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Fools Rush In

by Elizabeth Schechter

Fools Rush In - Elizabeth Schechter
Editions:Kindle: $ 1.99
Pages: 24

Davi is the world’s greatest thief. Just ask him, and he will provide hours of tales as proof. So, naturally, when another thief boasts of a plan to rob the temple of Kai the Formless, god of thieves, Davi decides that this honor cannot go to anyone less worthy than himself. Especially since his lover was there during the boasting, and he was not going to be outdone in front of her, no matter how great the risk.


I woke up the next morning hung-over, wondering if it would be worth it to turn myself in to the Palace guards so they could chop my head off. No, I decided. If they did chop my head off, it would still hurt. It would just hurt way over there.

“Drink this.”

I didn’t recognize the voice, but I drank anyway. Maybe I’d be lucky and it would kill me. The room took a sharp turn to the left, wheeled around three times, settled gently on the ground and spit me out like a peach pit. “What is this?” I gasped.

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.” The bed creaked and settled, and I turned to see my lovely lady with the pretty tits sitting next to me. She was completely, gloriously naked, except for a pair of wide gold bracelets that she seemed to wear all the time. A brief check under the coverlet showed that I was as naked as she, and I wondered what I’d missed. How to find out…


“I am very disappointed in you, Davi,” she said, folding her arms over her chest.

Well, I suppose that’s one way.

“I’m sorry, Darlin’,” I said, sitting up and letting the coverlet slip down. “I shouldn’t have drunk those last two dozen whatever-they-were. What was I drinking, anyway?”

“You don’t want to know that, either,” she answered. She looked down at me and sniffed. “You really don’t remember anything, do you?”

For a minute, I wondered if I’d started something with her that I hadn’t been able to finish, then shook off that thought. “Not a thing. What did I do? Or not do?”

“You swore by the Trickster that you and you alone would be the one to dare Kai’s Temple,” was her answer.

“Oh, I didn’t!” I gasped.

“You did. Your exact words were that you would be the one to relieve the god of gold that He was never going to use,” she told me. I groaned and rubbed my hand over my face. That did sound like me when I let the bottle do my thinking for me.

“And… how many people heard me say that?” I asked.

She sniffed at me, and didn’t answer, which told me more than words could have. If I didn’t at least make an attempt on the Temple, I might as well leave town. I sighed dramatically and reached out to take her hand. “So, let me get this straight. I got drunk and stupid, swore to do the impossible, and then you brought me back up here so that I could snore at you. Is that right?” She nodded without looking at me. “Sorry, Darlin’. Is there any way I can make it up to you?” She sniffed again, then squeaked in surprise as I pulled her closer.

“What are you doing?”

“Attempting to make it up to you,” I answered with a smile. I ran one finger down her cheek. “Sapphires, I think. To set off your eyes.”

“Sapphires?” she repeated, those amazing eyes as wide as saucers.

“Once I’ve done this job, I’ll see you draped in sapphires,” I whispered, running my finger down her throat and over her collarbone. “Sapphires and silver and nothing else.”


About the Author

Elizabeth Schechter has been called one of the top erotica and alternative sexuality writers in the world. Her writing credits include the award-winning steampunk erotic romance House of Sable Locks, the Celtic fantasy Princes of Air, and the dystopian fantasy Rebel Mage trilogy. Her shorter work has appeared in anthologies edited by D.L King (Carnal Machines), Laura Antoniou (No Safewords), and Cecilia Tan (Jingle Balls; Like a Prince).
She was born in New York at some point in the past. She is officially old enough to know better, but refuses to grow up. She lives in Central Florida with her husband and son, and a most accepting circle of friends who are both very amused and very proud of the pervy, fetish writer in their midst.