Smut in the City (Absolute Erotica) by Sommer Marsden, Victoria Blisse, Viva Jones, Lucy Felthouse, Giselle Renarde, Cassandra Dean, Tamsin Flowers, Geoffrey Chaucer, Wendi Zwaduk, Lexie Bay

would come, and finally they would speak. And then, perhaps, they would do more.
    Smiling for the crowd again, she begged their pardon even as she told them she would return. As she left the stage, she felt him watching her, and with one final glance over her shoulder, she entreated him to follow.
    The walk to her dressing room passed in a blur. Her mind full of him, the door opened easily, and only the harshness of the light pulled her thoughts from him. Blinking, she dimmed the overhead light, leaving the room illuminated by the bulbs ringing the dressing table’s mirror.
    Seating herself before it, she looked at her reflection. Light brown hair tumbled in artful curls over her shoulder, and the smoky-dark eye shadow made her brown eyes even darker. Red lipstick gave her lips a false lushness, while the indiscriminate light of the ring of globes destroyed the illusion of sharp cheekbones the blush had given her. The thin straps of the silvery-grey slip dress held the simple v-neckline in place, and though she couldn’t see it, the material skirted close to her hips. Amidst this illusion and falsity, a smile softened her features, one that spoke of hopes and dreams she’d long thought dead. One that spoke of thoughts of him.
    The smile slipped from the Elena reflected.
    She forced herself to regard herself clearly, without any subterfuge. All she did was shadow and illusion. There was no innocence left in the woman in the mirror, no reason for such a hopeful smile. That had been erased long ago, through a hundred brief encounters.
    It seemed forever ago when she’d first moved to Melbourne, had left the suffocation of the small Victorian country town in which she’d grown. In the beginning, the anonymity of the city had excited her. No one knew her name, what she had for breakfast, reported her every move back to her parents so she could suffer their disappointment and their disdain. Here, no one belonged and no one cared, and she had savoured the freedom like a drug.
    There had been a thousand different ways to be alone, and the night brought her a myriad of possibilities. She had thrown herself into anonymity, had almost made a dance of it. She’d taken who she wanted when she wanted, had moved from place to place, club to club. There was an edge, a seductive danger to feeling so unsettled, and she’d never wanted anything more.
    Now... now, the dance was just a thousand different ways to be alone.
    She stared at her reflection. Why this one? Why was he different?
    Truth be told, there was no reason. There was nothing particular about him, nothing to spark this intense desire. He was a man, like any other, but if he gave her a reason, if he gave her just one, she would fall. So hard. So deep. She’d never thought of herself as wanting such things, and yet with him she wanted more than an hour or two. With him, she wanted forever.
    Sucking in a breath, she shook herself. These thoughts were pointless. They would talk, and they would fuck, and there would be nothing more. He was not different. He was not special. And she refused to think otherwise.
    A knock sounded at her door. Staring into the mirror, she watched as every muscle tensed, as a wild tangle of emotions chased across the face reflected in the mirror. She took a breath, and the emotions leapt within her, mingled hope and joy and something deeper than both.
    Pressing her hand to her stomach, she took another breath. He wasn’t special. An hour or two, and no more.
    Pushing from her dressing table, she arranged a coy smile as she turned the handle of the door.
    He was taller than she’d expected. She’d known he would be tall - the sprawl of his legs spoke of that truth - but she hadn’t thought he would be a foot taller than her. His dark hair was actually chocolate brown, and he was leaner than his jacket and shirt suggested from the vantage of a stage. His eyes were still shrouded in shadow.
    He hesitated at her threshold, as if unsure, and suddenly,