Kiss in The Dark #1
Shelby Morgen

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Copyright ©2004 by Shelby Morgen

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Kiss in The Dark

She’d never seen a night so black. No lights in the houses. No streetlamps. Not even moonlight
creeping around the edges of the thick storm clouds. She couldn’t see an inch in front of her face. It was
as quiet as it was dark. All the trappings of civilization had disappeared. Only the sound of their breathing
broke the total stillness of the night.

They huddled in the dark, waiting, while the storm raged outside. Tomorrow the sun would shine and
they’d begin to find their way again, but tonight they were lost sheep, cuddled together for warmth.
Strangers, thrown together by fate.

Strong, masculine hands chaffed her arms, warming her skin, heating her blood, making it hard to focus
on anything but the feel of his skin against hers. His voice, chiding, seemed to come from miles away.
“What were you doing out there? You could have been killed.”

Oh God. He had a voice like Sean Connery, deep enough to curl her toes, and with a strong hint of a
burr to it. Maybe Irish, rather than Scots. She was no expert. One way or the other, the situation was
hopeless. She was lost. She wanted, needed to feel his hands on her skin, his body over hers, his cock
buried deep in her needy cunt. And she was supposed to make small talk? “Part of the job,” she
mumbled. “Too many trees down. Tried to go back, but the water’s too deep.”

Her lips were moving, answering his questions, but the words had no meaning. It was Pat’s fault. Ever
since her best friend had linked the Purity Test on line the questions had been there, nagging at her.

Have you ever had sex on the first date? Had sex with someone whose name you did not know?
Had sex with someone whose face you never saw? Had sex with someone where there was an age
difference of more than 20 years?

No. Not her. She hadn’t done anything. Ever. She was a good girl. The world was black and white.
Good and bad. Right and wrong. What she was thinking about was wrong. Totally and completely
wrong. And the idea made her hotter than she could ever remember being. His hands were on her again.
He had the most exquisite hands. Large, strong, capable hands that would feel so perfect against her bare
skin, riding the curves of her breasts, parting the folds of her pussy. Surely she was reading too much into
that touch. He couldn’t know what he was doing to her. She was going to combust.

“We need to get you out of these wet clothes or you’ll end up with pneumonia. Take my hand. I know
this old house well enough to find my way around in the dark.”

She couldn’t see a thing. She followed him blindly, hunting with her toes for each step, up a set of steep
old stairs, down a hallway, and into what could only be his bedroom. She shivered as he opened a

door-must be the closet. Her hand still rested on his elbow. She felt him reaching for something. A
T-shirt, from the feel of the fabric he pressed into her hands. “Put this on. It’s big enough to cover most
of you. I’ll be just outside the door.”

“No!” Was that her voice squeaking? “I mean, I may need your help. My fingers are so cold I don’t
think I can manage these buttons.” Buttons? That was the best she could do? Pretty lame.

“Oh.”

Was there a note of disappointment in his voice? Dear God, she was no good at seduction. She was so
inept he actually thought she was talking about the damn buttons. Well, her fingers were shaking so badly
she couldn’t get them undone, but it wasn’t from the cold.

She fumbled with her tool belt, laying it carefully aside. His hands made short work of her uniform shirt,
pausing only when they got to her waist, then working quickly to unbutton the fly of her heavy twill pants.
As he pulled her shirttails free, she pressed her hands over his, savoring the sharp intake of his breath. If
she stopped to think now, she’d lose her nerve. She wouldn’t think. She couldn’t.

“I’m so cold,” she lied. He had to feel the heat pouring off of her. He didn’t resist as she guided his
hands to her breasts. Her nipples contracted into tight buds at his touch. She swallowed a whimper of
need.

“I’ve always been told body heat is the best way to warm someone when they’re chilled.” Those
magnificent hands moved down to her hips, pulling her closer.

“That might work. If you don’t mind.” Did she sound as breathless as she felt?

“I’m willing to make the sacrifice. After all, we’re in the middle of a natural disaster.”

“I wouldn’t want to put you out any.” Damn him! He was laughing at her. She tried to back away, only
to have his grip tighten.

“Oh, I think I can manage.”

The darkness had sharpened her senses. She felt the slight movement of air against her skin as he bent,
his lips seeking hers. OK. Maybe he wasn’t laughing at her.

She’d noticed his hair when he waded out to pull her from her stranded truck, the ponytail accenting his
profile. Somewhere between the truck and here the neat tie had come loose. Now as he bent his head to
press his lips against hers, his damp hair spilled over her shoulders, almost sizzling against the heat of her
skin. She buried her hands in his curls, rubbing handfuls over her breasts.

He didn’t need any instructions. He read the message her body was sending him like a blind man’s
fingers over Braille. His teeth scraped her nipple through the thin lace of her bra-the one concession to
femininity her uniform allowed.

Oh, yeah. He could manage just fine.

Soft moans reached her ears through the hazy mist of lust. Her voice? His? She couldn’t be sure. His
hands slid around to cup her ass, pulling her against him so that she could feel his cock, struggling to
escape the tight confines of his pants. It took her but a moment to pull the T-shirt over his head and

unfasten the worn snap of his jeans.

The bed was behind her. She felt it come up against her calves as he guided her back. They laughed as
he fought to keep them both upright while he threw the bedcovers out of the way. A quick fumbling noise
and a slight ripping sound told her at least one of them had the sense to remember protection. Then he
was over her, in her, driving in hard and heavy as she fought to meet him thrust for thrust, their damp
bodies slapping together in a rhythm older than time.

In and out, harder, faster, demanding more, more than she’d ever dared to give of herself. He laughed
when she screamed wordlessly into the rain-drenched night, her howls obscured by the howl of the wind.
Gone was her restraint, her natural inhibitions lost in the thrill of something so exotic, so forbidden that
she’d never be able to forget it.

She lost herself in the driving ecstasy, the burning heat of his mouth on her breast, his hands on her ass,
the sweet, tangy pain of his teeth on her throat. More, more, higher, higher he took her, pausing while she
shuddered there at the edge, till she shattered, screaming, around him, then pushing her farther, faster.

They hovered together at the edge of a towering cliff for a moment before they plunged over, bodies
locked so tightly together she could scarcely draw breath. The ground beneath them gave way as they
tumbled toward sweet release.

He was everything she’d wanted, everything she’d longed for.

He was a total stranger. A man she’d never see again. She didn’t know his name. She’s never even seen
his face in the light of day.

As the sun made its watery war with the last of the lingering traces of storm, she stole from his bed,
leaving him lying there, his face still shadowed, slinging her tool belt over her shoulder and her wet pants
over her arm. She couldn’t find her shirt, but she had his. It would cover her well enough to get her safely
home and into a dry uniform.

It wasn’t till later, standing in front of her mirror, that she considered the patch above her left breast
pocket.

At work the next day, in her in-box, she found a package waiting. She knew what it would be even
before she ripped it open. Out tumbled her shirt, washed and pressed. She clapped her hand over her
mouth as she stared at the piece of paper that floated to her feet. A page printed from the Purity
Test-Section 10: Locations.

He’d circled enough questions to more than make up for the point she’d lose by reading the return
address. Hands trembling, she pulled the package back out of the trashcan.

Tom McCabe

Rt. 3 Box 286

Baltimore, MD 21225

McCabe. Tom McCabe.

He had a name.

Shelby Morgen

Shelby Morgen loves writing off-beat tales that defy as many rules as possible. She likes chocolate with
her peanut butter, Suspense with her Romance, and kink with her sex. She’s always had a hard time
keeping Science Fiction and Fantasy from mixing with her kink. Fortunately for Shelby, electronic
publishing has opened many new doors for cross-genre authors and artists.