Romance: Menage Romance: The French Quarter Hostages (Paranormal Action Shapeshifter MFM Bear Shifter Romance) (Fantasy BBW Taboo Interracial Love Triangle Werebear Mates Short Stories) (24 page)

The two fell onto the bed in each other’s arms, exhausted and satisfied. Leslie smiled at Robert as he pulled the covers over their damp bodies.

“I could get used to this,” Leslie panted before placing a kiss on his chest.

“Yeah, me too,” Robert responded with a laugh as he returned the kiss.

*****

“I’m going to have to face Max soon,” Leslie said the next morning as she watched Robert, in nothing but a robe, cook breakfast. She definitely was not complaining about the sight.

“Yeah you’re right,” he said as he placed the French toast neatly on Leslie’s plate.

“I mean he was a prick, and now I need to talk about what happened with Bri.” The thought alone was making knots out of Leslie’s stomach.

Robert went over and placed his large hands on her shoulders massaging them a bit.

“Haven’t you had enough drama for one week?”

Leslie laughed and shook her head.

“Apparently not.”

One other thing that was bothering Leslie was that Robert would be leaving soon. She would be alone again waiting for him to come back and that put more knots in her stomach than the Max situation.

“Do you really have to go?”

Robert stopped flipping the French toast and turned around to look at her with a serious look on his face.

“You want me to stay?”

“You sound surprised,” Leslie said with her eyebrow raised, genuinely wondering why he’d be so shocked.

“Well with everything, I just thought…” Robert didn’t finish his sentence but instead smiled and walked back over to Leslie seating himself beside her.

“I’ll stay,” Robert said simply before placing a kiss on her hand.

“That easy?”

Leslie was dumbfounded; as far as she knew he had to go back to duty the following week.

“Well you could say I’m retiring. I did my time and I’m grateful for it, even before all that bad stuff happened, I was ready to be leave.”

Leslie playfully hit his chest.

“Should have told me earlier,” she said before leaning in to give him a kiss. That was a huge load of her mind. She didn’t realize how much she had missed him until he was here. Even with the craziness she missed him like mad.

“Think you can
handle
even just one more week of me?”

Leslie tilted her head in the air pretending to think before facing him once again with a grin.

“Only if you teach me how to throw a punch like the one you planted on Max.”

Robert let out a hearty laugh and nodded his head.

“Anything for you.”

THE END

Bonus Story 6 of 20

The lights are flashing wildly.

Jostling bodies surround me, and my head is a woozy mess. I sway with the crowd, my head lolling around on my neck, which feels like loose rubber. My eyelids droop down.

There’s music pounding through the air. I can’t place the song but the vibrations from the huge speakers at the head of the dance floor penetrate my very bones. With every pound of the bass my heart shudders and my breath catches in my chest.

I lost count of how many drinks I’d downed nearly an hour ago. Shot after shot I put back, beckoning the bartender back for more over and over again. Strange men had surrounded me, whooping and cheering me on in their own drunken stupors. Eventually the bartender cut me off and I stumbled away from the counter and into the mass of people.

A body brushes up against me, closer than normal. I turn my face and see a man smiling down at me, his features a haze before my eyes. He holds out something to me, nodding and smirking.

A small pill lies in the center of his palm. I grin up at him and snatch it up, slipping it into my mouth. I let it rest on my tongue, opening my mouth wide so he can see it resting there before I swallow it dry.

It takes mere minutes for me to feel it. I’ve no idea what I’ve just taken, but I couldn’t care less. The lights are dancing around me, swirling and taking on the brightest hues I’ve ever seen.

The man is behind me now, resting his hands on the sides of my hips and pushing my backside against him. We sway together to the music and I stare up at the lights in awe, my head lolling back against his chest. He starts to kiss my neck but I hardly notice.

I haven’t noticed the way a man touched me in nearly a year. Now it’s nothing but pressure against my skin, eliciting no special or exciting sensation. I’ve hardly felt a thing in twelve months, waking up in the morning and going through my daily and mindless routine before returning to a blissful sleep in the evening. And then I repeat.

The weekends are something different, though. I look forward to them. If I’m feeling bad during the week, having a worse day than normal, I simply turn my mind towards thoughts of the weekend and my plans.

Friday, Saturday, and sometimes even Sunday nights are spent at whatever club I can get into. It’s not difficult for me, I’m an attractive woman. My black hair falls in waves nearly down to my waist and my brown eyes are large and inviting. I have pouty, pink lips and I know how to do my makeup just right. I perfected the smoky eyes long ago, and am an expert at applying lipstick. I have what most refer to as an “hourglass figure”, and I quite the fan of short skirts.

I’m a good-looking woman. I’m not afraid to admit that. I get into clubs and a man usually latches onto me within minutes. But I don’t feel anything anymore. It’s fun, dancing and making out and sometimes finding a more private setting to fool around. But it’s meaningless and that's how I like it.

There are moments, after a weekend of partying and staying up until all hours of the morning, high and drunk and barely conscious, that I think about what I’m doing and I cringe. I want more than this, but I don’t know how to get it. I’ve lost every friend I’ve ever had in this past year. Too much drinking, too much partying, too many drugs. Not enough feeling. I hardly speak to my parents and they stopped trying to contact me a long time ago.

I’m thinking too much, now. Despite the chemicals racing through my veins, visions of
his
face are coming to mind. His twinkling blue eyes, the stupid beard across his chin that he refused to trim. The tattoos along his arms and chest, and the way I would trace their lines across his skin as I lay beside him in bed, our legs entwined beneath the sheets.

I shake my head viciously, knowing if I dwell in the land of memories too long, I’ll lose my mind. I focus with all my might on the man latched onto my skin and the sensations bombarding me from my high.

I heard about this club a few weeks ago. I was talking with some people at another club, and they mentioned a place I’d never been. There were rumors of a strange man that shows up and whisks women away. Those women always come back ranting about the best experience they’d ever had, an unimaginable new high that left them shaking and craving for more. Something so incredibly strong and unexperienced.

As soon as I heard about it, I knew I wanted it. If I can’t get out of this depression, I want more and more drugs. I want more highs and more feelings, I want to dance all night with the lights and stars swirling in my eyes and passion flowing flooding my veins and synapses.

I need more. I always, always need more.

Before long, I grow tired of the man dancing on me. He doesn’t know how to move very well, and I can’t tell if that’s just because he’s so drunk. He hasn’t tried to truly kiss me yet, instead he’s just slobbering all over my neck and trying to move his hands down towards my panties.

I extricate myself from his arms, eliciting an annoyed grunt from him. He attempts to grab my arm and pull me back towards him, but I swing around with rage shining in my eyes and raise my hand to smack his arm. He stares at me before shrugging and turning away, disappearing into the crowd.

Men here can get a little handsy, I learned that long ago. I scan the crowd for him for a few moments before turning away and making my way through the mass of gyrating bodies. I don’t know where I’m going, all I know is that I want to find this strange and alluring man everyone was speaking of.

I’m beginning to lose hope when I see him. I’ve reached the outskirts of the crowd, sweaty and disheveled and barely managing to keep my balance with all the sensations still bombarding me. I look up, eyes hooded, and lock gazes.

A man is leaning against the bar, twenty feet in front of me. His elbows are propped up on its surface and he lounges backward. I can already see from here his broad shoulder and strong arms. His button-down shirt is rolled up to the elbows, and I can see the tense muscles of his forearms.

I can’t make out the precise features of his face in the darkness of the club, but I can feel the intensity of his gaze on me. Every so often as the lights flash above me I see them bounce off his eyes. He’s staring directly at me.

I know it’s him. It has to be the man they were speaking of. He exudes this fascinating presence, it’s like an anchor—powerful and strong and keeping the entire place grounded. I stare at him in utter bafflement for a moment before stepping forward, nearly stumbling. Then I take another step and another, and soon I’m standing before him.

He has short, close-cropped black hair. It’s tight and curly, and he has deep brown eyes. His skin is a few shades darker than mine, a rich chestnut color. He regards me carefully, eyes roving up and down my body before locking again with my eyes.

“Come dance with me,” I say, my voice coming out breathless. I haven’t the presence of mind to be embarrassed, I can think of nothing but the feel of his body against mine and my lips molding with his.

The man doesn’t say a word, but steps away from the bar, grabbing my hand and dragging me back into the crowd with him. He turns around and pulls me close to him, one hand snaking down my back. His lips crash against mine.

I lose myself in him. My senses seem heightened all of a sudden, though the only things they are heightened to is him. The rest of the room falls away. His body is incredibly solid and muscular, almost unnaturally so. Everything about him feels graceful and majestic, every move he makes carefully planned.

After a few moments he pulls away. He turns me around so my back is to his front, and we dance. He dips his face down and nuzzles his nose into my neck, causing my breath to hitch in my chest. It’s been a long time since I felt sensations like this from a strange man.

I feel him tugging on my shirt now, pulling me backwards with him through the crowd. I turn around and he grabs onto my hand, guiding me to the outskirts of the room and towards the bathrooms. Excitement thrums through my entire body, I can hardly believe this is happening. I actually
found
him.

He guides me into the men’s bathroom. It’s mercifully empty, though I doubt we would have been deterred anyways. He pulls me into a stall. As soon as the door is shut and secured, he presses me against the wall of the stall and drops his mouth to my neck again.

He seems to like kissing my neck more than he likes kissing my mouth, but I’m not about to complain. My throat has always been an especially sensitive spot for me, and he knows exactly how to move his mouth against my skin. I practically melt in his arms.

Suddenly everything feels different. He’s no longer just moving his mouth against my skin. I can feel his teeth, brushing back and forth against the soft skin of my neck. He slips his tongue in every so often, licking up the length of my neck before going back down. It feels amazing, nothing I’ve ever experienced before.

I’m getting so into the sensations, I want to do
more
. This feels amazing, I can’t imagine how wonderful sleeping with him will feel. It doesn’t even bother me that we’re in a filthy men’s bathroom, toilet paper scattered on the floor and unsightly stains on the toilet bowl which is a mere foot away. I’ve hooked up in stranger places, and there’s no way I’m going to pass up on this opportunity simply because of a dirty bathroom.

I go to pull my shirt over my head, but he stops me. He tugs my hand away from the fabric of my shirt and pulls it up over my head. He brings my other hand up to join it, pinning my arms above my head and pressing his torso against my own. I let out a moan. His teeth are pressing harder against my throat, and suddenly I notice that they’re
sharp.

Sharp teeth? How is that possible? I can feel their points pressing into my skin, threatening to break the surface. And then they do.

I feel the exact moment that his teeth pierce my flesh. He lets out a groan and his body shudders as his teeth clamp down on my neck, and suddenly I am lost in an otherworldly bliss.

I do not know where I am or what I am doing or what day of the week it is. I do not know the time, I do not know my name or my birth date. I know nothing but the feelings coursing through my veins. I can still see, but I’m not processing anything. This is the greatest high I’ve ever felt, better than any drug one could ever hope for. It’s better than booze, better than sex.

I have no idea how much time passes, but once it’s done it’s done too soon. I slide down the wall of the bathroom stall, head lolling limply as I settle onto the filthy tiled floor. I let out a whimper. I want
more.
But I can’t speak or vocalize. My entire body is limp and tired, helpless.

I see him standing before me. His legs and boots are directly in front of me. After a moment he turns and leaves, and I fall into darkness.

I wake up hours later. I only know this because I check my phone and see that it’s four in the morning. I gasp and try to stand, but a wave of dizziness and nausea overcomes me so I stay sitting, waiting to get my bearings. As I wait I notice something on the ground. It’s a piece of paper of some sort, looking out of place and strikingly clean against the dirty floor. I pocket it without thinking and then struggle to my feet.

My stumble home is a blur. My head pounds and my knees feel weak. I keep bringing a hand up to my neck but I feel nothing. No wound, no blood, no nothing.

Clearly, I had some sort of hallucination. Tragic, really, because that was the best sensation I’ve ever felt in my life. To think it was all just in my head . . . no way to replicate it in real life. The thought makes my body ache.

I finally reach my apartment. I struggle with the locks before nearly falling inside and crawling into my bed. I sleep.

I spend the next day in a haze. I sleep until nearly 2 P.M., and even then find it difficult to drag myself from my bed. But that’s nothing new. It’s simply worse today due to my dramatic escapades of the previous night.

Despite all this, come nightfall, I’m raring to go again. I make my way back to the same club, something I rarely do two nights in a row. I like to go to different places, explore different scenes and new crowds. But tonight I’ve got one thing on my mind, and it’s finding that man again. I need to know if what I felt was nothing more than a hallucination, or if it was truly real.

I turn down all drugs offered me. I have one or two drinks, but nothing to get me to the level of drunkenness I typically prefer. I want to be of a righter mind when I find him, so I know without a trace of doubt what really happened. Because mark my words, I
will
find him.

I’ve been dancing in the club for nearly an hour when I spot him. It’s about time, too, because I was beginning to get impatient. I extricate myself from the arms of a man who’s been dancing on me. He’s so drunk he hardly notices, merely looking around dumbly for a few moments before shrugging and moving onto the next girl, an unsuspecting blond a few feet away. I shake my head, before turning my attentions back to the man.

He’s dancing with another girl. She has dark black skin and long black braids which sway back and forth with her movements. He’s kissing her neck and she has a look of ecstasy on her face, which I immediately envy. My stomach clenches at the sight of him, but I don’t let myself be intimidated. I fight my way through the crowd until I’m standing directly in front of them.