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“Bye, Ally.”
“Thank you, Evan,” she replies dreamily.
And then he’s gone.
5
Otto
I approach our bed where Ally’s huddled beneath the blankets, a sweet smile on her face. Stripping to my underwear, I slip beneath the covers and pull her into my arms. I settle her head on my chest and rest mine atop hers.
We pulled it off.
The weeks of planning. The ground rules. Our hard limits. Ally approached me on our anniversary and held an open conversation about what she wanted, what she thought I needed. How could I say no? I love my wife. I trust her. But more importantly, she trusts me to give her what she needs. She gave me time to reflect on her request, and I knew this was something I wanted, too.
One night to explore something new. Together.
The bittersweet feeling is hard to shake. We both got what we wanted out of tonight and enjoyed the hell out of it.
But it was only supposed to be one night.
If I know my wife as well as I think I do after twelve years together, well let’s just say, we might put our membership to use again. And Evan, too.
About A.M
A. M. Wilson loves infusing her stories with real life - the good, the bad, and the steamy parts. She thinks there's something special about romance; that pivotal moment when two characters realize their love for each other, but she likes wading through a little angst to get there. When she isn't furiously typing on her computer, she can be found searching for her next all-consuming read. A. M. lives in Minnesota with her husband, two children, and black lab.
Visit her at www.amwilson.net
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The Almost Perfect One Night Stand
Anna Bishop Barker
Logan Pressley is not lonely.
He also doesn’t troll women in bars, and he absolutely does not stick his tongue down their throats on dance floors.
Maggie Robertson is content.
She doesn’t dance with strangers, and she definitely does not take strange men home with her.
But when irresistible forces meet immoveable objects, rules get broken.
1
Before
“Smell that, Mags? That is the smell of PBR and freshly showered man dick right there.”
Artificially cool air hit her in the face, and it felt like heaven against the sultry, humid heat of late August in Florida. The low murmur of indistinct music that could be heard in the parking lot blasted out with the air-conditioned breeze. Dierks Bentley was getting drunk on a plane and wanted everyone to know about it. At least it was going to be cool inside and if you had to listen to country, Dierks Bentley was decent country. Maybe she could survive this trip into hook-up hell.
She had to stop short when she ran into the woman who was leading the way. Kate held the heavy wooden door open and the coolness and sound intensified. It was joined by the smell of beer and perfume and aftershave. Maggie took a step back as the other woman turned and brought her face close, yelling above the din.
“Prepare to see more camel toe and starched jeans than you ever saw back in Tennessee, babycakes!”
Maggie turned and reciprocated a near-yell. “Tell me why we are here again?”
