Shiver : 13 Sexy Tales of Humor and Horror, стр. 81

“Sounds perfect. I’m in need of a thorough forking after your kisses.”

Epilogue

Here’s Tommie…

A year has gone by since I arrived in town. The trip here was a freaking nightmare. I was trapped inside a plastic box for eight hours, and no amount of screaming made my owner have mercy on me.

But things have become more normal since we moved. We live in an old place with tons of mice. They keep me rather busy. Caught a big bad one this morning.

A tall man started coming around after we settled in. I think he lives here now. He has this strange notion we are buddies, and always tries to pet and hold me. He brings me awesome treats, so I put up with it.

The tall man keeps my owner busy playing games all day and night in the big bed. I have to jump on their heads in the morning to wake them up so I can get some food.

Jumping on heads is my favorite trick. I always get their attention when I pull that move.

I’ve been sprawled out in the middle of the hallway waiting for them to finish shaking the bed. It seems to be taking them longer than usual today.

I give up and stroll into the room across the hall from them. This room has the best smell in the house. They’ve been moving new things in here about every day.

Yesterday it was a bed with tall bars. It reminded me of my box but it’s way bigger. There’s a chair in the corner with a curved bottom that makes it move back and forth.

Sometimes my owner sits down in the chair while the tall guy sings to her and rubs her feet. I do like his singing. It might be his one good quality other than the treat giving.

I hear a creak in the floor by the shaking bed. I think they’re up. I waltz into the room and see my owner easing out of the bed with the tall guy’s help. I’ve noticed she doesn’t move like she used to. She’s grown this big thing around her middle. I’ve seen the tall man talking to it. Very odd.

Well, I am going to see if they will fill up my food bowl, then I’m taking a nap. That’s how I roll.

Thanks for reading Peckers. I hope you enjoyed it. I never thought I would write anything from a cat’s point of view!

If you would like to check out more of my books,visit my website for store links. I have a completed series, Touch of Tantra, and with the exception of the novella, the series is in the man’s point of view.

I’m brewing up more books in my cauldron, so please sign up for my mailing list to keep up-to-date on my tricks and treats. I promise to never spam your inbox.

Enjoy the rest of the anthology,

Liv

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THE COMPLETED TOUCH OF TANTRA SERIES

Adam’s Apple (Book 1)

Temptation (Book 1.5)

Adam’s Fall (Book 2)

Love in the City (The Complete Collection Boxed Set)

Bewitched

by Daisy Prescott

One

“Hester Pryne was a slut.”

“She was not. You’re a Neanderthal asshat!” My chair scraped across the worn wood floor as I stood and shouted. I was shouting in my New England Fiction seminar lead by a man in a tweed jacket with elbow patches. What was wrong with me?

“Miss Bradbury, please sit down,” Professor Philips scolded me from the head of the long, mahogany table.

I crossed my arms and my chest heaved as I stared down the tree troll known as Luke Hamilton, aka self-proclaimed ‘Big Man on Campus’ and golden-boy. “Professor Philips, how can you just let him spout off all that bull— nonsense about Hester Pryne being a slut? She didn’t have sex with herself.”

“That’d be hot,” Hamilton snorted from a few seats away. His golden-boy blond hair drooped over his forehead as he doodled boobs with A’s on them in the margins of his book.

Disgusting. I couldn’t figure out why he was even in this class. Reading didn’t seem to be his thing. The only things that appeared to interest him were boobs, keg parties, and himself.

“It takes two people! Two. Hamilton and his hand don’t count as two people. Argh! He’s missing the point. Hawthorne wasn’t slut shaming Hester.” I flailed my arms around in some sort of awkward orangutan mating dance.

A cough at the opposite end of the long table drew my attention, and the spell of my frustration dissolved. The sound came from Andrew Wildes, resident brooding, quiet, serious, handsome, slightly dangerous man of mystery. Or maybe he was just quiet. There was something about him I found fascinating, like the dark hero in one of the Bronte sisters’ novels. Blushing, I sat down in my chair, straightened a stack of note cards and my post-it note filled copy The Scarlett Letter.

“Do you have something to add to the discussion, Mr. Wildes?” Dr. Philips asked.

Andrew stared at his fingers, which tapped on the table in a patch of dust dancing in the mid-September sun. The rest of him remained in the shadows, making his thick dark hair and pale skin stand out in contrast even more. He never spoke in class unless Dr. Philips called on him, and his answers were often so odd, the majority of students ignored him. This would be interesting.

“Madison is right. Hawthorne wasn’t shaming Hester. The Puritans were. Hawthorne was more interested in sin and knowledge, exclusion and fear of the unknown.”

My jaw dropped open. Andrew defended me. He made my entire argument in two sentences. I didn’t think he knew I existed even though it was only a class of twelve students.

“Well said, Andrew,” Philips praised him. “You and Miss Bradbury are on the right track with your thinking.”

Hamilton scoffed and leaned back in his chair, letting the front legs rise a few inches above the floor. Under his breath he muttered, “Slut.”

Andrew’s head jerked in our direction. Behind his glasses, his brown eyes flashed to mine before they settled on Luke’s smug expression.

I wanted to wipe the stupid frat-boy grin off Hamilton’s face. My fingers twitched as I concentrated on resisting the urge to hurl my book at him. For once I would’ve loved to see him fall flat on his smugness. Clouds covered the sun, darkening the room’s only source of light. I scrunched up my nose and narrowed my eyes as I imagined him crashing to the floor. Luke’s chair tipped further back, past the point of balance. His arms flailed, struggling to stop the inevitable, but with a loud clatter, Luke and his chair smashed to the floor.

“Ha!” I looked around to see who heard my outburst. Most of my classmates were failing to stifle their own laughter as we stared at the empty spot at the table where Luke had been sitting. My eyes once again met Andrew’s. He dipped his head and pushed his glasses up his nose with his long, slender fingers, but his lips twitched and a dimple flashed in his cheek.