The MILF Files - Alana Church - ebook
Opis

Who loves MILFs? We all do! And what's better than one MILF? Four! For the first time, Alana Church offers four of her hottest MILF stories in one sexy anthology! Horny soccer moms learn about love. A peeping tom gets what's coming to him. A teenage daughter shares her boyfriend with her mother, and a shoplifter learns that punishment can be sweet! Dive into "The MILF Files!" ~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~ Valerie slid her hands up his legs, leaving a trail of oil behind. As she massaged his upper thighs, she bent low, her breath starting to come quick in her chest. Now or never. "Spread your legs a little for me, honey," she said. "Hmmm?" His sleepy mumble was confused, but he obeyed her. She dropped her head, her face closer and closer to the cleft of his buttocks. She smiled, seeing what she had hoped for. She breathed on his skin. Then, before he could react, she opened her mouth wide and licked the inside of his thigh. "Christ!" Tom yelped, and flinched violently. "Valer...Mrs. Summers, what the hell are you doing?" "What does it look like, Tom?" she replied, completely unperturbed. Sandra had warned him this would be the crucial moment. "I'm trying to seduce you. You're young, good-looking, smart, funny...and you're certainly capable," she finished, looking at his manhood with a certain lecherous glee. "I am also," he snapped, covering his crotch with hands, "dating your daughter. Who I am in love with. I am not going to lose what I have with her just because you're looking for some young meat." "Oh, don't be so melodramatic," she replied, peeling off her shirt. She tossed it aside, smirking as Tom's best efforts couldn't keep his eyes off her breasts. She cupped one of her mounds in one hand, weighing it thoughtfully. "Do you think I'd do something like this without her knowing? How many times has she told you, Tom? We share everything. And now we want to share you."

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The MILF Files

By Alana Church

Artwork by Moira Nelligar

Copyright 2018 Alana Church

~~ All characters in this book are over 18. ~~

Soccer MILF

“Oh, Sweet Jesus, would you look at that one?”

“Ow!” exclaimed Karen Miller. With an effort, she pried her best friend's hand off her arm, shaking it gingerly. “Damn it, Tonya, you're going to give me bruises if you keep that up.”

Tonya Jackson leaned back in her camp chair and laughed throatily. “Girl, you got to relax. And keep an eye on all this fresh meat.” She nodded at the young man refereeing the soccer game they were half-watching. “Have you ever seen a better ass in your life?”

Karen frowned at Tonya's coarse language. “Yes. On my husband.”

“Bullshit. That white boy's butt is better than Troy's ever was. And I should know. I saw it often enough when we were all living together back in school.”

“Shhh!” Karen looked around nervously, but everyone else at the soccer field seemed to be concentrating on the game. Which was, as far as Karen was concerned, an exercise in futility. The twenty-odd children, all around five and six years old, moved up and down the field in what could only be described as a kind of huddled clump. Dozens of feet all kicked at the ball at the same time, with the result that the ball never really went anywhere. Occasionally it would break loose, and a small child would go hurtling down the field in pursuit, trailed by the eager yells of his or her parents. But before she could reach the goal, she would inevitably trip over her own feet, or get caught by members of the opposing team, and the whole tedious process would start over again. In four games so far, Karen had witnessed a grand total of two goals, both the result of the goalie falling down, which had allowed the soccer ball to somehow dribble over the goal line.

“Come on, Karen. Admit it. You need a man. Weren't you telling me last week that Troy has barely touched you since Brittany was born?”

Karen flushed under her friend's shrewd gaze, regretting the two glasses of wine at the Mexican restaurant which had prompted the confession.

But it was true. She and Troy had been like a pair of jackrabbits all through her last two years of college. Once they were married and started their careers, she had thrown out her birth control without a second thought. It had been only a matter of weeks before she was pregnant with Brittany, much to Troy's barely-disguised dismay. But after her darling, blond-haired daughter was born, Troy's sexual appetite where she was concerned had wavered between lukewarm and nonexistent. True, it had taken her some time before she had shed the pounds she had gained while she was pregnant with his daughter. But with a healthy diet and good exercise, she was back at her college weight. The stretch-marks on her belly, thanks to her exercise regimen, had all but completely vanished. And her breasts were as full and firm as they had been before Brittany was born.

Tonya was no dummy. The dark-skinned woman caught both her flush, and the reasons behind it. Her voice gentled, losing some of the tough-girl attitude she loved to project, a remnant of the girl who had clawed her way out of the projects in Chicago to become one of the top assistant district attorneys in Illinois. “Karen, I know it's hard. But you're going to have to make a choice sooner or later. If your man don't treat you right, then you need another man.

“How long has it been?”

“Two months.” The quiet admission escaped her lips before she had a chance to control it.

Tonya's jaw fell open in disbelief. “Looking the way you do? What the fuck is wrong with that boy? Back when we were all in school, he couldn't keep his pecker in his pants for more than two minutes.” She scowled as a thought struck her. “Or is he getting some action on the side? I know I've caught him looking at me once or twice. If you think he is, Karen, you just let me know. I know a couple of divorce lawyers who will skin him so fine there won't be nothing left of him but a pile of damn bones.”

Karen grimaced. If Troy had checked out her lushly rounded, dark-skinned friend, she couldn't entirely blame him. But she didn't feel like discussing the minutia of her love life where anyone could hear her. “Just drop it for now, Tonya, okay? I don't want to think about it. Yes, my husband barely touches me in bed. No, I don't know if he's having an affair. Yes, I still care for him. Yes, he works long hours. But so do I. And that's no sin. No, I'm not looking for another man.” A long pause. “Yet.”

Her friend looked like she wanted to press the issue, but instead sighed and nodded grudgingly. The set of her jaw, however, told Karen she wouldn't be able to put off the subject indefinitely.

And I don't want to. Not really. She had suspected for months that her marriage was foundering. Whether it was due to infidelity on the part of her husband, or the slow unraveling of a relationship founded on little more than mutual attraction and good sex was yet to be decided. Perhaps Troy was simply the wrong man for her, and she was finding it out six years too late.

Better late than never, though.

Suddenly a small form broke free from the scrum which had formed around the west goal. As Karen watched, dumbfounded, a little girl, pigtails trailing behind her in the October breeze, dashed up to the ball, planted her left foot firmly, and booted it past the frozen goalkeeper. In two bounding hops, it reached the back of the net, and the referee Tonya had been not-so-secretly lusting after blew his whistle and raised his right hand, signaling a goal.

“Whooooo!!!” Both Karen and Tonya rose to their feet, cheering lustily. As Karen's daughter raised her hands triumphantly, Karen threw her a high sign, which Brittany returned with a gap-toothed grin.

“Now, all we need to do is get a goal for Marcus,” Tonya said, referring to her own son, who was on the same team as Brittany, “and this day will be a complete success. Aside,” she added with a sly smile, “from the need to get my best girl laid.”

“God, give it a rest, will you? Aren't you a married woman?”

“That, my dear, has nothing to do with it. If you find yourself the right man, like I did, you find out that the longer you're together, the hotter it gets. Not the opposite.”

*****

This isn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be, Bobby Verduzco thought.

To tell the truth, the idea had seemed like a good one at the time. Earn a little extra money during the weekends, and not have to do anything more difficult than jog around a soccer field, making sure that a bunch of grade-school kids didn't give each other concussions or try to stop a soccer ball with their faces. He had played soccer in high school. It shouldn't be too hard, right?

But nothing had prepared him for the experience of being a referee in a youth soccer league. The kids had galloped up and down the field without the slightest regard for teamwork, cooperation, or even the basic rules of the game. His attempts to impose some sort of order had been futile, and not looked on with approval from the parents who parked their minivans and traipsed to the fields, loaded down with boxes of orange slices and juice. All they seemed to want was for the game to go by quickly with a minimum of interruptions.

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” he had asked his best friend, Darren Solchak, who had been responsible for convincing him to do this in the first place. It was at halftime of his first game, and he had been trying to get his head around things.

“Don't try too hard, and check out all the hot moms,” Darren had replied with a grin. “No one gives a shit about the rules, man. None of the kids know them yet, and none of the adults care. They're just here so someone else can be responsible for their kids for an hour or so and they can have a grown-up conversation. If they could, they'd bring alcohol and get completely fucking smashed. Look at them.” He gestured to an attractive pair of women in portable chairs, their heads close together. “Do you actually think they give a crap about who wins? Or if someone is offside?”

“No, not really,” he had replied slowly.

“Then relax, man. If there's no fights, no one gets hurt, and the game starts and ends on time, you'll do fine. And while you're doing that, you're out in the fresh air and sunshine, instead of stuck moping around inside your apartment.”

“I haven't been moping.”

“Yes, you have. When was the last time you went out?”

“That's not the point.”

“Then what is the point? Ever since you and Morticia broke up, you've been acting like someone ran over your dog.”

“Her name,” he bit out slowly, “is Alyssa.”

“Right. And she broke up with you. Which should do her emo, goth-girl attitude no end of good.

“Give it up, Bobby.” He had looked up, startled. His best friend's voice was unexpectedly serious. “She wasn't any good for you anyway. All she did was make you miserable with her on-again, off-again bullshit. If you had hung around much longer, you'd have dyed your hair black and started listening to The Cure.”

He had snickered, then broke into a full laugh. “All right. I'll try to cheer up.”

*****

Three weeks later, he had found that he was actually enjoying himself and looking forward to Saturday mornings. Some of the parents were a little more competitive than he liked, and yelled furious instructions at their kids from the sidelines. But most of the kids seemed to be content to merely be running around on the field. Wisely, he had asked to be assigned to the younger age groups. The more talented kids, the ones whose parents signed them up for traveling teams and actually looked like they knew what they were doing, were all on the older teams.

He grinned as a blonde-haired girl managed to break loose from the pig-pile that most of these games inevitably devolved into and scored a goal. She hopped up and down in delight, her pigtails bouncing against her back. Raucous yells caught his ears, and as he blew his whistle to stop play, he saw two women cheering from the sidelines. One was black, with a full figure. The other, obviously the girl's mother, was tall and slender, with honey-blonde hair that poured down her back and a high, firm bust that her baggy sweatshirt did little to conceal. He stared for a moment in frank appreciation, then turned his attention back to the game.

“All right,” he said, clapping his hands. “Let's have the ball back.” The disconsolate goalie tossed him the white and black sphere, and he walked back to the center of the field. “Any substitutions?” he asked the coaches. Several children zipped onto the field, replacing panting boys and girls. “Okay,” he continued, looking at his stopwatch. “We've got twenty minutes left in the game. Blue team, you get the ball.

“Go,” he said loudly, then tweeted his whistle again.

*****

“Mommy! I scored a goal. Did you see?” Brittany exclaimed.

Karen bent to give her a hug. “I sure did, sweetie. You were awesome! Fist bump!” She tapped her closed fist against her daughter's as they both grinned.

“Way to go, Brittany,” Tonya said, giving her a high five. “Marcus, did you tell Brittany what a good job she did?”

Her son grunted, but was too observed in thirstily sucking down his carton of juice to pay more attention.

“Well, we better go,” Tonya said. “Marcus has a birthday party to go to on the other side of town. She checked her watch. “Christ. We've got barely an hour to go home, clean up, change, and drive over.”

“All right,” Karen said regretfully. She loved the time she got to spend with her friend. They had been inseparable in college, where they had met on the second day of classes. Her lips quirked as she remembered how the tough, no-nonsense girl from the inner city and the scared kid from small-town Rantoul had met in a biology class at Eastern Illinois University.

And the chance for a conversation which didn't revolve around cartoons or which Walt Disney princess Brittany was going to be for Halloween was not to be missed, either.

“You're still going to come to Donna's baby shower next week, right?”

“Wouldn't miss it for the world,” she said, catching her up in a hug. “Marcus, what do you think? Are you going to get a girl cousin or a boy cousin?”

“Boy cousin,” he said around a mouthful of graham crackers. “Girls are gross.”

“Are not!” Brittany said loudly.

The two mothers traded long-suffering looks. “I'll see you next weekend, babe. Take care.”

“You too.”

“Mommy?” Brittany asked, her voice wheedling, as Tonya and Marcus walked away towards the parking lot.

“Yes, honey?”

“Can we get some ice cream, since I made a goal?”

“Welll....” she drew out the word, teasing her daughter, as Brittany shifted from foot to foot anxiously. “I suppose. It's not every day that my baby girl scores.”

It's not every day that her mother scores either, unfortunately.

*****

I could get used to this.

Bobby tossed the ball into the bin in the equipment shed behind the concession stand, then closed and locked the door, grateful that soccer games, by their very nature, didn't require much equipment. Around the park, games were ending. Parents gathered their children, herding them into their cars, ready for the next activity or errand. Either going back home, or off on shopping trips, or out to eat.

Darren was right, he admitted. Ever since Alyssa had broken up with him, he had been moody and antisocial. In fact, he had been moody and antisocial before the breakup. Alyssa, with her volcanic temper and mercurial changes of mood, had kept him bouncing like a yo-yo. One day she would be cheerful and bubbly and ready to hop into bed at the drop of a hat. The next she would be sullen, withdrawn, and apt to bite his head off if he even tried to touch her.

The constant strain had slowly affected his relationships with all his friends, until they were avoiding him out of simple self-preservation. No one wanted to hang out with a guy who was constantly whining about his girlfriend and wondering where it was all going to lead.

Probably a good thing she broke up with me, he finally admitted to himself, and felt a load lift from his mind. In fact-

His thoughts cut off as a piercing scream rang through the early fall air.

*****

It all happened so fast.

One second, she and Brittany were weaving their way through knots of children, nearing the concession stand. Then a child darted in front of her. In an effort to avoid trampling her, she stopped short, then was clipped from the side by a large man carrying a cooler. Before she could regain her balance, she was knocked headfirst into the metal stanchion which supported the roof of the small building.

Pain blasted through her skull as she sprawled on the dusty ground. Dazedly, she sat up, holding her forehead. Brittany's anxious face was blurry in front of her watering eyes.

“Are you all right, Mommy?”

“Ow,” she replied. “I think so. Let me just...” her palm felt sticky, and she blinked at it in confusion. How had she got such a bad sunburn? And on her hand? That didn't make any sense.

Not a sunburn. Blood. Some portion of her brain was still capable of thought. It dripped into her eyes from the cut on her forehead, blurring her vision.

That's when Brittany began to scream; harsh, scared cries that had people looking around.

“Excuse me. Do you need some help?”

The calm voice cut across Brittany's cries. Karen blinked up at the young man in front of her. He was wearing a referee's shirt and had a whistle around his neck. Through the throbbing agony in her head, she thought she recognized him from the game.

“Yeah. I think I do.”

She held out her hand as evidence, and his eyes widened, though he was careful to keep his voice low and even. “Wow. You did yourself some damage there. Hold on and I'll get you something. Can you stay here with your Mommy?” he asked Brittany. The little girl nodded, her eyes wide, though his steady demeanor had pushed back some of her panic. Relieved that the scene in front of them was Someone Else's Problem, the gathering crowd began to scatter.

More quickly than she would have guessed, he was back with a wad of damp napkins and a plastic bag filled with ice. Working carefully, he cleaned the blood away from the cut, then gave her the bag. With a groan, she settled it on her head, gratefully wincing as the chill dulled the pain.

“Your mommy's very brave,” he said to Brittany. “I know a lot of people who would be crying if they had hurt themselves like that.”

“Mommy never cries,” Brittany said proudly. “Not even when her and Daddy fight.”

Oh, crap, Karen thought woozily. Has Brittany heard Troy and me arguing? I thought she was asleep. Her pent-up frustration had come to a head several nights ago, and they had argued, their voices low and vicious with anger. She had accused him of infidelity. He hadn't denied it, but had accused her of not being grateful for the lifestyle he gave her.

What he gives me? Hah! I make more working from home than he ever has at the office. Troy had mocked her idea of starting her own business during those last few months before Brittany was born, when she had been practically bed-bound due to complications with her pregnancy. But she had put her graphic design degree to good use, designing covers for e-book authors and helping put up websites for aspiring entrepreneurs who had good ideas but little in the way of real computer skills. When Brittany had been born, she decided to keep up the home business rather than go back to her old job. With a little creative negotiating, mostly tied to getting a percentage of revenue from future profits rather than a flat fee, her income had skyrocketed in the last three or four years. It had come as quite a surprise to her that she was almost - not quite, but almost - financially independent.

Plus, it let me stay home with Brittany when she was a baby. And she would not have traded that experience for anything in the wide green world.

She blinked as she realized the young man in front of her had just asked her a question. “Excuse me?”

“I asked if your husband was here to give you a ride home.” He frowned. “Or maybe to the hospital. Head wounds are messy, and that's still bleeding more than I'd like.”

“He's in Boston,” she said. Or was it Baton Rouge this week? Troy was still laboring as a lower-level drudge at his investment firm, still chasing that elusive 'big deal' which would result in a promotion and the acceptance he craved.

“Do you have anyone who can come pick you up?”

She shook her head, and instantly regretted it, as the motion caused another spike of pain to spear through her skull. Tonya would come, she was sure. But the woman worked so hard and had so little free time she wasn't going to interrupt one of her few days off just because she had been clumsy.

“All right then.” The young man, whose name, she realized, she still didn't know, rose to his feet, dusting off his hands. For a frightening moment Karen thought he was going to leave her alone, sitting on the ground with a melting bag of ice clutched in one hand. Then he extended an arm and helped her to her feet. “I guess I'm going to have to take care of you. Give me your keys and show me where your car is. I'll drive.”

*****

“Nice car,” Bobby said as he carefully guided her car through the early-afternoon traffic.

“Thanks.” The woman's eyes were closed, and she still held his makeshift icepack to her head. She leaned back in the leather seat. In the rear of the car, her daughter sat in her child-seat and watched the two adults with wide eyes.

“So, what's your name, anyway?” Her voice was tired and laced with pain.

He blinked, and then smiled sheepishly. “I'm Robert Verduzco. My friends call me Bobby. You?”

“Karen Miller.”

“And you, sweetheart?” He glanced in the rear-view mirror to where the little girl was sitting quietly.

“I'm Brittany.” She smiled shyly.

“Hello, Brittany.” She's going to be as beautiful as her mother when she grows up, he thought. He was about to say so, then caught himself.

The woman doesn't know you and she's hurt. The last thing she needs is for you to seem creepy. He'd had enough warnings from his academic advisers where small children were concerned to keep his mouth closed.

Karen cracked open an eye and glanced out the window as he turned onto the expressway. “Where are we going? This isn't the way to my house.” She turned to him, scowling. In the back, Brittany stirred uneasily.

“I'm taking you to the hospital.”

She struggled to a more vertical position. “I don't need to go to the hospital. It's just a cut on the head.”

“Hmmm.” He paused, trying to frame his words politely. “Your husband is out of town. Your little girl can't take care of you. If you have a concussion or pass out, what are you going to do?”

Karen paused, her mouth open, then subsided reluctantly. Her head hurt too much for her to argue. And she suspected that her judgment wasn't at its best, anyway.

*****

At Adventist Hospital in Bolingbrook, Bobby stuck to Karen like a burr as she showed her head injury to the duly impressed duty nurse. In minutes, she had whisked them all to a small examination room with books for Brittany to look at and a bed for Karen to lie down on. To Bobby's surprise, no one had asked him to identify himself.

When he mentioned that fact to Karen, she merely smiled wearily. “They probably think you're my husband.”

Bobby swallowed nervously. Karen was lying flat on the thin cot, her lean, tag legs stretched out in front of her. Her sweatshirt had pulled up, and a horizontal stripe of her flat belly could be seen. Despite her prone position, her breasts tented the garment impressively. Inside his shorts, his cock twitched. It had been weeks since he and Alyssa had broken up, and his body was reminding him of the fact.

To disguise his sudden spasm of desire, he turned his attention to her daughter. “What are you reading there, Brittany?”

She held up a book for him to see. “Oh, I know this one,” he smiled. “Would you like to sit up here with me and read it together?”

She nodded, and he helped her up into one of the hard plastic chairs that leaned against the wall. Together, they read “Someday,” the story a mother tells her baby girl about the rest of her life.

When they finished, Karen was smiling at him. He smiled crookedly back. “You're good with kids,” she said quietly, as Brittany scrambled down to look for another book.

“I hope so,” he returned. “It's going to be my job.”

She was about to reply when the door opened and a small, dark-haired woman walked in, followed by a nurse with a cart. She had long black hair, a beautifully curved figure, and seemed to be about four months pregnant. The nametag on her white coat read, 'Dr. Yasna Marafi.'

“Well, what do we have here?” she asked rhetorically, looking down at her computer pad. “A bump on the head, it seems?”

Karen nodded, then winced. Under the doctor's probing questions, she carefully described what had happened. Early in the conversation, Bobby caught the doctor giving him a suspicious look or two. But as things went on, her glances turned into something much more approving.

“Well, I'm glad you found someone to bring you here, Miss Chandler-”

“It's Mrs. Miller,” Karen corrected firmly. Despite the pounding in her head, her brow wrinkled in confusion. How on earth did this woman know her maiden name? She was sure she had filled out the paperwork correctly. And besides, it wasn't her first time in this hospital. Brittany had entered the world in this very building. Didn't they have her records on file?

“Is it?” The woman's eyes went opaque, as if she was seeing something the rest of them didn't. “Very well. Regardless, it would have been very dangerous for you to drive yourself somewhere on your own. Now let's have a look at you.” She peeled away the now-lukewarm bag and gave an impressed whistle. “Wow. That is one big lump on your head. Your mommy is going to look like she has a goose egg under her skin,” she said to Brittany, who giggled. She removed a penlight from her pocket and shined it in her eyes. Quickly she ran Karen through a bevy of tests. The blond-haired woman denied feeling nauseous or light-headed, but winced when asked to turn her head from side to side.

“Well, Mrs. Miller, you have a slight concussion. And that cut on your scalp will need a couple of stitches.” She removed a syringe from the cart. “I'll give you a shot to numb the pain, then I'll sew you up. And I'll write a prescription for some painkillers. You're going to need them over the next few days. Do you have someone who can look in on you?”

“My husband will be home later today.”

“Your husband. Of course,” she said blankly, then shook her head, as if she was dispelling an errant thought. She pursed her lips. “But I'm sure he'll have to be back at work next week. You should have someone you can check in with during the daytime while your little girl is at school. Or who can check in with you. Perhaps this nice young man who drove you here?”

Bobby flushed as he suddenly found himself under the gaze of two women and a five year-old. “Well, sure, I guess,” he began hesitantly. “But I've got school. And work.”

“Really? Where do you go to school?” the doctor asked him, cleaning Karen's scalp and picking up a curving suture needle. “I'm going to fix your mommy's head,” she said in an aside to Brittany, who was looking on with undisguised interest.

“Kendall College,” he replied.

“The culinary school? The daughter of one of my-” she caught herself suddenly. “The daughter of a friend of mine is in it.”

“No,” he said with a laugh. “The childhood education program. I want to be a teacher.”

He'll be good at it, Karen thought. She closed her eyes as Doctor Marafi leaned overhead. Perhaps in an effort to preserve her balance, she rested one hand on Karen's stomach. Her fingers were feverishly warm, but somehow soothing at the same time, and she felt a knot of tension in her stomach slowly loosen.

Thanks to the anesthetic, the needle was no more than a gentle tug on her skin. Her heart had warmed as Brittany and Bobby had leaned over the book together, her blond head contrasting with his dark one. It was strange that this young man was giving her more attention than her father did during his increasingly-infrequent stays at home. He'll be one of those teachers that kids adore and remember for years after they leave the classroom. She thought back to some of the ones of her youth. Miss Bradney, her own kindergarten teacher. Mrs. Ezard. Miss Thaxton, killed in a housefire far too young...

He's damn good-looking, too. The thought crossed her mind unbidden. Despite his obvious nervousness around her, Bobby glowed with good health and youthful vitality. His dark blue eyes were clear and bright, he sat up straight in his chair, rather than hunched over in a lazy slouch, and the muscles of his arms and legs were clearly defined. She suppressed a sudden urge to peel off his shirt and see if he had the six-pack abs she suspected he was hiding.

Down, girl. He can't be much more than twenty-one. If that.

Well, why not? And it's not like I've got a foot in the grave, or would be robbing the cradle. I'm probably only six or seven years older than he is. Thirty is still nearly two years away.

“All done,” the doctor said briskly, interrupting her thoughts. With deft movements, she placed a large bandage across her head. “Leave that on for two or three days. I had to put in three stitches. Those can come out in a week, unless there are any complications. You can make an appointment at the front desk.

“Mr. Verduzco, can you speak to me for a moment outside, while Mrs...Miller and her daughter get ready to go? If you're going to be checking in on her, there are some things I need you to look out for.”

“You should probably write them down for my husband as well,” put in Karen.

For the first time, the doctor looked vaguely irritated, as if Karen was asking her to do unnecessary work. A faint frown line marred her mocha-colored brow. “Of course. Mr. Verduzco?” She gestured towards the door, letting him exit in front of her.

*****

“First of all, Mr. Verduzco-”

“Call me Bobby, please.”

“Bobby, then. I'd like to thank you for bringing Karen in. Most people would have just let her fend for herself. With her injury, it would have been very easy for her to get into a traffic accident on the way home, and who knows what would have happened.”

Bobby nodded. “That's what I was afraid of.”

“Well, here's a leaflet about concussions,” she said, handing him a flier. Their hands touched briefly. Hers, he thought, felt strangely warm. “If you see any of the signs described inside, don't hesitate to give me a call. Here's my card, as well.”

She smiled at him, and he was struck by how the simple expression transformed her face from simply pleasant to completely gorgeous. He opened his mouth to say something, he didn't know what, but then the door to the room opened and Karen came out, with Brittany holding her hand.

“Home again, home again jiggety-jig,” Brittany chanted in a high, clear voice.

“Home again, home again, with a fat pig.” Bobby completed the rhyme.

Karen stuck out her tongue. “Who are you calling fat? Thank you, doctor,” she said to Yasna, then started down the hall towards the exit.

*****

~That was well done, beloved.~

Yasna smiled as she watched the three people walk away. Her wife's voice in her head was like a mental caress. I thought so. Did either of them suspect anything?

~No. You slipped up when you used Karen's maiden name, but she was too groggy to make a big deal about it. And neither of them saw what you did before you left the room.~ Her mental voice deepened with wicked amusement. ~You naughty child. But that boy needs a good woman, not the harridan he was stuck with. And Karen is so full of repressed desire she is about to snap. If those two spend a little more time together...~ she trailed off suggestively.

Yasna's eyes twinkled mischievously. It had been the work of a moment to slip her hand under the waistband of her scrubs while her back was turned and Bobby was leaving the room. A surreptitious dip of her fingers into the folds of her pussy, and she had gathered enough of her womanly dew to use on Bobby when she touched his hand. The young man would find his libido increasing. And she and Althea both knew who that desire would be best focused on.

She was still growing used to the power that being pregnant with the child of a succubus had conferred on her. Normally the succubi, and their brothers the incubi, were the only ones who could influence sexual desire through their bodily fluids. But ever since she had conceived Althea's child, she had found her own body undergoing strange changes. Somehow she was becoming psychically aware of the romantic urges of others. And even more bizarrely, she could see which people were right for each other, and which were not.

Her co-wife Rachel had been invaluable during the last few months. As a woman who had once hosted Althea's consciousness before they had returned her to her body, she had been able to calm Yasna down when her newly-forged love for the immortal succubus had threatened to shatter under the weight of her panic.

What are you doing now, my love?

Her wife's voice was dark and rich with sensual pleasure. ~I'm in bed with Alex and Maria. She's sitting on my face, and he's just about to bury his cock in my cunt. And in about ten seconds, I'm going to slide my tail up his ass. He finally told me he's ready for it.~

Wicked tramp. And how's my baby daughter?

~Happy and healthy and sleeping in my belly, just like the little boy of mine you have growing inside yours.~ If it were possible for a voice to sound smug, tender, and aroused at the same time, Althea's achieved it. ~But I've got to go now. Alex and Maria deserve my attention. I love you.~

I love you, too.

With a mental wave of love, desire, and a promise of what was to happen between them in bed that evening, Althea parted the connection. Her steps quick and light, Dr. Yasna Marafi walked away, intent on her duties, praising Allah with every step that she had somehow come to love a succubus and the family who had taken her in.

And to be loved, in return.

*****

“So where do you live, anyway?” Bobby asked, guiding the car carefully out of the parking lot. He didn't want to think what the repair bill would be on a brand-new Lexus if he managed to ding it.

“Near Janes and Cambridge.”

“Seriously?” Bobby turned to stare at Karen in disbelief, then concentrated on the road. “I'm only a few blocks away from there. I live in the apartment complex over on Newport. Well,” he continued, “at least it'll be easy to check up on you. I can just walk over before I leave for class in the mornings.”

“You don't have to go to all that trouble,” Karen protested weakly.

He shook his head. “Yes, I do.” He raised a finger warningly as she began to say something. “I take my responsibilities seriously, Mrs. Miller. Since Dr. Marafi told me to look in on you, that's exactly what I'm going to do.”

She blinked. “All right then. But you're going to have to call me Karen.” She put on a stoner voice, borrowed from 'Finding Nemo.' “Like, Mrs. Miller is my mother-in-law, man.”

The young man laughed, his habitually serious face lightening in amusement. “All right. Karen.”

The trip back up to Woodridge was a quiet one. Glancing into the back seat, Karen could see that Brittany was napping, lulled asleep by the drone of the engine.

“I wish I could do that,” Bobby commented. “Fall asleep whenever I need to.”

“Me, too. When I was in school I could sleep until noon and stay up all night. Now I turn into a pumpkin around ten o'clock.”

Bobby smiled, then turned into the residential area where she and Troy and Brittany lived. He slowed down, looking for her house. “Um, were you expecting company?”

“What?” She caught his glance and her eyes widened in confusion. The street in front of their modest one-story ranch house was packed with cars. A police cruiser took up most of the driveway. Several people in suits milled around the front yard, reminding Karen of a herd of sheep.

Bobby parked the car, neatly boxing in the cop car in the process. Karen thought quickly, then exited the car. Not glancing at the mob of people facing her, she opened the rear door and quickly undid her sleeping child's seatbelt, then lifted her onto her shoulder, where she murmured muzzily. Turning to the crowd, she swept them all with a forbidding frown.

“What's all this?” she asked, keeping her voice low, so as not to disturb Brittany. Bobby was a solid, reassuring presence at her side.

An older woman stepped forward. Karen recognized her at once as Georgia Forsythe, who ran Troy's department at work. He had taken pains to introduce them at every holiday party or company function he had dragged her to over the past six years.

“Hello, Karen,” she said. Her voice seemed uneasy. “There's...there's no easy way to ask this question. Do you know where Troy is?”

“No. He was supposed to be back from his trip to...where was it, Buffalo, right? He was supposed to be back from Buffalo this afternoon.”

“Has he called you today? Or in the past few days?”

“We spoke Wednesday night.” It had been a feeble attempt at a reconciliation, brought on by guilt about their fight. Troy had been brusque and distracted on the call, which had ended after only a few minutes. “But not since then. I've had my phone off all day. I was at Brittany's soccer game and didn't want any distractions.”

Georgia's look was shrewd but not unkind. “And how did you get that?” she asked, her eyes flicking to her bandaged forehead.

“I got knocked into a post after the soccer game. I've been at the hospital for the last couple of hours.”

A police officer who had been hovering in the background shouldered forwards. “So it wasn't your boyfriend here who roughed you up?” He sounded disappointed. Then he grinned unpleasantly. “Oh, I get it. Your husband found out you were sleeping around on him and did this himself, right?”

Karen felt her face grow stiff with outrage. Beside her, Bobby was white with anger. “I don't know who you are, or why you're here.” Her voice was quiet, but the cop backed up a step in the face of her fury. “But you will not