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Meg Harris
Hot Lover (an erotic/erotica romance)
Hot Lover (an erotic/erotica romance)
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What's a girl to do when her battery-operated boyfriend gives up? Why, turn to the hot, gorgeous guy next door, of course...
Length: Short story (9000 words).
Warnings: Explicit sex, some sex toy usage, blunt language, cheating.
SEX TOY BURNS DOWN LOCAL LANDMARK.
The headline flashed through Danielle Patton's head as she stepped into her loft, a bright sunny space in an old Norfolk building that had once been a warehouse, and saw with dismay that there was smoke drifting from the top drawer of her dresser. She wrote humorous human interest stories for the local newspaper, but didn’t think it would be particularly amusing to be the subject of one.
“Oh, my God!” she yelped.
Her neighbor Robert Cross had been right behind her, and he took in the situation at a glance. He strode across the room, grabbing a small chenille throw off the back of the sofa as he went. Then he pulled the drawer open and smothered the small fire.
When it was out, he hesitated, and she could see his cheeks slowly turning red. No wonder, she thought, because he was a geeky, shy kind of guy, and right now he was pretty much up to his elbows in what the department stores called “intimate apparel.” Not to mention...
“Dani,” he said, gingerly picking up a long, charred object with the fabric. “What the hell is this?”
She was pretty sure she was blushing, too, but she decided to ignore the heat in her cheeks. Her boyfriend George had been too tired to go out, so she’d gone to have a burger with Robert, so as not to spend Saturday night alone. But she hadn’t expected Robert to wind up rummaging around in her lingerie. “Oh, that's just Bob.”
“Bob.” Robert blinked at the object, like he still wasn't quite sure what it was. “Um… are you telling me you named this… thing… after me?”
“Of course not. Don’t be an egotist. I had that long before you moved in next door. His name is Bob because… you know…” She did her best to sound perky and snarky, rather than terminally embarrassed. “It’s a battery-operated boyfriend.”
She was lying, of course. She’d actually purchased it fairly soon after he moved in. But the fact that she’d given it a variant of his name was entirely and completely coincidental. She was sure of that...
Length: Short story (9000 words).
Warnings: Explicit sex, some sex toy usage, blunt language, cheating.
SEX TOY BURNS DOWN LOCAL LANDMARK.
The headline flashed through Danielle Patton's head as she stepped into her loft, a bright sunny space in an old Norfolk building that had once been a warehouse, and saw with dismay that there was smoke drifting from the top drawer of her dresser. She wrote humorous human interest stories for the local newspaper, but didn’t think it would be particularly amusing to be the subject of one.
“Oh, my God!” she yelped.
Her neighbor Robert Cross had been right behind her, and he took in the situation at a glance. He strode across the room, grabbing a small chenille throw off the back of the sofa as he went. Then he pulled the drawer open and smothered the small fire.
When it was out, he hesitated, and she could see his cheeks slowly turning red. No wonder, she thought, because he was a geeky, shy kind of guy, and right now he was pretty much up to his elbows in what the department stores called “intimate apparel.” Not to mention...
“Dani,” he said, gingerly picking up a long, charred object with the fabric. “What the hell is this?”
She was pretty sure she was blushing, too, but she decided to ignore the heat in her cheeks. Her boyfriend George had been too tired to go out, so she’d gone to have a burger with Robert, so as not to spend Saturday night alone. But she hadn’t expected Robert to wind up rummaging around in her lingerie. “Oh, that's just Bob.”
“Bob.” Robert blinked at the object, like he still wasn't quite sure what it was. “Um… are you telling me you named this… thing… after me?”
“Of course not. Don’t be an egotist. I had that long before you moved in next door. His name is Bob because… you know…” She did her best to sound perky and snarky, rather than terminally embarrassed. “It’s a battery-operated boyfriend.”
She was lying, of course. She’d actually purchased it fairly soon after he moved in. But the fact that she’d given it a variant of his name was entirely and completely coincidental. She was sure of that...
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