Elevator Magic

Elevator Magic K.Z. Snow All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2008 K.Z. Snow

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ISBN: 978-1-59596-979-8

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Editor: Vicki S. Burklund

Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

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Elevator Magic K.Z. Snow The fashion industry isn’t kind to aging models. That’s why Lanie Stevens, at the ripe old age of thirty-four, is in a therapy group she calls Fear of Fucking. Insecurity stemming from a poor self-image has kept her celibate for way too long. Her only sexual thrill comes from ogling a handsome tech exec with whom she rides the elevator after her therapy sessions. Richard Sauter is great food for fantasy, but he looks right through her. Besides, he seems to be dating another woman. After Lanie confides her despair to a friend, the exotic Angelina says she knows someone who could help. Lanie makes it clear she’s had her fill of blustering counselors and blind dates. As it turns out, these are not the kinds of help Angelina had in mind. Soon thereafter, a stunning, long-haired man boards the elevator with the two regular riders. The car mysteriously stalls between floors. A startling, hands-free striptease starts taking place as clothing removes itself from sweating bodies. Suddenly, Lanie is not only being noticed, she’s involved in a steamy, gripping, groping ménage with two of the hottest men she’s ever encountered. After this wild ride, Lanie will have no reason to doubt her allure, Richard will never look through her again… and both will believe in magic.

Chapter One Lanie Stevens walked out of the ninth meeting of her Fear of Fucking group no less fearful than when she first joined it. Par for the course. She knew she’d still have a third-degree anxiety attack if she let a man touch her, especially if she were fully undressed. Hell, she nearly had one every time she took a shower. Of course, “Fear of Fucking” wasn’t the therapy group’s official name. It was “Image and Essence” or some damned thing, and the group had been formed to help people with mild BDD, or body dysmorphic disorder, straighten out their skewed view of themselves. The group was supposed to help them achieve self-acceptance, take pride in their appearance, even revel in their physicality. As far as Lanie was concerned, “fear of fucking” was what the whole thorny issue came down to. She’d been miserably celibate for months, and the situation didn’t seem likely to reverse itself anytime soon. The only solution she’d been able to come up with was both temporary and a little absurd. But so what? It had no impact on anybody but her. First checking her watch, Lanie followed the same route she always followed when leaving the thirty-third floor of the Paquette Building in Chicago. It was much farther than she had to go to find an elevator -- there was a bank of four only twenty steps from the therapist’s office -- but she had three reasons for making this trek to the northwest corner of the high-rise. First, she felt she could use the exercise. Second, engaging in small-talk with the other group members only taxed her patience. Third, and most important, she was in search of her favorite food for fantasy. That meal came in the eye-friendly form of a man named Richard Sauter, who invariably rode this particular elevator down to street level at this time of day. He was usually accompanied by a petite and very professional looking woman named Marla,

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who was probably his business partner, colleague or assistant. In any case, it was clear they had a much more personal relationship outside the office. Lanie figured if she couldn’t have sex in real life, she could at least have it in her boundless imagination. All manner of magic was possible there. She’d again be the premier runway model she was ten years ago. Or maybe not. In either case, Richard would look at her, not through her, and Marla could be eliminated as easily as an exboyfriend’s face is snipped out of a favorite photograph. Recently, Lanie sometimes put a gorgeous man in Marla’s place. That was a scenario so ripe with delicious possibilities she was taking her time with it, envisioning its progress step by tantalizing step. Just thinking of this fantasy -- even here, in the gleaming granite and marble corridors of the stately Paquette Building -- made her wet and squirmy. To banish these distracting images, Lanie again checked her watch. She was early, but there was a bench against the wall opposite the elevator. She approached it and took a seat while she waited. Her mind reran the bizarre conversation she’d had yesterday with her friend Angelina, who’d come down from Milwaukee for a photo shoot. They were working for the same agency when they first met. Lanie had instinctively warmed to Angelina, a statuesque and stunning West Indian whose temperament was as flawless as her appearance. Models didn’t usually make for good friends. They tended to be vain, insecure and cattily competitive. Angelina Funmaker was none of those. Intelligent, insightful, good-natured and kind, she was simply a delight. And she turned out to be the perfect confidante. Not long after they established their friendship, Lanie’s career took a nosedive because of her advancing age and increasing weight. There was no shred of political correctness or personal consideration in the career she’d chosen. Although she’d known that when she got in, the callous reality of it proved a bitter pill to swallow. Lanie still modeled occasionally, but the jobs had none of the prestige of her previous work. Bland

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catalogs hardly carried the glamour of beauty product commercials, glossy ads in national magazines, or the haute couture runway. Yesterday over lunch she and Angelina talked about the Fear of Fucking group. They talked about the entirely arbitrary and unrealistic standards the modeling industry sets for female perfection -- standards that ultimately dumped Lanie at a fork in life’s road. In one direction lay endless rounds of cosmetic surgery and possibly anorexia; in the other, therapy. Lanie had opted for therapy. She wanted to play past the “eternally youthful” crap -- a cruel, stress-inducing illusion if ever there was one. At least therapy wouldn’t imperil her health. At least therapy could possibly improve rather than further mess up her self-image. Still, those absurd physical standards continued to dog her. They had so informed her early adulthood and so ingrained themselves in her psyche that it didn’t seem anything could ever dislodge them. “You need to realize,” Angie said yesterday, “that a beautiful, thirty-four-yearold woman, which is what you are, is made beautiful by the fact she does not have the mind of a twelve-year-old girl in the body of a twelve-year-old boy. If that’s what a man is looking for, he’s the one who’s screwed up, not the females he’s spurning.” It made sense. Perfect sense. So Lanie readily agreed with her friend. “I just need to move those realizations from abstraction to reality,” she added. “And I’m living proof that it’s easier said than done.” With a compassionate smile, Angelina took Lanie’s hand. “It’s easier said than done only if you concentrate on the talking instead of the doing. So forgo all the analytical blab and let yourself slide back into life. Seek out people who are accepting and nurturing and activities that bring you fulfillment. Pursue photography, since you really seem to love it and are good at it. And give intimacy another chance… on your terms, not society’s or some shallow male’s.” Angelina sat back at that point and drilled Lanie with a no-nonsense gaze. “It’s time you deprogrammed yourself, once and for all. And I know just the person who can help.”

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Lanie nudged aside her salad plate and crossed her arms on the table. “Angie, I am not going to shuffle off to another freaking therapist. I’ve about had my fill of this one.” She tacked on, in a mutter, “She reminds me of a vanilla Oprah.” Angelina’s throaty laughter seemed to melt over the red brick walls of the bistro. “Now did I say anything about another therapist? This man does not fall into that category.” “I don’t want to be set up on any blind date, either. I’ve already --” “Did I say anything about a date?” Exasperated, Lanie let out a mighty sigh. “No. In fact, you haven’t said too much of anything about anything. What exactly are you driving at? Who’s ‘this man’?” Angelina met the question with a small and decidedly enigmatic smile. “An unusual someone I know quite well and trust implicitly. He has… some unique skills.” “Oh, Angie, with all due respect,” -- Lanie wilted against the back of the chair -“I really don’t need ‘unusual’ people getting involved in this. The whole situation is pathetic and embarrassing enough. I don’t think I could handle --” Raising an elegant forefinger and slowly waving it, Angelina silenced her. “Dearheart, don’t make assumptions about what you need or don’t need until you’re given the opportunity to find out.” With this admonition echoing in her mind, Lanie smiled and rested her head against the wall behind the bench. Opportunity… What the hell had Angelina been talking about? She hadn’t elaborated but instead seemed to expect Lanie to trust her. Ah well, no harm in trusting a trustworthy person. Footsteps echoed dimly from an invisible corridor. Lanie dug her cell phone out of her handbag and held it in readiness on her lap, so she could pretend to be engaged in conversation when Richard approached. It was the only ruse she could think of that would explain why she wasn’t standing before the elevator, awaiting its arrival. Normally she did position herself in front of the doors. Today, though, she didn’t feel like standing and waiting.

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Where is he? Lanie fidgeted with the phone. As she did so, the handsome but unapproachable Richard Sauter appeared in the corridor with his diminutive female shadow at his side. Lanie lifted the cell phone to her ear. The sight of this man provoked a fluttering in her stomach, a reaction she associated with high school crushes. But the sharp tingle between her legs carried entirely different and far less innocent associations. Like the swift, delicate glide of a serrated crystal knife, it shot up her vagina and into her uterus. Hardly a virgin, she knew the feeling well. It was the stab of raw desire. The crotch of her panties instantly moistened. Richard and his companion suddenly stopped. For a moment, Lanie feared they would turn and retrace their steps. She kept glancing at them out of the corner of her eye. They were engaged in a heated conversation. Although they kept their voices low, they gesticulated as they talked. Surreptitiously, Lanie eyed her fantasy man. She never tired of it, because his appearance was ever changing. And ever alluring. Tall and fit, the casually elegant Mr. Sauter had thick, lustrous hair the color of chocolate mousse. Although he tried to keep it swept back from his face, a stray curl would often fall languidly over his forehead. The way his rich green eyes contrasted with his dark lashes and brows made Lanie think of jade cabochons set into some exquisite woodcarving. By this time of day, late afternoon, he invariably had a distinct shadow lining his jaw and upper lip -- a handsome frame that drew attention to his irresistible, eminently kissable mouth. Lanie guessed he was in his mid-thirties. Today he wore butt-flattering trousers topped by a green pinstriped shirt, open at the collar. There didn’t seem to be an undershirt beneath it. Sometimes he wore a suit and tie. Sometimes he wore a sportier jacket without a tie. For some reason, this variety made him all the more appealing. Richard Sauter, Lanie fancied, was an independent, multifaceted man who thumbed his nose at convention. His companion, though, was a different story. Lanie instinctively disliked her. Today, she looked even more off-putting than usual.

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Marla’s face was grim, its features pinched. Her expression had a flintier edge than ambition alone normally gave it. Lanie recognized that edge. She’d seen it countless times before on the faces of twenty-something women who were driven to climb whatever career ladder their Jimmy Choo pumps were planted on. It was a shame, she’d always thought, to see such severity on faces so young. Perhaps her face had once taken on that edge. But Lanie had to give Marla points for grooming. The woman wore a tailored St. John suit. Her reddish hair, subtly highlighted and meticulously razor cut into a short shag, was swirled and peaked in just the right places for just the right artfully impish look. It made Lanie realize that her own pale blonde hair, carelessly clipped up, resembled a tangle of pasta. “I still can’t believe you’re doing this,” Marla said in a strained hiss as she and Richard began moving toward the elevator again. Her head was cocked toward him but lowered, as if she were speaking to his elbow. Obviously, she wanted to prevent eavesdropping -- pretty much an exercise in futility with Lanie around. “What possessed you?” Richard looked considerably more relaxed than his companion, although he did seem a tad irked. They stopped before the elevator. Marla pushed its call button with a vengeance. Flipping her cell phone closed, Lanie rose from the bench and stood behind them, trying to be inconspicuous. “Well?” Marla prompted Richard. “Don’t I deserve an explanation?” “The same thing that’s possessed me for the past two years,” he said in a quiet, even tone. “A desire to reclaim my life, my thoughts… my soul.” The elevator doors opened just as Marla huffed, “Oh, let’s not get melodramatic.” Although Lanie couldn’t see the woman’s face, she was certain her look matched her snide tone. As Richard took a place inside the empty cab, he briefly closed his eyes and sighed. He seemed exhausted by the exchange. The doors whispered shut. Lanie stood as far away from the couple as possible and pretended to be oblivious to them.

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“I’m sorry you see it that way,” Richard murmured, “but I’m not surprised you’d mistake sincerity for melodrama.” He dropped his head to bring it closer to his companion’s. “I’ve talked about this before, Marla. Maybe you weren’t listening. I don’t need endless truckloads of money to be happy. I already have plenty. What I crave now is peace and quiet. And once I have them, I want to strike off in some new direction. I want to be and feel creative again. I need that. I’m just not cut out to crunch numbers and pitch products and dick around with administrative procedures and office politics. I don’t have the mind or the patience for it.” Obviously inflamed by this speech, Marla fully faced him. “You’re being a fool. Don’t you realize that? It’s as if you’re trying to set yourself up for a takeover.” Richard didn’t answer. “So, how long will this sabbatical of yours last?” Carelessly, he shrugged. “As long as I want it to. But I’ll stay in touch, pop in occasionally.” Marla spun toward the panel of floor buttons and seemed to punch one at random. “It seems we’re telling each other to fuck off,” Richard said with a wan smile. With a small jolt, the elevator came to a stop and the doors glided open. Marla, staring straight ahead in absolute silence, clicked sharply into whatever corridor she’d chosen as her rejection-of-Richard route. As curious as she was lust-stricken, Lanie snuck a glance at him. He didn’t look terribly troubled. In fact, he looked relieved. And damn, it made her want him all the more. What a shame Marla’s departure would do her no good whatsofuckingever. Because Richard, it appeared, was departing, too. Figured. Lanie allowed herself a hopeless little shake of the head. “Whoa, hold those doors, please!”

Chapter Two Lanie’s eyes widened. She wondered vaguely why the gods were tormenting her today. The man who strode into the elevator made her momentarily forget about Richard Sauter and his new unattached status. Because this man was breathtaking in a wholly different way. Smiling amiably at his fellow passengers, he took a few steps to the rear of the cab, turned, braced his elbows on the railing, linked his hands over his stomach, and casually crossed his legs. The man was as tall and lean as Richard, but his appearance had a rougher cast. His features were more angular, embellished by a wicked looking khan mustache that crept past the corners of his mouth to join with a goatee. Intense eyes -- a startling blend of umber, green and gold -- conveyed the impression of keen perception and forthrightness. The man slid a glance at Lanie. It was innocuous, but it instantly made her shiver. Most startling of all, the man had hair the color of burnished bronze, pulled back into a long, thick braid that fell nearly to the waistband of his ass- and crotch-hugging jeans. His simple black t-shirt revealed muscle-cabled arms. Wow, Lanie thought, feeling an unsettling mix of temptation and frustration. I’ve either died and gone to heaven or died and gone to hell. With a slight jerk, the elevator unexpectedly stopped. Its doors remained closed. The three passengers exchanged glances. Richard, who stood closest to the control panel, pushed a couple of buttons. Nothing happened. He glanced up at the ceiling of the cab, then at Lanie and the other man.

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“Good thing we’re all slender enough to crawl through the trapdoor,” he said drolly. He smiled, showing utterly charming dimples Lanie had never seen before. She smiled back. Yup, heaven or hell. “If you don’t mind, I’ll pass on that option.” “Well,” the long-haired man said, “I think introductions are in order considering we could be here a while. I’m Jackson Spey, furniture builder and cabinet maker.” Richard raised his eyebrows. “Custom stuff?” he asked with obvious interest. “Usually.” “Damn, I envy people with your kind of skill.” Richard leaned toward Spey to shake his hand. “I’m Rich Sauter. All I can do is play with computers.” “Play how?” Lanie found the courage to ask. Richard blushed lightly. “I, uh… I’m the founder and CEO of IntraVision. We design 3-D imaging software for specialized applications -- engineering, architecture, various kinds of scientific research.” His gaze, tinctured by mild confusion, lingered on Lanie for a moment, as if he realized he’d seen her before yet was seeing her for the first time. “Now it’s my turn to be impressed,” Spey said. Redirecting his attention, Richard shrugged and shook his head. He seemed to be sloughing off Spey’s awe. Lanie wondered if it was modesty or guilt that prevented him from accepting admiration. “I’m actually easing into an early retirement,” Richard said. “I have a sort of summer house on Lake Superior, and I’ll be moving up there soon. Maybe start some new projects.” He unbuttoned and rolled up his sleeves. “Speaking of projects,” he said to Spey, “are you working on one for somebody in the building?” “You could say that, yeah.” Like a candle flame nudged by a breeze, Spey’s gaze flickered toward Lanie. Her breath caught. Why did she find this man so damned mesmerizing? She couldn’t help but stare at Jackson Spey, even though she’d just been losing herself to the sight of Richard Sauter’s bare forearms and the thought of those arms wrapped around her… as they lazed on the shore of Lake Superior.

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“And you?” Spey asked her with the barest hint of a smile. “Who are you and what’s your claim to fame?” Lanie felt a blush building. She didn’t know where the hell to look anymore. Both of these men were dangerous. “Lanie Stevens, former full-time model, now part-time model and amateur photographer.” “I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?” Rich said. It was more a statement, albeit a tentative one, than a question. “I mean here, in this building, on this elevator.” Before Lanie could answer, Spey said to Richard, “You sound uncertain. How could you not remember seeing this lady?” He flashed her a disarming smile. “Excuse my brashness, but I think you’re a knockout.” “Thank you,” Lanie murmured. And the opinion is mutual. She caught Richard as well as Jackson regarding her quite openly. Her mouth snapped into a self-conscious smile and she looked at the floor, aware of the lingering concentration of heat in her cheeks. Richard cleared his throat. “Well, I, uh… I’ve been rather preoccupied lately. What with, you know, leaving my business behind and…” Apparently at a loss for words, he didn’t finish the sentence. Spey finished it for him. “Striking off in a new direction.” Richard nodded. “Plus, I usually leave the building with my… with a lady friend.” Looking a tad embarrassed, he shot a quick look at Lanie. He certainly realized, at least now he realized, she was well aware of Marla. And well aware of their fallingout. “Ah, I see,” Jackson said. “That’s really quite commendable. You know, it’s a measure of a man’s character whether or not he eyes up other women when he’s with his special woman.” He gave Lanie a pointed glance. “Wouldn’t you agree?” “Absolutely,” she said with emphasis. Lanie had stark contempt for oglers. Few things undermined a female’s self-esteem like a partner who couldn’t keep his eyes to himself. “It’s all about respect. And depth of feeling.” “So you don’t feel slighted?” Richard asked her.

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Lanie found it touching that he was being so solicitous. She liked his humility, his old-fashioned gallantry. “Of course not,” she said with an understanding smile. “Believe me, I don’t think I’m the center of the universe.” Richard breathed a laugh and shook his head. “Still, what a waste of my attention.” When he looked at Lanie again, it was with more than passing interest. This discussion, she realized, was not only drawing her out, it was building her confidence. She wondered if she should make some move, tell one of these men what she thought of him. But which one? With no small sense of irony, Lanie realized she was smack in the middle of her perfect fantasy, but circumstances made it impossible to play that fantasy out. “It’s getting warm in here,” she murmured, fanning her face with both hands. Richard ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Yes, it is.” Suddenly, the three top buttons of Lanie’s blouse came undone. They didn’t pop open -- she hadn’t moved her arms forcefully enough to cause that to happen -- but they methodically slipped out of their holes, as if plied by invisible fingers. With a startled, soft intake of breath, Lanie looked down at her blouse… or, rather, at her exposed cleavage. Her hand automatically fell to her chest. Richard was staring at her, his lips parted. “Oops,” she said lamely, “I don’t know how that hap --” In rapid succession, all the buttons of Richard’s shirt came undone. His stunned gaze slid from Lanie to himself to Lanie again. With a nervous chuckle, he offered an explanation. “Maybe the guardian angel of elevator riders wants us to be comfortable.” Snickering, Jackson Spey crossed his arms over his chest and studied his boots. His clothing remained securely in place. Lanie gaped at him. An unusual someone I know quite well and trust implicitly. He has… unique skills. But no, that was too farfetched. Lanie didn’t doubt Angelina Funmaker had some unusual friends, but a man who could undress people without touching them? No. Even if she was an exotic woman who came from an obscure little island in the east Jamaica Channel.

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Without lifting his head, Jackson Spey shifted his weirdly colored eyes between Lanie and Rich. “Cooler now?” he drawled. “Or hotter?” It was an unmistakably suggestive question that prompted Lanie to look at Richard’s exposed chest. The sight made her want to remove her blouse entirely, as well as her bra, and stride up to him and begin rubbing her bare breasts against the hard mounds of his pectoral muscles. They were lightly glazed with sweat and embellished by a fine pattern of mahogany colored hair. Below his beaded nipples, his taut, tan skin was perfectly smooth, the plane of his stomach interrupted only by a series of low, parallel ridges. Lanie felt her own nipples tighten and rise. The thin fabric of her bra was resistant enough to stimulate them further. Hard now, they strained against the hugging silk with a maddening tingle that zigzagged down her torso to her pussy. As it trickled moisture, Lanie’s mind hazed. Her hand fell away from her chest. She wanted Rich to stare at the soft, bulging flesh of her breasts. Hell, she wanted both men to stare… and burn to touch her. The rise and fall of her chest became more pronounced as excitement fired her breathing. Richard had been fumbling with his open shirt, looking bewildered and flustered, trying to rebutton it. Now his hands stilled. Lanie’s blouse opened, again by itself, down to the waistband of her skirt. Its two sides slowly parted and folded back like a stage curtain. She was aware of little but the stubborn push of her nipples against the semitransparent, lavender cups of her bra and the deep, sharp throbbing between her legs. Richard’s breathing was heavy enough to be audible. “Definitely… hotter,” he forced out in a coarse whisper. As Lanie watched, transfixed, the top of his trousers opened and parted as mysteriously as her blouse had. The zipper slid down with a dainty metallic rasp. It stopped at the top of his briefs, which appeared to be black… and very small. Lanie’s ravenous gaze followed the narrow trail of dark hair that crept from his navel to the elastic waistband, flaring out as it disappeared beneath the cloth.

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“I get the distinct impression you both like what you see,” Spey murmured in a sly, insinuating tone. “And I must confess, I do, too.” Richard turned his gaze to the man. “What’s going on?” A smile played at one corner of Jackson’s mouth. “Something like spontaneous combustion, I think.” Lanie also forced herself to look at the man. It only made matters worse. Her desire sharpened. Arousal had clearly exaggerated the roll near his groin. It was difficult enough to ignore when he’d first stepped into the elevator. Spey stepped away from the railing. “I think I should go now.” “What do you mean ‘go’?” Richard asked. “Go where? How?” The long-haired man didn’t answer. “You’ll have a couple hours of privacy. I mean, you’ll likely be stranded here for another two or three hours.” He lifted a hand in the air. Lanie hadn’t seen either of Spey’s hands go into or come out of his pockets. He hadn’t been carrying anything when he got on the elevator. But now… now he held aloft a small, square packet. After adroitly rolling it between his fingers, he lowered his arm and handed the packet to Lanie. Condoms. Her astonished gaze flew to his face. “I don’t know how prepared either of you are,” he said quietly. “Make good use of your time.” He turned away. Impulsively, Lanie caught his arm. “Wait.” Richard, who’d been watching them intently, came forward. Lanie faced him. Still clutching Jackson’s arm, she curled her free hand around the back of Richard’s head and urged it down to hers. “I want you,” she whispered in his ear. She teased it with the tip of her tongue, tracing its delicate ridges and canals, as she fully pressed and rubbed her breasts against his damp chest. A searing pleasure-pain again shot from her achingly stiff nipples to her cunt. “I’ve wanted you for two months.”

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“Then have me,” Richard gasped into her hair. “Jesus, I can’t believe it took me this long to notice you.” Every neurotic doubt Lanie had ever had about her body evaporated when they touched. Nothing mattered now except sating the monstrous hunger she’d been hoarding for this man. His plush lips moved against her temple and face, gliding, pressing. She felt the delectable abrasion of his whiskers, the occasional, damp swipe of his tongue on her skin. She felt the dense column of his cock push against her belly as one large hand moved almost desperately over her breasts, the thumb circling and jabbing at her nipples, the thumbnail raking and flicking them. Then she felt Jackson Spey slipping from her grasp. “No,” she said, swiveling her head to face the strange man. “Don’t go.” He calmly returned Lanie’s commanding gaze. In a dim, distant part of her mind, incredulity clashed with her clamoring need. “I want you, too.”

Chapter Three Spey hitched up his eyebrows, but his face otherwise remained impassive. “Ms. Stevens, this gentleman seems very right for you. I, on the other hand, am very wrong for you. Believe me.” Lanie was undaunted. “At the moment, you’re both right for me. Anything beyond now can sort itself out later. I need this.” Spey turned his startling eyes to the other man. “Do you mind sharing, Rich?” “Not if this lovely lady doesn’t mind.” His hands idly caressed Lanie’s back. “To tell you the truth, the prospect turns me on.” He unhooked her bra. His hands slid up to her shoulders and eased the straps down her arms. Only his chest, still pressed against her, held the bra in place. Spey stepped up to Lanie. Gently forking one hand into the back of her hair, he lowered his face. “You’re very generous,” he murmured against her skin, then began stamping leisurely kisses in and around the shallow dish between her neck and shoulder. With a ragged sigh, Lanie rolled her head back and closed her eyes. A pair of large, warm hands -- Richard’s, she assumed -- began fondling her naked breasts. His mouth played in counterpoint to Jackson’s on the other side of her throat. Now a third hand was on her breasts, this one pinching and pulling her right nipple. Lanie let out a thin mewl and arched her back, offering her sensitive flesh to both men. Just as her knees became nearly too weak to support her, she felt strong arms moving her body, coaxing her to a different place. Lanie briefly opened her eyes. She was against one of the elevator’s walls. Richard largely supported her. The look on his handsome face bore such passion, she knew she’d never forget it. He tenderly cradled her jaw in both hands as his steamy

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gaze ran over her features. “For some reason,” he said, “this seems like a blessing to me. I’m sorry if that sounds silly to you.” Lanie mouthed no, but her voice had flown. She stared into Rich’s eyes. The green of the irises had deepened. It was like gazing into a lake, losing oneself to the enchanting, immeasurably deep water. She vaguely wondered where Jackson was, but his presence suddenly seemed irrelevant. And somehow, she realized he knew that. “I should have done this a long time ago,” Richard said in a low voice… then brought his mouth down to meet hers. Lanie whimpered as she felt the soft, slow press of his lips. For countless moments he savored her and let her savor him. The kiss was the most expressive Lanie had ever experienced -- cushiony lips flexing quickly, then languidly; lips brushing across her mouth like satiny wings, then crushing against it; a tongue darting out to tease her, then invading to claim her. Holding this marvelous man tightly against her body, Lanie eased them down to the elevator’s carpeted floor. They still hadn’t broken their kiss. Lanie’s hands roamed both hungrily and adoringly over Richard’s muscle-banded chest, stomach, arms. She loved the hard, interlocking slopes of his body, the silken threads of his hair. When their lips finally parted, Lanie glimpsed Jackson already sitting on the floor a couple of feet away. His shirt, socks, and boots were off, heaped into a small pile. It seemed he’d been watching her and Richard. And it seemed he was smiling, almost wistfully. Lanie’s craving for him resurfaced. Spey, too, was trim and tightly muscled, but he was sleeker than Richard, more like a cheetah than a lion. His whole appeal had darkly sensual overtones, signified by the wealth of bound hair that now snaked down one side of his chest. This was heaven, Lanie thought, and no matter how she came to be here or what role Angelina played in it, she was going to enjoy her stay to the fullest.

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Richard peeled off his shirt and tossed it aside. He took off his shoes and socks. Lanie’s appetite grew as she looked at the two half-naked men. “Sit next to Jackson,” she told Richard, who immediately obliged by scooting over until he was beside the other man. Lanie removed her skirt and pumps, aware of both men watching her. Their scrutiny was intensely arousing. Each man’s noticeable hard-on, made especially enticing by the fact they still wore their pants, was even more arousing. The crotch of her bikini panties grew wetter by the second. Her cunt pulsed in time to her heartbeat. She knelt on her haunches between the men. Her breasts felt heavy, like succulent, overripe fruit. Her nipples were tight and high and so unbearably sensitive that the thin current of air from the ventilation system was itself something of a torment. Leaning forward and stretching her arms to either side, Lanie slowly lowered each man’s zipper. Jackson’s and Richard’s erections felt like serpents beneath her hands. She wanted to free them. She wanted to see what they could do, feel the delectably paralyzing bites they could deliver. After she’d pulled their zippers down as far as she could, Lanie drew her fingers along each man’s cock. They were both quite well endowed. Quite well. Richard moaned. Jackson’s hips jerked. “You have luscious breasts,” Spey said gruffly. “Why don’t you enjoy them before we do?” Lanie’s breathing had become so rapid and shallow she was feeling lightheaded. Sitting up and bowing her back slightly, she began fondling herself, cupping her breasts and lifting them to the men’s simmering gazes, pinching and pulling her nipples until they both looked and felt like glowing hot match-heads. “I can’t stand it,” Richard grated. Furiously, he pulled off his trousers and briefs and pitched forward, reining in his strength just enough to keep from shoving Lanie too roughly onto the floor. But he couldn’t disguise his boiling lust. Lanie lay on her back, chest heaving, as first Richard

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and then Jackson engulfed her, one on each side, half on and half off her vulnerable body. Sandwiched between them, she had no choice but to surrender. She was eager to surrender. Two hot, moist, hungry mouths closed over her nipples, sucking hard, drawing in the swollen areolas as well as the tender nubs. Writhing and whimpering, Lanie held both heads to her breasts. Tongues flicked at her. Teeth nibbled at her. She was being fed upon… and it was pure ecstasy. “Kneel over me,” Richard growled, lifting his head. “Kneel over my mouth.” Jackson asked him, “Ever had your cock sucked by a man while you were eating pussy?” The question seemed to stymie Richard. Panting, he merely shook his head. Within a few beats he found the voice to ask, “Are you gay?” Spey’s mouth spread into a vulpine smile. “No. Just a glutton for experience.” The exchange made Lanie’s cunt throb. Just thinking of sexual interaction between these two gorgeous men put her on the brink of orgasm. Jackson leaned over Lanie and in exquisite slow motion slid off her panties. As he did so, he let one hand linger between her legs. Like oiled lightning, two of his fingers slid between her labia and his thumb danced over and around her clit. Lanie cried out and arched her back. A string of little pulsations wound into her abdomen. Before she had a full-blown climax, Jackson withdrew his hand. “Would you like to see me suck Rich’s cock?” he asked. After a few breaths, Lanie exhaled, “Yes.” She didn’t tell him she wanted to see more than that. She wanted to see them make out, kiss and caress each other, knead the sweet, tight globes of each other’s ass while they ground their hips together and sweated and groaned and their stiff cocks were on the verge of bursting. Jackson gave Lanie a strange, knowing smile, as if he’d read her mind… or sensed the scope of her fantasies. “Rome wasn’t built in a day,” he said to her. Then, to Richard, “Think you’re hedonistic enough to satisfy one of this woman’s secret desires?”

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Elevator Magic

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“I’d try satisfying them all, if I could,” Richard said. Lanie couldn’t wait any longer. She felt she was drowning in her own fluids. Sitting up, she did a half turn, forced Richard to the floor, and knelt, straddling his head. He whispered something -- it sounded like “my pearl,” but no twenty-firstcentury man could possibly be that poetic -- then glided his hands over Lanie’s hips as if relishing their contours. In spite of her acute arousal, she felt a twinge of selfconsciousness. Her belly was round now, not flat. Her hips had full, soft curves. Her thighs were no longer as lean as a runner’s. But there was no trace of reluctance or distaste in Richard’s touch. It was desirous and almost reverential. Beneath his hands, her skin was transformed into silk, and she had the form of a goddess. Lanie faced Richard’s glorious, outstretched body. She wanted to see what Spey would do. Like a leaning tower, Richard’s hard cock stood at a steep angle to his body. Jackson’s, too, jutted aggressively, ready to be sheathed. Richard eased Lanie’s hips down to his sumptuous mouth. She nearly jumped off him when she felt the first dexterous play of his fingers and tongue between her labia, the first pull of his lips at her clit. The sensations were so exquisitely concentrated they felt like an injection of pure pleasure directly into each slick fold and hollow between her legs. He drew on her bud with consummate care, punctuating the delicate sucking with swipes of his tongue. Two fingers probed her flooded vagina. Lanie quivered from head to toe, trying to brace herself above him, trying not to let her body rock out of position. No one had ever pleasured her pussy with such tender and thorough skill. She wanted it to go on forever. The heralds of orgasm rippled down into her thighs, up into her ribcage. It was then she saw Jackson, who was kneeling between Richard’s legs, lean over her lover’s cock and do something very peculiar… but apparently effective. He didn’t grasp it. He didn’t direct the dense shaft into his mouth. Instead, with his face poised inches above the plump head, he minutely moved his lips, as if whispering. His hands

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moved gracefully along either side of the pillar, up and down, but without making contact. There was at least an inch of space between Spey’s hands and the taut skin of Richard’s erection. Lanie felt Richard groan between her thighs, saw his hips buck. His cock twitched. A droplet of precum glistened at its tip. And then Jackson backed away, fixing his beguiling eyes on Lanie. “Why don’t you finish him,” he said in a low voice, “while I fuck you. I really need to fuck you.” She almost came at that moment. Richard’s ministrations combined with Jackson’s blunt suggestion nearly forced her over the edge. Lanie rose off of Richard. “I can’t hold out,” he said immediately, his breath in spasms. “That was too, too much. Jesus…” Lanie caressed and kissed his damp face. “I’ll take care of you.” Limp with excitement, she scooted to the place Jackson had been, between Richard’s legs. Spey stared at her as if he wanted to consume her. As Lanie knelt before Richard’s weeping cock, Jackson grabbed her by the arm and spun her toward him. Crushing her breasts against his chest, he speared his fingers into her tousled hair and kissed her. Hard. The almost barbaric feel of his lips and tongue and facial hair against her mouth made Lanie’s arousal flare wildly. She knew Jackson was capable of astonishing finesse -- he’d demonstrated that from the start of this impromptu ménage -- but his passion had been ignited, and he obviously felt no need to control it. Lanie didn’t, either. She returned his kiss with the same storm of demand. She raked her fingernails over his back, his chest, through his mustache. She slipped her fingers into his moist, hot mouth and teased his writhing tongue. “If you’re going to fuck me,” she hissed against his lips, “fuck me good.” His smile carried a brutal promise. “Oh, I will.” When Lanie turned back to Richard, his hand was clutching the base of his rod. He’d been watching her and Jackson. “Do it,” he said in a harsh whisper. Presenting her ass to Spey, Lanie knelt over Richard’s straining cock. The head was like a plum -- sweet, juicy flesh encased by purpling skin. Bobbling his heavy balls

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with one hand, she firmly wrapped her fingers around the rigid shaft. As she slowly began to pump it, relishing the feel of the tense veins beneath the satiny skin, she slipped her lips over the head. Jackson’s cockhead stole between her ass cheeks and slid up and down between them. Lanie could feel the condom he must have rolled onto his erection. It gave her a little nip of regret -- she preferred feeling flesh, not latex -- but at least he was a responsible lover. Trembling with anticipation, she held Richard’s cap snugly within her mouth. She plucked at its soft rim with her lips as she began sucking, first very lightly, then more forcefully, moving her hand with a complementary rhythm and strength. And then Jackson’s long cock buried itself inside her, inch by agonizing inch. He was taunting her with it. And he further taunted her with his hands, which moved masterfully over her hips, up her back, around to her chest. He palmed and massaged her hanging breasts, tweaked then twisted the distended nipples. With a series of loud, grating exhalations, Richard thrust his hips toward Lanie’s mouth and ejaculated. Tangy plumes of cream gusted onto her tongue and down her throat. She kept sucking, drawing more out of him, swallowing greedily as she felt her own body threaten to explode. Jackson deftly coaxed Lanie toward orgasm, stimulating her where she thought she’d already been maximally stimulated. Her breasts, on fire, seemed to melt into his hands. Her cunt clenched around his large cock as it probed and plunged, repeatedly grazing her G-spot. Her swollen clit throbbed beneath his persuasive fingers. And just as Richard’s cock began to slip from her grasp, Lanie’s body erupted into orgasm. Quaking, her limbs stiffened. Her eyes rolled up. She wanted to sink onto her haunches, but she didn’t want to let go of Jackson’s marvelous cock. Shock waves kept rolling through her, liquefying her nerves, muscles, bones. It couldn’t last forever. With a half-growl, half-yell, Jackson dug his fingers into Lanie’s hips and thrust as deeply as he could. She felt him convulsing at her back, felt

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the intense throbbing of his release. It spurred her into a second orgasm, briefer but almost painfully intense. It seemed her pulsations would turn her inside out. Reluctantly, it seemed, Jackson withdrew. Wilting and panting, Lanie let herself double over. She caught a glimpse of Jackson as he fell backward and rolled onto his side. Richard rubbed his sweat-misted face with his hands. “Now that,” he said with a limp chuckle, “could either get us all arrested or make us famous.” “What?” Jackson asked foggily. “Elevator cabs are often equipped with cameras.” Drunk on spent lust, they all began to titter.

Chapter Four They dressed in relative silence. Lanie and Richard exchanged a few shy glances accompanied by meaningful smiles. Will this lead anywhere? she wondered, trying to fend off any unrealistic hopes. And she realized the incident already had led somewhere -- to a bright, bold pride in her body and a renewed joy in sex. That alone was a big enough prize. Still… “Time to get out of here,” Jackson said, slicking the wayward hair back from his face. He looked at his fellow passengers. “Are you all right with that?” “Getting out of here isn’t up to us,” Lanie pointed out. Still, I would love to spend more time with Richard Sauter. “Well, that’s true.” Jackson hesitated before he spoke again. “But do you mind?” In a jumbled rush of recollection, Lanie thought of the elevator’s inexplicable breakdown following Jackson’s boarding, the mysteriously unbuttoning shirts, the “touchless” way he’d gone down on Richard. And she thought of Angelina’s cryptic statements. She stared at Jackson Spey. No, getting out of here isn’t up to us. It’s up to him. Verifying her assumption, Spey stepped up to the cab’s control panel and glided his long fingers over it. The buttons all lit up at once. Making a circle with thumb and forefinger, he framed the “G” button. It remained lit while the others went dark. With a pronounced shiver, as if shaking off sleep, the elevator hummed to life and began smoothly to descend. Frowning, obviously stunned, Richard lurched forward and grabbed Jackson’s arm. “Spey, how the hell…?” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Who are you? What are you?” Lanie honed her attention.

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Smiling serenely, Jackson leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “Me? Just a mere mortal with a few tricks up his sleeve.” Incomprehension was still etched into Richard’s face. “You’re… an illusionist of some sort? Like Criss Angel?” Jackson barked a single laugh. “Hardly.” He held out his arms. “Do I look like a performer?” Refolding his arms, he said nothing further. Lanie and Richard exchanged puzzled glances. Spey stared into some private middle distance. The elevator continued to float down toward street level. No one else got on. “Jackson, do you know a woman named Angelina Funmaker?” Lanie asked quietly. His lips immediately spread into a smile. His eyes, which seemed to sparkle with flakes of gold, shifted toward her. “We’re best friends. Have been for quite a while. She’s been worried about you, Alana.” His use of her given name startled Lanie more than his admission. No one had called her Alana in years. Gathering her wits, she glanced at Richard, whose confusion had only deepened. “Well, tell her she can stop worrying now.” Jackson’s smile broadened for an instant. “I’d intended to.” The elevator eased to a stop. They were in the lobby. But they shouldn’t have been. This elevator, or at least the one Lanie and Richard had originally boarded, rose through a more obscure corner of the building. As its doors opened, Richard braced one with his arm to keep it in place. He leaned toward Jackson. “You said you were a furniture builder.” “I am,” Spey said without guile. “Fuck, Richard,” he added with a chuckle, “even a wizard needs a day job.” He strode into the lobby. Near the Paquette’s front doors, he turned and called out, “Claim the magick!” Then, with a wave, he was gone.

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Dumbstruck, Lanie and Richard left the elevator. His hand found hers and held it. This was, Lanie thought, probably an unconscious gesture, but they were holding hands nonetheless… and she realized how very much she liked it. As they approached the bench encircling the fountain in the center of the lobby, Richard veered toward it, gently pulling Lanie along. He sank to the bench. Since he still held her hand, and since she had no desire to leave him, Lanie sat beside him. He rested their intertwined hands on his left thigh. After a moment of thoughtful silence, Richard turned his head to face her. “Well? Do you believe him?” Lanie smiled into his eyes. “Does it matter?” Letting the issue go, he lifted her hand and kissed it. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.” Smiling pensively, Richard studied her face for a moment, his lovely gaze washing over Lanie like balm. The bustle in the lobby receded. It was as if they were back in the elevator, just the two of them, happily stranded in midair. “Have you taken a vacation lately?” Richard asked softly. Lanie shook her head.

“Would you like to?”

Lanie hesitated, nodded.

“How does a rather large cabin on Lake Superior strike you?”

“As a dream come true,” Lanie said dreamily. “But are you sure --”

“I’m sure.” Richard’s expression gradually sobered as he continued to regard

her. “Dear God, you’re beautiful. You’re all woman. You look like a woman. You smell and taste like a woman. You make love like a woman.” Blushing, Lanie began to giggle. Richard chuckled in response. “Okay, I know I’m babbling like an idiot. And you’re probably thinking, ‘Shit, Rich, aren’t you the perceptive one? Tits and pussy don’t escape your notice’!” Lanie laughed more heartily. “No, that’s not what I was thinking. Honest.” She sniffled. Amusement and unadulterated happiness had brought tears to her eyes.

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Richard tenderly wiped the moisture from her cheeks. “Then what?” Lanie sighed. She couldn’t seem to stop looking at him. He’s all man. He looks and smells and tastes like a man. He makes love like… well, like something more and better than any man I’ve ever known. “I guess I was thinking that no compliment stated so lamely has ever made me feel so good.” Now Richard, tossing back his head, burst into laughter. “So you’d like to give it a go? Lame compliments and all?” “Yes, absolutely. I told you I’ve been infatuated with you for two months.” Richard shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know what I did to deserve that elevator ride, but I think it’s changed my life.” The declaration clutched at Lanie’s heart. Did they really have a chance? “What about Marla?” she asked with a tight throat. “Who?” Within seconds, Richard must have realized the subject carried some weight for Lanie. His playfulness gave way to sincerity. “Marla will make the perfect mate for another climber. But not for me. I’ve known that for seven of the eight months we’ve been seeing each other. She has about as much passion as a spreadsheet. I hate to admit it, but I suppose I was with her out of convenience. When your life is devoted to your work, it’s a lot easier to hook up with someone inside the office than outside the office.” He studied Lanie’s face, obviously gauging her reaction. “And what about you? How many guys do you have in the wings?” Lanie trailed her fingers over his sandy cheek. “Not a one.”

Richard’s eyes rounded. “Really? Why?”

“It’s too complicated to get into right now.”

“Then how about over dinner?”

“Come to think of it,” Lanie said, “I am famished.”

“Of course you are. You expended a lot of energy” -- Richard jerked a thumb

toward the floors above them -- “up there.” Grinning rakishly, he tilted toward Lanie’s ear. “And maybe later, I’ll get the opportunity to prove I can’t be outfucked by some magician.”

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Curling a forefinger beneath Lanie’s chin, he kissed her with a tender ardor that was even more moving than the passion he’d shown in the elevator. Lanie thought she would puddle up in his lap. What a rare gift, she thought, to have a fantasy come to life. Yup, this was definitely worth the risk. Smiling, Richard rose from the bench and extended his hand. “Come, my pearl, let’s go claim the magick.”

K.Z. Snow K.Z. Snow, a multi-published author, is an old hippie who writes all kinds of stuff. She has 2½ degrees in English and has worked as a teacher, sales promotion specialist, and editor. Although currently concentrating on erotic romance (paranormal, fantasy, and contemporary), K.Z. has also published more traditional romances, an urban fantasy, and a topical dystopian thriller. Other works are always in progress or waiting to be submitted. Her paranormal, Cemetery Dancer, was a 2008 EPPIE finalist. She’s also written under the names Kate Snow and K.A. Schuster. K.Z. lives in the oft-frozen tundra of Wisconsin with three significant others: two dogs and, alas, a man. For regularly updated news and views, and to sample excerpts and book covers, visit K.Z. at http://www.myspace.com/kzsnow or http://kzsnow.blogspot.com.