Sunday Snog: Smoke and Mirrors

I figured I’d go back to an older release for this week’s Sunday Snog – my erotic horror collaboration with Fleur T. Reid, entitled Smoke and Mirrors. In our twisted little story, our hottie hero travels through the horrifying world beyond the circus funhouse’s mirrors, and finally finds the heroine he’s been searching for – the sexy knife-thrower, Lady Stiletto.

“You’re not a reflection.”

She stopped her spinning and stared at him, hope and insecurity mingled on her face. Tears shimmered in her eyes, but didn’t fall.

“You can’t know that. I don’t even know that.”

“I think I can.” Before he could stop himself, Max reached out for her. Lady Stiletto flinched, bringing the knife up to protect herself, and he shook his head. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise.”

“You’re an illusion.” Now, the tears began to fall. She stepped back, her knife held out defensively. “He sent the freaks, first. The monsters. The ones that have been here a long, long time and…changed. The ones who kill, but they never killed me. I don’t think he wanted them to…so they didn’t. Then came the crazy ones…the ones who stumbled through yesterday or last week or last year and never found their way back. That’s what I’ve become. Crazy, crazy Lady Stiletto. I don’t even remember who I was before that.

“And now he’s sent you… Someone who seems real, who might be able to rescue me, who might actually care…”

“He?” Max asked softly.

“The Ringmaster. Told us never to go into the funhouse, told us never to stray, but I knew he was bad inside, knew you were right, and I didn’t know what to do, so I went in and he…”

“I know.” Keeping a wary eye on the knife in her hand, Max edged closer. “But I’m not one of his freaks, and neither are you. I’ve seen reflections of you, but you’re different. You’re real.”

When she pressed the knife to his throat again, he didn’t flinch. Instead, he slowly raised his hand and wrapped it around her wrist. “You’re real. I’m real. Okay?”

He felt the edge of the knife bite into his skin and, as a trickle of warm blood ghosted down the skin of his throat, he gave her a steady, sincere gaze; never faltering, willing her to believe him—to believe in him.

I’m bleeding. I’m flesh and blood, like you. I’m real.

She held out a second longer, pressing the blade harder against his throat as she searched his face with a vulnerable hunger. Then she let the knife fall to the ground and buried her face in his neck, trembling.

Max wrapped his arms around her tightly, murmuring reassurances into her hair. The relief he felt at having found an ally was profound, but his attraction to Lady Stiletto was growing by the second, and she sensed it. Without pulling away, she slid a hand down between them.

He twitched and tensed as she cupped his cock and balls through his jeans, and felt himself getting harder in her palm. “It’s been seven years since I’ve touched a man. I’ve missed it.”

Max knew he should keep focused, knew she probably wasn’t playing with a full deck anymore. But the way she felt against him was too good to ignore, and he tilted up her chin to press his lips to hers. Lady Stiletto responded with a warm, lustful kiss that sent an extra jolt to his cock, and he slipped a hand up under her tiny skirt, needing to check she really wanted him, that she wasn’t just another reflection.

It had been so strange when he’d made love to a dream of her, had almost fucked a reflection of her; but this was different. She was real. She was a warm, sweet weight in his arms, and he breathed in the scent of her, feeling he needed it more than he needed air.

Even through the material of her panties, he could feel she was aroused. His fingers met damp heat, and she moaned as he rubbed his fingertips over where he guessed her clit would be. “This is real,” he whispered against her lips, and she nodded, taking his hand and pulling him over to the large heap of cushions in the corner of the room.


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