Prompted by: Matthew Williams
The crazy author says: I brutally murdered the unexplained insta-something-or-other. Tee hee.
A tremor runs through my body as rough, possessive hands tunnel into my hair.
He growls against my mouth and suddenly…
Holy shit.
I’m being consumed.
Prompted by: Jane Blythe
The crazy author says: Okay, this is waaay more insta-lust/attraction/something-or-other than I typically allow my characters but what the hey? Unexplained feelings FTW haha!
“Walk the line, hm?”
“Yeah.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“If you only knew.”
I tiptoe my fingers along the edge of his belt. “Not knowing is half the fun.”
Prompted by: Murlene Crowley
The crazy author says: Perhaps my edge has returned a bit. Still much, muuuch duller than Slim & Izzy though…
I battle my way through the sea of sticky, sweaty bodies and locate a free piece of real estate on the disgusting dance floor before I turn around and realize I lost him.
Of course.
Stupid.
Cringing, I’m about to make my way back toward the bar when my legs are suddenly taken out from under me.
Prompted by: Tiara Giles
The crazy author says: I’ve lost my edge, y’all. I’ve gone cute and sappy and sweet like an overdose of Cadbury Mini Eggs (which I freakin’ luuurve, btw!)
When he doesn’t reply, I give Goldilocks a second tug before releasing the sun-spun strands and sliding off my stool. As my spiked stilettos hit the ground, he still hasn’t moved a muscle. Which is a real shame since he has plenty to choose from.
“I’m leaving,” I say. “Are you coming with?”
He appears to have turned to stone. In fact, I’m convinced he’s stopped breathing entirely. Makes perfect sense. Gargoyles don’t tend to breathe while in stone form.
Okay, maybe he’s not rock-solid everywhere.
Prompted by: Jane Jago
The crazy author says: No idea why these are so short now hahaha…haha…ha?
“Am I dead?” he asks.
“Not yet, you’re not.”
His voice lowers, “I might still die then.”
“Hmm, that depends.”
Prompted by: AnRo
The crazy author says: I’m having mad withdrawals now that Slim & Izzy are done. No joke. So to NOT make myself feel any better cuz apparently, I enjoy self-inflicted torture, I’m taking a perfectly angsty prompt and turning it into a cute and fluffy little romance scene for ya…
I frown at the Heineken. Disgusting turpentine-type shit right there. “I didn’t order this.”
The bartender smirks and walks away without a word.
“No, I did.”
I shiver at the deep, rumbly, fuck-me-now voice and stare down at my Vodka Martini. Shaken, not stirred. Classy James Bond-type shit right here. “I don’t drink beer.”
“I noticed.”
Interesting…
