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Native Rose by Holley Trent
Nikki twisted the stopper free from the glass vial and dabbed the scent-infused cork on the underside of her wrist. “Tell me what you think about this.” She held her arm out to Charlie who was reading some early Clive Cussler work in bed beside her. He laid the open novel pages-down on top of his naked chest and took her dainty wrist into his grasp.
Charlie maintained absolute eye contact as he lowered his face to her arm, an impish smile perking up his lips. He put his nose against her skin, gently tickling the delicate skin from wrist to forearm, and then dropped her arm like a steaming cow pie.
He hacked and scrubbed at his nose with the bed sheet.
“What the hell is that?” he shrieked in an octave his usually low tenor voice shouldn’t have been able to reach. He coughed some more and blinked wild eyes as if the smell had somehow transferred into other major body systems besides his skin.
Nikki jammed the stopper back into the vial and pouted. “Damn it, I really hoped that one would be it.”
“It what?” Now he was grating his tongue against the sharp edges of his top front teeth as if he could taste the smell, too.
Nikki sighed. “We’ve been experimenting with some new fragrances at work and using native roses as the inspiration for the scent.”
“Is your nose broken?”
“Heh.” Nikki made a note on her clipboard. “I have a cold.”
The Morning After by Jamallah Bergman
Waking up from her slumber, she realized that she was all alone in her bed. Feeling something along her hip seeing a beautiful rose sitting right there. Taking the rose, she laid on her back, smiling about what had happened the following night. It was one of those moments in time that she honestly would be thinking of it for as long as she lived.
They decided to meet up at a hotel far from her hometown for fear of being recognized. She had been in a relationship that had lasted all but ten years, ten years of heartache, ten years of lies, ten years of being used for sex and money. She had been single for the past year until she met him. He was nothing that she had been used to, completely mysterious, handsome….actually model handsome which was something she wasn’t use to. It was as if he had just appeared out of nowhere when they met and they had been with each other ever since.
They had never had sex together, most of the time whenever they were together they would go off in some corner where they would feel each other up. Away from prying eyes but just enough to hear and it was always her fear about getting caught by someone.
“But that’s what makes this so exciting,” he told her the first time they got together. “Thinking you’re about to get caught. Feeling your heart racing in your chest, you’re breathing growing rapid, doesn’t it get you hot my darling”
In a way he was right, it did get her very excited.
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The Wedding Annivesary by Melissa Keir
Our anniversary was approaching and I wanted it to be memorable. Luke had been spending a lot of time away from home. When I’d ask, he’d say he was working. I wanted something sexy that would light the fires between Luke and I again. Our sex life had been pretty dull with all the financial worries and time apart. My face flamed as I walked into the Victoria’s Secret store. Spying the black lace garter belt and matching bra, I thought about Luke’s gaze when he saw me.
The night of our anniversary, I made Luke’s favorite dinner, lit candles around the house, and put on the skimpy outfit. But Luke was late again.
Pacing the floor, my anger climbing. Where is he? Why hasn’t he called? Thoughts flew through my mind. Unable to magically make Luke appear, I threw the ruined dinner away and blew out the candles. With resignation in my mind, I climbed into bed too tired to change.
A sound woke me from my nightmare of Luke in the arms of another woman. There was Luke in the doorway with a set of keys hanging from his fingers and a bouquet of roses in his arms.
“Happy Anniversary Honey. I’m sorry I was late but I finally earned enough money for the car you’d been dreaming about. I made sure the salesman stayed to close the sale. I even brought home roses, your favorite.”
Tears filled my eyes. Luke was my dream of a lifetime.
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For Him by Savannah Chase
Her nervous fingers played with the delicate stem of the rose as she tried to calm her breathing down. She’d gotten this far, there was no ways she’d stop now.
It was their anniversary and she wanted to do something special for him, a sexy calendar of boudoir photos.
“Are you ready for February?” the photographer said as he walked over to where she lay.
“I think so,” she replied nervously. That was a lie.
“No, you must know. I want you to feel sexy just as you are. I don’t want to capture your nervousness and unease in these shots.”
She bit down on her lower lip. “I’m sorry. I’ve just never done anything like this.”
“Close your eyes for a moment and imagine your husband in the room. The way he looks at you and makes you feel wanted and desired.”
Letting out a nervous sigh she closed her eyes and pictured John looking at her. His eyes filled with lust, desire and utmost love. It made her body tingle from head to toe.
Opening her eyes she placed the orange rose against her hip, letting it rest against the sexy red panties she’d bought just for today.
“I’m ready,” she said and smiled.
Click, click. The flashes went off and she shed off the nerves that plagued her all morning. She would show him sexy, beautiful, and desirable. These photos would make her husband want to run home to take her each time he looked at them.
The Rose Killer by Benjamin Russell
New Orleans Detective Stephen Winters and his partner Tremane Foster, stood shivering in the frigid morgue as they waited for the attendant to find the right chamber. Winters gritted his teeth and silently prayed he wouldn’t find who they came to Miami looking for, inside one of those drawers. They’d just arrived in town less than an hour ago, sweaty, tired and fucking pissed. The sound of metal scraping against metal snapped Winters out of his funk.
“Ah, I found you, it’s not nice to play hide and seek with your Uncle Fester,” the morgue attendant said to the body lying on the metal slab. “Ok officers, here is the Jane Doe you asked about. We held up her autopsy pending your arrival.”
Winters looked at the Attendant and gritted his teeth. “Thank you Uncle Fester, now – please step aside.
“I’m sorry Officers, I didn’t mean any harm. I’ve just got a morbid sense of humor,” the Attendant said as he finished pulling the drawer all the way out. “She looks good from the waist down, but her killer certainly fucked-up her face.”
Winters and Foster had seen dead bodies many times before, up close and personal. They were no strangers to the cloying, sickly sweet miasma of death wafting from the open drawer, but still – this was abominable.
The attendant was right, her face had been mutilated beyond recognition, but the lower half of her body indicated that in life she’d been a woman who took care of her body. The single rose pinned to her panties was the telltale signature of the Rose Killer they’d tracked from New Orleans to Miami.
Foster turned and walked away while Winters continued to stare at the horribly disfigured body. “Who’s in charge of the investigation? Foster asked the Attendant.
A clear voice echoed in the room as a lean man with an air of authority strode briskly into the room. “I’m in charge gentlemen; my name is Lt. Horatio Caine.
If you’d like to learn more about Detectives Winters and Foster - pick up the best-selling book Tortured, written by D.H. Black. Click on the embedded link in the book name Tortured to buy it at Amazon. In addition, you can click on the embedded link in the name D.H. Black to check out his blog and his other best selling erotic thrillers.
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Yes Sir by Nikki Prince
She looked at the rose on her hip. It was a beautiful fiery orange color such a contrast to her peaches and cream skin color. Master had given it to her and said if she was good he'd reward her with the right to wear his collar. She peered over at him as he stood at his easel painting what she assumed to be her. He'd placed her only in red panties, black silk stockings and the rose laying just so. He'd dressed her as tenderly as one would dress a doll.
"I won't Sir."
"I know you won't, because you're a good girl, aren't you?"
"I can smell how wet you are. I won't ease that ache until I am satisfied."
She swallowed hard. Wanting to kiss him, to taste his full lips and become his and every way. This was a test and she'd excel at it. She'd been laying like this for over an hour. To be his, she'd lay there for as long as it took. His collar was the epitome of what she'd been striving for.
"Come here; look at what I've painted." Getting up, she moved over to him, and gasped. He'd painted her and it was a perfect copy of how she'd been with one exception. In perfect color wrapped about her throat was his collar. Then she felt the cool leather as he placed the real thing on her neck and his arms pulling her close.
The travels of a rose by Michel Prince
Cindy never could decide if a rose’s petals felt like velvet or silk, maybe just a mixture of the two. The light fuzz that covered the petal reminded her of a finely combed velvet, yet determining the difference in the feel of the silk panties on her ass and the rose that Marcus had at the base of her foot it was hard to separate the sensations.
Marcus had blindfolded her with his tie the only thing besides her panties that she'd been wearing, tied into a perfect Windsor knot, when he walked through the door. With a crooked smiled his gray eyes sparked as he cupped one of the fire orange roses she had in a bowl on the table.
Cindy rested on her couch with her ankle on his shoulder as he knelt before her. The rose first was in the arch of foot then swooped to the top each spot kissed by his strong lips following the trail. Cindy’s body quivered as the rose closely followed by his lips touched her ankle, calf and the bottom of knee.
“Marcus…” she moaned as the cool, soft rose glided along her inner thigh.
Brushing the firm bud of the rose softly played outside her core and the heat increased between her hips then clenched. She could feel the warmth of Marcus’ body as he stood above her and kissed her wanton lips. Tucking the stem of the rose inside band of her panties he smiled against her lips.
“Oops, wrong lips.”
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Happy Anniversary By Tricia Drammeh
I sprinkled rose petals across the new silk bed sheets. With shaking hands, I lit the meticulously arranged candles before turning off the lamps in the bedroom. A bottle of wine and two glasses waited on the dresser.
I glanced at the clock. He’d be home in five minutes. My stomach churned with anxiety as I plucked the decadent lingerie from the drawer. Quickly, I shed my track suit and slithered into the skimpy panties and bra.
What was I doing? This was a mistake. We weren’t the sort of couple who made a big deal over our anniversary. He would scoff at the expense and frippery. I leaned over the dresser, intent on blowing out the candles and putting an end to my silly scheme, but the front door opened. It was too late.
“Be right…” Before I could run and hide, he appeared at the bedroom door. His mouth gaped open.
“I look stupid.”
“You look beautiful.”
“You don’t think we’re too old for all this?” I asked, sweeping my hand toward the rose petal strewn bed.
“You’re never too old for romance.” He pulled me into his arms and kissed my neck. “You look just as sexy as you did the day we walked down the aisle.”
Forty years faded away when my gaze fell on the mirror over the dresser. I didn’t see a sixty-year-old woman who sagged in all the wrong places. I saw what he saw—the girl he fell in love with.
Untitled by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy
Sweet. Their coming together tasted as sweet as wine but with a rush of power reminding Daphne of a mighty wind. When they met, something hot and wild kindled between them and she knew. A few words of conversation, meaningless speech and then the first touch, the caress of his hand across her cheek drew desire like a lightning rod. Two mouths, connected, fused into one mouth, instrument of sensual pleasure.
They left together, two as one, walking tandem. No one uttered trite lines, no ‘your place or mine’. To her, it didn’t matter where. She would’ve done the deed in the back seat if he’d asked. But Derrick took her somewhere, to a bed in a anonymous room. Daphne noticed no other details.
Nude as birth, naked as death they fused together, two bodies into one. His cock hammered into her deep pussy and filled her. They rocked together in an ancient rhythm and came, shouting their pleasure and joy. Physical, all corporal, but yet beneath the erotic flesh he managed to touch her soul.
If he hadn’t, if there wasn’t more than a chance encounter, a one night stand, he wouldn’t have left the rose.
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All for You by Kerrianne Coombes
Garret dropped his kit-bag and climbed the stairs, suddenly finding more energy at the thought of holding Cara. He pushed open his bedroom door and all his breath left his lungs.
Cara was laid on their bed wearing nothing but a thong and a pink rose. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth was open slightly as sleep relaxed her beautiful face.
Garret stepped closer and ran the back of his fingers over the slight swell of her tummy. His heart filled with pride as he watched goose bumps rise all over her flesh, and his veins filled with powerful lust.
She shifted a little under his touch and Garret flicked his gaze up to her face. She was watching him, her dark brown eyes glinting in the low lit room, a small smile tugging at her plump mouth.
“Welcome home fire-fighter.” She whispered. Garret grinned and reached for the rose. He swiped the flower over one of her breasts and revelled in the way her nipple puckered under his attention.
“Is this all for me?” he asked even as he played the rose over her tummy and around her breasts. With his free hand, Garret brushed the back of his fingers over her taught nipple. A hot bolt of need slammed into his balls, making Garret swallow hard.
“Yes.” Cara breathed, “Its all for you.”
He heard the declaration in her tone, saw the determination in her gaze, and Garret suddenly forgot all about his rough day at work.