Glory Box

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Smut in the City Anthology

Smut in the City

Sultry, smouldering sex in the city is the theme of this erotic anthology, edited by Victoria Blisse and Lucy Felthouse.

From the stifling heat of the London Underground to the crumbling walls of Rome’s Colosseum, Smut in the City has it all. Whatever your interpretation of sultry urban sex, there’s something nestling between the covers for you. Lusty couples, horny office workers, hunky bakers and gardeners, tourists and the Mafia are portrayed for your titillation in this exciting collection of stories from erotica’s finest authors.

‘Glory Box’

Elena looks out over the crowd and sees him. Every night, he sits at the same table and though they’ve never spoken, tonight she invites him to come to her. Tonight, she’ll take a chance. Tonight, she’ll stop playing, and maybe it will last for more than a night.


Contemporary Erotic Romance
ISBN 9781782342205

House of Erotica | Barnes & Noble |
ISBN 9781782342205

House of Erotica | Barnes & Noble |
Amazon | Audible | Apple Books



~ Excerpt ~

Slowly, seductively, Elena swayed her hips as the band started to play. Music snaked around her—slow, heavy drums, the pound and thrum of the bass, and a melody made of guitars tripped over her skin. Allowing her head to loll, she looked over the crowd, and then she saw him.

Her heart stopped. Silence rushed to surround her, and it was only she and him in all the room, the rest of the audience forgotten as she met his gaze with hers.

Excitement filled her. He had come.

Just as quick, she severed the feeling. Of course he had come. Not an evening had passed when he wasn’t at his table, an amber kind of alcohol in his hand and his legs sprawled before him. He wore his usual clothing—black suit, black tie, suspenders holding his trousers rather than a belt—but his shoulders glistened, the cold and wet of Melbourne lingering upon him. Dark hair fell over his forehead, and as she always did, she wished she knew the colour of the eyes that watched her from under dark, slashing brows. His fingers held his glass loosely as he propped his elbow on the back of the chair, the red light of the candle throwing the planes of his face into harshness.

For over half a year, he’d been coming to the club. She didn’t know his name, but every night when she looked out over the crowd, he was there. They’d never spoken, never even approached the other, and yet it had become so she depended upon the sight of him, that each evening she sought confirmation of his presence and couldn’t fully relax until assured he was there, watching her from behind his table.

Throwing her shoulders back, she levelled her gaze upon him and offered him a smile. The corner of his mouth lifted in acknowledgement of her regard, and a crazy exultation skipped through her. Fingers sliding up the microphone stand, she pulled it closer and his expression turned pained, his hand clutching the glass.

Her smile widened.

Music swelled. Knowing he watched her, feeling his gaze like a caress, Elena closed her eyes and sang

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