Come Play With Me: An Erotica Collection

COME PLAY WITH ME
An Erotica Collection

Table of Contents

Title Page

Dancing on the Edge – Charlotte Stein

On Wednesdays We Play – Madelynne Ellis

Sugar Lumps – Rose de Fer

You Can Have Me – Justine Elyot

The Boys Next Door – Heather Towne

They Come Bearing Gifts – Giselle Renarde

Semi-professional – Lux Zakari

The Boy Across the Hall – Kathleen Tudor

Unfinished Business – Elenya Lewis

Try Before You Bi! – Kitt Gerrard

More from Mischief

About Mischief

Copyright

About the Publisher

Dancing On The Edge
Charlotte Stein

He says it in the middle of talking about something mundane – like quotas or reports or that meeting we all had last Tuesday. We’re just sat here at the bar, and Johnson’s gone to the toilet, and in that tiny moment that we’re alone he puts his lips too close to my ear and murmurs the words: ‘If you come upstairs with me once we’re done here, I’ll lick your clit until you come all over my face.’

They feel hot, up that close – and not just because of the content. I can feel his steamy breath, rubbing against the sensitive whorls of my ear. And I get a heated hint of his body, too, as he invades my space.

I don’t know how to react. A second ago he was Michael Turner, rather quiet and sort of uninteresting colleague. Now he’s a guy who propositions girls by using a word I don’t think I’ve ever heard a man say before. Not even in bed. Not even when the guy in question is actually touching me there.

Though, come to think of it, even that’s rare.

But this is rarer. I feel like he’s already done the deed, before I’ve even taken him up on the offer. My clit is suddenly huge, immense. It’s eating the rest of my body in pulses and tremors, and all of them make me realise something startling.

It doesn’t really take a lot to make me come. I could come like this, while staring straight forwards at my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. I can see him just to the left of me, toying with his glass of Scotch as though nothing was said – but then he glances up just a little and our eyes meet around bottles of absinthe and mint liquor, and I know.

I know I could come if he just breathed on me wrong. I’m primed like an engine; he’s said the magic words and kickstarted a libido I didn’t previously have. Usually I’m bored, restless, I have to work for it, push for it. I’m always on the edge and never all the way over.

But that’s not the case now. Why didn’t I notice those eyes of his, over morning coffee and dull chitchat? They’re like neon lights, lowering on the front of a predatory sort of car. Something slick and close to the ground, ready to run me down. And his mouth … oh, his mouth.

It’s like someone pressed a blade to his face. They carved those cut-glass cheekbones, and then finished off with a slash just above his chin.

Which is all just a way of saying that he’s stunningly attractive, though I’d never quite seen it before today. I guess I’d passed him by in the same manner I pass by most handsome men, sure and certain in their uninterest, only concerned with what they have to say. Maybe it’ll be something good, like today.

Though usually I’m just hoping for anything at all. From anyone, ever. A word, a sign that I’m alive. A hand on my thigh as nonchalant as a back pat, just before he slides away.