Dark Passions Read Free

known what was going to happen, because he started to writhe.
    â€œOh God, no.”
    The child inside her womb began to kick as she tickled his balls with my claw.
    â€œPlease, baby, no.”
    She ran me between his legs ...
    â€œNo! Stop! Nooo!”
    . . . and back between his cheeks.
    â€œAnd endangering our child is something you can’t live with,” she said. He screamed. The baby punched at her womb as if trying to escape. She jerked me forward so that my claw hooked on his balls and tore them from their home. Warm, wonderful blood spurted on me as the useless sacks fell away. The sticky wetness poured down my shaft and onto her hand.
    He continued screaming, but neither of us cared. Desire ruled us both. She lifted me high, bloody rivulets running down her arm. His skull caved under a stroke we’d perfected together, and I entered the soft gray matter beneath.
    His screaming stopped as suddenly as her orgasm exploded upon us.
    â€œOnly we exist,” she gasped, breathless, her hand resting gently above our child.

M ood Eleva tor
    David Benton
and
W. D. Gagliani
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    T he brownstone’s exterior was classic, if a bit tarnished, but from the moment Susan and her husband entered the lobby, she didn’t mind at all. Each of the five floors had been split into two apartments sometime in the past forty years, but it didn’t matter because, even so, now they would have more Manhattan space than any three of their friends combined. The rent was steep, of course, but now that Artie booked regular gigs both with his band and as a solo act in Village coffeehouses, and her own salary had recently risen to a more comfortable level, they would make it.
    Susan sighed as they waited in front of the elevator for the building manager to show them around. He was late, which didn’t inspire much confidence in his managerial skills.
    She pondered their situation. Sure, she wasn’t burning up the advertising-business ladder or anything like that, but her boss at the agency had taken a liking to her, spotting her talent and nurturing her past several peers. Well, true, Susan had taken to wearing tight sweaters and short skirts, often made of supple black leather, but that was her style, and she was finally able to afford it. And if she tended to leave a few of the top buttons undone on her blouses, that was because the office was always boiling hot, wasn’t it? The lacy black bras she sometimes wore under those light blouses were just as much an advantage with clients as they were with Harrison Stims, her boss, whose ad agency had developed a reputation for quick and innovative work. Susan was part of that reputation, and she was proud to have her hard work rewarded with more money and a better office, right next to Harrison’s. Thanks to her advancement, this apartment wasn’t out of their reach anymore.
    She took Artie’s hand in hers and squeezed it, raising her eyebrows and hoping to turn his perpetual frown into something like a smile.
    â€œYou should be happy,” she whispered. His rough hand in hers didn’t respond to the pressure. “This is a great place.”
    â€œWe can’t afford it,” he said. “We’re going to have to stop eating out. And we don’t cook.”
    â€œI’ll take cooking lessons.”
    â€œSure. Right.”
    â€œWe’ll manage. My star’s rising at Stims, so it’ll get even better.”
    â€œYeah, I know.”
    â€œYou’ll get more gigs.”
    Artie frowned. They both knew he could gig more if he was willing to join a cover band. He wasn’t.
    Susan shook her head. He just didn’t get it.
    There was no going back to their old studio walk-up, where you could sit on the pot and make yourself coffee at the same time. Where the heat was more clanging sounds from the registers than actual hot air. Where their friends had to visit in stages because there was only room