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Misty MacAllister

MM Books


Misty MacAllister

Copyright © 2017 by Misty MacAllister

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without prior written permission of the author/publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names. Any resemblance to individuals known or unknown to the author are purely coincidental.

If you have any comments, suggestions, reasonable/unreasonable requests, marriage proposals, or if you’re just lonely, feel free to send an email to

Erotica, Casual Encounters

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight


Chapter One

“Come on, Max, don’t you know it’s past your bedtime?” Thomas called in breathless exasperation.

Max, a very dignified white Scottie, hesitated and looked back at her putative master with bright eyes that seemed to say, “You come on, Thomas, it’s not even midnight”, and she punctuated her look by trotting purposefully down the sidewalk away from him, her new leather leash trailing after her.

Thomas—who was Thomas McCann, the most eligible bachelor in the city—looked anything but dignified. He looked harried, hot, and hard-pressed. No surprise, since he had chased Max the Scottie for a mile and a half in the sultry summer night, a chase full of mad sprints and wild grabs for Max’s trailing leash. Now the pursuit had become a slow trudge as Thomas was reaching the limits of his endurance and patience.

That’s enough, Max,” Thomas declared. Who was the boss here? He was the boss, and it was time he started acting like it! “Max, stay!

Max stopped, frozen like a monopoly piece. She stared at Thomas not ten feet from her in front of a grand Victorian house. The house was dark, like every other house on the street. Thank god for that, he thought. At least there was no one around to see his indignity.

That’s a good girl,” he murmured, edging toward the Scottie.

Max grinned up at him, her little button eyes shining with mischief.

“Good girl, Max,” Thomas cooed, moving closer and closer until he was just a step away from her leash.

Suddenly, Max’s ears pricked up and her little white tail wagged. She tensed like a live wire, ready to bolt.

“No!” Thomas cried, leaping to stomp on the leash.

When he was in mid leap, Max bolted, scooting like a white flash of lightning up the Victorian’s front walk, and the red leather leash went with her, slipping away just before Thomas’s foot came down.

“Max, no,” Thomas whined, and his frustration erupted.

Max stopped in the grass and looked back at him, grinning her doggie grin. Thomas wasn’t grinning. Max turned and bolted. Running pell-mell, he vaulted the knee-high ornamental fence in front of the house and sprinted across the perfectly manicured lawn, chasing his wayward dog. The dog and her master ran around the side of the massive house. A high wrought-iron fence surrounded the backyard. If Max squeezed between the rails, Thomas would never catch her.

“Don’t go back there, Max,” Thomas panted a warning.

To his surprise, she didn’t. Instead, she veered toward the house and plunged beneath the branches of a massive flowering camellia.

“Come on, Max,” Thomas panted, stopping in front of the massive shrub.

The camellia was a titan among shrubs, and Thomas gaped at it. In the dark the dense foliage looked like an impenetrable wall of plant. The ruby red flowers hung from the branches like protective plates on an impervious green armor.

This chase is becoming like the quest for the Holy Grail, Thomas groaned to himself.

Biting back curses, he ducked and pushed his way through the branches. He practically had to swim through the thicket until he stumbled out on the other side where he found himself squeezed into a very small space between the house and the camellia. But at least he could see. There was a room hidden behind the camellia, and light poured through the sheer curtains. The light was soft and golden, but it was more than enough illumination for Thomas to spot Max. The little Scottie was snuffling at a grate against the house, oblivious to her seething pursuer. There must have been some varmint lurking underneath the house in the crawl space because Max had transformed into full hunter mode. She was stiff legged and the hair on her back had prickled in a spiked mohawk. She looked up as Thomas crawled toward her, her red tongue popping in and out. Her panting smile was saying that she was happy to see him. It was obvious Max believed their game of chase had changed into a hunt and she was ready to play a wolf in the pack. She looked from him to the grate and then back again. She was telling him this was to be a tandem hunt.

“What is it, Max?” Thomas asked, playing along.

Max let out a small growl and she pressed her tiny black nose to the grate. Thomas carefully stepped over her and, in a sudden motion, scooped her up into his arms.

“Got you,” he said, standing up in triumph.

As he straightened up, his eyes reached the level of the window and he froze. The curtains were drawn but a sliver of space sliced between them like a knife cut, giving him a clear view into the room beyond. He stared, transfixed. It was a very large bedroom lit by two bedside lamps beside a massive four-poster bed. The room was finely appointed with antique furniture and...


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Chapter Two

Renee turned the small glass bottle of oil over letting the golden viscous liquid drip into her open palm. The oil was warm and smelled faintly of orange blossoms. With slow deliberation, she rubbed her oil-slick palm across the gentle curve of her stomach. Just out of the shower, she was naked and her smooth pale skin was flushed and hot, steam wafting from her body in waves. Intently, she rubbed the oil across her stomach, down her hip, and back up to her stomach, making a slow sweeping arc that she repeated once, twice, three times. She poured more oil into her palm, put the little bottle on the end table, and rubbed her hands together. There was ritual in her movements. This was something she had done so often that it had become routine, but it was routine steeped in sensuality. The hot oil and the slow touching never failed to ignite her desire. Using both hands, she rubbed her right thigh, slowly pushing her fingertips against the firm muscle and sliding her hands around the sumptuous curve of her hip, over her knee, and down her well-formed calf. She let her fingers slowly tickle up the back of her knee. She closed her eyes as her fingers slowly danced up her inner thigh, stopping just at the hollow of her leg.

Pouring more oil into her palm, she repeated the process on her other leg.


Outside the window, Thomas’s eyes followed her hands as they ran over her sumptuous body. He couldn’t move and he couldn’t stop watching. She was tall and slender, with full hips and heavy breasts. She had auburn hair that was pushed up on top of her head, a few wild curls escaping and falling down her beautiful back. She was older than him. He would have guessed she was in her forties, and he would have been wrong by a decade. Her features were strong, and her body was firm and decidedly feminine.

She was beautiful.


Renee plucked up the bottle and turned it over on her chest, letting the golden liquid drip down upon one breast, then the other, the thick drops beading on her skin like rainwater pooling on flower petals. She put the bottle down and began to rub her hands across her smooth skin.


Thomas watched her hand slide up her stomach toward her full, round breasts. He swallowed as she cupped herself, her hands slowly slipping beneath and into her cleavage. Biting her lower lip, she worked her fingers over the swell of her breasts until her fingers slid over her hard, dark nipples. Her eyes fluttered shut as her fingertips circled those eager projections. Deliberately, she squeezed her nipples. A flush bloomed on her neck. She rocked her hips in a slow circle.

Thomas let out a low moan.

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