Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 5

me."
    Travis's blush faded away with Taylor's footsteps.
    "Sorry, T. I didn't know he was coming."
    Travis looked up at him, hazel eyes gleaming in the early morning light. "S'okay. I—"
    His gaze fell away from Aaron's to perform a detailed inspection of the backs of his hands. Aaron's chest squeezed tight again. Placing one finger beneath Travis's chin, he tilted the other man's head back until he was forced to meet Aaron's eyes. "I meant it. We can talk when we get home though, okay? I can't do it here either. Not where your parents are gonna walk in on us."
    Travis smiled at that, and it shook a little at the corners, but it reached his eyes. "Okay."
    Aaron bent down again, brushing his lips lightly over Travis's. He figured he could take that for now even though it pained him to do so. Literally. He shifted slightly, easing his lower half back from the bed, one hand sliding down to surreptitiously adjust his engorged cock. Then he reminded himself that Mr. and Mrs. Morris would be arriving sometime soonish, and he really did not want to greet them with his dick pressing against the front of his jeans.
    Instant erectile dysfunction.
    Shaking off the image of greeting the Morris's while popping wood over their youngest, Aaron brought himself back to the matter at hand. He and Travis had time figure things out once they got home. They had plenty of time to fit themselves into this new rhythm. Yeah, he could almost feel the future dancing out in front of them in three-four time like some sexy-assed ballad couples would sway to all through the night. His fingers itched for some paper as music started to play in his mind.
    Travis's low laughter brought him out of his daze. "Go on down to the nurse's station. I bet they have extra pens and paper there. You got a new song, didn't you?"
    Aaron nodded. "Yeah. Music. No lyrics. Just—"
    Travis laughed again, and Aaron had to taste him one more time. He licked his way softly into Travis's mouth, tasting the hint of butterscotch left over from the last swallow of the coffee Taylor had smuggled in—well, blatantly carried right past the nurse's station, but still, it was contraband. Underneath the sweetly toasted caramel was a hint of something light yet powerful that was all Travis. Wasserstein should have probably dressed Travis like an angel instead, because he surely tasted like one.
    THE END
    Author bio: Cherie Noel~~I write. Mostly romance, and I'm particularly fond of nekkid boys, so the more of those I can fit in a story the better I like it. If you like what I do, you can find more at the following locations:
    Goodreads
    Twitter
    Facebook
    Facebook Pages
    Blog
    ****

THE IVORY PRISON
    by Ashlyn Daube

    Changelings don't exist. That's what the government wants you to believe. We're their newest weapons for espionage, a reality after decades of failure in genetic R&D, though we still have some anomalies--dependencies--to be "fixed". We need to have genetic material to change.
    They say the two of us are finally mission-ready, but I don't want to be separated from the only other "person" who understands this life. I need him.
    I don't think that's a "dependency" they expected.
    ~ Adara

    genre: sci-fi/futuristic
    tags: spies/secret/agents; shifters (non-wolf-cat); sweet no sex; prison/captivity; young adult characters
    word count: 8,344
    Back to Table of Contents

    THE IVORY PRISON
    by Ashlyn Daube
    I don't remember if I was ever human. Don't remember much before I was fourteen years old. I say "much" because I remember enough to want to forget it all. I exist trapped by white walls and the smell of bleach. A space that belonged to me and that I was never allowed to leave. This is the only home I have ever known and likely the only one I will ever know. The four marble walls are barren and whole except for one. The one with the door and the mirror. Next to the door is a little black box that controls it. It beeps and its light turns green warning me that someone is coming, warning me to stay still and not do anything stupid. Three feet from the door starts a huge mirror that runs almost the entire length and height of the wall. It wasn't always there. It appeared during the day of my eleventh birthday. I remember staring at my reflection for the first time, meeting sunken hazel eyes and pulling at the dark blond strands that fell on my face. Seeing something there that resembled the men that came and went from the room. But there was always something off. Something