LIKE WE'RE DYING
by Caitlyn Willows
Contemporary Erotic Romance
Short Story
December 2017

Hot, hungry and horny, Jim’s looking for a night of scorching no-name sex. Desperate to feel alive, Julia’s on the prowl for a hot, hard body before the Marine Corps sends her back to war. Who knew a one-night stand could be more than either of them ever hoped for? Or that they’d have such little time to enjoy it? Sometimes a person has to take a chance. Do something a little crazy. Live like they’re dying.

NOTE: This reissued version of the story has been revised and reedited.

To read an excerpt of this book, click here


PURCHASE



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EXCERPT

Jim dropped his free hand to his crotch and indulged his lifelong companion with a hard stroke.

“Would you like some help with that?”

Jim snapped his hand away from his groin so fast he swore he heard denim rip. The whiskey-rough voice didn’t match the little redhead who’d slipped into the booth beside him. Light freckles were splashed across her nose, her shoulders, and down between what passed as cleavage for her small breasts. She sat so close Jim could swear he saw her belly button down her dress’s loose top. From what he could tell, she wasn’t wearing much more than that.

“Wh-what?” For a guy who needed to get laid, you’d think he could find a better opening line.

“This.” She squeezed one hand over his cock.

Jim nearly shot out of his seat. His bitch of a hard-on took over, pressing into her hot grip.

A smile lifted the left corner of her mouth. She slid her hand away and rested it on his thigh. It felt as if she’d left third-degree burns behind. He was about to grab her wrist and put her hand back where he wanted when the waitress slid an overloaded plate on the table before him. Eating was the last thing on his mind now. Well…eating food, that is. He wanted to lift that little green dress to find out if she was a real redhead, and if she cropped the hair down there as short as she did above, and if its curls were as cute as the ones around her head.

Or maybe she didn’t have any hair at all. Damn, he loved a clean-shaven woman. He liked eating one too, the feel of her getting hard under his tongue, the rush of juices when she came.

“Mmm…onion rings.” She reached for his plate. “Mind if I have one?” That smile flashed his way, helping to shut down what little upper-brain function remained. “It’ll make us even, cancel out each other’s breath.”

“Help yourself.” She could take ’em all if she delivered what she was hinting.

Jim’s shields went up. Little Red was awful pushy. Maybe she had an agenda of her own, beyond the obvious I-want-sex.

“Go ahead,” she said. “I know you want to.”

“Want to what?” A thousand things went through his head. None of which dealt with caution. All involved Jim and her fucking like monkeys on crack.

She grabbed his hand, put it on her knee, then pulled it up her bare thigh. Jim’s body took over at that point and his hand kept moving until it hit pay dirt—wet, hot, bare, except for a little tuft at the top. He slid in, shoving his fingers deep. Her clit felt like a rock under his thumb.

“If you make me come, I’ll be forced to return the favor.” Her voice was low again. A tone that said, I want to be fucked.




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