EXCERPT FROM "Mouse Games" by Lynn Townsend:

Ollie slithered across the dining room table, sending cheese scattering like crows, upending both candles. The rushing wind of the cat’s passage extinguished the right taper before it even touched down, Green wax splashed a Rorschach pattern across the snowy linen, the images of terror warring with desire, triumph, and despair. Ollie was oblivious to such symbolism. He stopped, teetered on the edge of the table. The leftmost candle spluttered, smoked, and went out.

Satisfied, he dropped to the floor, the consummate hunter. A moment was all he needed to catch a glimpse of her fear-stricken form. He padded, soundless and slow, toward her, letting her drink in the sight of his magnificence, letting her feel every ounce of anticipation, every second of apprehension brought to a fever-pitch of near-worship. How could she not be entranced, as eagerly awaiting the moment he pounced as he?

He sprang.

Evidently the mouse was not as willing as he might have hoped. She waited, trembling, until the last possible second, then scurried away, paws barely touching down as she raced. Ollie slammed into the leg of the table, uttered a mrowl of pain and discontent.

She was quick, but he was quicker. It was only her agility that kept him off. Her sudden stops and rapid changes of direction were all that kept her out of claw’s reach.

She darted toward an overturned grocery bag, a false promise of shelter. He had her now!

The bag crunched as he followed her in. For the veriest of instances, he felt the naked tail sliding underneath his toe-pads, then she was gone, escaped through a hole in the bag no larger than his questing paw. He thrust his forepaw out to full extension, claws raking after the fleeing rodent, but to no avail. As fast as he could, he turned himself around in the cramped interior of the bag.

Not fast enough.

The mouse shivered, shimmered, changed. A naked woman, short and plump, unfolded from the changling creature.

There was still something murine about her looks, small ears, and wide, dark eyes. Her full lips spread into a sly smile and she snatched up the paper grocery bag by the handles, capturing the cat with one easy motion. With the other hand, she popped the cheese cube into her mouth, chewed and swallowed.

“Who’s been a bad kitty?” The mouse smirked and reached into the bag, grabbing Ollie up by the scruff. “Yes, such a bad, bad kitty.”

****

EXCERPT FROM "Zach's Man" by Elizabeth L. Brooks:

Zach met me at the airport. I texted as soon as we touched down: Landed now. Come get me? and the answer shivered onto the screen nearly immediately: Already at bags run run run XOXOX.

He folded me in his arms and we kissed like starving lovers, and if there’s an argument to be made against my starting the medicals, it’s that no one gave us ugly looks as we reunited, just a short, skinny guy kissing a shorter girl with close-cropped, slightly butch hair. Thank God for unisex styles and the ubiquity of jeans and t-shirts.

“Missed you, babe,” Zach whispered, pulling me tight into a full-body hug, and if there’s an argument to be made for starting the medicals, it’s that I wished to God I could push my cock against his thigh the way he was doing to me. I ground against him anyway and grabbed a handful of his hair to drag his head down so I could growl into his ear, “I cannot wait to get you home and fuck you senseless.”

I grabbed my bag off the carousel and slung the strap over my shoulder. Zach dashed ahead a few steps to open the door for me. That drives me crazy when anyone else does it, but it’s not a gender thing, for Zach; he opens the door for fucking everyone. We’ve been late to movies because he wouldn’t let the damn door go for the stream of people coming behind us.

I settled into the passenger seat of Zach’s truck and scrubbed at my face. I know I haven’t started the medicals yet, but when I’m tired my face itches like a two-day beard and nothing stops the sensation for me but a razor.

Zach noticed. “Don’t shave right away,” he begged. “It’s hot.” How could I not love this man?

I smirked at him. “You just want my face on your balls.”

“Damn straight,” he agreed, grinning, and playfully gunned the motor to let me know how much of a hurry he was in.

My cock was throbbing in agreement. Zach reached over and settled his hand between my thighs, cupping the balls he couldn’t feel but had never doubted were there. I enjoyed his touch for a moment, then pushed his hand away. “Two hands on the wheel, mister,” I scolded.

“Yessir,” he said, mock-cowed, and we laughed. “Let’s go home.”