Sexy and Funny, Hilarious Erotic Romance Bundle (55 page)

I put the script down and stared at the blotchy abstract art on the wall in Dalton’s palatial bedroom.

The second part was exactly what he’d said to me the night we had dinner at DeNirro’s. Our dates had been scripted. Well, his side had been.

This unsettled me, but not enough to stop reading.

I read on, and I lied to myself and said it was just a good story, and that was why.

The truth is, every page was cutting me. Deeply. My sorrow grew with every line I read, that I’d also heard come from Dalton’s lying lips.

Line after line he’d fed me, and I’d gobbled it down.

The character, David, had returned to his hometown and discovered the love of his life dating his estranged brother, and sporting an extra fifty pounds. He still felt something for her, but…
it hurt so bad for me to read his dialog with his friend
… he didn’t know if he could be physically attracted to Harper anymore. He was a wealthy tech company owner, and used to dating, in his words, “hotties.”

Later in the script, he told his friend that maybe fucking a fat girl wasn’t so bad after all. That if he closed his eyes, there was so much of her, that it was like having a threesome.

I read all the way to the end, which included the Happy Ending. Also known as the Fucking Stupidest Fucking Ending for Any Movie, Ever.

Harper hired a personal trainer and got her ass skinny enough to climb back into her prom dress, and she and Dalton—I mean, David—attended their high school reunion.

And they lived Happily Ever After.

If I’d had a knife nearby, I would have stabbed it through the manuscript, the way it had stabbed through my heart.

These were all the actions and words of fictional characters, but I read Dave's words as though every word was coming from Dalton's lips. I'd already heard so many of the lines.

I heard horrible sounds, like a woman howling in pain, and I realized it was me.

It was four in the morning.

The darkest hour for the human soul.

The End of Stardust, Peaches Monroe #1

Click here to order Peaches Monroe Book 2, Starlight

(Link goes to Amazon.com)

Description:
A magical fairy has cursed (or blessed) Becca Hodge to relive the same day, until she can seduce a man from her past. Or is that really what this is all about? When there's no tomorrow to worry about, how far will Becca go tonight?

Length:
About 100 book pages long. The entire story is included in this anthology.

WARNING! Spice Level:
Erotica. Hot, dirty, filthy, sexy fun with no consequences. This is not a soft, romantic story. Expect plenty of sex with strangers, dirty words, and juicy back-door action to get your pulse pounding.

Turn the page to dive into
Why Not Tonight?
by Mimi Strong.

Or
click here to return to the main Table of Contents.

I knew she was a fairy because she was so small, maybe seven inches high. The other tip-off was the wings, not to mention the little wand.

I assumed, as any person would, that I was hallucinating, and that the coffee shop next door had put something extra into my latte. I had no time for fairies or hallucinations. My day was planned out already: Saturday is about laundry, plus I throw out the rotten vegetables from the fridge, clean the fish tank, and read blogs and magazines. It's a
very
important day for my mental health.

The fairy appeared in the laundry room of my apartment building, floating over my basket of sheets, which were sitting on top of the row of washers. I was minding my own business, digging through my pockets for quarters.

The sparkling little fairy said, in a voice I must describe as
tinkly
, “Are you Becca Hodge?”

“Who wants to know?” I looked around for a projector, or puppet strings.

“I am your fairy mother, Rasidissi Miliorow Eerpert Sextiy.”

“Wuh… Rad-sexy?”

She smiled a teensy little fairy smile and fluttered down to my laundry, where she sat, cross-legged. “You may call me Rass, and I am your fairy mother.”

“You mean fairy
god
mother?”

“Whatever.” She waved her star-tipped wand in a circle and tapped the laundry beneath her. It shimmered and turned to a pile of neatly-folded sheets and towels. In fact, all my laundry did.

“Holy fuck.”

“I have a mission for you,” she said, her voice like bells floating on a babbling stream.

“Is it to kill people? Because, if so, I'm going straight to my doctor and having myself committed.” I blinked several times, checking my eyes. I get migraines, but I wasn't having one at the moment, unless it was one of those strange, painless migraines I'd heard about.

She reached into her tiny cleavage, digging around in her sparkling dress, and withdrew a piece of paper smaller than the fortune in a fortune cookie.

“You must seduce this man,” she said.

“What?” I put my hands on my hips. “I'm no call girl. I mean, yeah, I was a little friendly in college, with guys, and I kissed a girl once, but I've settled down. I'm twenty-six, Rass. I don't go around seducing men, okay?”

“Tonight,” she said.

“Or what?”

She laughed, a laugh that was much bigger than you'd expect from a seven-inch-tall fairy. She looked a bit evil, laughing like that. I wondered if she was a devil, in angelic disguise.

“Just do it,” she said. “And do a good job. Don't wait until the last minute like you do your work assignments, and then get help from your friend Deena.”

“How did you… ? Uh. What?”

The laundry room crackled with electricity, then something went BANG and the fairy was gone.

Someone, a guy, said, “Who were you talking to?”

I turned to find my hunky neighbor, Calvin. As in, Cute Calvin. He'd just walked into the laundry room and the bang could have been the door closing behind him.

“I have a vivid imagination,” I said. “Where's the boiler for this building? Do you smell gas? Is there a gas leak?”

He sniffed the air. “I don't smell gas, and I have a good sense of smell.” He was wearing a threadbare blue shirt that showed off his surfing muscles. With his tousled light hair and ocean-blue eyes, Calvin was California personified, but totally down to earth, because he'd move to LA from Idaho or some other potato-growing area.

“I feel kinda weird,” I said. “Do my pupils look normal to you?”

He laughed and set his laundry basket next to mine, getting closer to me than we'd ever been. I'd thought about getting this close to Cute Calvin, but not like this.

“Your pupils look fine to me, but wait.” He reached up and brushed at my cheek with his thumb. He held his thumb in front of me, with an eyelash on it. “Make a wish and blow.”

“Beg pardon?”

He chuckled. “Don't you know? You get a wish whenever you lose an eyelash like this. Now close your eyes, make a wish, and blow like you're blowing out candles on a birthday cake.”

I closed my eyes and wished:
I wish fairies were real.

When I opened my eyes again, Calvin gave me a big surfer-boy grin and got to sorting his laundry.

I dug in my jeans for my quarters, then stopped. My clothes were all folded. I gave them a quick sniff and determined they were clean. In fact, they all looked brand-new. Even some moth-eaten spots on my lounge-around cardigan had been magically mended.

“You must have gotten up early,” Calvin said, nodding at my clean laundry.

“I must have,” I said, shrugging. I gathered up my clean baskets and headed toward the door.

Calvin said, “Becca, I think you dropped something.”

Him saying my name gave me a shiver. I didn't think he even knew my name, I was just the girl down the hall from him, or so I thought.

He handed me a tiny piece of paper. The note from the fairy, Rass-whatsername. Containing the name of the man I was supposed to
seduce
.

I hoped the name was Calvin.

It was not.

Back up in my apartment, I stared at the name on the tiny slip of paper.

Robert Lyle.

I actually knew the guy, or knew of him. He had gone to my high school, and I have a good memory for names. We didn't mix, socially, though, because he was beyond awkward and preferred computers to girls. I think my friend Deena thought he was cute at the time, or he would be without the glasses.

I called Deena and asked if she knew anything about Robert Lyle.

“Becca. Don't you keep up with people from school? He started that software company.”

I pulled out my laptop and started googling his name while we were talking. “I was planning to catch up with everyone next year, at the reunion.”

“With Facebook and stuff, who needs reunions?”

I changed the topic away from reunions, since ours was nearly a year away, and tried to pump her and google simultaneously for details about Robert Lyle.

His stupid name was so absurdly common that I couldn't find a photo. From what I remembered, he had dark hair and pale skin that never saw the light of day, plus thick glasses that were always dirty.

Deena, who was also typing away on her side, said, “Oh, what a coincidence. He's going to that party tonight. The art gallery thing for whatsername, you know, with the spikes in her face.”

“That's tonight?” I thought about the fairy I'd seen in the laundry. The laundry fairy. I could accept that I was crazy, but I couldn't accept I was psychic too. The fact that I'd be seeing the guy that night was what finally convinced me that fairies are real and magic is real.

I didn't have the highest of hopes for Mr. Robert Lyle, computer geek, but a little flirting wouldn't kill me. And, if he had filled out at all, I would probably have sex with him.

Don't think I'm a giant whore-bag. I'm not. Before I met Rass the fairy, I'd only had sex with three people, four if you count oral. For a young, healthy woman living in LA, that's not a high number. It had been six months since I'd split up with a long-term boyfriend, and to tell you the truth, I was more than willing to “shake out the cobwebs,” so to speak.

Also, it was three days before my period and I was feeling ultra frisky.

I wondered if Rass, my fairy mother, had sprinkled something on me, because just thinking about going to the party and bumping into Robert Lyle was making my labia swell up with excitement. With one hand, I reached up and squeezed one breast.

Deena, who was still with me on the phone, said, “What was that? Did you just moan?”

“Uh… no?”

“What's going on over there? Do you have a guy over? Don't TELL me you let douchebag stay over.”

“Nope. We're finished. I haven't seen him, I swear.”

My mouth watered with excitement, thinking about Robert Lyle. I could give him a blow job at the party. That counted as seduction, right? Plus it wasn't quite as slutty as fucking him in the washroom, my legs wrapped around him, panties not even pulled off, but slid aside. Him, entering me in such a rush he barely gets his trousers open. Banging, banging away, getting fucked hard while people wait on the other side of the door to use the bathroom.

My pussy started to ache, a dull pain that was as insistent as it was pleasant.

As though reading my thoughts, Deena said, “You need to get laid. Want me to set you up? My personal trainer is a sure thing.”

“I don't want your leftovers.” But I was considering it. I'd heard the personal trainer was very… demanding. Like, he gave orders, and made you sweaty. The sex practically counted as a workout, and Deena's abs had been looking great.

She said, “Just because I fucked him doesn't mean you can't. Best friends share their good things.”

She laughed at her wickedness, and I did too.

We spent a few more minutes discussing what we'd wear to the party that night, and then we ended the call.

I searched again for pictures of Robert, finding nothing. I resorted to the old standby, the hardcopy, pulling out our high school yearbook.

His photo was blurry.

That was odd. Nobody else's photo was blurry.

My pussy ached, and I reached into my yoga pants, trying to diminish the rising pressure. As my fingers slipped down into my crease, I got a jolt, almost electric, and not in the good way.

My phone buzzed with an incoming text message.

That was odd
, I thought, and I wondered if the buzz had given me the jolt.

The text message read:

No touching yourself. Love, Rass, your fairy mother.

Holy shit.

Now my pussy was practically on fire with desire. I reached down hesitantly and got another shock.

That fucking fairy.

I ran to my bedroom, opened my special drawer and located my toy under my winter sweaters. I turned it on to low and gently brought it toward my crotch, through my pants, not even making skin contact, and I felt the snap again, the punishing jolt. Not enjoyable.

Next, I cursed out Rass, calling her every bad name I could think of, and then I took a cold shower.

The shower helped chill me down and dialed the hot desire in my pussy down to an almost bearable level. I took some headache pills as well, just because they are recommended for reducing fevers, and I sorta had a fever.