wendy on the back. “Don’t worry so much about me. I’m a
grown girl.”
“You’ll always be my little sister.”
Wendy let go and handed her a small package. “Here, I got you
something to keep yourself busy with. And forget about Joe. He can’t
touch you now. I hope they’ll put him away forever.”
Ginger smiled bravely. “He’s hurt me
badly, but I’ve forgiven him. I’ll be turning over a new page and
start a fresh chapter in my life.”
Wendy laughed. “Always the writer,
little sister.”
“Unpublished,” Ginger said, smiling.
“Doesn’t matter. I love your stuff.
You’ll get there.” She gave her sister another hug. “Now you better
hurry. You don’t want the plane to leave without you.”
Ginger walked slowly toward to
check-in counter, turned and waved. Wendy blew her a kiss, then
turned and walked away.
Ginger watched her until she
disappeared through the exit-doors. Shaking her head, she moved
toward the counter.
Wendy was ten years her senior. At
42, she was already a grandmother to a one year old little boy,
Jason. Ginger smiled, thinking of him. Little Jason! She and Joe
never had any children, which was probably a blessing, with him
going to jail and all.
The Son-of-a-bitch!
Seven years of marriage, and here
she was—divorced, alone, settled with huge lawyer bills and a crummy
job. And not much of a future, unless she miraculously found a
publisher who believed in her and gave her a chance. She knew, she
was a talented writer, and with the right guidance she might just
make it in the publishing world.
“Miss?”
She turned around to look at the
woman behind her.
“Are you going to check your luggage
or are you just standing here taking up space?” the woman asked.
“Sorry.” Ginger smiled
apologetically. “I was daydreaming.”
The plane wouldn’t take off for
another couple of hours, so she walked over to the only open
concession stand. She was not a morning-person, and five o’clock in
the morning demanded a cup of coffee.
The coffee wasn’t great, but it
helped her to stay awake—at least until she was in the plane.
“Mind if I sit at your table?”
She looked at the speaker. He was
tall, well dressed, good-looking, in a rough sort of way. “Sure, if
you don’t mind sharing it with a person who wants to be left alone
right now.”
“Not at all.” He smiled disarmingly.
“I’m not much for talking in the morning, either.”
“Good, then we don’t have a
problem.” She turned her attention back to her coffee. Her eyes fell
on the small package Wendy had given her. Just something covered
with red gift wrap. And a tiny bow stuck to it.
Might as well open it now,
she thought and sliced the thin paper with her fingernail.
A book. The Lonely Hearts Hunter.
Ginger almost laughed out loud.
Wendy and her strange sense of humor, she thought, she knows
darn well I don't read these wishy-washy romance novels. I prefer
something with a bit more spice, and some adventure. Shrugging,
she stowed it away in her handbag. If boredom struck her she might
just decide to read it. She pulled out the book she had been reading
and lost herself in the adventure of a heroine she wouldn’t mind
being right now.
--------------------------------
LOSE MY MIND
by
Jenna M. Fox
Chapter One
Deputy Bobby Harlow stared, almost
hypnotized, as his cup of water spun in the small microwave. This
not sleeping was becoming a habit. Even after a hard, sweltering day
of tracking meth labs through the woods he still needed his hot
chocolate and lemon cookies. Leaving the spoon trapped in his firm
mouth, he rubbed the dark hair along his chest absently as he
waited. God, he wanted to bust that meth lab. Every day brought more
word of some other kid getting involved with the deadly stuff.
Suicides were on the rise in his county. It was an epidemic he
wanted to stomp out, if only he could find the labs.
His fingers hooked into the waistband
of his sweatpants as he waited for the light inside the microwave to
go off. The bell had stopped working months ago. Maybe he’d buy a
new one for his birthday. Being born on the Fourth of July had its
perks. He liked the idea that the whole country celebrated his day
and he was always guaranteed a day off. Bobby had grown up with a
love for fireworks, and he was thinking of setting some up in his
back yard, perhaps sending his poor old microwave into the great
beyond, like an anvil shoot. He needed a new one, maybe a bigger
one, so he could nuke his frozen dinners. He thought of the two he’d
purchased the other day, fried chicken dinners. Those would serve as
his birthday dinner.
Taking up his midnight snack, he made
it back to his big iron bed and slid in without spilling a drop. His
police scanner was silent beside him. He kept it on scan to pick up
surrounding counties as well as his own. Mark as well as the Sheriff
would be on patrol tonight. His thoughts went to the day spent with
Derek, Ron, Cass, and Vin following up on a lead that a meth lab was
set up in the county. They had a scant location, but had found
nothing, so had spread the search. He was glad the county had opted
for horses instead of four-wheelers. He was the only one happy with
that decision, he knew. But, he couldn’t see how hot-dogging on a
four-wheeler was going to help them sneak up on anyone.
He heard her voice. He settled back
against his pillows as she spoke. He had never seen her, but the
young female deputy from the next county had already fired his
imagination as well as his blood. Lately he found he was listening
for her voice and if pressed, could more than likely recite her
patrol schedule. And she was on tonight.
“Six-ten, six-hundred.”
He knew six hundred was dispatch and
waited for the officer on duty to respond.
“Six-ten, go ahead.”
He felt his body stir at the sound of
her voice.
“Down, boy,” he admonished his
growing arousal. Apparently, he was on tonight, too.
Her voice came over his scanner like
Southern sugar. He loved the way she said the word ten like
it had two syllables. So, she was Six-te-n tonight. He
reached over and stopped his scanner from searching other signals.
He had what he wanted now. He waited for the dispatcher to give her
instructions. He pictured some Southern Pamela Anderson, sitting in
her cruiser, waiting.
“Six-ten, I have a possible
Ten-Forty-nine. West Highway.” Bobby recognized the police code
for a drunk driver..
“Ten-four, Six-hundred. Make and
model? Direction of travel?”
“Six-ten, All the complainant said
was east bound, a. dark colored S-10 pickup.”
“Ten- four.”
“Shit,” Bobby muttered leaning back
“Dark colored. Hell, that’s helpful. It is night time, you know.”
He waited and the silence began to
draw his nerves taut. He was actually worried about her. He sipped
his hot chocolate and munched on a lemon cookie. And waited.
“Six-ten, six-hundred.”
“Go ahead, six-ten.”
“I have the vehicle in front of me.
Fentress County, RFC-745.”
“Harold King,” Bobby said the name
and plate he knew well.
“Roger. RFC-745 comes back to a
Harold King. Extensive record.”
“Roger,”
she replied. “He isn’t pulling over, so we can add resisting to
that resume.”
Bobby smiled in spite of the
situation. He could hear her siren’s call over the scanner. He
didn’t like her trying to pull King over. King was bad news.
“Six-ten, Six-sixteen,”
came the voice of the Fentress County Sheriff.
“Six-ten,”
she responded.
“Six-ten, signal nine.”
Bobby almost came off the bed board.
“Back off?”
“Six-ten, six-sixteen,” she
responded. “Your radio is ten-one. Didn’t copy.”
Bobby grinned at her audacity,
pretending not to have heard her boss’ edict.
“Six-ten! Ten-nine! Did you copy
that, damnit?” the sheriff
yelled.
Bobby knew her adrenaline must be
pumping through her body right now, and she was probably soaring
with anger at her superior’s order.
--------------------------------
Getting It
On
by Mae Powers
How come a guy can’t get it on with
just any woman he comes across? That came up at work the other day.
I guess he could if he were rich and good-looking. Well, with most
women any way. I just want one woman. I’ve had two or three,
in one sitting, but I want one woman now.
Sarah Mitchell. Built, oh yeah; hot,
definitely. Yet, either Sarah is playing hard to get or she just
really isn’t interested in me. She sits one desk across from me in
the graphic arts studio. Her blouses are slightly see-through, but
decorum enough for the office. The low-rise pants she usually wears
are tapered and hung low on her hips, accentuating her plump buns.
Really I try not to stare at her, but
when I see those dark ebony breasts of hers jiggling slightly from
those pastel shirts she wears, I want to cream in my pants. I’ve had
women of different nationalities and colors, but not one has made me
want to ravish her as much as Sarah. She wears her dark brown hair
in a nice medium length bob, and her eyes look at me so seductively
with those teddy bear brown eyes, slightly softer than that exotic
skin tone of hers.
I’d like to lay her down on my bed,
maybe handcuff her and then eat out her pussy until she begs me to
do it all over again. Then I’d fuck the hell out of her all through
the night.
I’d even love to feel her red-tinted
nails sweetly trailing down my chest and stomach, until she’s
kneeling at my feet, pulling my pants down to my ankles and then she
lays those beautiful talented hands of hers on my balls and dick,
her sweet mouth puckering to give me the most stupendous, delicious
blow job a guy could want.
“Johnny, you gonna stare at me all
the time or finally ask me out?”
I looked up from my desk and see she
had moved her chair next to mine. Talk about being in fantasyland.
I’d been so caught up in my reverie I didn’t see her move over to my
desk. I look down into those tempting eyes of her and see devilment.
“You’ve been drooling over me for
weeks, man. You gonna ask me out or what?”
“I didn’t think you’d want to go out
with a coworker. You usually tell the other guys no.” I said.
“You aren’t like those other guys.
You see more than just my body, Johnny. Nothing wrong with that, but
your smile isn’t always lewd like theirs. It reaches your eyes too.
So do I interest you like you do me?” Her passionate eyes pulled me
in, eating me up, and I couldn’t believe my luck.
Damn right, I was interested. I
quickly glanced at the clock on the wall nearby. Just one minute to
quitting for the day. “You wanna go grab a bite to eat?”
Her luscious smile widened. “Oh if
you only knew what I was hungry for. I’ll meet you down in the
parking lot in a few.” Then she moved away from me and got ready to
leave for the day. I did likewise. Within five minutes, I was
downstairs in the employee parking lot, making sure that I could see
where she parked. She wasn’t too far from me. She motioned for me to
follow her.
It was about a half hour later that I
drove up to a small duplex in a nice neighborhood of town, not far
from the apartments actually, where I lived. I pulled in behind her.
She chuckled as she got out of the car and started up the stairs to
one of the duplex doors. I followed, as I’m sure she meant for me to
do. Inside, the place was neat and tidy, like a classy single woman
like her would have.
“I’ve got some wine and cheeses in
the fridge. Sound good for dinner?” she asked.
“I’m with you, anything sounds great
right now, Sarah.” I followed her into the front room. A blue sofa
and love seat were her main furniture pieces next to a large TV set.
“Sit down, and let’s have desert
first then.”
I did a double take as she took my
hand and led me over to sit on the sofa. I hope I didn’t mistake her
implication.
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