Shapeshifters Sexy Surprises: Sexy Surprises, #26

By Giselle Renarde

Get ready to embark on a sensual journey into the enchanting world of "Shapeshifters Sexy Surprises," an anthology that will leave your heart pounding and your desires in overdrive. In this captivating collection, the line between human and beast blurs as you explore six tantalizing tales featuring werewolves and more.

 

Lift the veil on these seductive beings as they embrace their primal instincts and passions. From liaisons that push the boundaries of desire to irresistible encounters where the wild and the human worlds collide, each tale promises an unforgettable ride into the depths of supernatural love.

 

Prepare to be captivated by the raw allure of shapeshifters. This selection of stories promises an unforgettable exploration of love, desire, and the wild, untamed passions that fuel the shapeshifter's soul.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Giselle Renarde
• Release date: Oct 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223505693

Giselle Renarde

Giselle Renarde is a queer Canadian, avid volunteer, and contributor to more than 100 short story anthologies, including Best Women's Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica, Best Bondage Erotica, and Best Lesbian Romance. Ms Renarde has written dozens of juicy books, including Anonymous, Ondine, and Nanny State. Her book The Red Satin Collection won Best Transgender Romance in the 2012 Rainbow Awards. Giselle lives across from a park with two bilingual cats who sleep on her head.

Book preview

Shapeshifters

Sexy Surprises

6 Erotic Stories

Giselle Renarde

But Fear Itself

Jamming her trowel into the soil, Racine stared up at the sky.  Beautiful day, just beautiful.  So, why couldn’t she enjoy it?  Why was it so hard to find happiness after some lousy, stinkin’ man makes you miserable?

Happiness is everywhere when you’re in love.  Racine remembered the joys of the everyday, back when she and Lowell were first together.  He’d bring her flowers, and she’d sigh.  He’d write her poetry, and her knees would turn to jelly.  When he came back from business trips, he always brought her little soaps and shampoo bottles from the hotels he’d stayed at.

The little things.  She’d enjoyed him so much.

Tears welled in her eyes as she thought about how blissful she’d been, and how stupid.  How naïve.  How trusting.

She should never have trusted him, but he had those eyes, that soft gaze that said, I’m yours.  She believed everything he told her. 

Stupid.

Just as Racine let her tears fall, something slithered in her peripheral vision.  She turned fast enough to catch sight of something black, something slinky, something with yellow stripes painted down its back.

Jumping to her feet, Racine watched the snake disappear into the raspberry bushes.  She gripped her trowel like a weapon, though she knew she’d never use it that way.  No matter how she felt about snakes, she could never kill one.  She couldn’t even kill a spider.  When they got in the house, she trapped them between a water glass and a sheet of paper, then put them outside.

Standing just outside the garden bed, she stared at the spot where the snake had vanished. She kept seeing it, in her mind’s eye.  The vision made every muscle freeze.  What if there were more?  A mating ball just beyond the bushes?  If she came across a writhing heap of snakes, she’d probably faint on the spot.  Just imagine if dozens of squirming snakes all emerged from the bushes en masse... 

With a shiver, Racine dropped her trowel and raced toward the house.  When she stepped inside, she took off her gloves and looked at the clock.  Quarter to five already?  How did that happen?

Picking up the phone, Racine pressed and held the number three.  One was her mother, two was her sister, three was Lowell.  She’d have to figure out how to reprogram her speed dial.  No way she’d risk calling him by accident, or giving in to temptation some lonely night, when she started to forget how much she despised him. 

This wasn’t her first break-up.  She knew how they went.

Racy Racine! Lowell shouted across the line.  What an honour to see your lovely name on my call display.

Shove it where the sun don’t shine, Lowell.  She picked up her gardening gloves and whacked them against the back door, sending sprays of dirt in all directions.  You said you’d be here between noon and two.  It’s almost five.  Do you want your stuff or not?

Momentary silence.  He’d obviously forgotten.  What is it again?

The box was sitting by the front door, but she’d memorized its contents.  Two shirts, some underwear, socks, a bunch of papers—

Oh, I need the papers for work.

They’ve been here for three years, Lowell.  You obviously don’t need them that badly.

What else?

She named off the gifts he’d given her over the years—teddy bears and pretty things, all sorts of romantic crap.

But those are yours, he said.  You keep them.

I don’t want your stupid gifts.  Racine over-enunciated every syllable to get the point across.  Maybe you can give them to your wife.

Ice.  Her heart burned like ice as he said, Maybe I’ll stop by next week.

Don’t, she snapped.  I’ve had it, Lowell.  Do you know how many hours I’ve spend waiting around for you?  Waiting for you to get here, hoping you’ve been held up, worried that maybe you’ve been in some sort of accident.  And then I get a text message—not even a phone call, but a text!—that, oh, sorry, you need to stay wherever it is you are for one more night.  I’ve been waiting all this time for nothing.

I’m sorry, he said, though it wasn’t very convincing.

I don’t care.  Sorry doesn’t make it better.

Well what do you want me to do?

Make the last four years go away! Racine yelled into the phone.  She tried to say more, but she could feel that her voice was about to crack, so she closed her eyes and breathed through the tears.

And then Lowell said, What we have is special.

That brought out the tiger in her, and she shouted, "Had, Lowell.  What we had—and I sure wanted to believe I was special to you, but I know better now.  I’m not spending even five more minutes waiting around. That part of my life is over.  Kiss your stuff goodbye.  Tonight it’s going on the bonfire."

Hanging up the cordless phone, she slammed it down on the kitchen table and fell into a chair.  Her head felt like deadweight.  It dropped into her arms as she cried hot tears against her gritty skin.  Gardening had gotten her dirtier than she’d realized, and she stormed upstairs, stripping off her T-shirt along the way.

Racine hated crying in the shower, but what could she do?  All week she’d been crying everywhere she went.  The girls at work chocked her mood swings up to menopause, and she didn’t bother correcting them.  She wasn’t ready to admit her mistakes, yet.  Not publicly.

Christ, and she’d been telling everyone she thought he’d probably propose on her birthday.  Fat chance of that happening.

Was there any woe that ice cream couldn’t cure?

With a tub of chunky chocolate in her lap, Racine watched a marathon of DIY home building shows on TV.  When the sun set, she opened the back door and stepped outside in her pyjama pants and slippers.  The air outdoors felt much warmer than in.  Her T-shirt stuck to her skin with as much urgency as the humidity.  She peeled it away, but that didn’t help matters.

The fire pit called to her, and she smiled.  She was almost glad Lowell hadn’t shown up to collect his belongings.  Burning them would be cathartic.

Indoors, she changed out of her sweaty T-shirt and into something cooler—a tank top and a summer skirt.  She’d never wear this outfit if there was a chance of being seen, but the night was dark and the neighbouring yards were far enough away that she wasn’t terribly concerned.

She dropped more kindling into the box, along with papers that should have gone in the shredder.  Fire was a better alternative, and she carried the bundle into the yard, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness.

Pulling up a lawn chair, Racine built a nice little castle of papers.  When she struck the match, a sizzling sensation ran up both her arms.  Was this a bad idea?  Could he sue her for destroying things that were rightfully his?

Even if he could, he’d never do it.  That would just draw attention to their relationship.  His wife and kids wouldn’t appreciate that in the least.  Or maybe they’d been through it all before.

She really thought she knew Lowell.  Nope.  She didn’t know him at all.

The match burned all the way down to her fingers.  When it sizzled against her skin, she tossed it on the papers.  Nothing happened.  With a sigh, she struck another match and set it directly in the centre of her kindling.  This time the paper caught, going up in glorious flames as Racine tossed Lowell’s personal belongings on the pyre.  It wasn’t quite as cathartic as she thought it would be.  Burning his things just made her feel sad.

When she’d set everything he’d given her on fire, the flames mesmerized her.  She could watch all night.

He didn’t deserve you, hissed a voice in the back of her head.

What about his wife? Racine asked, mouthing the words.  She didn’t deserve to be cheated on.  I’ve done a terrible thing.

But did you know all along? the voice asked.  It sounded more concrete now, more like an actual person than the disembodied voice of her subconscious.

Did I know he was married?  Of course not.  He didn’t let on, not for a second.

A presence loomed large, like a shadow devouring the light.  She was beginning to feel like she was talking to a person—another human being, with a low, throbbing voice. 

A man. 

Racine’s muscles froze.  Her skin blazed. 

Quietly, she asked, Who are you?

HOW DID YOU FIND OUT? the voice asked, ignoring Racine's question.  If your man didn’t tell you he was married, who did?

There was no one in her yard. No one but her.

Racine convinced herself this voice was merely her conscience. It had taken on a deeper tone to scold her, perhaps.

The fire raged before her, snapping like someone had thrown a sheet of birch bark over it.  Why had she burned all that paper?  She could really use it right now, as a fan.  Her skin sizzled against the orange light of the flames.  Sweat broke along her brow and across her chest.  Within moments, she was dripping beneath her arms and her breasts, and also between her legs—enough that her sweat soaked through her clothing.

Whatever force had been holding her in place could never win out over the strength of this hot flash.  She nearly toppled her chair, reaching for the garden