Short Fiction

“Alpha Bitch,” in Oysters and Chocolate, October 16, 2009.

He spotted her across the room, on one of the stages for scenes, tossing lit matches on another woman in chains, then prancing away and back again. She wore a delighted grin that warmed his heart, and she moved with a feral grace that took his breath away. Sabine. Her red hair was wild, standing out every which way, and she was wearing black leather pants, boots, and a black mesh top over a black bra. He crossed the room, weaving around gyrating bodies and waving away clouds of cigarette smoke. The woman in chains was Alicia, he realized – blonde and delicate, wearing white lace panties and electrical tape over her nipples, a nod to the public nudity laws. She was clearly enjoying herself, but it was Sabine who captivated him.

“Research,” in Got a Minute?, edited by Alison Tyler. Cleis Press, 2007.

“I’m Sara.” The librarian held out her hand and I took it, an electric spark of attraction traveling up my fingertips and pulsing through my entire body.

“Lucy.” I couldn’t believe I remembered my own name. I noticed she was looking at me like I was doing something odd, and I wondered what it was. Then I looked down and noticed I was idly caressing the wood of her desk, and blushed even harder, ducked my head, and stopped.

“Rooted,” in Thaneros, April 28, 2008.

It had taken almost two weeks of brute force attacks to find the inevitable patron with a weak password. It had taken an additional three days of scripted attacks from within to build his own privileged account. But victory was sweet (and highly caffeinated)–Logan now owned the exclusive Pendulum Club. He snatched the binaries and started a decompile on them; they’d be worth a lot of money. Maybe they’d even be worth enough to buy a new hand.

“Seduced,” in Like Heaven and Hell, April 26, 2011.

Gabriel is so beautiful.

Of course he is; he’s an archangel. But Gabriel is unusually beautiful, even for an archangel, no matter what form he takes. His current favorite form includes black hair, dusky brown skin, strong black eyebrows, high cheekbones, long lashes, and a surprisingly sensual mouth. It’s the form he took when he recited the Qu’ran to Muhammad.

“Wish You Were Here,” from Torquere Press, 2008.

Jay sighed as the ship door closed behind him. He hated business trips, and not even the joy of kicking contract ass could make up for Derek’s absence. He was heading for the bed when he saw the flashing light next to the computer indicating that he had mail. He looked at the return address–derek@derekthehockeygod.com–and grinned. He opened the message, and the screen was filled with Derek’s sunny smile. Derek’s long, silky blond hair was tied back in a ponytail, his blue eyes sparkled, and he was wearing the official shirt of his company hockey team, the Codemonkeys.

“Hey! We kicked their sorry asses!” Derek greeted Jay, who chuckled. Derek spun in his swivel chair, punching the air and chanting, “Go Codemonkeys!” Derek stopped spinning and looked sadly into the vidcam. “I wish you were here to celebrate with me.”