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    Quickies: Eight Short Erotic Stories
    Quickies: Eight Short Erotic Stories
    Quickies: Eight Short Erotic Stories
    Ebook112 pages1 hour

    Quickies: Eight Short Erotic Stories

    By Erin Broich, Justin Chasteen, Callie Cline and

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    A late-night boardroom affair. A members-only sexy speakeasy. A summer fling with the brother of your BFF.

    This erotica collection includes eight erotic stories that explore kinky burlesque clubs, gladiator matches, and crime scenes. Turn off the lights and turn up the heat with hot hookups that cater to every taste.

    Stories include:

    • "Imagining a Better Meeting" by Ada Stone
    • "The Dancer’s Perfume" by Jack Stratton
    • "Alive" by Imogen Markwell-Tweed
    • "Satisfaction" by Erin Broich
    • "How to Catch a Thief" by Holly Glass
    • "The Case of the Seductive Swede" by Guy New York
    • "Fireworks" by Callie Cline
    • "The Lyrist" by Justin Chasteen
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBryant Street Shorts
    Release dateMay 20, 2020
    ISBN9781094410487
    Author

    Erin Broich

    Erin Broich has always been an avid lover of romance. Whether it’s a bad boy with a heart of gold, enemies who become lovers, or monsters seeking their mates, swoon-worthy heroes and sassy heroines will always make her giddy. When she’s not reading or writing stories that would make her mother blush, she’s baking unnecessarily complicated desserts or binge-watching crime dramas. Erin lives in Iowa with her family and dreams of someday writing full-time when she isn’t drowning in student debt.

    Read more from Erin Broich

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    Reviews for Quickies

    3.5/5

    59 ratings3 reviews

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    • 4/5
      Seduction with diversity, it was an adventure reading this! Great.
    • 5/5
      loved this collection! short, sweet, and hot. recommend to anyone wanting short snippets.

      3 people found this helpful

    • 2/5
      Short, basic, bored after 2 short stories. Maybe thee best were last...
      I'll never know; will you?

      1 person found this helpful

    Book preview

    Quickies - Erin Broich

    Imagining a Better Meeting

    by Ada Stone

    When Phoebe let her eyes lose focus, her boss’s features faded to the extent that she could be almost anyone — almost. There was still Lucy’s distinctive tinny voice, and Phoebe wasn’t quite bold enough to wear earplugs into a work meeting. From the back corner of the conference room, Phoebe crossed her right leg over her left until it went numb, then put her left over her right until the same thing happened. Back and forth she switched. Some amount of time had passed — probably more than ten minutes but less than twelve hours — since Phoebe and her coworkers had entered the room for their weekly departmental meeting. Training her eyes on the whiteboard, she saw that Lucy had crossed off about half the items on the agenda. Phoebe had already left once to use the bathroom. The situation was quickly becoming dire.

    Though laptop use was not permitted during meetings, taking handwritten notes was encouraged. Phoebe’s notebook lay open, the page blank except for a deadline scrawled across the upper margin; for which project, she could not remember. Without moving to a new page, she began writing:

    Section Break

    It was a dark and stormy Friday evening. Though I had turned in my project ahead of time, Lucy had required that I stay at the office late today to support another group’s proposal, which would be overdue by Monday morning. Typical. It was clear Lucy respected me, or my artistic abilities, at least; she assigned me to projects serving our most important clients, often naming me team lead. And yet she was also eager to tax me near the point of breaking, ready with an especially rigorous task as soon as I had completed my assigned work for the week. Maybe the problem was that she saw me more as a capable pawn than a human being who happened to be in her employ.

    I watched the wall clock’s hour hand creep toward the six as I waited for the software to render the image I had just illustrated. Only a few final touches remained. Assuming the piece’s approval by the original team’s leader, I hoped I could get out of the office by seven. I thought of my cozy (and yes, that means cramped) fourth-floor walkup, in which my cat, Benny, awaited my return. He was probably all curled up in the mess of blankets that perpetually covered my couch. All I wanted to do was join him there with a book and a mug of tea, letting his fluffy body serve as my foot warmer.

    Potential freedom had just started to enter my sights when a coworker on his way out stopped by to chat. The problem with this particular coworker was that a chat with him was always endless stream-of-consciousness word-vomit about his life, professional and personal whipped together as if by one of those fancy stand mixers people who bake perpetually display on their counters. After being subjected to far more information about the personal drama between his child’s friend’s soccer coaches than any person should be asked to bear, the conversation was mercifully interrupted by a phone call from his spouse. Realizing, as I was all too aware, that it was already 6:45, he scurried out the door.

    Ten minutes later, I was hitting send on an email containing my contribution to the lagging project. From her cubicle, Nancy, the project lead, strode over to my desk and asked me to make a handful of changes. I disagreed with every one of her editorial decisions, but knowing her stubbornness, I just nodded, reasoning that I would be able to leave faster if I just made the changes. Trevor once won an argument about an artistic decision with Nancy five years ago, and it is still part of office lore.

    By 7:30, Nancy, Lucy, and I were the only people left in the office. I was still finishing up Nancy’s requested edits when she stood up from her desk, gathered her things, and announced she had to pick up her partner from the airport. She would review my changes from home later that night. This injustice only pushed me to work faster. At five minutes before eight, I sent my final draft to Nancy, leaving the body of the email blank to prevent myself from erupting in a passive-aggressive tirade.

    I had just finished a series of ten deep breaths to process my frustrations when I heard the door to Lucy’s corner office crack open. Oh, great; now I was really going to be the last one to leave. All of this despite turning in my own project on Thursday morning. I started gathering my things, closing the crusty tupperware that had held my lunch and shoving it into my backpack. When I turned around to face the opening of my cubicle, Lucy was there leaning against the makeshift wall. I had not heard her approach. She didn’t appear to be on her way out, since she held no bags and wore no coat.

    I take it you’ve wrapped up your extra work. I really appreciate you helping Nancy and her team. They didn’t have anyone close to your skill level on board, and I should have never assigned that team such a high-pressure project. Anyway, I wanted to thank you for making up for my error.

    I didn’t think I had ever heard Lucy thank anyone, much less own up to a mistake. Hoping I didn’t let my shock show, I managed to reply, You’re welcome. I’m glad we got it taken care of.

    At that point, it seemed, there was nothing else to do but leave for the night, but Lucy continued to stand in the way of my exit. In a pause in the conversation, I realized that Lucy’s peach lipstick looked unreasonably bright for the end of a long workday. She must have just refreshed it. Her shiny black hair was pulled back in a half ponytail, leaving the rear locks to freely fall upon her shoulders. This part of her appearance also seemed neater than when I had seen her earlier in the afternoon; she had a habit of pulling at strands of her hair, such that her ponytail would hold fewer hairs as the day progressed. Now suspicious, I eyed her black pantsuit, which looked normal enough, since it was practically her uniform. I imagined she had five of this same suit at home, one for each day of the work week. But then it jumped out at me: her turquoise blouse sported two undone buttons, exposing more than a hint of her cleavage. I realized she must have a date, then backtracked. It didn’t make sense for her to present this way before she left the office, particularly with her employee still around.

    She was still lingering in front of me, so I decided to use the information I had just gleaned and grab hold of the interaction. I was just on my way out. But, I should ask, would you happen to be free tonight? I tilted my head slightly and twirled the fingers of my right hand through my hair.

    Well, I had made a tentative date with the bottle of Tempranillo in my wine cooler… but, no, not really. Why do you ask?

    She smiled with what I read as mock shyness, trying not to look overeager. Just before I replied, though, she slid her fingers across her lips. It was just the tell I needed. I haven’t eaten since lunch and was just headed to grab some food at Thuan’s Phở down the block. Do you want to join me? I fingered the collar of my jacket. Two could play this game.

    Come to think of it, I haven’t eaten in quite a while either. That sounds nice. Just let me go grab my stuff. Shouldn’t take more than a couple minutes.

    She rapped the top of the cubicle wall twice with her knuckles, then threw me a wink before turning her back and strutting away to her office. I could have done without the sudden abandonment of subtlety, but I knew better than to wish for perfection in this sudden flirtation with my boss.

    Section Break

    Not fifteen minutes later, we were seated across from each other in the back corner of Thuan’s, happy to have secured a table on a Friday evening. After I explained that I don’t drink, Lucy took the initiative to order us each a tonic and bitters. When the drinks arrived, Lucy lifted hers in a toast. When our glasses met, she said, To all that’s new. I hoped this was a sign that she had eased back from the edge of garish seduction.

    If she had intentions to ride her

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