Sitting at the gate reading my book, my name was called to the podium. Since I hadn't placed my name on any waitlists, I was more than a little mystified. I placed the book back in my workbag, and walked up to the podium.
"Ms Montgomery, there is a problem with your checked bag," the gate agent said. The poor girl was terrified, trying to maintain a seriousness about her.
It was supposed to be a straight forward assignment. Jimmy occasionally did some camera work to help out the local paper when their regular photographer was busy, or to collect background shots for local stories.
The editor had told him this one was quite simple. The local gym was on a membership drive and had arranged for him to do a story on them. Jimmy was to wander along that evening to take some snaps of one of the women's fitness sessions.
His hand pushed down against my spine, holding me flat to the mattress. As I turned my head to look round at him he thrust downwards, pressing me deeper into the springs. My heart thudded heavily. For a moment I was so intently aware of the air against my exposed skin, the shock of cool hitting wet that I shivered. It drew a groan from him. A low and desperate sound.
Tyler and Johnson walked into the holding cells as soon as they had their orders. There, in the largest cell, Tyler saw her as she stood proudly with hands on hips. She was gorgeous, there was no doubt. Certainly the hottest, and youngest, enemy agent he had ever seen. He certainly wasn't about to complain about this assignment, or the manner in which he was instructed to carry it out.
Madeleine sighed and hit Disconnect on the call window.
Another rude asshole. She thought. The days were supposed to feel shorter when you have a lot of work to keep you busy, however bad calls like that made them drag on forever.
"Hang in there." A pleasant voice floated over her cubicle.
The club is crowded tonight, and hot. The press of bodies, half-naked and gleaming, is a feast. The warm brush of flesh against flesh is a fever. Bodies clashing and rubbing become a furnace fueling my desire. As I make my way to the bar, threading carefully through the throng, my hand touches a shoulder here, a well-muscled chest there, my bottom brushing against the crotch of someone behind me as I squeeze through a small corridor.
Even at the time, Karen had known she would regret it. But she was young and she was broke. And even though she hates clichés and knows that they all say "I did it for the money," this was the case. At the time she was eighteen years old, straight off the farm, desperate to study in a big city with a big school with an even bigger tuition. Karen was smart – smarter than this particular decision would make her appear – but she was also driven to succeed, struggling to know when to turn back, and when the offer to make a couple of girl-on-girl videos was presented, she was too far gone to say no.
Jennifer was at a total loss. She felt as if the dreams in her life were falling into little pieces and she was unable to pick them up and put them back together. After 2 years of dating and 3 years of marriage nothing was working out how she planed. She still remembered all the nights spent before her wedding in bed with Michael when they whispered words of love and plans of a future together. Those nights were most often the ones after they had made love and she still had the wetness of him inside her.
It had been such a long day. I was exhausted as I let myself in the door and dropped my bags on the table. To make matters worse, I came home through a violent storm, and I was drenched from the pouring rain. I would be glad to peel off the wet clothes that were clinging to my body. I immediately headed for the shower.
When I was 18 years old, in my senior year at a Catholic school for girls, my dad caught me on the street with my parochial school uniform's skirt pulled up a few extra inches so that it uncovered my legs to get the attention of boys. A lot of girls at my school did that after school.
He is very strict. He is Sicilian.