|Stories of O|
Think back to the first time you came so hard you screamed. The first time you surrendered your sanity and spiraled into euphoria, every inch of your body consumed by pleasure. You didn’t care who heard your gasping, open-mouthed cries of passion—all you could focus on was the ecstasy. That’s what you’ll find in this collection—tale after tale of characters lost in the bliss of orgasmic perfection your mind (and especially your body) won’t soon forget.
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A graduate of Mills College with degrees in semiotics and mathematics, ALEX ALGREN lives in Oakland, California. She is an avid reader who writes and edits to make more things to read. Currently working on a novel about revenge, she also quilts and volunteers at her local animal shelter.
Also by Alex Algren
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Stories of O Exclusive Excerpt
From “(S)pan(k)cakes” by Kristina Wright
I put the cast-iron skillet on the stove and added a quarter-sized dollop of oil. Then I assembled the dry ingredients in a glass bowl. Flour, sugar, baking powder, a little salt, some spices. Adam put the quart of milk and a stick of butter on the counter next to me and nuzzled my neck before swatting my ass again.
“I need an egg, too.”
“You’re a demanding wench.”
“Hardly,” I laughed, as I measured off three tablespoons of butter and put it in a coffee mug. I popped it in the microwave for thirty seconds. “I’m cooking for you, not the other way around. I am but your obedient serving wench.”
I ignored the suggestive tone in his voice as I took the melted butter out of the microwave. He got an egg from the refrigerator and handed it to me without a word. I could feel him standing behind me as I poured the milk into another bowl and added the egg and butter. I whisked the ingredients together slowly as I added a splash of vanilla, almost willing him to do what I knew he was going to do.
“You want it, don’t you?” he whispered behind me.
I halted, midwhisk. “Hmm? What are you talking about?”
“You’re practically sticking your ass out for it.”
I stood up straight. “I am not.”
“Yes, you are. You were waiting for me to spank you.”
“Only because you’ve been smacking me since we got up,” I argued, pouring the wet ingredients over the dry ingredients and returning to my whisking with increased vigor.
“So, you don’t want it?”
“No.” I didn’t sound terribly convincing even to myself. “I’m trying to make pancakes.”
Adam moved away to stand against the counter, arms crossed over his bare chest. His bare, sexy chest. “I see. And I’m distracting you?”
“Yes,” I said, swallowing hard. “You are.”
He shrugged. “Okay. I’ll leave you alone.”
“Oh. Okay.” I looked at the pancake batter, well mixed and ready to be put on a hot pan.
Adam watched as I carried the bowl to the stove. I tried not to look at him. I was annoyed, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. My ass was still tingling from that last slap and I wanted more. I wanted a lot more. He knew that and knew I was just playing coy, but he’d called my bluff and I was too rebellious to tell him what I wanted.