Computer Games is written under my erotic pseudonym Tammy Lee. I didn't choose a pen name in order to hide. I only took on a new name in order to seperate my spicer work from my more mainstream pieces and projects. So if you see me in any of my forms, wave, and stop for a hug.
Daria has a secret lover with dark secret of his own that she can
never reveal, except to a fanatical few on-line who would love to
believe the fun-loving chat room joker was telling the truth.
"Ha ha, very funny. Tell them you'll be back later." He smiled, and
pinched through the cotton. He watched as she wiggled, laughing,
squirming, trying to ignore the impossible-to ignore fingers that
worked their way around her breasts. "Tell them, or I'll have to
throw you over the desktop and do you while you type." He pushed her
forward until she was on her feet and he threw back her chair, which
glided on its casters halfway across the room.
Standing behind her, he caressed her back as she continued to type;
now it was a competition to see if it would be possible for her to
continue her on-screen conversation while he worked his magic behind
her. His hands slid up under her shirt and ran back down her sides,
thrusting her jogging pants to the floor in one swift motion. He
squeezed her bottom and she moaned, but kept on typing and
continuing the conversation as if nothing out of the ordinary was
happening. Of course, to be completely correct, this wasn't exactly
an unusual situation.
Just another one of their games.
The door opened with agonizing slowness, and a silver-tipped boot appeared from within, followed by a long muscular leg encased in crisp new denim.
When the tall, slim man stood up from the interior of the car, Daria stifled a laugh. So much for a romantic Frenchman. Slick there looked like he’d just stepped off a dude ranch for over-privileged yuppies.
She held her breath as he bent to reach back into the car. When he pulled back out, a ten-gallon hat topped the outfit of sparkly boots, iron-pressed jeans, and tight t-shirt emblazoned with a mustang in the throes of a bucking fit...and a purse.
A purse? Daria steadied herself. Just get past this, get away, then do something about the way he dresses, and the fact that he carries a purse. It must be a style thing. She’d been on the farm too damned long.
To be honest, the tight t-shirt was the saving grace of the outfit. It snuggled across a set of strong biceps and a broad chest. Xavier might not be French, but he was a damn good-looking cowboy.
COMPUTER GAMES can be found at Lady Aibell Press