City Of Swords. Alex Archer

He nudged her hand with the blunt side of the blade.

      “Whoa, I’m not—”

      “Cut your tights,” George said, interrupting her. “You need to make it so I can reach you properly. Please.”

      Izzy opened her mouth. There were no words in it. So instead, she slid the knife into her purse and got up, hoping her legs would still support her. She walked to the toilet and shut herself in the cubicle. Her hands were awkward as she sawed a hole in the nylon. The knife was blunt and it was hard to make much of an opening. She took hold of the edges and tugged, stretching the hole wider.

      As she opened the door, she was startled to find her work colleague facing her in the mirror.

      “Marcella,” Izzy said. “Uh. Hi.” Her pulse banged in her ears. The other woman dabbed lipstick onto her mouth.

      “You okay, Isabella?” Marcella was Spanish. “Look a little bit hot.” She rasped her aitches.

      “Yeah, I’m just…I ate chili.” Izzy turned on the tap to cover her embarrassment.

      Marcella frowned. “Hmm.” She zipped her lipstick back into her purse and gave Izzy a rose-red smile. “Don’t be late back.” At the door she stopped and turned. “Nice looking hombre.”

      Izzy tried not to check as she walked back to the table. Was Marcella nearby? Had anyone else cottoned on to them? What if the waiter came? Her train of worries was cut short as George grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her down next to him. Suddenly she forgot all the good reasons to leave.

      All she could think of was how she’d like to kiss the smile right off his face.

      “Don’t move,” George said under his breath. He tucked his hand between her legs. “Now remind me what’s happening here.”

      “We’re having coffee,” Izzy said, swallowing.

      “I was on my way to a concert,” George said, one hand brushing gently, almost casually, against her inner thigh. “But I the theatre over-booked.”

      “Yeah. I fucked up. Everything went haywire. So right now you should be listening to baroque cellos,” Izzy said, her eyelids dropping low. “And I should be eating a cheese-and-pickle sandwich in the staff room.”

      “And instead,” George said, as his fingers made contact with her bare flesh. Izzy jumped so hard she banged her knee on the underside of the table.

      “On edge?” he said, grinning.

      “Just barely,” she said, narrowing her eyes. She shifted in her seat, moved closer to him. George hooked the edge of her knickers and pulled them away from her, so that she squirmed from the lack of friction, the absence of pressure.

      At last, he rewarded her with a single, gentle stroke of his index finger, running up the wetness of her seam. Twisting his hand, he placed two fingers tentatively over her clit and held them there while she pulsed against him, trying to wriggle and grind herself against his hand. He inhaled slowly.

      “Man,” he said. “You’re so impatient.”

      “God, yes,” Izzy said, trying not to growl. Unable to help herself, she rocked back and forth against his blunt fingertips. Bent over his hand, half of her hoped it wasn’t obvious what they were doing, and half of her didn’t give a flying fuck. Still, it wasn’t enough.

      Not until he pushed a fingertip inside her, curling it up slowly until Izzy thought she would scream, did she catch a glimpse of the orgasm she was so desperate to find. With his thumb he pushed at her clit, nudging it insistently.

      “That’s probably why you screwed up,” George said.

      “How can you…talk?” Izzy said, gasping.

      “You know you can learn. To concentrate,” George said. “If you practice.”

      “Oh, yes.”

      “You want to?”

      “Oh yes, please.”

      “You make me feel kind of dizzy, Izzy.”

      “God, you’re making me want to come,” Izzy said, her voice rising.

      “Cool.” George bit his lip and watched her. In the kitchen, a waiter shouted, someone dropped a knife on the floor. The world was small, loud and busy.

      “So do it.”

      Izzy looked at him. He smiled. His fingers pressed hard. And she did.

      I Dare You

      By Emma Hillman

      “I dare you,” he said, his eyes glinting as he pushed his sunglasses up to rest on his head. He was sitting half-turned toward me, his left forearm casually draped across the steering wheel. He looked at ease, comfortable even. You wouldn’t believe he’d just told me to strip and straddle him. In the middle of the day. In a Walmart parking lot.

      “Are you kidding?”

      “You know I’m not.”

      I wasn’t sure about this. Oh, I wanted him. I always did. But, right here? “Are you sure? Josh, it’s the middle of the day—”

      He cut me off. “We’re just passing through. It’s not like we’re going to see any of them ever again. Come on, baby, where’s your sense of fun?”

      Gone out the window, it appeared. I bit my lower lip as I thought of the logistics involved. “I want you, but I’m not sure about this.”

      “Why not?” he countered straightaway. His right hand found my knee, and I shivered when it began moving up my thigh.

      “I can’t get naked. Everyone would see me!”

      “Ah, so that’s what’s stopping you,” he mused. “It’s the naked bit, not the sex bit.”

      “Never the sex bit,” I replied. He was too damn good for that.

      He smirked, obviously knowing what I was thinking. “What if I offer you a compromise?”

      “Like what?”

      “You only get your bottom half naked. That way, you’ll be hidden below the window.”

      “Oh.” I licked my lips, thought it over for all of two seconds, then nodded. “You’re on.”

      A wide smile graced his face. “Perfect. Hop on then, Jamie.” He snapped his pants open with agile fingers, his cock soon slapping against his T-shirt-covered abs. “I’m ready.”

      “You don’t say.” He looked ready as hell, precome already leaking from his tip. I caught the drop with my finger and put it in my mouth, making him groan.

      Before I could chicken out, I popped the button of my shorts open, slid down the zipper and wriggled out of them. I was only wearing a sheer lace thong so it was even easier to discard it. I let everything fall to the floor then looked up to find Josh staring at me, his right hand curled around his length. He caught my gaze and smirked, knowing how much I loved watching him masturbate.

      “You don’t play fair,” I said, feeling juices spread across the seat beneath me.

      “Ah, but what would be the point in that?” He let go of his cock and grabbed my hand. “You’re so fucking sexy, I can’t help but want to fuck you all the time. Did you like your present?”

      I smiled. He’d bought me a collection of erotic stories, and I’d been reading for the past hour or so. I guessed he’d seen me fidget in my seat. The lusty words had kept me entranced, my imagination going wild as I thought of the different positions portrayed and how it would feel if Josh did…certain things to me. I licked my lips.

      He growled, “Come over here, baby. I need to fuck you.”

      I went.

      I