Animal Instincts by Gena Showalter

smile, I said, “Are you trying to tell me something here? Like I’m sexually frustrated and a bad dresser?”
    Mel stared at me dead-on. “You need to take these items and put them to good use. Let loose for once. Just go for it with Royce. I’m telling you that with the right motivation, that man will be panting for you.”
    She was wrong. He hadn’t needed any motivation, and he still wanted me.
    “I agree with Mel,” Kera said, nodding. “Although it’s my hope the relationship will develop into something more than sex.”
    I still wasn’t ready to talk about the kiss, so I said, “You guys—”
    “No, don’t say anything now,” Mel interjected. “You’re near death from hunger pains, remember?” She grinned. “Who knows? Maybe the cake will put you in a good mood.”
    Kera chuckled. “Let’s feast.”
    I nodded, deciding simply to enjoy. Eat now, argue about Royce later. “Okay. But I get the balls!”

6
    A Tigress is a predator and by definition a predator is one that preys and destroys, feeding on others to sustain strength. Don’t just take a bite of your opponent. Devour him whole.
    T HE NEXT AFTERNOON , I strode into Cinderella Catering. Kera was behind the only desk, looking as fresh and pretty as a summer bouquet as she spoke with a customer about appropriate finger foods for an anniversary party.
    I motioned that I’d wait. She nodded, and I claimed a seat at the couch. I gazed out the shop window, watching people stroll by. Mainly businessmen and women, with the occasional hand-holding couple thrown in the mix. My chest was not aching with jealousy. Nor was I imagining Royce holding my hand.
    A few minutes later, Kera and I were alone and she joined me at the sitting area.
    “Weren’t you supposed to have lunch with Mr. Wonderful today?” she asked.
    “His name is Mr. Unacceptable, and we had a change of plans,” I said, answering as vaguely as I could. I still hadn’t told my cousins I’d met with Royce yesterday instead. After the non-birthday party—and after I’d eaten enough penis cake to give me nightmares for a year—I’d waved them goodbye and rolled myself to bed, intent on forgetting all my troubles.
    I hadn’t, of course. No, I’d dreamed of Royce. Dreamed of his penis (bad Naomi), a flesh-and-blood penis, not sugar-and-vanilla, and all the things I wanted to do to it. All the things I wanted it to do to me.
    Sometimes I’m such a naughty girl.
    When I’d taken my morning shower, I’d pictured Royce there with me, lathering me with soap. While I dressed, I pictured Royce playfully trying to remove each item. With his teeth. While I ate a bowl of chocolate ice cream for breakfast, I pictured myself eating it off his chest. While I strolled down the sidewalk to this very shop, I pictured him tugging me to a secluded, shadowy corner and ravaging my breath away.
    Why was I letting that diabolical, evilly sexy man affect me so strongly? It wasn’t as if I’d never been kissed before. It wasn’t as if I’d never seen a handsome man before. Uh, hello, I’d watched every Brad Pittfilm ever made. Several times each. Who the hell did Royce think he was, anyway, barging into my home, playing a round of tonsil hockey, then storming away with a delicious, I’ll-kiss-you-again challenge?
    “Lord, I’m so jealous of you,” Kera said, a wistful edge in her voice. She drew her knees to her chest, and rested her elbows on them and her cheek on her upraised palm.
    “You? Jealous of me? Whatever for?”
    “Whatever for?” my cousin repeated, her wistfulness twisting into incredulity. “Because you’re working for the most beautiful man in the world, a beautiful man determined to pop the question to a lucky lady in the very near future. You have access to him, which gives you the edge. Women everywhere would peel the flesh from your bones and feast on your rotting carcass for a chance like that.”
    “One, that’s gross. Two, there’s no edge to being the party