The Devil’s Doorbell Anthology releases tomorrow.
A woman’s pleasure is a dangerous thing. A primal appetite that, once awakened, can never be sated. A secret that gives power to those who know it. A magic that, once unleashed, can never be contained.
Some say the clitoris is the devil’s doorbell, set to summon him forth at the merest touch…
It’s time to ring the bell.
Here are seven tales of sexual empowerment and erotic defiance, featuring the hottest storytellers of erotic fiction.
Here’s an excerpt from Exact Warm Unholy by Jeffe Kennedy:
“So,” the bartender says, lingering while keeping an eye on the other patrons. There aren’t many. I really shouldn’t come in on a Tuesday again, even at the prospect of hot college boy sex. “Are you Catholic?
“Not so much,” Syd answers. “But it’s interesting. I’m doing grad work on a comparison of how Christians interpret the Old Testament compared to the same texts that make up the Torah. You?”
“Lapsed.” He shrugs. Nice Irish Catholic boy, I’m guessing. Maybe a crucifix under that T-shirt, gleaming silver against his chest, which is a more erotic image than it ought to be. Just a little hair on it, dark and wiry like on his forearms, which flex as he dries a glass with long fingers. I’m mesmerized enough that I realize he’s asking a question and I’m not listening. “What’s your hypothesis?”
“The field doesn’t work like that so much.” Syd should stop there. Hell, she should have stopped a long time ago, but she doesn’t. This is more than I’ve talked to anyone not work-related in…months. It’s easy to lose track of time. The bartender has good eyes, on the hazel side, maybe even mossy green in daylight. I take a pull on the Harp, surprised to hit bottom. The bartender takes the empty and moves to grab me another when I nod. What the hell.
“Okay, this is my idea. Did you know that people call the clitoris the devil’s doorbell?”
He cracks up. “You’re kidding! What people? I don’t know those people.”
Syd waves a hand. “There are Internet sites you wouldn’t believe. Female pleasure is wicked is the idea, leads to sinfulness.”
“Not in my book.” He’s not flirting, exactly, but he’s talking to Syd more than he has with any of the others. Maybe she’s more his type. Or maybe because she’s talking to him and it’s a slow night. He’s studying me, eyes locked on mine.
“It’s more a Christian idea, that women lead men into sinfulness with their bodies. Judaism embraces female sexuality. Did you know a husband is obligated to divorce his wife if he doesn’t give her pleasure? The Talmud specifies both the quantity and quality of sex that a man must give his wife.”
“See, now there’s a holy obligation I could get behind.” He’s leaning folded arms on the bar now, eyes glinting with mischief. “Where do you come out on the debate?”
A dangerous path I’m treading so I decline to answer directly. “You know how people always say that it’s Eve’s fault that she and Adam got kicked out of Eden?”
“Because she handed him the apple of knowledge and invited him to eat it.”
“Or told him to, or tricked him, depending on who you ask. Anyway, what if the real meaning of that story is that woman recognized they’d never grow in paradise. If they stayed there they’d just be God’s little goody-two-shoes pets forever. Maybe Eve deliberately handed Adam the opportunity to wake the fuck up and see they could have more out of life than being kept.”
“Some people want to be kept,” the bartender points out. “It’s comfortable.”
“No, that’s complete and utter bullshit.” I say it too strongly. I’ve shocked him, so I take a moment. Syd pushes up her glasses. For her it’s all theory. She hasn’t lived through what I have. “They make you think that, that you’re comfortable, that you’re happy and cared for. But it’s all lies. Just like Eden. Dressed up to look like paradise—look at all the pretty fruit! And animals for you to name!—but it was prison. Eve was goddamned thrilled to meet Satan.”
The bartender looks thoughtful. I haven’t offended him. But hey, he’s a bartender. He’s heard worse than my rant. “But when they ate of knowledge, they knew shame and tried to clothe their nakedness.”
That makes me think of Tiffany, which only depresses me. I take a deep swig of the beer. “Yeah, well, it’s a theory in process. I’m working on it.”
The bartender considers, polishing a glass. He’s contemplating his reply and I’m no longer angry. I’m…curious as to what he’ll say. Me, not Syd. For a moment I’m confused, forgetting who I am and what point I’d argued for.
“Hi.” A guy in a black leather jacket sits beside me, straddling the stool with lanky legs, and holds out a hand for me to shake. “I’m Alan.”
He’s got an attractive scruff and eyes that are just a little hard. Not a nice man. Syd wants him to mortify her flesh in a big way. This is what she came her for. Real sex, not the conversational variety. She takes his hand. It’s callused from some kind of manual labor. There won’t be a laptop in his hotel room, no high school sweetheart wife calling to check up on him. He’ll be rough, maybe a little mean, and Syd needs that. Her pussy clenches with heat.
“Sydney. Call me Syd.”
He points at my nearly empty. “Can I buy you another?”
“I haven’t seen you in here before.”
“My first time.”
The bartender sets down a fresh bottle, flicks a glance at me, and moves a short distance away, turning to watch the game on the screen above the bar. I drink deeply and Alan puts a hand on the back of my neck, under my hair.
“Don’t touch my hair,” I say.
“Why not?” His fingers stroke my neck and the heat grows, blessed distraction.
“I don’t like it,” I tell him, and his lips twitch, eyes on mine like he’s thinking about kissing me.
“What do you like?” The question is a caress.
“I can do that.” He picks up my beer and finishes it for me. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Next round is on the house,” the bartender says, catching my eye. “Hang a while.”
He’s never tried to get me to stay before. All that conversation has changed up the ritual, just as I’ve feared.
“Hey, thanks, dude.” Alan snugs an arm around my waist and pulls me tight against him, taking the decision out of my hands. “But I’ve got someone to do, if you know what I mean.”