You Already Know: Twelve Erotic Stories

You Already Know: Twelve Erotic Stories
Charlotte Stein

Eleven stories from bestselling erotica and erotic romance author, Charlotte Stein, exploring all of the filthy fantasies and forbidden loves that her work is renown for.Dangerous liaisons and sexy strangers, naughty encounters and rekindled flames, women who don't want to say no, and the men who love to give them everything they've been craving. All together at last in one unique collection designed to leave you desperate for more.

You Already Know

Twelve Erotic Stories

Charlotte Stein

Copyright (#uf230bfec-a361-53c7-a104-a93a5d2bc029)

Mischief

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

The News Building

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.mischiefbooks.com (http://www.mischiefbooks.com)

Copyright © Charlotte Stein

Cover images: Shutterstock

Charlotte Stein asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This collection is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © 2016 ISBN: 9780008179281

Version: 2015-12-16

Contents

Cover (#ud227aa88-21e7-50e6-b93c-0d9768dd01a2)

Title Page (#u30fbb91e-8dbc-5cdf-9835-77c7db0deea5)

Copyright

You Already Know

Four For The Seesaw

I Have You

Don’t I

Heavenly Shades

I Am

New Dress

Dancing On The Edge

Heat

Thief

Oppositeland

Falling

More from Mischief

Acknowledgements

About the Publisher

You Already Know (#uf230bfec-a361-53c7-a104-a93a5d2bc029)

Charlotte Stein (#uf230bfec-a361-53c7-a104-a93a5d2bc029)

I tell him not to, I tell him, ‘Get the fuck out of here,’ but he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He’s as big as a bull, as big as a brick wall, and he just bulldozes right into the store and takes Mickey D around the neck as though he’s nothing, and throws him over the counter.

Of course, everyone knows Mickey D is no good. He shirks his responsibilities, as Mr Kirkpatrick would say – but that doesn’t mean he has to be thrown over the counter. It doesn’t make it right and fair that this bull has him crying and bleeding on the floor of Mr Kirkpatrick’s store, for something he owes or something he has or has not done.

Even I know that. I’m pathetic, and I’m weak, and I don’t know anything about drugs or whatever this guy is into, but I understand that much.

‘Stop,’ I tell the bull, and he turns and looks at me with his mad, blazing eyes.

Only they’re not mad and blazing at all. He looks wounded, I think, like someone stuck him in his side. The matador waved his cape and he charged, and now there’s a lance through his body. Soon he’s going to bleed out on the floor of this little grocery store, and no one will care because he’s the guy who threw Mickey D over the counter.

He’s the guy who works for some drug lord or thief or pimp, and nobody cares about guys like that.

Least of all me. I just stare at him and stare at him, until he steps back from the counter. Mickey D is crying somewhere behind it, snottily, but the bull pays no attention. He just looks at me until I notice other weird little details about him.

His eyes are the colour of melted chocolate. He has a tattoo on his arm – a big Star of David. The grain on his shaved head is the colour of a million little iron filings, so rich and real I can almost imagine them sifting through my fingers.

Even though there’s nothing to sift.