Moonlight Meetings - Three Erotic Supernatural Stories (The three first stories from Suzy's Adventures) by Dorian Mayfair

saw only wet concrete and swaying street lamps. No people, no cars. No sign of tall men with nasty knives. No ghosts, no goblins.
    From the outside, the block looked like a haunted version of a drug-dealer’s den, but the inside was, if not the opposite, at least not as bad. The landlord was one of the rarest of breeds: One who cared. That meant few and not overly aggressive rats, a whiff of mould rather than a dense stench, and only the occasional broken pipe. The neighbours were all right, saying hello most of the time and rarely complaining when Suzy happened to turn the volume up, which was pretty much the constant setting. Besides, the ex-warehouse below was used as a rehearsal studio, and Suzy’s modest speakers didn’t compare to what those bands could muster. And, musicians being how they are, there were people in the warehouse around the clock, which was good for keeping out rodents of varying sizes.
    Now Suzy had to decide what to do with the man she’d brought here. Still radiating that eerie focus, he was watching the street over Suzy’s shoulder as if expecting more super-tall muggers to materialize out of the shadows. Which, all things considered, made sense. But they couldn’t stay in the hallway; if the nice but nosy lady on the first floor spotted them, she’d come knocking out of the unrestrained curiosity available only to old ladies who ran knitting circles.
    Suzy tugged at his sleeve. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll get you coffee.”
    “I’m glad you’re safe.” He flashed a wide smile at her.
    “Yeah, me too. Let’s go.”
    “But they could be back. They could have seen us.”
    “If you hang around here,” Suzy said and pulled harder, “they’ll see your long nose peek out the door. Or Agatha might see us.”
    “Who?”
    “Never mind. Old lady on first.”
    “Is she a taker?” he asked, looking concerned.
    “A whuh?”
    “Like those men.”
    “No.” Suzy sighed and shook her head. The man could be summed up in three words: Cavalier, Cute, and Corny. “She’s not a thief, just a mad gossiper. Okay?” 
    “If you are sure.”
    “I am,” Suzy said and managed to tear him away from the doorway. “Now come.”
    They walked quickly up the stairs and met no one. Suzy ushered the man inside flat, locked the door, put the back of a chair under door handle, and breathed out. Safe at last.
    Her two rooms overlooked the warehouse, but the roof was too far down for any burglar to make their way up to her window. Unless they were acrobats. Or had wings. After the past weeks, she wouldn’t rule anything out. It felt miraculously good to be home, surrounded by her purple walls and her second-hand but comfy furniture, which included a low table occupied by her laptop, a bookshelf bursting with novels, and a dead TV now serving as stand for a big plant of unknown type. The final major piece of furniture took up most of the space in the other room: A large double bed, complete with a frame of cast iron, a thick mattress, and layers of blankets and sheets to keep the cold out. A bed fit for a queen, especially one of the Night. The ceiling was high enough to hold an electric candelabra she’d found in a pawn shop, and she flicked the switch as soon as the door was locked. A weak light filled the flat; the bulbs were the kind that flickered to emulate real flame. They were feeble and a bit cheesy, but she loved the soft glow.
    Now she’d brought a stranger here, which wasn’t the first time, but no one had been as strange as this one. That should worry her, but she felt strangely safe around him. After all, he had helped her against those...people...and the least she could do was feed him some coffee. And he was disgracefully cute underneath his outfit, which now dripped water all over Suzy’s carpet.
    As soon as he had come inside her flat, he had moved to the window and scouted the street as if expecting some new threat to appear. In the light of the streetlamps below, his face