Heat: Fifty Erotic Fictions for the Fevered Mind

Studio Nine

The applause was still echoing as she slipped backstage, her heels clicking a sharp rhythm across the concrete floor. Her breath came fast, breasts heaving beneath the half-loosened corset, sequins catching the dim hallway lights like tiny, trembling stars. A fine sheen of sweat clung to her skin, sticky and glowing, running down between her shoulder blades and the crease of her lower back.

Her lipstick was smudged-on purpose. Hair tousled-on purpose. Panties damp-absolutely not on purpose.

She paused outside her dressing room door, heartbeat still tangled up in the rhythm of the music she'd just left behind. Her gloved fingers worked at the zipper down her spine, but it caught halfway, snagged on something near the base.

"f*****g hell," she muttered, twisting around. No reach, no luck.

She glanced down the hallway. And there he was.

Leaning casually in the doorway of the costume department, dark shirt tight across the chest, one eyebrow c****d, arms folded. Watching her like a man watching a candle melt-slow, fascinated, and already imagining the burn.

"Zipper," she said, without even a hello.

He didn't blink. Just walked forward, eyes fixed on her back like the thing had personally offended him.

She opened the door and slipped inside, dragging him in with one hand, fingers curled around his wrist. The lights inside buzzed, warm and golden, surrounding the room in a haze of scent-powder, perfume, a hint of sweat and lavender oil. The vanity lights glowed, mirrors reflecting her curves, his shadow, the tense charge between them.

She turned her back. "Get it."

His fingers found the snag quickly, pulling it down with practiced care. But his touch didn't move away. He let his knuckles trail along the skin exposed beneath it-her lower back, the swell just above her ass.

"Keep going," she said. Low. Sharp. A dare.

He said nothing. Just obeyed.

The corset opened, loosening its chokehold on her torso, falling forward as she shrugged it off. She stood there in nothing but the glittering thong, her pasties, and a garter belt that clung to her hips like it was stitched from sin.

She turned to face him slowly. He stood still, hands at his sides, jaw clenched.

"You've been staring for six months," she said. "Say something."

His voice was low, rough. "You think I haven't imagined what this would feel like?"

She stepped forward until their chests almost touched. He could smell her now-sweet, salty, the heat rising from her skin like steam. Her lips curled.

"Don't imagine. Touch me."

His hands moved instantly, one gripping her bare hip, the other sliding up her stomach, over the pasties, until his thumb circled one tight n****e through the glittering fabric.

She hissed, tilting her head back, letting him press her back toward the vanity table. Her ass bumped the edge.

"God, I knew you'd be filthy," he muttered, palm slipping between her thighs, fingers tracing the soaked edge of the thong.

"I'm a f*****g mess," she whispered. "And you haven't even started yet."

He dropped to his knees.

"No," she said, grabbing his hair and yanking his face up. "Not yet."

She turned, gripping the vanity, leaning forward until her thighs parted slightly, ass curved out, presenting herself like a wrapped gift.

"Take these off," she ordered, nodding at the thong in the mirror's reflection. He reached up, hooked his fingers under the straps, and slid them down her legs slowly. The fabric peeled away wet.

When she looked back, her eyes locked with his in the mirror.

"Now finger me," she breathed. "Hard."

His hand slid between her legs without hesitation. Two fingers slipped inside-tight, slick, scorching. She gasped, arching back, riding his fingers immediately.

He twisted his wrist, thumb rubbing her c**t in brutal, perfect circles, other hand gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. Her knuckles whitened on the vanity. She moaned loud, head dropping, curls falling over her shoulder.

"You're dripping," he growled. "f*****g soaked. Is this for me?"

"Always was," she choked. "f**k-don't stop-deeper-"

He pressed a third finger in, curling just right. Her thighs trembled, her ass rocked back against him, greedy, frantic. The mirror steamed. His breath was ragged, growling things like "Dirty f*****g tease" and "Look at you, such a mess for me."

She looked. She watched herself come undone in the mirror. Eyes wide, mouth open, back arched like a bow, as the orgasm tore through her in a savage, shaking wave. She cried out, fingernails scraping the wood, legs nearly giving out.

He kept pumping his fingers until her hips jerked away from the overstimulation, thighs twitching. He stood, fingers glistening, breath matching hers-fast, shallow, wrecked.

She turned slowly, grabbing his wrist, sucking one finger into her mouth, tongue swirling with a smirk.

"Round two," she said, voice hoarse, dripping s*x.

"Drop the lights," he growled, backing her toward the chaise. "I'm not done tasting you."

Her back hit the velvet chaise in a limp, satisfied sprawl, thighs parted, garters askew. One stocking had slipped halfway down her calf, the other still tight, holding fast. Her chest rose and fell like she'd just run ten blocks in stilettos. Sweat shimmered on her collarbones, catching the light like wet glass.

She didn't say a word. Just let her head fall back against the cushion and spread her legs wider.

He stared-hungry, reverent, a man at the altar.

Her lips, slick and swollen from his fingers, glistened in the low light. The scent of her still clung to his hand-raw, earthy, intoxicating. His mouth watered. His c**k throbbed inside his jeans, but he didn't touch it.

Not yet.

He knelt between her legs slowly, dragging his hands up her inner thighs until his thumbs could press into that tender crease where flesh met heat.

She gave a lazy, breathless smirk. "On your knees again already?"

"I haven't even started," he murmured, kissing the top of her thigh, open-mouthed and slow.

Her head tilted to the side, eyes hooded. "Then f*****g start."

He groaned, buried his face between her legs, and lost himself.

The first lick was long and deep-slow enough to taste everything. Her moan hit instantly, spine arching, heels sliding on the floor. He teased her lips open with his thumbs, spreading her wide so his tongue could slip lower, flatter, messier.

"Jesus-f**k-" she gasped, hips jerking up into his face. "You eat like it's your last goddamn meal."

He pulled back just enough to murmur, "It might be."

Then he dove in again, tongue flicking against her c**t, pressure building with every swirl. He knew exactly what he was doing. This wasn't soft. This was filthy. His whole mouth moved against her-sucking, licking, dragging sounds out of her she hadn't made onstage in years.

Her fingers tangled in his hair fast-tight, gripping, using him. She ground against his mouth like she was riding a rhythm, like he was nothing more than a toy made to worship her.

"f**k yes-right there-don't stop, don't f*****g stop-"

He didn't. He locked his mouth around her c**t and sucked hard, tongue teasing the tip, relentless.

She screamed.

The kind of scream you don't fake. The kind that echoed off the dressing room walls, that said this isn't foreplay, this is the show.

Her thighs clamped around his head, body trembling as the orgasm hit her like a slap. She bucked hard, dragging his face tighter, using his tongue as she rode it out. Her wetness spilled down his chin, soaking into his beard, into the carpet. He didn't flinch, didn't back off. He kept licking, slower now, lapping at the mess he'd made.

She finally sagged back into the chair like her bones had melted. Her hands loosened in his hair, dragging down to his jaw, pulling him up.

When his face emerged, it was slick, shining, and smug.

She looked down at him, eyes dark. "You ruin me like that again," she rasped, "and I'll scream loud enough for the entire club to know you eat cunt better than you sew a f*****g seam."

He smirked and kissed the inside of her knee. "That was the appetizer."

"Then unzip your pants," she said, breathless, wrecked, ready.

"Because I'm about to f**k the main course."

She didn't even make it back to her feet.

He grabbed her by the hips and pulled her straight off the chaise, down onto the carpet. Her back hit the floor with a gasp, legs tangled in his arms, stockings still half-on, panties long gone. His mouth crushed hers-hot, open, messy-tongue demanding, lips bruising. The kiss tasted like s*x and sweat and everything filthy they hadn't yet said aloud.

She clawed at his shirt, ripping buttons, dragging it down his arms. He yanked it off without pause, hands already at his belt. She watched him work-jaw clenched, breath hard, c**k springing free and angry red, thick with a drop of precum already teasing the tip.

"Jesus," she breathed, eyes flicking down. "Been holding back that monster for months?"

"Shut the f**k up," he growled, crawling over her. "You're about to feel all of it."

He didn't give her time to prepare. One hand gripped both her wrists, pinning them above her head. The other guided his c**k to her soaked entrance.

Then-he slammed into her.

Balls-deep in one stroke.

She screamed, legs flying up, heels scraping against the floor.

"f**k-f**k-yes!" she howled, head rolling back as he pounded into her without mercy. No hesitation. No slow build. Just raw, punishing rhythm, his hips slamming against hers, their skin slapping loud and obscene against the throb of bass from the stage beyond the wall.

"God, you're so tight," he growled into her ear, biting the lobe. "f*****g made for me."

She moaned, eyes rolling back, each thrust knocking the breath out of her. He gripped her thigh, hoisting one leg over his shoulder for a deeper angle.

"Deeper-f**k me harder-break me," she begged, panting, nails digging into the carpet.

He gave her what she asked for.

His pace turned brutal-fast, vicious, unrelenting. His c**k slammed into her over and over, the kind of rhythm that left bruises, the kind that said this isn't sweet, this is yours.

"f*****g take it," he snarled. "Dirty little slut, you f*****g love this."

"I love your c**k," she gasped, throat raw. "God, I love your f*****g c**k-"

He let go of her wrists just long enough to flip her over like a ragdoll. She barely had time to gasp before he was inside her again, taking her from behind, his hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back.

The mirror across the room showed her reflection-face flushed, t**s bouncing, mouth open in pure wreckage as he slammed into her from behind.

"You see that?" he hissed. "See how f****d you look? This is what you do to me."

She nodded frantically, moaning, tears welling from the intensity.

"I'm gonna come," she choked. "I'm gonna come so hard-don't stop-don't f*****g stop-"

He didn't. He rammed her harder, rougher, his grip on her hips turning savage.

Her orgasm hit like a goddamn explosion-loud, violent, toe-curling. She screamed into the floor, muscles locking up, cunt pulsing around his c**k like it was trying to hold him in.

And still he didn't stop.

Not until he came, hips stuttering, groaning low in her ear as he filled her with hot, filthy pleasure, his hands finally, gently, smoothing down her back.

Silence hung thick for a moment, broken only by their ragged breathing and the muffled music vibrating from the other side of the wall.

She finally looked over her shoulder.

"Well," she panted, lips curling. "Guess we're skipping rehearsal tomorrow."

He laughed, breathless. "You'll be too sore to stand."

She smirked. "Exactly what I was hoping for."