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 Page A

she felt hesitant too. Annoyance bit at her, that he’d forced her to an emotion other than lust. Pretending she didn’t feel such, she stepped aside and waited.
    For a long moment, he stood there, his eyes downcast. Then, his shoulders stiffened and finally he stepped into the room.
    Shaking the annoying feeling, she forced the first steps of the game. “Would you like a drink?”
    “Whisky.”
    Dark, deep, his voice made her shiver, and made her think of lustful things. Gooseflesh skipping along her skin, she went to the small bar next to the dressing table and poured two glasses. Turning to him, she said, “You come every night.”
    His fingers brushed hers as he took the glass. “Yes.”
    Her breath caught as sensation bloomed, racing along her arm, through her breast, into her core. Excitement set a steady thrum within her. “You have a name?”
    “Yes.”
    Amusement wound through her, dampening his effect. “What is it?”
    He cleared his throat. “Max.”
    “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Max.” Tilting her head, she allowed a smile to tug at her lips. “I’m Elena.”
    “I know.” His gaze skittered from hers.
    A slight frown drew her brows at his reaction. He acted hesitant and unsure, as if he didn’t know the game they played. Why, then, was he here?
    Something hollow and hopeful and dark swirled within her.
    No. They were here to fuck, nothing more. “So Max, what brings you to the club every night?”
    “I - ” Seeming to change his mind, he cut himself off. “The music.”
    “The music?” She pressed her nails into his skin. “Is that all?”
    “No, I... no.” He shifted his weight.
    Disquiet filled her. This was supposed to be casual. An hour or two, and then done. Why was he making her question herself and him? “Why are you here? What do you want?”
    He raised his gaze to hers and her breath caught. The expression in his eyes was great and terrible and...lovely. “I came to see you.”
    Her breath caught at the simplicity of his words.
    “Every night, I come to see you.” His voice gained strength with each word he spoke. “I watch you stand on the stage, and you seem like I do. You seem - ” Again he cut himself off, his gaze sliding from hers.
    She waited, but he didn’t speak. Struggling for levity, she gave him a flirty smile. “I seem...”
    His gaze returned to hers. “Lonely.”
    Speech deserted her.
    Rubbing the back of his neck, brows drawn, his chest shuddered with the breath he took. “I come here every night, and I want - Christ, I look at you on that stage and I just want to hold you, to feel you next to me and know that neither of us are alone.”
    Shoving a hand through his tousled hair, he laughed, and it was a harsh, bitter sound. “Stupid, right? So tonight, when you beckoned to me with that wicked smile, I was going to take only what you gave and be content with that, but then you asked - ” He exhaled, and his look turned rueful and despairing and self-deprecating all at once. “You asked me what I wanted - and I want you.”
    Eyes wide, unable to speak, she stared at him.
    Crossing his arms, he gripped his biceps. “You asked.”
    How, how could he see her so clearly? Staring at one another every night for six months didn’t mean you knew the other person. Staring at him didn’t mean she knew he lived alone, that he came to the club to be around others. It didn’t mean she knew he came to see her.
    She couldn’t know he liked his whisky neat, and he loved fried onions. He preferred to sit alone than with others and when he smiled, he made her light with joy. She couldn’t know these things from staring at him across a room.
    And yet, she did.
    She wanted him, too. She wanted him for more than an hour. For more than a night. She wanted him as long as he would allow, and she wanted him now.
    There it was. Her reason.
    Stepping close, she curled her hand around his and took the glass from his lax grip, placing it on the table next to hers. Then,