Crazy Love Box Set

By Erica Storm

Ian:
“I wanted her for one reason only and that was because she held a look in her eyes that is familiar to me. She was cold and distant. She couldn’t fall in love. She was like me, and I told her so. ‘You can’t sleep with a man you love and get satisfied. It has to be a man you don’t love. Then you can have the greatest sexual satisfaction.’ And then I asked her to sleep with me because we are the same, and we can have the best sex of our lives for once.”
Vanessa:
“He walked into my life, made one statement that shook me to my core. He said, ‘You are just like me. The only way you can enjoy sex is not to fall in love with anyone, because if you do, you will never be able to enjoy it.’”
“Was he right? I had to find out.”

Vanessa:
“Ian was no ordinary man when I first met him. He is the picture of love, power, money, and sex. Sex being the one focus of his life until we fell into a crazy kind of love. A love where the desire for each other never stops, and love is whispered during and after satisfaction.”
Ian:
“Vanessa was all I’ve ever wanted. She is the dream I never thought would come true and when it did, I didn’t know how to keep the dream, and it slipped through my hands because I tried to hold on to too many women who are motivated by power and greed.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erica Storm
• Release date: Jan 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311223098

Erica Storm

Hi, I'm Erica Storm and I write spicy erotica and erotic romance. I have over fifty short titles and box sets to arouse your senses. If you don't have the time to invest in a long novel, you can read my short stories on the go as you wait in the checkout lines. "When you read erotica you feel alive." Happy reading!

Book preview

Chapter 1

Vanessa

The worse and useless thing you can do is to lie awake, when you should be sleeping, looking up at the ceiling, thinking about a man. You’re restless, you move around, and no amount of music or old black and white movies, will ease you into a blissful peaceful existence, unless you have someone sleeping near you, or you have just had the best sex of your life. Normally, sleeping is not a problem with me, but tonight it’s hell.

I met a man. Not any man but one that ignited a fire in me. My last boyfriend, Jacob, labeled me as being cold. He wouldn’t elaborate. He just said, I can’t do this anymore. You never show any emotions. You say you love me, but I sense that you don’t. But I was sure I was in love with him. Why couldn’t he see this?

We enjoyed the same music, the same books, and the same movies.

How can you say something like that? I had asked him, unable to let go of the relationship. I didn’t equate sex with love. I figured they were a separate thing. You love someone because you have something in common and you enjoy being with them. It didn’t matter if you had an orgasm or not.

Sex was just something you did because the man enjoyed it. 

You lay there when I’m making love to you and you feel nothing. You do nothing. I touch you and your body doesn’t respond. He had me thinking that something was wrong with me. Maybe it was him, I thought, until another man made an unusual remark.

It’s this stranger’s words that kept me woke half the day. I’m working not paying any attention to him or his friends and he stares at me and says, I want you. Imagine that. He looks me in the eyes and says that he wants me.

Excuse me? I said as I placed a napkin on the table and glanced around looking at him surrounded by a group of well-dressed twentysomething white men. They lowered their heads and I saw a smirk cross their lips.

Why, and what exactly do you mean by that? I asked raising an eyebrow, annoyed, and not taking him serious.

Just another drunk white guy getting his courage to make a pass at me. 

Usually I ignore them and chalk it up to too much booze. I stand in front of his table, and reach to collect my tip. He trails a finger over my hand, then placing his manicured hand over mine, revealing a large expensive watch and no rings, he slurs his speech and says again, I want to make love to you. His voice deep and soft almost a whisper.

He turns to see his friends watching up at me for a reaction, and glancing at him with smirks on their faces.

I cock my head to the side, give him a small smile. I look at him and he smiles back, showing those beautiful white teeth, to go along with that amazing smile and two well placed dimples on both sides of his gorgeous face.

What is your problem? I try to be courteous with a closed mouth smile, but my voice is unpleasant, it says it all.

My problem is you because you’re just like me, he says and raises his handsome face and I catch a glance at his green eyes the color of dark jade. I’m not like him; I’m thinking. First of all I’m black and from a middle class background. Looking at that expensive shirt, pants, and shoes you can see your reflection in, and no, I’m not like his rich, or pretend to be rich ass.

How so? I’m eager to engage him in a conversation. I want to see his face when I tell him I’m not interested. As good looking as he is he hasn’t been told that enough.

I’ll have to cut everything short because it’s late, and my shift will be over soon. He looks wasted, and because he keeps tipping me a hundred dollars each time I bring him a drink, I may extend the conversation, and not make him shame in front of his boys.

He repeats, I want you because you’re like me. You can’t have an orgasm with someone you love. I bet you never had one. He tries to stifle a grin by putting his hand to his mouth, but it shows all over his face and settles in his warm eyes.

I’m startled, how does he know that I’ve never had an orgasm? I pull my hand immediately away. You’re getting too personal with me.

I intend to get very personal with you, he says measuring his words announcing his intentions to his friends. His eyes focus and lands on my breasts. I’m nervous, and I shift from one leg to another, roll my eyes to show my annoyance with him and this conversation.

The talk of sex is making me hot and my breasts are moving up and down because I’m breathing hard, my blood is pumping, and my heart is working overtime.

I can’t ask him if he needs anything else before I bolt out because that would just lead to something else. I stand for a second trying to figure out how to get away from him. Not that I want to because he has captured my attention.

He’s assessing my reaction. He stares at me and I fiddle with my hands. I’m waiting for someone to order a drink, or for one of them to say that’s all, we’re good. I’m looking at him and he’s looking at me. I want to go but I can’t. The handsome man with the suggestive intentions breaks the silence. 

You see we are just alike. I want to fuck you, and from what I see in your eyes, you pretty much want to fuck me too. His words aren’t surprising, but I didn’t think he would go there, but he did.

Oh shit there is the fuck word. Couldn’t he have said make love to me. But clearly he said what he wanted to do with me, and left me no alternative but to respond because I had never fucked, I was making love, if you can call it that, considering I had never had an orgasm with any man I had been intimate with.

"Well, if I ever considered fucking a man, you will never know about it, because it won’t be with you," I say placing my hand on my hip and raising my head as if I’m above his proposal.

Getting that out was hard. A man that handsome and good looking never had a woman to turn him down and from what he’s telling me, he doesn’t fuck unless he doesn’t like a woman.

Why should I want to be with a man that doesn’t like me? I turn to him and raise my head waiting for an answer. His friends are pretending they are conversing with each other, and eyeing women taking strolls by the bar, or watching the action at the slots.

You have it all wrong. I didn’t say I didn’t like you. I do. I just don’t want to be with a woman I’m in love with because I can’t get it up with her. And I feel you’re the same. That is you can’t respond in a sensual exciting sexual way unless it’s with someone you don’t like. A stranger. Namely me. He looks at me with a maddening sense of obvious arrogance.

Now how the hell does he know that?

I turn on my heels and walk away from his table and he shouts, You forgot your tip.

I don’t want it. Hell yes I needed that tip for so many reasons. I stopped in my tracts for a few seconds, thinking better of my decision, and walk back to the table. He had a hundred in his raised hand. I snatched it from his fingers and he watches at me as I sauntered away trying to keep my dignity.

Confused and excited by the stranger’s words, I made a decision not to go back to that table. I hid in the restroom, but before that, I asked my roommate Terry to cover my tables and tell that group I’ve gone for the night.

I explain to the manager that I’m sick, and I hide out until my shift is over, and I get into my beat up Toyota, and I’m parking in front of the apartment building. The sun is coming up behind the mountains when I get home. Workers are going on their morning shifts.

The night shift is killing me but I make lots of money. I have to pay for my last year of college, and I have to accept running into crazy’s like that good looking nut I just met. 

Finally, I fall asleep when the sun is shining though the curtains. It’s hot as hell in Las Vegas in July and about six that evening, I wake relieved, at least I did get to sleep because in three hours I have to report to my cocktail waitress job. I have to do my hair which takes an ungodly amount of time. I sit up and glance in the mirror.

I take in and let out a deep breath.

My Afro needs some serious care, I mumble. I smell coffee. Terry is making the coffee and she probably cooked us something to eat. I feel useless today. I’m still thinking about that handsome stranger with the dark curly hair and jade eyes and his salacious remarks.

Placing a robe on and a quick wash of my face and brush of my teeth, I stumble into the small dining area of our apartment. Terry looks up from behind the counter.

I set the table, she says smiling.

You didn’t have to do that.

I want to do it. When I was home, my mother always set the table for supper. I kinda miss doing that. Terry is from Louisiana. We had something in common. We both needed friends when we got the job working at this large Casino hotel in Las Vegas. I needed money to pay for my forth year college tuition, and she needed money to live.

I’m planning on moving into my own apartment since I convinced Terry to come back with me to San Francisco. The rent is worse than New York, but with this job we’ve saved money to take us through a few months. 

Sitting down at the table she said, Vanessa, why did you hide from that guy? He was giving outrageous tips. I have yours here. She pulls five hundred dollars out of her pocket and hands it across the table to me.

Are you fucking serious? I say. She glances at me.

Hell yes. And we have more or you have more coming because they left you a large tip on one of their credit cards. When you go in tonight, they’ll pay you.

The credit card probably belongs to one of their fathers and I will have to give back the tip or they will sue the casino. I want nothing to do with it, I say to her taking a sip of coffee.

Then I’ll take it. Let them sue me, Terry says shaking her head side to side.

You can’t do that, I say to her. Remember last month when this young guy said he was a billionaire and he spent thousands of dollars at the crap tables, gave me an eight hundred dollar tip, and the rest went to hookers and strippers. His father found out that his credit card was missing, tracked it down, and the casino had to make good on it. They even asked for that tip back because it was on a credit card. I needed that money for rent. Remember?

Yeah. But Ian didn’t look like he couldn’t afford to give that kind of tip. He’s a man in his thirties. Did he tell you it was his birthday? I glance at her and shake my head and my mouth goes to a hard line.

It appears you got very chummy with him. You even got his name, I say to Terry and I bite a piece of bacon and poured too much syrup on my pancakes.

Why, are you jealous? Better not be. I’m not his type. Too experienced for him. On the contrary, she was what he was looking for. A fuck that he couldn’t or wouldn’t want to fall in love with. Or he couldn’t function.

Terry is sitting with a smile on her face drinking and eating. She glances up at me and says, I wish I had gotten tips like you. And that tip the young guy put on his father’s credit card. They would have had to pry that money out of my cold dead hands.

The problem was it wasn’t his money to give away. And the father had the casino to give it back because they were liable. He was under age and he was buying drinks for everyone and walking around with a robe on like he was nuts. Come to find out he was crazy.

I hate to think that Ian, you know the one that likes you, who gave me a tip is crazy. As good as he looks, he can go crazy on me anytime he wants.

I take a sip of my coffee and then a mouth full of pancakes. Terry makes the best pancakes. She used to work at the House of Pancakes or something like that. Putting aside the fact that the man has a serious case of too handsome, a body that won’t quit, and too much money, and he’s oversexed, I’m pretty sure that something is wrong with him, I say to her.

Why would you say that? He’s too beautiful and did you see that tight ass? I’ve seen cowboys from Texas that have assess like that. Now that is an ass that gets a lot of exercise.

Exercise fucking, I say to her dryly. Looks aren’t everything if he’s a nut case. Ian said... I pause. I’m too embarrassed to tell you. I put my head down. It was private but if I didn’t understand what he meant, then Terry would.

Terry is fast closing in on thirty, and had been married twice, once when she was eighteen, and then at twenty five. She left Louisiana after discovering that her husband, whom she loved and worshipped, was gay.

She never did get over that. She thought she could change him, until he brought over his lover, and he wanted her to accept them living in the same house, and he asked Terry to sleep in another room while he slept with his lover. 

Shit just say it, Terry says raising her voice in a no nonsense kind of way. I’ve heard and seen it all working in Las Vegas and being married to... She couldn’t bring herself to say his name. Too many bad memories. Terry just packed her bags and headed for Las Vegas. She had seen the advertisement: