Check out the #naughty books. #erotica
Rarely does a writer come along who wows you as she drags you deep into her story. Godiva Glenn is one of those authors. Godiva is one of my all time favorites. Deep, sexy, and full of those special moments you’ll be reminiscing about for some time. Remember, mature audiences beyond this point. You’re either 21 or you’re out of here.
Wedding Antics. Introducing the first in many steamy adventures in the Godiva Glenn short story universe.
Ava’s flown across the country to attend her best friend’s wedding. But being a single stranger at an event encompassing love and happily ever afters isn’t looking so good now. Lucky for her, one of the groomsmen is willing to overstep her boundaries and give her a night of anonymous memories.
She wasn’t looking for a persistent suitor, but once his hands are on her, her protests fall apart. What is there to lose? No names, no strings, and very few limits on the fun. Ava and her stranger are in for a wild ride.
And now to the First Chapter.
Ava skimmed the bottles behind the bartender and groaned.
“Yeah, they got the open bar but didn’t splurge on the top-shelf package,” a deep voice announced, mirroring her thoughts.
She turned to see who had spoken. Tall, dark, and handsome was an understatement. He stood over her even with the five-inch heels gracing her feet, and his eyes and hair were an intoxicating chocolate brown to contrast his pale skin. Her eyes drifted lower. Black vest with lilac boutonniere.
She gave him a polite smile and left drink-less. She was lonely but not lonely enough to flirt with a member of the wedding party.
The windows were spotted with windblown raindrops from the drizzling outside. She wandered towards the covered walkway, seeking fresh air away from a party of people she knew very few of, and just as she stepped out, the few people already outside made their way back in.
Either that was a coincidence or I’m some sort of pariah.
She pulled a cigarette from her purse and was looking for a lighter, but a hand reached around and plucked the cigarette from her lips. It went flying into the wet parking lot, and she turned to find herself chest to chest with the man from the bar.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she sputtered.
He held his hands up as if giving up and took a step back. “Hey. Just trying to make my night better.” She arched a brow and looked him over again, waiting for an explanation. “I don’t like to kiss women who smoke.”
“Yeah. Alright. Who said I’d be kissing you?” She grabbed the pack again and pulled out another cigarette.
“Well you don’t have to. It’s just nice. Goes well with fucking.”
Her hand froze and she blinked, wondering if she was hearing things.
“You left too quick for me to pull any smooth moves. Then the cigarette… seems like I needed to rush things to get your attention.” He motioned to her hand, which had crushed the cigarette between shaky fingers.
He was probably teasing but it had been forever since she’d last had sex and her body couldn’t tell the difference between flirting and joking.
“I… no thanks.” She looked away, because damn he looked even better this close, and his eyes looked like a naughty movie was playing behind them.
“Why do I suspect you don’t want to say no? And I’m not being a creep, just observant. You’re from out of town aren’t you? I’ve never seen you before tonight.”
She nodded and gestured to his vest. “Only here for the weekend. I’m observant too. Wedding party. Troy’s one of my best friends, and I know all of his groomsmen save for the ones that are his bride’s brothers. Which makes you one of them.”
“So I barely know her, but I doubt banging one of her brothers at her wedding will endear me to her.”
“I don’t plan on telling if you don’t.”
“Nope. Our secret, I promise. I just want to defile you, not disrespect you.”
She nodded slowly, glancing away from his smoldering stare and wondering if he was for real or if this was some elaborate prank to embarrass her. “I’ll think about it.”
“No thinking… uh… didn’t catch your name. I’m-”
“No names,” She interrupted.
He grinned and stepped close again, engulfing her in his large frame. Warmth radiated from him. His hand instantly slid down her bare back to cup her ass and give a squeeze so firm that he seemed more familiar with her body than possible given his stranger status. Chuckling softly, he leaned down, and when he spoke his breath tickled her neck and made shivers erupt along her skin.
“You seem hesitant. How do I change that?”
He gave her ass another squeeze. His touch felt like ownership; not unsure in the least. He was confident. Though she liked her men a little cocky, his attitude combined with his magnetic presence left her off balance.
“You’re acting a bit presumptive, don’t you think?” she asked coolly, trying to pretend that he hadn’t riled her.
“Presumptive.” He laughed and once again her body reacted as if a cold breeze had slipped through her dress. “I’m just observant, like I said.”
She pulled away and turned, not because she didn’t want him touching her but because she was having trouble thinking. She stared out into the dark wet parking lot and considered heading back in. He wrapped a hand around her waist and the other snaked around her front and gripped between her legs, massaging through the dark bronze silk of her dress. Her lips parted and gasped.
His lips whispered against her ears. “You’re wearing fuck-me-heels and your dress is so skimpy that it’s teetering on the edge of being too scandalous to wear to a wedding. You’ve checked out my package at least six times since we started talking. And I’m grabbing your pussy right now and you’ve yet to complain. Clearly, I don’t misread women.”
“You’ll be missed. You can’t skip the reception,” She reasoned, heart pounding, knees trembling.
There were other excuses but they didn’t make it to her lips. Her body melted against him.
“I only know family in there. They’ll understand why I ditched my baby sister’s wedding reception. I have nothing in common with all of her theater friends. I have something in common with you.” He was now rubbing her pussy in firm circles through the flimsy fabric of her dress and it took her a moment to respond. Arousal tugged low in her. She squirmed against his strokes and stifled a moan before speaking.
“We… both hate cheap rum and cokes?”
“No. We both want me in you. Preferably immediately. Now. Seriously.” He started to lift her dress and she pressed her ass against him, giving up on trying to stay reasonable.
“Alright… shit. I’m in a double. The hotel was packed and all the singles got roommates.”
“My room it is then. I promise no unpleasant interruptions.” He released her and pushed her towards the doors back to the lobby, patting her ass with encouragement. “Go. I’ll follow at a respectable distance. Third floor. Three-seventeen.”
I can’t wait for the next chapter. If that doesn’t give you a taste for Godiva’s writing, check out our next piece. Supernatural Delights: A Paranormal Playground Book. I love this one, too. Powerful writing, great story.
The Erotica Showcase presents Supernatural Delights: A Paranormal Playground Book, the First Chapter.
Gabe shrugged, adjusting his black leather jacket while he walked.
“Nervous?” Aaron asked.
“Of course not.”
“Good. You’ll have plenty of tail to choose from tonight, trust me. Glad you ditched the costume idea—ladies like a free spirit.”
“I am in costume,” Gabe muttered. He glanced down at his navy t-shirt and black slacks.
Aaron scoffed and glanced over, giving Gabe a quick sweep of his eyes. “Maybe don’t tell anyone that.”
They turned the corner, and Gabe saw the large house that was hosting what was supposed to be the Halloween party of the decade. He’d believe it. Already, people crowded the lawn, and music drifted from beyond the high ivy-laden fence around the backyard.
“It’s easy for you to go without a costume,” he pointed out.
Aaron simply nodded.
Though Gabe was a run of the mill human, Aaron was a werewolf, and though he was vague about discussing it, he was an important member of his pack. Aaron looked human, like any all-American guy with brown hair and blue eyes, but he had something about him that set him apart. Some inherent vibe that made women salivate and guys feel on edge. No one would care that he didn’t choose to dress up.
“Tonight, you have no idea how true that is,” Aaron smirked.
“Ready to explain why you’re so hyped about attending this party?”
Aaron stopped in his tracks and lifted his arms as if giving the dark sky a wide hug. He sucked in a deep breath and grinned.
“You can’t see them, but I can feel them. Mystical alignments etched deep into the earth. They exist all over the world, humming to my kind.” He lowered his arms and nodded to himself. “This party is supernatural friendly. Most of the guests will be human and clueless, but there should be plenty of others as well. All drawn to the ley lines and how wonderful they feel on All Hallows Eve.”
“The host isn’t human?”
“Oh, she is. Layla’s just a bit of a crazy one. She’s psychic, or she was when she was younger. Now she’s just… well, I already said crazy right? She likes to act as a liaison for us supernatural types. So she throws this party every so often and invites everyone. Like I said, though, the humans are mostly unaware of anything out of the ordinary. They just see it as a chance to see inside the famed Wiltmore place. This house has been in her family for years. The location is perfect for divination.” He started walking towards the house, which looked like a clean, crowded version of a haunted mansion. “And tonight, it’s perfect for a party.”
They made their way up the steps and into the crowd. The house was sprawling, so that even with the large number of revelers, the interior wasn’t stifling. Gabe looked around, slightly anxious. Aaron had insisted he come tonight and get laid to forget about his ex. When the topic was broached two weeks ago, it sounded great. Now, Gabe wasn’t so sure. People don’t really just hook up like that at parties, do they?
“Feels good already,” Aaron half-growled. “I love Halloween. And the wome-” He stopped speaking and narrowed his eyes.
Gabe traced his line of vision and saw the back of a woman in a bright red cloak that hit her knees. Her legs were miles of pale skin and she stood in shiny black spiked boots. Little Red Riding Hood. She turned and revealed a red latex minidress.
“Damn,” Gabe breathed. “I guess you found your conquest for the night. Fairytale fantasy huh?”
As if she heard, Red Riding Hood looked their way. Her ruby lips curled into a seductive smile and she pulled back her hood so that thick strawberry-blonde curls cascaded out. She winked, and Gabe startled. Aaron growled softly, the sound barely escaping his throat.
“No. I may slum with humans but it takes a special pervert to fuck a corpse.”
Across the room, the woman laughed at something, and turned away, giving them her back once more.
Aaron guided the two of them to a different room and muttered to himself.
“Vam-” Gabe stopped himself and then lowered his voice before continuing, “vampire?”
Gabe peered back at the doorway they’d passed through, not that he could see the woman anymore. “Is it going to be okay? Aren’t you guys… Mortal enemies?”
Aaron shrugged and tossed Gabe a beer he’d snagged from a nearby cooler. “Something like that. But this party is neutral, so no fights. Besides, that one… that’s Elissa. For a parasite, she’s actually alright. I just like to give her a hard time. Not literally, of course.”
“Elissa,” Gabe repeated to himself, recalling the vampire.
“Don’t go there. I’ve had dealings with her before but I still wouldn’t trust her with your neck. Or your dick.”
“Sounds good to me.” Gabe took a swig of his beer and surveyed the room, happy to dismiss his prospects with the undead. “You do realize I have no experience picking up women? I was with the same one through high school and college. I don’t even think I could call my skills rusty. They’ve long degenerated.”
“It’s easy.” Aaron crumpled his can and tossed it aside, having downed it within seconds. “For you, I’d find one of the little geek birds. Like that one over there dressed like Tinkerbell.”
Gabe shook his head. “Tinkerbell isn’t geeky, so you know.” He nodded to a group by the corner. “Hmm. Lara Croft may be.”
“You aren’t ready for Lara. Lara would chew you up and spit you out—and that’s not a euphemism.”
Gabe shrugged. “What are you looking for, since the Red Riding Hood fantasy is a no-go?”
“When have I ever expressed a Red Riding Hood fetish?”
“Never, but it makes complete sense.”
Aaron grinned mischievously. “Yeah it does. Maybe another night. For tonight… I just want some plush pillows. Something I can just plow my… oh. Wonder Woman… look at that.”
Gabe watched Aaron work his way towards a group of superheroes. That was settled. Gabe chugged the rest of his beer and grabbed another one. He didn’t expect Aaron to chaperone him around tonight, or even act as a wingman, so he was fine on his own. He didn’t know that he’d be as lucky as Aaron…
“Hi,” a bright feminine voice said from behind him.
He spun around and found a dream come true. She was short and wearing a filmy white dress and white flats. Her olive skin seemed to have a golden glow to it, and actually, at second glance, everything about her seemed radiant somehow. Her eyes were a gem-like green, her lips full and pouty. And her hair. He’d never seen a girl with soft lavender hair before, and hers fell about her shoulders in gentle waves. A plush silver horn was nestled in the middle of it.
“Unicorn,” he said, dumbfounded.
“Yes! You get it then? I wasn’t sure if I did it right,” she chirped. Her voice was high and musical. “And you… you’re what? Some sort of bad boy?”
Gabe blinked while she examined him head to toe. “I’m… the Doctor.”
“Yeah… just forget it. I’m Gabe.”
She held out her hand, though he hadn’t extended his. He took it and they awkwardly shook.
“And you are?” he asked.
“Oh! Oh. Sorry. I’m Vella.” Her cheeks flushed a deep plum color and she bowed her head.
“It’s… I mean, nothing to apologize for.” She nodded quickly but kept her head down. “So, your costume is really clever. You look nice. Pretty, I mean.”
Her face lifted to search his. Whatever she was looking for, she seemed pleased, because she smiled again. “I like your clothing as well. You look dangerous. Serious.” Her smile changed from sweet to something he couldn’t define. “Like someone who would be nice to have for a night.”
He nodded because he wasn’t sure how to respond. Is she talking about what I think she’s talking about? She moved close to him, breaching what would be appropriate for polite conversation. Tiny hands pressed to his chest and she peered up at him, licking her lips.
“Would you like to spend time with me tonight? We could-” she furrowed her brow and pursed her lips, “umm, get to know each other?”
“Yeah, that sounds great,” he said as calmly as he could manage.
A squeal of delight left her throat and she took his answer as an invitation to get even closer. She pressed her body against him, small breasts flattening against his chest and making him aware—really aware—of his needs. Years in a predictable relationship with infrequent sex had left him a bit of a eunuch. But the feel of Vella’s breasts stirred him now, and he allowed his hands to hold her gently about the waist, since she seemed set on invading his personal space. She reached up and touched his hair with a mannerism of curiosity.
“I like this,” she said aloud, but almost to herself. “You’re an attractive male.”
“Thanks? I mean, I’m rather plain.”
“No. Not plain.”
“Brown hair, brown eyes, boring face. I’ve seen me. You don’t have to flatter me.”
She chuckled softly. “Hmm. Your hair is colored like… mousey, I think they say, but it’s so soft. I like how it feels against my palm. And your face isn’t boring. It’s yours.” She withdrew slightly and squinted at him, then relaxed and moved close enough that they could almost kiss. “Your eyes have golden flecks, and the left one has a tiny patch of green. They aren’t bad. I could stare into them happily.”
“I don’t think anyone’s ever looked that close at them.”
“Hmm. Are both of your parents human?”
“Huh? Yeah. I mean, aren’t yours?” What was she talking about?
“We should find some place quiet. To talk.”
“I guess. I don’t know if that’s actually possible though. I would think only the woods aren’t overrun with people at this point,” he said, looking around at the growing party.
“I know places.” She took his hand and shivered. “You feel very good, Gabe.”
While Vella dragged him by the hand through several rooms, Gabe quickly checked for Aaron, but he was nowhere to be found.
Wasn’t that wonderful? Join the VerySherryTerry blog on Wednesday for a review and send in your comments. We’d love to hear from you. Remember to write a review on Amazon when you’re finished. Feed the author, give them a review.
And the reviews are in for the Bonding #erotica #book. One of the best #scifi erotica stories you’ll ever pick up. 2 High 5 stars!
I’m excited this week. Today, I’ll be showcasing Imogen Keeper. Space Erotica! Do you love Sci-Fi? Space travel and different worlds but want a lot of great action and a wonderful story? Imogen’s got you covered. Remeber. this preview is for those over 21.
This is fantastic.
Tam is brutal. Hard. Uncompromising. Resigned to a lifetime alone. Until he finds a woman frozen in space, suffering from a deadly disease. There’s only one way to save her – to Bond her to him for life with his mind, his body, and his serum.
She must choose – her people – or his love.
When her planet is invaded by alien slavers, Nissa launches into space in a cryo-pod in a desperate search for help. Tam may be her savior, but their future is not meant to be.
In a universe at war, Nissa and Tam battle their dangerous addiction and their own stubborn hearts. Their strange part-chemical, part-mystical Bonding brought them together – and just might be what tears them apart.
READER ADVISORY: Graphic sexual content and language. No fade to black here! Including one attempted attack on the heroine.
No fade to black. Perfect action. Wonderful writing. Join me now in the reading of The First Chapter of the Bonding. The first book in the Tribe Warrior Series
THE BONDING – Imogen Keeper
I’m going to be a rocket,
Launched into space.
Nissa ran, lungs burning, sobs gasping. If branches cut the skin of her hands and
limbs slapped at her face, it didn’t matter. It was nothing compared to the suffering of
She had to warn her father. She jumped a fallen tree and landed in dark mud. Her
feet lost traction and she slipped, falling hard onto her hands and knees, tearing the thin
fabric of her dress. Bloody scrapes marred the skin of her knees.
One of her sandals had broken. It hung, hopeless, from her left ankle. They hadn’t
been designed for frantic running through the forests. They were for dancing on the
terraces outside the palace, for strolling manicured paths through the Red Gardens. They
were designed to be pretty and useless. Like her.
Nothing was pretty anymore. Nothing was right. Nothing was how it was supposed
to be. A drop of blood rolled off her palm, disappearing amid decaying red leaves on the
She closed her eyes. Red. The color of life. Beauty. Warmth. Now, the color of
death. Destruction. Blood. Above her, barely visible between crimson leaves, the sky
burned blue-violet. Even the furry-tailed Splirantu were silent in the trees, mourning the
death of her people. Of her world.
How many had died? Thousands. The quartz-cobbled streets of Trian pooled with
Trianni blood—the bodies of men piled up like bricks in a wall, with blood for mortar.
Still fighting to catch her breath, she tossed the broken sandal. It disappeared amid
lacy ferns and low, scrubby trees with fiery fronds. She took off the other one and threw
it after its mate.
The murderers weren’t just enslaving her people. They were torturing them.
She had seen them, seen the murderers, their skin glowing white as specters.
Laughing as they’d leveled their weapons on the surviving Trianni, herding them like
She’d spied from the edge of the forest, crouched behind a fallen log, desperate for
a glimpse of her defected people, hoping they’d been given safety. They hadn’t.
She had watched the off-worlders, their shining black hair flowing down their
backs, glossy beneath the sun. They moved like animals, smooth and almost graceful.
Fast. The deal was off. The Trianni who had gone to them had been promised food
and shelter in exchange for labor. Lies.
She rose to her feet and ran on toward the ancient bunker her people had been
using for shelter.
Finally, she rounded the dip in the forest floor and saw the familiar metal doors of
the bunker. Her father stood in a cluster of elders with Hialmeron, the wise one.
“Father,” she called, but her breath was so short it barely made a sound. “Father!”
she tried again and this time they all turned, faces shocked. No one had even known she’d gone. They’d never have allowed it.
She stopped, panting, resting her hands on her knees, careless of the breach in
decorum from the queen-designate. The king raised his eyebrows at her. “What is it,
“They are killing them. I saw it—thousands in the town square.”
The men froze.
Hialmeron, with his pale, pinkish-gold hair run through with white, was the first
to speak. “It is time, Your Highness.” He turned his gaze toward her father.
She did too.
Her father had aged a decade in the months since the off-worlders had arrived,
since they’d stolen their city. Bags had formed under his eyes, deep lines around his
mouth. He’d barely eaten, saving as much of the food as he could for the others. His
robes hung, stained and frayed, on a frame grown skeletal. “You propose abandoning
Hialmeron shook his head. “I propose saving what lives we can. A hundred
preservation pods for a hundred lives.”
Nissa’s belly convulsed. A hundred of their people hurled into space. And the
“It takes only one pod being found,” Hialmeron continued when the king simply
shook his head. “The survivor can use the transceivers to locate the rest. We will launch
them in the direction of the neighboring solar system. There is life there. We must have
faith in the Goddess that one will be found to bring help back.”
“How do you choose a hundred from ten thousand?”
Nissa looked at the dark doors to the bunker that led to the underground caves. The
last of their people, still unenslaved, lived there, in the vast underground network that
had served as sewers to the ancient cities.
“You don’t,” said Hialmeron. “You let the Goddess decide. We leave it to her.”
Her father’s eyes were grim. “A lottery.”
“Yes,” said Hialmeron. “No mother would leave her child. No child should awake
alone in space.”
“No,” said her father again. “There are only four pods large enough for males. The
rest go to unmarried females, then.”
“Except for you, Your Highness, and the queen. Our people will need their leaders
when they awake.”
Her father shook his head.
“And Criamnon, their future king,” said another elder, and Nissa’s breath caught
as always at the thought of the man who’d won her hand in the Games.
“And Nissa,” said one of the others. “They will need their queen-designate.”
All eyes turned toward her.
She bowed her head, breathing deeply against the sudden burst of panic. A pod?
They wanted her to enter one?
“We will have the lottery tonight,” her father announced with a trace of his old
confidence. “The pods launch in the morning.”
She barely heard the rest of the conversation over the sound of her heart pounding
in her ears.
There’s probably a place you belong, but it’s not with me.
“Fuck,” Tam breathed the word, not with ire, but with wonder.
As in, I would never have predicted this. Not in a hundred million years. And, that’s
beautiful. And, what am I supposed to do?
From his pilot’s chair, Tam stared through the window at the red orb floating lazily
across space. It wasn’t the orb itself that caused the awed expletive to pass his lips—it
was what he could see through the oculi cut into its smooth surface.
It pulsed like a heartbeat, flashing and dimming to black. Red. Red. Red. Space
was nature, chaos and disorder. Rhythm was a fabrication, something made. By
someone, or something.
It was possible it was a sentient being in need of help, but space pirates were a
reality—or, even worse, the Vestige. Using the ship’s holographic communications
system, HolCom, he contacted base.
“This is Captain Pilot Essinger of Whistlerjet Tango-Alpha, passing though
Sellulax in Andromeda on my way back from a training exercise at Sub-Base OneRomeo.”
“I hear you, Captain. This is Communications Captain Tycho Van, Base Fleet SierraSix.
Please proceed.” The ghostly hologram of the blond-haired captain flickered in front
“I’ve encountered a vessel, suspected preservation pod.”
HolCom Tycho nodded. “Contacting your chief, Captain. Please stand by.”
While waiting, he planned his approach. He didn’t want to tell the comm captain
about the fleeting glimpse he’d seen. Not until he got closer. It was too impossible to
Warriors of Tribe Argentus were always fully armed. He wore rezal blasters
strapped to either side of the black leather bands crisscrossing the thick muscles of his
chest. A large Marssollian blade hung in its holster at his waist, a deadly knife graced a
skede on his hip and more knives waited sheathed on each thigh. A long spear-like nustal
sword rode a scabbard on his back, at a diagonal angle so he could pull it in a clean motion ith his fighting arm.
Since everyone on board a craft would die if a stray rezal blast hit the wrong spot,
there was a universal preference and a tacit agreement for hand-to-hand combat in
nearly all non-planetary altercations. So Tribe warriors trained long and hard and
brutal, and the result was that he, too, was long and hard and brutal.
The markings on his ship were usually enough to warn off pirates. No one wanted
to tangle with Tribe Argentus, the most feared armed fleet in the known universe. Still,
one could never be too careful. He’d handled his fair share of the stupid and the desperate and there were formidable alien races out there, to be respected if not feared.
“Please approach, Captain,” Tycho said, his pale hologram wavering. “Report as
Tam manually guided the ship to dock beside the blinking sphere. He tapped the
screen and confirmed there were no traces of viruses, amoebae or bacteria. Still, the pod
and the items it contained would have to be warmed and decontaminated prior to
The light pulsed as the pod drifted, slowly spinning, subject to the trajectory of its
initial push into space.
One oculus aligned with his line of sight just as the light flashed on. It held a body.
Definitely female. Silhouetted against the red light. Frozen. Nude.
From the way her hair floated around her, she appeared to be suspended in fluid or
gel. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he froze before the glowing glass screen.
“Fuck,” he breathed. Definitely a woman. What is she doing in a pod in the middle of
And if he was honest with himself, the single, selfish thought intruded. I want that.
“What was that, Captain Essinger? Please repeat.”
Tam blinked. “Female life form present on board. Definitely frozen.” Tycho
silenced his end of the flickering feed and spoke to someone off the holo.
The sphere spun away and with it his view of her. The presence of a female
removed any lingering hesitation or concern of a Vestige trap. They’d never have let her
go if they’d found her.
He no longer had a choice. Base no longer had a choice. “Initiating process of
Tycho’s hologram shimmering in and out of focus. “Continue, Captain.”
Even across the HolCom, the excitement in the other male’s voice pissed him off.
He curbed a childish compulsion to shout, It’s my pod. I found it.
Finding a female anywhere at all was rare, but to find one floating in the midst of
space, especially one who appeared to be so similar to their own race, was a statistical
improbability. Tam’s jaw hardened and with effort he slowed his heart rate. Fewer than
twelve percent of the females of his homeworld, Argentus, lived.
He wasted no time.
Pacing outside the sterile docking room, he waited for the computer’s voice to
echo over the intercom, alerting him that the sphere’s core temperature had regulated.
He was glad, for the moment, to be away from the HolCom and all the watching
eyes that came with it. The ship’s computer would maintain a steady feed of
information but he had at least the illusion of privacy.
His hands itched to open the pod, to get close to the female.
The tinny, computerized voice came through the speakers. “Decontamination
completed. Object is neutralized.”
The hatches to the docking chamber unsealed with an echoing hiss, leaving him
sweaty-palmed and uneasy.
His heart thumped. He strode across the room. The light cast an eerie glow. He
stepped so close to the window his breath fogged the surface.
The female floating in a reddish liquid was so small she was downright dainty.
Her hair floated around her head and shoulders like the weeds that grew in the seas of
It would have taken more strength than he possessed to tear his eyes from her.
Even unanimated, her face was beautiful, as delicate as her figure, with pale, clear skin.
If she’d been an old crone with a bald head, sagging breasts and a beard, he’d
probably have gotten hard anyway. Just because she was a woman. He hadn’t seen one
on anything but a digi-screen or a holo-vid in half his life.
This was no crone. And she looked like the women of his planet. At least enough
to hope for genetic viability.
Staring at her, his chest tightened. Space was big. The sphere was small. Entering
life preservation pods was a ridiculous act of extreme faith or desperation. No sane
person would, unless under extreme pressure. Putting herself in a pod like this had
been a massive gamble.
It meant terror. And a total lack of reasonable alternatives. She had essentially
crossed her fingers, said a prayer and killed herself, in the hope that someone,
somewhere, at some time would find her, open the pod and bring her back to life.
So many variables could have left her for lost. If I’d taken a different route. If I’d come by a week later. She’d have already drifted off, out of sight. She may never have been found.
He shook his head at the stroke of fate that brought them to this point.
She had a smooth belly and small, round breasts with pink nipples.
He circled the sphere, moving with trepidation to see her through the other oculi.
She was so small. His footsteps echoed in the silent room.
Slender legs met a sweetly rounded ass that made his mouth water. Between her
legs, gods, he knew he should look away but he couldn’t. The lips of her pussy might as
well have winked and smiled at him, all pouty and pink and…fuck.
His mouth dried and his cock grew so hard between his legs he could barely walk.
He adjusted the front of his flight-suit.
He hadn’t seen a woman since just after he’d come into his manhood. This one was
Averting his gaze, suppressing the vague guilt for viewing her unconscious body,
Tam searched for an opening to the sphere, a hinge or mechanism that would trigger its
Two depressions in the shape of hands, albeit hands far smaller than his own, were
the only markings on the surface.
His hand overhung the small depressions by more than an inch on each finger and
the entire heel of his palm.
The light stopped and the pod went dark. A buzzing hum sounded from within.
The color of the fluid changed, becoming a brighter, deeper red as the sphere vibrated.
He kept his hands in place, unsure what to do.
The surface warmed. With a hiss, it cracked open in a horizontal line, separating
the container top from bottom. The top’s internal springs pushed up, lifting away. It left
a gap large enough for him to shove his hand inside. Fog wisped from the opening. He
hefted the top with a grunt and tossed it aside.
The fluid inside had congealed, leaving a perfectly round gelatinous form that
glistened luridly in the light.
Unsheathing one of his knives, he cut the thick gel away, moving gently as he got
closer to her skin, careful not to snick her hair.
His hands and forearms quickly turned a rusty orange. He tossed chunks of the gel
aside and they landed with thick squelching plops, jiggling under the harsh lights,
piling up on the floor around them, like so much carnage. So much gel for so small a
Her eyes stayed shut, her hair matted, dark and sticky. He detected no heartbeat
but he’d never woken someone from cryo before—maybe that was normal.
He needed to get her clean. Maybe she’d be able to open her eyes if the gel didn’t
cover her lashes.
Bending low, he lifted her, as carefully as he could, and cradled her against his
So this is how it feels to hold a woman. For just a moment, he held her tightly to
his chest, wondering if she would want him when she woke. It would be a cruel twist of
fate, to find the female in space and have her turn him away, choose another, choose no
He shrugged. He’d never been lucky in his life. Not when he’d buried his mother.
Not when his sister had died five days later of the same damn disease. Not when he’d
watched his father waste away from the loss of his bonded mate. Why would his luck
Still, it didn’t matter. She was a woman and she needed him.
Resolve burning thick, he carried her to the bathing pool, where he lowered her
into the bubbling water.
He studied the woman in his arms as she sucked in a deep breath. And he released
one of his own.
She was awake. And alive. Her eyes were still closed but her pupils moved back
and forth and her body shook with chills despite the heat of the water.
What the hell must she be thinking? Feeling? Wet. Dark. Fear? “It’s okay.” There
was almost no chance that she spoke Argenti but he had to try anyway.
Water clung to her skin in tight beads, dripping down the smooth, pale skin of her
cheeks, sticking in her thick burgundy lashes. The water in the bathing pool was hot but
her shaking worsened, as if she were freezing. Not just shivering. Quaking. Down to
He gripped her upper arms and shook her. Not hard, but insistent. Wake up,
damn it. Open your eyes.
For the third time, he shoved her head under the surface of the water, hoping to
clear the gunk from her lashes.
This time, when he pulled her back above the surface, she sputtered and opened
Blinding green. Her eyes widened, darting around the room, settling on his chest,
on the soaking front of his flight-suit. He hadn’t stopped to remove his clothes, hadn’t
wanted to scare her by having her wake up naked, with a naked man.
The weight of those green eyes moved up, over her neck, along his face and settled
on his eyes.
Searching eyes bore into his, asking thousands of questions. Water slid down
smooth cheekbones, ran over full lips.
He spoke again and his voice was gruff, even to his own ears.
She shook her head. He traced her cheekbones, felt skin smooth and soft. Her teeth
chattered. He pointed at the skin of her forearm, tracing a long finger over veins that
spread in dark-blue webs. He tried to let his worry show on his face so she’d
understand that something was wrong.
She had to feel it. The sickness in her system. Goose bumps rose over her skin. Her
nipples were nearly blue. He couldn’t imagine how scared she must be to awake naked,
in a strange room with a strange man and have no idea how much time or distance had
passed since her last conscious thought.
She shivered, breathing fast, heart pounding a fast pulse in her throat. What the
hell was wrong with her?
“I’ll get you help. You need a healer,” Tam promised, but she didn’t understand
She said something, fast, in a pretty, harmonious voice that didn’t hide her fear.
“It’ll be okay. I’m going to help you.” He picked her up in his arms, keeping his
eyes averted from her naked body, and carried her out of the pool to his room.
“She’s dying,” Tam announced flatly to the control room a scant minute later.
He hated leaving her, even for a few moments so he could contact base again. He
masked emotion from his voice as he spoke to the hologram of one of Base Fleet Sierra-
Six’s healers, Ajax. He was an old friend. It would be far too easy for Ajax to read Tam.
“Look at her stats,” Tam said evenly, glancing up at the HolCom of the healer. His
ship’s computer had linked to the base’s mainframe and sent her medical stats for the
healers to review. “Tell me what to do.”
The connection was as shitty as ever. The three-dimensional HolCom of Ajax’s
blond head appeared and disappeared, fading and crackling before Tam’s pilot chair.
In order to send transmissions across lightyears of space, they had to be relayed
through a series of tiny portals, anchored at even intervals. The resulting delays meant
fading images and choppy sound. Better than nothing.
Ajax’s HolCom eyebrows furrowed as he reviewed the woman’s health status.
“Low blood pressure. Low heart rate. Breathing rate is low. Core temperature low.” He
met Tam’s eyes but his voice stayed even and calm. “It’s a common form of
hypothermia that results from long cryo freezes. It’s called the blue-tinge.”
“Whatever it’s called, it gets worse every godsdamn second.”
“Quite the find, Tam.”
“Shut up and tell me how to fix her.”
Off-screen, chatter surrounded Ajax, who stood in WarCom, a massive, dark
conference room on Sierra-Six where the higher-ups made important decisions.
Ajax tapped away at his own glass digi-screen tablet, probably searching for past
patients with similar afflictions. “It’s in the veins, right? They’ve gone dark. How far up
her arms and legs does it go? From her mouth?”
Tam frowned. “Last time I checked maybe mid-thigh, upper arm, and to her
Ajax looked up from his screen, eyes narrowed. Tam hadn’t felt fear in a long time
and he was embarrassed to admit its soft fingers stroked his neck as he studied his
Something in the lines around Ajax’s mouth warned Tam his answer wasn’t going
to be a good one. “Dark purple.”
Ajax cocked his head to the side and the hologram wobbled. An almost amused
curve lurked at the corner of his mouth. Tam held his breath, knowing and fearing at
the same time what that half-smile meant.
“It’s time you started considering using your serum.”
Tam rolled his shoulders, flexing his palms, glad that his dick, stiffer than his
sword, was below the viewer of the HolCom feed.
“Look, Tam. Her body scans show her organs to be similar to ours. We’ve never
encountered a race as similar with whom the Bonding didn’t work. You can save her by
Bonding with her.”
“We don’t speak the same language.”
Ajax tilted his head slightly, regarding Tam with pale, laughing eyes. “I’m sure
you can find some way to communicate with her. It’s a formal request. From Healing to
you. You can say no.”
That was a lie. There wasn’t a warrior on board Sierra-Six, hell on any base or
colony of Argentus, who wouldn’t blame him if she died. Tribe warriors didn’t let
females die. Not if they could stop it. Not ever. End of story. He’d never forgive himself.
Ajax continued, “Forming a permanent union is drastic. But I’d say the situation is
When she’d opened her eyes, green, intense, unlike anything he’d ever seen, and
she’d looked at him for the first time, he’d seen fear bloom. Part of him had died. She’d
been so sick, too weak to do more than shiver.
He didn’t know her name or age. If he used his serum to save her, she’d be stuck
with him forever. How would she feel about that? He couldn’t explain the
repercussions to her. It felt like a theft of her whole life. How would she feel about the
method he had to use to save her?
He wanted nothing more than to claim the female as his mate. But like this? Hell
How do you explain to someone that you need to fuck them or they’d die?
If someone said that to him, he’d kill them. Dead before their ass hit the floor.
Ajax locked eyes with someone off-screen. The admiral maybe. Tam wondered
from how high up the commands came.
“It’s a request,” Ajax repeated. But it wasn’t. Not really and Ajax knew that too.
HolCom Ajax faded to black-and-white for a few seconds then blinked back into vivid
Ajax raised his eyebrows as the hologram flickered. “She’s dying, Tam. You can
save her with your serum.”
“You mean my semen.”
“If you prefer that word. I’d say by injecting a life-saving serum into her mouth
and then mating with her.” Ajax leveled an even gaze at Tam, meeting his eyes through
the holographic feed across millions of miles of space. He tilted his head to the side
coolly. “If you’re really uncomfortable with the idea, you could put her in a hot bath,
pray like hell that she’ll make it, bring her back here. Another warrior could supply the
“Like hell.” Even Tam was surprised by the growl that came from his throat.
Ajax exhaled an amused laugh. “I thought so. Don’t let her die.”
Tam wasn’t sure what to say.
After a long silence, Ajax spoke again. “If your sister had become a woman,
escaped danger in a pod and was found by a warrior, only to awake with the bluetinge,
what would you have told the warrior to do?”
Tam swallowed heavily as an image flashed before his eyes of his sister as she’d
been before she’d died. Little more than a baby. Pink cheeks. Eyes gray and solemn and
so big in a little face. What would she have looked like, all grown-up? He blinked. “I’d
have told him to save her. No matter what.”
Ajax nodded. “And if you were her? Would you rather die?”
“Understanding is part of the nature of the bond. Go slowly. Don’t scare her. Your
body’s chemistry will help you. Your kiss holds aphrodisiacs.” Ajax lifted one shoulder.
“Trust in fate. It led you here. It will work out.”
Tam scowled at the flickering holo of his friend. “What do you know about
Ajax smiled thinly. “Nothing. But I’ve studied the Bonding enough to know it’s a
lot more than just chemistry. Serum isn’t just a medicine. It’s a piece of your soul that
you give her with your bond. You will know her heart, her language, her history. And
she’ll know yours. It’s a transference of the cells in your body. It will change both of
you.” He frowned, eyes unreadable. “This is a good thing, man. You get a mate. She
gets a warrior who’ll stop at nothing to keep her safe.”
Put like that it didn’t sound so bad. Still. It didn’t exactly answer the burning
question in his mind. How the hell would he convince her to let him have sex with her?
“Hey, Ajax,” he said as the other male turned to leave the screen.
“Fuck you.” Ajax smiled.
“You’re one lucky prick, man.”
The HolCom imploded in a burst of clear white light.
Tam stared at black space beyond the windows of the flight deck. A hundred
thousand stars stared back at him, polychrome clouds of distant galaxies. Space stared
back, empty and merciless, a naked seductress, gravid with silken promise and
smirking rejection. She offered everything. She offered nothing.
Lucky. It wasn’t that simple. He’d gladly spread her wide open, spend a few days
with his tongue inside that sweet pink pussy. He’d happily make her scream and writhe
and he’d take her every possible way he’d ever seen on the pleasure holos.
If she were willing. But what if she wasn’t? He couldn’t exactly ask her. He
couldn’t even imagine what she’d think, seeing him, a great brute, coming at her, trying
He shook his head, leaning against the hatch frame of his room, looking at her slim
form under the covers. He was stalling, trying to decide a clear way to proceed.
Once the Bonding was complete, they’d be joined permanently. He didn’t think a
Bonding had ever been broken.
He’d only ever been with one woman before, the dominess who had conducted his
manhood ceremony, in which she’d taught him how to give and receive pleasure. And
he remembered every second of the three sacred days he’d spent in the company of the
Tribe priestess, his cock shoved deep within the warm comfort of her pussy. He’d loved
every heartbeat of it. It had come as naturally as breathing. But he’d been young then
and his serum hadn’t been fully mature. It was now.
This would be something entirely different. The Bonding. Alone in his chamber, in
the solitude of space, when he fisted his cock, he imagined a million scenarios. This
hadn’t been one of them.
He approached. Her hair spread across the pillows, red and wild as a silken, florid
vine. Even asleep, she was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at her. Every warrior’s
instinct in his body called out to help her.
And before he could save her, he had to actually make her his. He scrubbed his
hands through his hair again, at a loss. Indecision. Self-doubt. Not emotions to which he
Want more? Click here to keep reading.
And there you have it. The First Chapter. Engaging, unique and beatuifully erotic to its core.
Book 2, brings us another couple but things aren’t so black and white for our hero. The world gets trickier. This story is as wonderful as the first.
The Breaking: Book 2 in the Tribe Warrior Series
Feola made a terrible mistake.
Four months ago, she Bonded with the wrong man. Now there’s only one person she can trust to help break her Bond. The man she rejected.
Ajax, warrior and healer, has resigned himself to a mateless future. When he receives Feola’s cryptic plea for help, he must decide whether to break the law and sacrifice his career, or save the only woman he’s ever wanted.
Accused of murder, running for their lives from an intergalactic government and bounty hunters, Feola and Ajax struggle to overcome her tattered past so she can love again. Will she let him into her heart, or will her tattered past tear them apart?
One thing is certain, Bonds were never meant to be broken.
Reader Advisory: This story contains graphic sexual language and scenes, including an attempted sexual attack on the heroine.
The Breaking, Book 2 in the Tribe Series… The First Chapter.
I’d never let it break.
Ajax closed the door carefully and left his patient alone. She was finally asleep.
The fever, nausea, chills and aches that plagued her body were nothing compared to
the onslaught of her emotional pain. It was difficult to believe a person could sustain such
aggressive tears. The woman had sobbed so hard and so long he’d considered sedating
her just to make it stop.
He’d never cried like that in his life, not even as a kid during the Plague of Days when
half his family died. He’d never seen anyone cry like that, shuddering and soundless, as
if her soul were separating from her body, as if her bones were breaking and her skin
fragmenting into a thousand tiny pieces.
That’s what the breaking of a Bond did.
Bonds were never meant to be broken.
If he were ever lucky enough to claim a woman and form a Bond, he’d never let it
The thought of Bonding immediately brought an image of vibrant yellow-green eyes
to the front of his mind. And as always, his body responded.
He ran his hands through his hair, his cock jutting in front of his body like a flagpole,
bobbing in his pants. He lowered his hand, maybe to tuck it away, maybe just to squeeze
the stupid throbbing monster. He’d just laid the flat of his palm along the shaft when he
There she was, standing in an open doorway directly across the hall, watching him
with those eyes, yellow green and opened wide.
Feola. As if he’d thought her into reality. She’d had him hooked like an addict
desperate for an overdue dose since the first second he saw her. He’d never wanted
anything in his life like he wanted her.
“Ay-shocks.” Even the way she said his name made him hard. As if she were singing
and whispering and moaning all at the same time.
Her gaze dropped to his groin. The look in her eyes said she knew exactly what it
was, and exactly what it was for, and exactly what he wanted to do with it. Her mouth
dropped open. Her skin flushed a pretty shade of pink.
He didn’t think. He did something he’d never done in his entire life—just acted. He
crossed the hall, reached out, took the back of her head in his palm, and moved in close.
As he slid his other arm around her back, her body bowed.
She gasped but kept her gaze locked on his. When he lowered his mouth to hers, she
whimpered. Her lips were full, and she tasted like summer on his home planet, Argentus.
Like sweet fruit and fresh water. Her tongue against his was as soft as velvet.
He kissed her again, silencing whatever she’d been about to say with his tongue, too
frantic to stop.
His cock pulsed happily against her stomach, feeling the press of a warm, female
body for the first time in fifteen years. He backed her up against a wall, tugging at her
skirts, and pushed his hand up her dress, along silken thighs. When his hand found her
pussy, so warm and so wet, he nearly came in his pants.
Her clit was rock hard under his thumb, and she kept repeating his name, crooning
it out, breathless in his arms. It sounded like a prayer. Ay-shocks, Ay-shocks, Ay-shocks.
He’d never felt so powerful and so humble in his life. Like he was as big as the entire
universe and as tiny as a quark, all at once. Nothing mattered. Everything mattered.
He stroked his thumb over the slippery button of her clit, sliding his finger deeper
inside her tight, wet passage, hooking it in, knowing instinctively what she needed.
Her hands roved through his hair. He closed his free hand over a perfect little tit and
the turgid rise of her nipple.
The walls of her pussy fluttered around his finger, soft as the wings of a butterfly,
and his heart swelled. Holy gods, there was nothing sweeter than holding a woman while
she came. He swallowed her moans, but they echoed down the halls, ricocheting and
rising in a crescendo of their own.
His cock throbbed again, demanding attention, but he ignored it, slid his finger from
her body and righted her clothes, tracing kisses along her cheekbone up to her temple.
Her breasts heaved against his chest. Her wide eyes locked on him.
“Feola,” he murmured against her lips. “I….” He paused, right on the cusp of
declaring… what? His undying devotion? That wasn’t fair. First, he needed to clear the
proper channels, make sure his superiors wouldn’t forbid a union with one of the few,
precious remaining women.
He needed to make sure she was thinking clearly, that the aphrodisiacs in his saliva
didn’t cloud her thinking, to give her time to process before he asked for a Bond. She
wouldn’t be able to think with his tongue in her throat. She needed space. “I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t mean to do that. I shouldn’t have. I—I just lost control.”
Her cheeks flooded with heat, and she backed away.
As soon as he got clearance, he would talk to her. And pray to every whispering
power in the universe that she’d say yes.
I need another chance.
Tell me I’m not too late.
Four months later
Feola had a comm of her own, a thin transparent disk the size of her palm. It even
buzzed sometimes, too. Just never for the reasons her friend’s did.
Samila’s comm buzzed as they walked through the lacy purple reeds in The Fields of
Romeo-Two. Like the rest of the women on the base, Samila was Bonded and
nauseatingly blissful in her union. Samila’s mate called to check in, to say he loved her,
to hear her voice. The smile on Samila’s face was unmistakable. It was the same smile
Feola had seen on the faces of the women from her home planet, Triannon, after they’d
been mated. It was the smile she’d dreamed of wearing herself one day.
The smile said: I love—and in turn—I am loved.
Feola had worn that smile for a sum total of seven days.
Seven days of serum-induced, mind-blowing, unnatural joy. She’d lived for her mate
during those days. For his smiles and kisses. For the intoxication of his serum, and her
own unnatural addiction to it.
Then it had all changed.
It was not a smile she would ever wear again. She knew that now. Had accepted it
long ago. She’d never have that smile.
When her own comm buzzed, she felt only fear, and lately a newfound rage that
simmered below the skin and terrified her with its intensity.
Utto’s presence pulsed in her chest, where their Bond united them permanently. His
emotions, as always, seethed and rippled, oily and viscous across her sternum, like a
parasite that had taken up permanent residence in the marrow of her bones.
He was the only person who ever called her comm because he was the only person
with her number, and her comm couldn’t contact anyone else. He’d made sure of that.
He checked in too, but it didn’t make her feel safe or comforted. He called to make
sure she hadn’t contacted anyone else in his absence, hadn’t seen anyone else, hadn’t even
thought of anyone else.
He wanted her alone, weak, and pathetic. Desperate for him.
Sometimes he told her he loved her, but when he did, she knew it was a lie. He didn’t
love her. He hated her. The line might be a fine one, but she knew the difference now.
She’d learned the difference between love and hate the hard way.
She and Samila met at The Fields occasionally to walk for a stolen hour together while
their mates trained. It was the only guaranteed time that Utto wouldn’t show up at
random. During his training exercises, she would sneak across the hall to Samila and her
mate’s chamber. Her friendship with Samila was just one of the many secrets that she
kept from Utto.
If he found out, he would forbid it.
He would do worse than forbid it.
“Let’s sit by the water awhile,” Samila said with a sly smile. “I’m a little sore from
Feola nodded, tuning out the senseless chatter. Samila was nice, but she was
oblivious, thoughtless, and complacent in her happiness as she sauntered down the
grated path through a patch of solar light that filtered down through the crystalline
domed ceiling of The Fields.
The woman placed her comm negligently on the steel bench overlooking the
irrigation canal that had been dug into the artificial terra of The Fields that comprised the base’s hydroponic farms.
The crops spread before them in tidy rows of yellows, blues, and pinks. She sat beside
Samila, so close the comm rested only a few inches away from her pinky finger.
With the wide smile that always calmed Utto when the tempers took him, she pointed
at the tiny fluttering birds around a flowering cerulean bush. “What are those?”
Samila was one of the rare Argenti females. She knew more about the world of the
Tribe than anyone Feola had ever met. As Samila prattled away about the birds that
fertilized the crops and the canal that watered them, Feola slid the comm into the pocket
of her prim lacy white dress.
Samila didn’t notice.
Oblivious. Stupidly happy.
They sat for a while. Feola nodded and smiled at the right moments. All the while,
the comm rested against her thigh, a smooth, light weight that would either save her life
or end it.
Samila finally noticed it was missing and tried in vain to locate it. They spent precious
time retracing their steps. Feola furrowed her brow, made sympathetic noises, and looked under the bench and behind the bushes, careful not to get any dirt on her dress. If Utto saw stains, he would know she’d left their chamber.
“I can’t think where it could be,” she lied. She’d become good at lying. A necessary
skill. She ignored the vision of her mother’s face in her mind’s eye, sad and disapproving.
Mamma had always said lying was bad. It didn’t matter. Mamma had died a very long
Anyway, Mamma had never met Utto. It was impossible to know Utto and not
become a liar.
Samila laughed gaily. “Jamar is going to tease me—ruthlessly—when I tell him. That’s
the second comm I’ve lost.”
“He won’t be angry, though?” Feola couldn’t help but ask and, when Samila
frowned, instantly regretted it.
“Angry? Over a missing comm? Of course not.” Samila looked for a moment as
though she might ask about Utto.
They rarely discussed him, so she laughed to distract Samila. It sounded loud and
shrill in her ears, but it did the trick.
She’d need to hurry across the base to Utto’s chambers to have any chance of using
the comm before he returned.
It wasn’t the first thing she’d stolen. Or the first thing she’d put in her stash of
supplies. Mamma wouldn’t have approved of theft either.
She refused to accept the surge of guilt. Resisted the anxiety. If she permitted the
excitement to affect her heart or her breathing, he’d feel it through their Bond.
She never quite knew how much he could actually feel of her emotions, or how clear
they were to him, but she did know he could feel her terror. Her sorrow. And he liked it.
A tiny flare of hope sparked, trilling along her spine. She squeezed her palms and
stamped it down. He’d feel that, too. And then he’d know.
She needed the comm far more than Samila did, with her safe and loving Jamar and
her thighs sore from a night of tender lovemaking.
When she entered, the chamber was empty. Clean and cool. Sterile, just the way Utto
liked it. She moved to the sink, pressed the code she’d stolen from the base’s healing bay
to contact a man she’d known several months ago, the only person she trusted to help
her now, the only person she knew couldn’t be connected to Utto or his family in any
There was a short series of ticks and a moment of silence. Then a man’s deep voice.
Ajax. His beautiful, rumbling voice swirled in her ears, bringing back so many
memories. Her nipples hardened instantly. That voice, his beautiful bright eyes. They’d
be crinkled at the edges now with concern.
She swallowed thickly, eyes closing, calling up his face, the hard jaw, the gentle smile,
his pale, soft hair, the velvety touch of his tongue to her lips. The seductive flavor of his
kiss. Utto would feel her arousal—but he’d never know the reason.
Self-loathing tore through her, and her eyes burned.
For a moment, her throat refused to function, wouldn’t shape the sounds she needed
to communicate. She dug her fingernails into her palms. “Ajax? I didn’t know who else
A hot tear escaped to roll down her cheek. Even across the distance of star systems,
the frail radio connection of their comms made her feel safer. The only connection to the
last person in the universe who might still be able to help.
“I need your help.”
Over the line, he sucked in a breath.
As her body remembered that day so long ago, her stomach coiled, heat pooling
between her thighs. He’d backed her up against a wall and plunged his tongue into her
mouth as if he wanted to swallow her heart and fuse their souls.
If only he had. She’d have let him. She’d never wanted anything more than she’d
wanted him at that moment. He’d been so big. And so hard. So desperate for her. He’d
touched her body in a place no one ever had, and he’d made her feel the first burst of
strident, unadulterated, breathless pleasure in her life.
She’d been terrified. She’d hung in his arms like a ragdoll after, as he’d stroked and
petted and kissed her face.
Until he’d apologized, which had been humiliating beyond belief.
And then nothing. He’d turned away.
For days, she’d wondered. And he’d done nothing more than nod politely.
Utto had. He’d done plenty. Utto had told her that he loved her and he’d die for her.
He’d asked her to Bond with him. Brought her tea. He’d kissed her. Whispered promises
she’d been stupid enough and blind enough to believe. And maybe a small part of her
had wanted to prove to Ajax that someone wanted her, even if he didn’t. And always,
that sweet, steaming, spicy tea.
Her body had betrayed her, responding to the unknown call of Utto’s serum snaking
its way through her system.
She parted her lips to tell Ajax she was sorry, that she’d made a mistake, that she
should have waited longer, that she’d been confused and manipulated, that it wasn’t her
fault. It was a pathetic excuse. Her throat wouldn’t obey.
“What do you need? Are you okay?” That voice again, and all the warm shivers that
came with it.
Behind her, the door to Utto’s chambers hissed, providing no more than a splitsecond
Her heart jumped into her throat.
Utto. He’d returned early.
Moving in the fluid, practiced motion she’d learned in her three months at RomeoTwo,
she opened the drawer that held their plates and mugs.
Smooth, deft motions drew no attention. Jerky behavior garnered suspicion.
With her thumb, she ended the connection with Ajax on the comm and dropped it at
the back of the drawer, where Utto would never find it. He hadn’t stepped in the kitchen
more than once in their entire time at Romeo-Two.
“What are you doing?” His voice sounded from the entrance, distrustful as ever. His
suspicion slithered in her chest through their Bond.
The door slid closed with a hiss.
“I thought I’d make some eeffoc.” She pulled two mugs from the drawer and slid it
closed with her hip, wiping her damp cheek calmly.
“You drink too much of it. It’ll stain your teeth.”
She turned to find him unstrapping the holsters that held his rezals, but he kept on
the straps of knives that crisscrossed his barrel chest.
“They can be whitened if they bother you, can’t they?”
He made a face at that, somewhere between a scoff and a snarl, jerking his head in a
sharp motion that set his dark-blue hair shimmering. She had loved that thick, shining
hair at the beginning. So different from her own. She loathed it now.
She loaded the fragrant, brown-black powder into the machine and set it percolating.
Lifting one of the mugs, she moved to put it back in the drawer.
“I didn’t say I didn’t want any,” he bit off.
She pictured Ajax’s soft eyes.
Utto’s tone augured conflict. Experience had taught her that although his anger could
only be staved off for so long, she could frequently soften the intensity of it by forcing
herself to remain gentle and sweet.
“Sorry, my love.” The false words tasted bitter on her tongue, but the smile she
offered was sweeter than the lintorippi berries they grew in The Fields.
“My cousin, Rennie, is going to come for a while. He’ll stay in one of the guest
chambers, but he’ll eat meals here. I expect you to make him feel welcome.”
She didn’t want to ponder the meaning behind those words too deeply. “Of course.
Please let me know what his favorite meals are. I can find recipes.”
When the eeffoc was ready, she poured it into the mugs, pouring cream in his, just the
way he liked it, and brought it over to him where he sat in the lounge.
He put his mug on the table in front of him and met her eyes with a look she knew
only too well.
She smiled for him again—the big, wide-eyed, vapid grin that he loved, the one that
had probably gotten her into this mess. With Ajax’s turquoise eyes in her mind, she
dropped to her knees in front of the man she’d chosen.
He spoke, but she ignored his words, conjuring up the sound of Ajax’s deep rumble
across the distance of space.
She’d find a way to call him again soon.
Want to read more? Click here to keep reading.
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Check out The VerySherryTerry’s blog on Wed for a review and ask some questions, send us your comment and enjoy.
The popular Cerise Dalton has three erotica books out for your reading pleasure. Today, we will be taking a peek at Nicole. Take off your socks folks, cause they are about to go flying. (Knock your socks off? Get it? No? Ugh.) 155 pages.
The Blurb: Nicole Summers is offered the opportunity of a lifetime when a billionaire, Axon Wainwright, offers her the CEO position of Wainwright Diamonds, making Nicole an instant billionaire. But there’s a catch. Axon’s sons, Alexander and Stetson, thought the business should have gone to one of them. Nicole finds herself in a seductive and heated battle for the company, fighting off the money hungry Alexander, and Stetson, the horniest man alive. What would you do for a cool billion?
Well, you certainly have my attention! A cool billion!
And now, to the First Chapter. For our over 21 readers only! We go directly to the action in this one!
Nicole entered the Tampa hotel lounge and ordered a drink at the bar before taking a seat. She felt a little dorky wearing the conference name tag on her black dress.
She sipped her glass of wine and scanned the room. Marcy, her roommate back home, had pointed out that these conferences were for two things: making business connections, and finding a hot, rich man who knew how to treat a woman. Nicole planned on the former, but would take the latter.
From the corner of her eye she noticed a familiar face entering the lounge. Familiar in that she had listened to his keynote tonight. Axon Wainwright—astute businessman, attractive, single, owner of the conference hotel, and heading her direction. Nicole straightened and took a deep breath, replacing the look of boredom with a smile and unabated excitement.
He sat at the table next to hers and was promptly served. He ordered a Martini—Nicole wasn’t surprised—and removed his phone from his pocket. Nicole leaned slightly toward the man, trying to eavesdrop on his conversation. She moved her purse and shifted in her u-shaped booth, edging closer to Axon. Tomorrow he would be speaking about career opportunities and how to motivate one’s self in a dog-eat-dog world.
Axon clicked off his phone and placed it on the table in front of him, resting his left ankle over his right knee. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and placed his arm along the back of the booth.
Nicole watched him glance around the room, hoping he would see her watching him and ask if she could be helped with something. Patience was not a virtue with Nicole, so when Axon seemed to ignore her intruding stares, Nicole cleared her throat and stood.
Nicole’s black stilettos added three inches to her five-foot-seven frame, but when the much taller Axon stood, Nicole suddenly felt small.
“Axon Wainwright,” Axon said and offered his hand.
Nicole grabbed her purse and then slipped her hand into his, intentionally returning the firm shake. His touch was invigorating and gave her an unexpected jolt of energy. “Nicole Summers,” she said. Nicole stood erect and business-like, doing her best to impress one of Tampa’s most powerful men.
Axon held out a hand toward the seat next to him. “Join me,” he said.
Nicole didn’t hesitate. She sat next to the larger than life man—the man who was capable of giving her that career change she was looking for. Although he was older—fifty-five according to his bio in the conference program—he was both charming and sexy. His gray fitted suit matched the tinge of gray at his temples.
Axon leaned forward and glimpsed Nicole’s name tag which listed her name, the business she was representing, and her hometown. “Horses and basketball,” he said.
Yes, but she was interested in neither. “That was a great speech this evening,” she said and proceeded to undress him with her eyes. Older men, especially those in fitted suits, were hot as hell and seemed to always light her carnal flame.
“Thank you,” Axon said. “Hoping to motivate people like yourself to be all they can be. Hopefully give you some useful advice.”
“How to find a better job would be awesome,” Nicole said. Shit, that had come out so bluntly. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
Axon chuckled. “Of course you did or you wouldn’t have said it in the first place.” He nodded at the waitress when she placed his drink on the table. “Thank you, Sherry.” He turned back to Nicole. “I’m meeting someone in a few minutes.” He seemed to notice Nicole’s disappointment. “Find me tomorrow during the conference and we’ll talk further. I’m not making any promises, but at least we’ll get to know each other. Deal?”
Nicole felt her emotions swing upward and she smiled. “Thank you,” she said. “You won’t be disappointed.”
“I’m sure I won’t,” Axon said. He retrieved his drink from the table and stood, shaking Nicole’s hand again before leaving.
Nicole watched Axon. Tomorrow she was interviewing with one of Tampa’s most powerful businessmen. She smiled and inwardly jumped for joy. She returned to her booth and was just about to take a drink when she was interrupted.
“That’s my favorite seat,” the man said.
Nicole raised her head, following the slacks up a slim waistline; pausing where his blue shirt opened up three buttons down from his neck, revealing a light tan, and then finally stared into his cool, blue eyes. Oh fuck, she thought to herself. His black hair hugged the sides of his head, his bangs draped just above his manicured eyebrows. She smiled shyly. Nicole looked at the cushions on either side of her. “I don’t see your name.” Not her best opening line.
“You don’t know my name,” he replied. He slipped from his jacket and placed it over the back of the booth. He slid in next to her, his hip pressing snuggly against hers.
The same waitress who had served Axon Wainwright came over, the sour look on her face much different than the smile she’d given Axon. “The usual?” she asked. The man nodded and she hurried away.
He leaned forward and read Nicole’s name badge, his warm, peppermint breath caressing her neck. Nicole inhaled the scent of the man and felt her eyes waver. Take it down a notch, she warned herself. But then why should she? She was here to have fun, not walk around with a stick up her ass all week. That’s what these conferences were for, right?
“Stetson,” he finally said. He offered his hand and Nicole hesitated.
She’d not seen him in the lounge before Axon left, which meant he’d pretty much walked into the lounge, walked over to her table (his table), and plopped his hot ass right down next to her. He was either a complete asshole or very confident. Nicole slipped her hand in his. The warmth of his hand crawled up her arm, spread across her body, and ignited her carnal flame.
“Are you here for the conference?” she asked. Maybe he didn’t want to walk around like a dork with his name emblazoned on his suit.
The waitress returned with what Nicole guessed bourbon and Coke. She sat the glass on the table next to Nicole’s. When Stetson raised the glass to his lips, Nicole smelled more bourbon than Coke. Great, she was going to be propositioned by a drunk. “No, the restaurant here serves a killer salmon on Sunday evenings. I always stop in to have a drink when I’m finished.” He glanced at her badge again. “You have a room here?”
Really? He just sat down and was already wanting to come to her room. Next he’d be handing her his address and phone number. “Yes, for the week, until the conference is over.”
“Ahh,” he said. Stetson grabbed his suit jacket and fished for something from the inside pocket. When his hand reappeared he was holding a key card. He placed it on the table between the two drinks. “When you get on the elevator, slide the card into the slot below the numbers. The elevator will take you straight to the penthouse.” He finished off the bourbon and Coke and slid his jacket back on. He glanced at his watch. “Thirty minutes.”
Nicole watched him leave and then studied the key card lying on the table. He really expected her to up and go to the room of a total stranger—a hot total stranger. Why couldn’t the same man be both a business contact and give her hot sex? She retrieved the key card. She imagined the view of Tampa and the beach from the top of the hotel. She didn’t have to fuck him if she went up there. Maybe they would have a few drinks and get to know each other. That made her laugh. Yeah, that was his intention.
She stuffed the key card into her purse and scooted across the booth. She dropped a five dollar bill on the table as a tip and looked around the room. What was she looking for? Someone to talk her out of heading to the penthouse suite? This had bad idea written all over it.
In the elevator, Nicole slid the card into the slot below the numbers and adjusted her dress as the elevator began its ascent. She placed the card back into her purse. Could anyone really blame her? Maybe a half-dead woman who hated men. His presence had been overpowering; the sweet scent of his cologne had rubbed off on her dress. His eyes said to trust him, but her heart said to stay guarded, which is what she would do—stay guarded, have some fun.
The elevator chimed and the door opened to a large foyer. She stepped from the elevator and shook her head at the three doors spread out in front of her. He never said which room. She started toward the door in the middle but stopped when the door to the right opened.
“You’re early,” Stetson said and moved aside. “Come on in.”
She couldn’t. The sight of him, the towel wrapped around his waist, the water dribbling from his hair and trickling down his hard chest made her pause. She almost reached out as if to touch his fuck me body.
“The floor’s getting wet,” he said. “Last chance.”
Nicole shuffled forward, passing him without making eye contact because if she had, she would have tried to throw him to the floor and fuck him on the cool, wet marble. She heard the door close behind her. The room was as she expected—lavishly decorated, a wet bar, a view of Tampa and the Gulf of Mexico. She continued into the suite, dropping her purse on the table in the middle of the room. The lights were low and there was a whisper of music playing from somewhere in the room.
“Nice,” Nicole said and turned.
Stetson approached slowly, sipping from the glass Nicole had not noticed when she passed him, too busy studying the floor. He put the glass down next to her purse and then pulled the towel from his waist, using it to dry his hair and the rest of his body.
Nicole stared, her eyes intently landing on his large cock flopping from leg-to-leg as he dried his hair. The President could have walked into the room and she wouldn’t have torn her eyes away from Stetson. She gasped and struggled to fill her lungs. She momentarily considered leaving. He was not just confident, but crazily so.
Stetson finished drying his hair and brushed it back with his fingers. His bangs flopped down his forehead as if they somehow knew that was where they always belonged. He nonchalantly—almost as if Nicole wasn’t in the room—made himself comfortable on the couch; his legs partially spread, his cock lazily and comfortably pointing at her as it rested on the cushion.
Nicole’s sexual prowess had consisted of only three men, a number relatively low, she assumed, for a thirty-year-old woman. None of the three made her body ache to be taken the way the man in front of her did. Women did what this man requested, thus his attitude.
She stepped around the coffee table that separated them and stood between his knees. She liked a man with strong muscular legs and his did not disappoint. He had not given her a clue as to what he wanted from her or how he wanted it. But earlier she had gambled and won with Axon Wainwright. It was time to roll the dice again.
Nicole slowly moved her hands down her hips, her almond eyes never leaving the cool, blue eyes staring back at her. He could be a complete ass in his daily life, but Nicole found something in his eyes that suggested a longing. She suddenly felt comfortable in his presence. She curled her fingers under the hem of her dress and scooted it above her hips, exposing her white, slightly wet, satin panties. Although her eyes stayed trained on his, she could see his once resting cock stretching toward her. He was as excited to see her as she was to see him.
Stetson leaned forward and placed his hands along Nicole’s hips. His hands were warm and instantly made Nicole relax. She felt his thumbs hook the thin bands of her panties and then felt her panties being rolled down her legs.
Like Stetson, Nicole’s legs were strong but more toned than muscular—runner’s legs she liked to boast.
He kissed her stomach and let his tongue linger above the small swatch of black hair that sat above her glistening pussy lips. She raised her hands and snaked her fingers through his black hair, twirling several soft locks between her fingers. None of her previous three lovers had an oral awareness worth mentioning, but as she opened up for Stetson, she knew she would come before his cock ever got near her.
It was obvious he needed no help or instruction, but her hand seemed to have grown a mind of its own, guiding his head, moving it gracefully side-to-side. This is where the others failed, never entering her, always languishing around her clit, never exploring, never opening her up.
His tongue slipped between her lips, briefly toying with her throbbing clit, and then dipped inside. At first he only played along the upper part of her entrance, but then greedily circled inside. Nicole bent at the knees, slightly squatting and moving her feet apart.
He grabbed her ass and pushed her against his face, his tongue exploding deeper. Her hands trembled, and she whispered his name. The pulse from his wrists beat violently against her legs. She said his name again, feeling his hunger for her increasing. She bucked hard against his face and felt him moan. The movement only caused him to hold her tighter. She put her hands on his shoulders and steadied herself, fucking his mouth.
Nicole came hard, expecting him to move away as she did. But then, in a single movement, he shifted her to the couch and continued his oral expertise. Nicole, spent and dizzy, tried to pull away but the man she knew nothing about held her steadfast. She looked down at him; watched his mouth work its orgasmic magic. She wondered if tonight would be her first multi-orgasm.
He shoved two fingers into her stretched opening, the two fingers searching. She felt them exploring. She felt them clinch that one spot, and then it happened again.
He gently moved away and wiped his mouth on the discarded towel. Nicole laid there and slowly opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was her disheveled dress hugging her waist. She looked across the table at the man sitting in the chair, his cock swollen beyond anything she had ever seen. He sipped his drink and watched her over the rim of the glass.
“Crawl to me,” he said. “Crawl to me and put me in your mouth.”
Nicole blinked away the dizziness and stared at him. Was he serious? Crawl to him? Nicole struggled to sit up. She lifted her ass and shimmied her dress over her hips and down her thighs. Where were her panties? She ran her hand along the cushions and groaned when it came up empty.
“Looking for these?” Stetson said. He held up her wet panties and twirled them around his fingers. “Crawl to me and you’re welcome to have them.”
“That’s never going to happen,” Nicole said. She shifted to the edge of the couch and looked down at the large wet spot growing around the crotch of her dress. Embarrassing. She’d have to go down a dozen floors and walk almost the length of a hallway to get to her room. There was also a mixer at midnight she’d planned on attending. Not now.
Nicole stood, the sensation of her own warm cream running down her thigh made her eyes grow wide. She noticed Stetson’s eyes lower. Nicole didn’t dare look down, though, somewhere deep inside, being this wet excited her.
“Can I please have them back?” Nicole asked. She moved her hands to her hips to show the seriousness of the matter. “Now.”
Stetson moved to his feet, the sight of his naked body and his cock pointing at the ceiling almost too much for Nicole to handle. He wasted no time in devouring her, so why not satisfy himself and fuck her? That’s what he really wanted to do. Right?
He held out her panties and snatched them away when she tried to grab them. He tucked his hand behind his back. “Make you a deal,” he said. He glanced at the clock on the wall across the room. It was closing in on one in the morning. “Come back at ten this evening and you can have them back.”
Nicole felt her cheeks glow red. They belonged to her! He then smiled the wicked smile he had used on her in the lounge. That confident smile that said she would do whatever he asked. She grabbed her purse from the table and as she turned she gawked at the couch and the large wet spot. Oh wow, she thought to herself. She leered at Stetson, who only shrugged.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll be back for my panties at ten. But only my panties.”
Nicole turned and marched toward the door, not sure if she was sweaty from anger or the debilitating orgasms.
“Ten o’clock,” Stetson repeated when he opened the door.
Nicole quickened her pace to the elevator and refused to look back. Damn straight she would be back at ten. Maybe give him a taste of his own medicine.
Yep, you impressed me! Check out Nicole on Kindle Unlimited and Cerise Dalton’s other titles.
Today’s Showcase Author is the very talented Tom Benson. He has a ‘hotel series’, Highland Games, and boy are things getting hot in here! The fifth book will be out soon, and we’re biting at the bit as we wait!
Remember all, ya have to be 21. If not, go somewhere else. For mature audiences only… and those with open minds.
Jeff is 25 and runs his own interior decoration business. He discovered a niche in the market for mural painters – and is prepared to paint anything for clients. On the side of Jeff’s van is the promise:
‘Your Wish is My Command’
Cheryl, an attractive 40-year-old wants to make her remote Highland hotel unique. One day while shopping she sees Jeff”s van with his message. She also sees Jeff and a fanciful idea comes to mind ….
Join me reading ‘The First Chapter’.
Monday, 18th June
“I’ll be with you at 9 am tomorrow,” Jeff said. “Thank you for calling. Bye.” He held the phone to one side for a moment and added, “And thanks for the arousal.”
He hoped the caller was as sexy to look at as she was to listen to. Before continuing with his sketches, Jeff drew a small heart beside the number and the name Cheryl.
At 25, Jeff was young to be running a one-man business, but in his first year, he’d made a profit, and built a valuable portfolio of satisfied clients. On achieving his Degree in Visual Communication he didn’t want to work for somebody else.
Jeff was working on cartoon ideas for a single-wall mural for a children’s nursery. He’d already produced eight solutions and pinned them on his large board. Apart from recognisable characters, his brief was to involve plenty of activity in the finished idea.
The stirring sound of ‘Mission Impossible’ filled the room, and Jeff glanced at his phone. St Jude’s.
“Good morning, Mr Aintree,” Jeff said. “How may I help you?” He pulled his diary forward as he listened, and exchanged his pencil for a pen.
“I’m available on Thursday and Friday this week,” Jeff said. “Yes, an hour on both days, and a 10 am start will be okay. I look forward to it. Bye.”
Jeff grinned as he considered the talks he’d given at St Jude’s Sixth Form College. The pupils were always full of interesting questions and made the hour-long sessions worthwhile. By the time he’d finished his talk, he was fulfilled. It meant another group of teenagers had learned a variety of disciplines were available in the field of Visual Communication.
Jeff considered the bonus of spending a short time with the visitors’ liaison officer, Melanie, the Art teacher. They always enjoyed a chat either before or after Jeff dealt with his presentation.
Tuesday, 19th June
Jeff had set off early to enjoy the drive out to Blairgowrie. He parked his small white van in the main public car park, paying for two hours. However interesting the client’s idea was, it was doubtful it would last for longer than two hours.
As Jeff strolled along the narrow main street, it occurred to him he had no idea about his client’s appearance. During the phone call, he’d been mesmerised by the sound of her voice, he’d readily agreed to meet.
He’d made the effort to brush his thick, dark hair, and for reasons he wasn’t sure of, he’d shaved. A formal suit wasn’t in keeping with his profession, but he achieved a smart, casual look with a light safari jacket over a bright blue T-shirt, and jeans. His dark brown suede trainers were both comfortable and fashionable.
Jeff pushed open the glass door of the small, but bright Tartan Teapot. Of the eight tables in the place, four were unoccupied, and one had a single customer.
The woman was maybe in her late 30’s, but no more than 40. Her dark hair hung beyond her shoulders, and her features would attract the eye in a room full of people. When her ruby lips parted in a smile, tiny dimples appeared in her cheeks. She waved.
“Jeff,” she said, but it was enough for the voice to register.
“Good morning,” he said, approaching and reaching out his right hand. “You must be Cheryl.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t provide a description of myself, but I checked your website.” She grinned. “I’d say your bio picture doesn’t do you justice.”
“You’re too kind,” he said. “I’m sure any description you’d have given of yourself wouldn’t have done you justice.”
“I already think I’ll enjoy working with you,” she said and smiled as she arched a shapely brow. “I asked one of the ladies to reserve this table because it’s one of two which are in a secluded corner.”
“It’s a cosy place.”
A teenage girl in white blouse and short tartan skirt approached.
“Good morning. Would you like to order?”
It was agreed to have a large pot of tea and homemade shortbread. The girl gave a polite nod to both customers and departed to fetch the order.
“I shouldn’t indulge,” Cheryl said. “I treat myself occasionally, and the home-baking here is amazing.”
“I’ll take your word for it, and if necessary I’ll put in a few extra press-ups in the morning.”
“Oh, are you a fitness fanatic as well as a designer?”
“I wouldn’t say fanatic, but because a lot of my job is sedentary, I like to keep in shape.”
The waitress appeared at the table, and laid out the contents of the tray. The girl nodded politely and left, glancing back at Jeff as she did.
“It looks like you have an admirer,” Cheryl said.
Jeff’s face coloured. “She’s beautiful, but a bit young.”
“Are you aware of age difference in relationships?”
“When one partner is too young and maybe vulnerable,” he said, and caressed her features with his gaze.
“I’ll pour while you prepare to show me what you’ve got,” Cheryl said and gave a sly grin as she organised two cups of tea.
Jeff rested his laptop on the table and rapidly located the portfolio files for murals and other major artwork.
“I hope you don’t mind me bringing my laptop for this meeting,” he said. “A prospective client gets a better idea of my range this way. I do have a regular portfolio in my van.”
“This means I’ll get to see much more.”
“I take it you’ll find your way around a group of files and a keyboard?”
“I’ll trust my fingers if you do, Jeff,” Cheryl said and grinned as she gazed at him from under her long, dark lashes. She spun the lightweight computer around.
Jeff lifted his cup, and as he drank his tea he took a longer look at his companion. Her brown eyes flicked across each image as she brought them up individually to full screen. While Cheryl was concentrating on the wide-ranging portfolio, Jeff was focusing on Cheryl.
When she’d stood to shake hands, her bright summer mini-dress had hinted at a well-developed chest, and there had been a glimpse of thigh. This lady was attractive and though dressed casually, she was radiant.
“I’m impressed on several levels, Jeff,” Cheryl said as she lifted her cup. “Your murals cover a fantastic range of topics, and they’re all finished to an exceptional standard.”
“May I have a look at the Human Studies albums?”
“Of course,” Jeff said. “I will warn you, several explicit paintings appear in the Erotic Album.”
“The Erotic Album is the one which interests me the most.”
Jeff noted the flick of the right eyebrow, and the twitch at the corner of Cheryl’s lovely lips. She nodded a few times slowly. Jeff was eager to find out which of his more graphic work had impressed.
“Jeff,” Cheryl said, engaging his eyes with hers. “Have you ever brought together the format of a mural with human studies?”
“I’ve never been asked, but as a client, your wish—”
“… is my command,” she finished for him. “It’s a prominent strapline on your website, and it appealed to me.” She returned to viewing the screen.
“May I take it you’d be interested in commissioning a wall?”
“No, Jeff,” she said, looking up from the portfolio. “If I get the right person for the job, I might be interested in commissioning several walls.”
“I work out solutions to design around windows and doors, and though a complete room might be an exception, it’s possible.”
Cheryl nodded. She lifted a piece of shortbread and held it between her even white teeth as she held Jeff’s gaze.
Unsure what to say next, Jeff lifted the large teapot and topped up their drinks. Cheryl chewed with her mouth closed, but the tip of her tongue slipped out to capture tiny crumbs from her lips. Her eyes remained trained on Jeff’s. She swallowed.
“I noticed you’re based in Perth,” Cheryl said. “I’m no expert, but most designers head to the big cities, don’t they?”
“Yes, but while I was studying at the Edinburgh College of Art, I took trips north to Perth and other towns within striking distance. I fell in love with Perthshire and the surrounding area.”
“Did you always want to have your own business?”
“It didn’t occur to me until I learned how designers spent days pandering to the whim of clients, and they were under pressure by their bosses. I wanted to have a go at my own idea, and if it didn’t work out, at least it would have been an experience.”
“I take it you worked from home first?”
“No. I found a small studio flat at a reasonable cost, and it’s proved to be an ideal base for my business idea. The landlord allows me to use an old shed for storage.”
“How far are you willing to go for a job?”
“Regarding distance, I’ve travelled 20 miles, but if it’s worthwhile, I’ll go as far as necessary.”
“My place is 50 miles north in the Grampians. I’ll leave you to consider it for a moment. Please, excuse me.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin, and left the table to visit the bathroom.
Jeff gazed at the long stride of Cheryl’s shapely legs. The hem of her light dress lifted as she walked, and the young designer’s mind was a million miles from the job.
“Well?” Cheryl asked when she returned and took her seat. “What do you think?”
“I’m intrigued, and it sounds like a unique project. I’d be happy to travel to your place. You haven’t mentioned cost?”
“I’m sure you’ll ask a fair price, and I realise it might include extra for your travel. If you’d like to visit, I could explain my vision in greater detail. You might be better able to gauge the extent of the task?”
“I have a job to complete this afternoon, and Thursday and Friday are booked, but tomorrow is free. Would it be okay for you?”
“Tomorrow it is,” Cheryl said, and turned to lift a business card from her shoulder bag. “It’s a few miles before Braemar, but I’m sure you’ll find it.”
“Highland Haven,” Jeff said as he inspected the picture of a smart house nestling among the mountains. “It looks beautiful. Is it remote?”
“Would 9 am be too early?”
“It’ll be okay if it doesn’t affect your morning routine.”
“I’ll get up earlier, and do my training session.”
The pair enjoyed more tea together and discussed the beauty of the Scottish Highlands, before parting company.
Wednesday, 20th June
As Jeff drove through Blairgowrie, his mind wandered to his meeting the day before with the alluring Cheryl. He’d been quick to check out the Highland Haven website when he got back to Perth on Tuesday afternoon, but apart from a good picture of the house, and a selection of views around the area there wasn’t much to go on.
Most interesting was the announcement Highland Haven was a boarding house which would reopen in the late summer following a major refurbishment. The new management were listed as C and A Laurie, but no pictures of the owners appeared.
It was a beautiful sunny day to be driving into the stunning scenery of the Highlands, and as Jeff left the hamlet of Bridge of Cally, his next checkpoint was Spittal of Glenshee, high on the mountain pass.
‘Isn’t She Lovely’ by Stevie Wonder played on the radio.
“She is, Stevie,” Jeff murmured as he continued on the winding, picturesque tourist route. He drove through the area known as Spittal of Glenshee and kept a lookout for the narrow track to the left a short distance later.
“Here we are.” He slowed to take the turn, and to allow a few sheep to cross the track. For a mile, the narrow road wound between foothills, and climbed. Jeff passed the point where the publicity shot of the house had been taken. He stopped his van to reverse back a few yards, and lifted Cheryl’s business card to confirm.
Jeff parked beside the other vehicles at the house – a red BMW 5-Series, and a dark green Mazda MX5 two-seater. He lifted his sketch pad, and laptop from the passenger seat, and as he turned, his prospective client was standing on the doorstep gazing at his company logo, and the promise underneath, ‘Your Wish is my Command’.
“Good morning.” Cheryl stepped towards him from the front door.
“Hello,” he said and rapidly appraised her from head to toe.
Cheryl’s dark hair was draped over her shoulders. She was wearing a white blouse, knotted at the front, which drew attention to her impressive chest and lightly tanned midriff. The bleached Daisy Dukes fitted like a second skin without pinching, and Cheryl’s brown sandals had a wedge heel which accentuated her superb legs.
Regardless if she was in her late 30’s, Cheryl was comfortable with her body.
“Did you enjoy the sights on the drive?”
“I did, thank you,” he said. “I didn’t think it could get any better, until now.”
Jeff’s physique stretched his white T-shirt. As he checked out his prospective client the front of his jeans were getting a similar treatment to the T-shirt. Cheryl turned to push the door open and treated him to the sight of her tight, rounded buttocks in denim.
“Let’s get indoors.”
“Lead the way,” Jeff said with sincerity.
“It’s up to you,” Cheryl said as they went along the hallway. “We’ll conduct a tour, and let you make your assessment, or have a drink first.”
“I wouldn’t mind something chilled.”
“Okay. You go through the dining room there, and out to the patio. I’ll organise a jug of fruit juice.”
Jeff went into the dining room. He noticed the brass nameplate on the white door and noted everything from the ceiling to the skirting board was white, and freshly painted. The wooden floor shone like it did in the hallway. Except for one table, all the furniture was centralised and protected by white dust sheets.
He checked the wall surfaces with his palm before stepping through the French doors to the patio. Five all-weather wooden picnic tables with bench seats were situated on the large area of wooden decking. Two tables were on the left, two on the right, and one centrally, a few feet from the doors.
“I see you’re already making an assessment of the place,” Cheryl said when she returned.
“If all the walls you’d like me to work on are like the dining room, it will be a pleasure. The surfaces are finished perfectly.” He found his mind wandering as he gazed at this woman.
A tall blonde in the classic black and white maid’s outfit walked out through the wide doorway onto the patio carrying a tray with a jug, glasses, and a small ice bucket.
Jeff was entranced by his host, but was briefly distracted by the maid, because the hem of the black dress stopped halfway up the generous thighs, which were clad in black fishnets.
“Thank you, Alex,” Cheryl said as the blonde turned and walked from the patio back through the dining room. Cheryl turned to Jeff. “It’s crucial for me, you’re happy with the surfaces, and the working environment here.”
Jeff caught Cheryl’s faint smile, and wondered if she’d caught him checking out the maid’s legs. Whatever, the lovely host sat at the table opposite to him, and used tongs to drop ice cubes into the two glasses before pouring the fresh orange juice.
“When you say, surfaces,” Jeff said, “are you thinking of having me deal with more than one room?”
“Would it be a problem?”
“No, it won’t be a problem, but I’ll have a better idea of how much time to set aside.” He sipped his chilled juice. “I noticed on your website last night, a proposed re-opening in late summer.”
“Yes, I’ll set a date when you give me an estimate for completion. Until recently I wanted the place refurbished in a contemporary style, but a couple of issues cropped up which altered my plans.”
“How many rooms do you have to be decorated?”
“Five guest rooms, a dining room, lounge, kitchen, two private rooms and a small study.”
“How many rooms would you like me to tackle before you open for business?”
“If you’re broad-minded enough to do as I ask, and you have the time, I’d like you to deal with all of the guest rooms, the dining room, lounge, and the hallway.”
Jeff choked on his juice and placed the glass on the table.
“It’s a big job?” he said, his eyes opening wide.
“Mmm ….” She smiled.
“Why would it depend on how broad-minded I am?”
Cheryl placed her elbows on the table in front of her and rested her chin on her clasped fingers. Her eyes locked onto Jeff’s.
“My plan is to make this a special retreat,” she said. “The guests will be staying in a remote location and I’d like them to relax with confidence.”
Jeff nodded and sipped his drink, keen to hear more.
“Guests should dress as they see fit without the worry of being ridiculed. They’ll all be here in the knowledge the other guests also have an unconventional attitude to sexual behaviour.”
“Right,” Jeff said. “May I ask if you have a particular sexual persuasion you intend to attract?”
“The exception will be the S and M types. I have nothing against them per se, but I’d prefer to avoid adapting the accommodation if you get my drift?”
“I do.” Jeff smiled as he considered such a conversion.
“Well, Jeff,” Cheryl said, continuing to hold his gaze. “How far would you be prepared to go for me?”
“I’ve always maintained the promise on the side of my van,” he said. “If I accept the job, and you’re happy with my recommendations, your wish is my command.”
“I believe we’re going to make a great team.”
Jeff’s cheeks had coloured since the mention of the retreat the boarding house was to become. Being broad-minded didn’t mean he didn’t feel embarrassed having such a conversation with a woman who aroused him by being near him.
“Whatever is said in the media regarding tolerance, we have a secret society,” Cheryl said. “Before we go inside, I’d like you to do something for me.”
“If it’s within my power, I’ll do it.”
“Take a few minutes to consider what mainstream society defines as sexual deviation.”
Jeff swallowed hard before lifting his drink.
“When you’ve had a minute or two to think about it,” Cheryl said, “I’d like you to tell me how many persuasions you’re aware of, apart from the one I mentioned.”
As Cheryl topped up both their glasses, Jeff’s eyes wandered somewhere other than his host for the first time since his arrival. He gazed at the mountains which were the backdrop to this hideaway. He nodded and turned to face Cheryl, but enjoyed another drink first.
“First,” he said, “we have the obvious categories of gay men, gay women, and bi-sexual.”
Cheryl nodded but didn’t speak. Dimples formed in her glowing cheeks.
“Next,” Jeff said, “we have transgender, which includes transvestites, cross-dressers, and transsexuals. The others which come to mind would be those who don’t always need a partner – the voyeurs, and the exhibitionists.”
“I’m impressed,” Cheryl said. “Would you say bi-curious was a category?”
“It didn’t occur to me, but I suppose I’d think of them as a sub-category to bi-sexual. Some people might be eager to try, but haven’t yet had the opportunity.”
“How do you feel about those various groups of people?”
“I don’t have any strong feelings about them one way or the other,” Jeff said. “I believe we should all be free to live as we see fit, as long as nobody is harmed.”
“I’ve seen your portfolio, and your artwork demonstrates real talent. Now you’ve impressed me with your ethics, which as you’ll find out, is important.”
“Thank you. If I’m nothing else, Cheryl, I’m honest. What you see is what you get.”
“I’m pleased to hear it.” A shapely eyebrow arched.
“If I’ve passed the test thus far, I think I’m ready to hear your plans for the rooms.”
“I’d like each room to be custom-decorated to suit the sexual tastes of the main categories we’ve agreed.”
“In each room, you’ll want more than one wall painted, and now I’m thinking you’d like large paintings of people getting it together, but in special ways.”
“Jeff, I believe we’re on the same track. Are you game?”
“I’m ready for the tour.” He lifted his pad but left his laptop on the table.
“Before we go upstairs,” Cheryl said. “I’ll let you see what’s down here. Through the open door at the end is where we have the kitchen. Like everywhere else, the walls are finished in white, but there’s no rush to deal with the kitchen.”
Jeff followed Cheryl along the hallway, and she opened a door which had a brass plate stating Private.
“This is my lounge, and my bedroom is interconnected. I’d like to prioritise the other areas before we discuss what to do in my private space.” She closed the door and opened the door opposite the dining room. “This is a communal lounge, which is well-lit, having French doors at one end, and a large bay window at the other end.”
Cheryl pointed along the hallway.
“We have another private room along at the end, which is the office. Like the kitchen, the private rooms could be left until later.”
“It’s nothing to do with my task, but why does the office have a ‘Private’ on the plate, instead of ‘Office’?”
“It’s a good question, and my reasoning is, guests are less inclined to disturb somebody in a private room than they are in an office.”
“Clever.” Jeff nodded, impressed by the simple logic.
As they set off upstairs, Jeff noted it was the first place he’d seen any carpet. The landing too was carpeted, and having large windows at either end, the upstairs was well-lit.
“As I’ve had done downstairs,” Cheryl said, “all of the rooms are finished in white, furnished, and prepared for the next stage of decoration.” She pushed open the doors as Jeff followed her along the landing. “The doors all have brass plates with a number.”
“I haven’t seen a bathroom up here. I take it the rooms all have en-suite facilities?”
“Yes, to suit my plan it was a necessity.”
“True,” Jeff said. “It should have registered with me after our earlier conversation.” He moved to the banister. “May I measure one of the rooms up here to get some idea of the area to be covered?”
“I’m going to leave you to your own devices for a while. Take as long as you wish, and for now, except the private rooms, you may measure or take pictures to your heart’s content.”
“I’ll start with Room One,” he said. “I’ll give you a shout if I see a problem.”
“In about an hour we’ll have tea and a sandwich if you like.”
“Sounds great … thank you.”
Jeff paused before going into Room One. He leaned forward and peered over the banister as Cheryl reached the halfway point going downstairs. The view down her blouse was superb. She stopped on the stairs, but spoke without looking up.
“The floor creaks as you cross the landing to enter Room One.” She giggled before continuing down to the ground floor.
Jeff’s face was beaming as he stepped toward Room One, and sure enough, the floorboards creaked.
“Now she thinks I’m a bloody pervert,” he murmured.
And now, the story begins… You can find Tom’s work on Kindle Unlimited. I’ve just given you a taste of his work. Are you ready for the action? Keep reading on Amazon.
In 1969 at the age of 17, Tom left his native Glasgow to join the British Army. Tom’s military career spanned from 1969 to 1992. He followed this with a career in Retail Management, in which he was employed from 1992 to 2012.
Nick’s appetite for sexual experimentation goes beyond what Kirsten will allow. Kirsten’s love for Nick is pushed to the limit, however, she confides in a friend and takes a course of action that nobody would have expected – least of all her boyfriend.
The couple find themselves in a world where they will both see fantasy become reality, but at what cost?
Monday 19th March 2007
Kirsten McCourt opened her eyes and stared at the bedroom ceiling. Before she registered the dawn chorus, a tear rolled down her cheek. The stinging of her buttocks had eased, but they had burned during the slaps of the night before. The pain had dulled in the crevice between her buttocks. She slowly turned her head left.
Nick lay facing Kirsten, his long fair hair spread over the pillow. A serene expression on his handsome face suggested innocent thoughts. His lips twitched, creating a smile as something crossed his mind. Even in sleep he laid claim to Kirsten, his left arm draped over her body and left leg over hers.
Kirsten used her right foot to ease Nick’s leg from hers, and then she gently raised his arm and slid out from under the duvet. She wiped her eyes as she gazed at Nick. She idolised but occasionally feared him. Kirsten needed to get her head straight with regards to their relationship, and not for the first time she’d do so in the shower.
Tears flowed unchecked in the hot, cleansing spray as Kirsten sobbed quietly, her arms akimbo. She created a healthy lather over her body as if it would help to wash away the memory of the night before.
Kirsten cleaned her hair and every other part of her body before slipping her fingers gingerly between her buttocks. She massaged gel over her tight rosebud. It was tender to the touch. Tears and pleading prevented full insertion into that most private place, but Nick’s first brutal effort had been frightening.
Nick’s words continually played back. ‘Come on baby, it’ll only hurt until I’m in ….’, but Kirsten was not prepared to put up with that supposedly minor discomfort. She had fought against it. Annoyed that he couldn’t have his way, Nick kept Kirsten in position and gave her a series of slaps on both buttocks, and then rammed her pussy from behind. There was no foreplay, or consideration, simply an animal urge and his sexual gratification.
Kirsten sat at the breakfast bar to enjoy her cereal, fruit, and orange juice. She washed it down with black coffee, treating herself to a single sweetener.
The pretty 23-year-old put the used crockery and utensils into the washer and closed it quietly so as not to disturb her boyfriend’s extended slumber. Kirsten brushed her teeth, put on her jacket and checked herself out in the hallway mirror. The inspection wasn’t through vanity, but to ensure she was presentable.
A light shake of her head and her long copper hair sat perfectly. Her blemish-free, complexion provided the ideal canvas for features that could advertise a range of cosmetics. As a beauty consultant, that made sense. Kirsten smiled at her reflection as she always did before leaving the apartment. It took a little longer than normal for the smile.
She turned left and right to ensure that she was looking good. The navy jacket, crisp white blouse and red mini-skirt worked well with navy high-heels. She inclined her head, and raised an eyebrow, practising one of the looks that she used to wow husbands or boyfriends with her charms. The men were invariably the people who asked for her advice, and they’d buy anything from her.
Kirsten walked through to the bedroom and looked at the man on the bed. He had been such a catch 11 months earlier, and she had been the envy of her friends. As Kirsten looked at Nick, she wondered if she’d ever be brave enough to talk about how shallow he could be. His selfishness only affected certain aspects of their relationship, but it would have to be addressed. Kirsten was feeling the pressure.
She closed the front door quietly and then held her head high for the world outside. She walked to her car smiling, disguising her inner turmoil.
Kirsten was in the small staff room at 10 am, sipping coffee, unaware of anyone else. The question sounded insistent, but she was sure she’d only heard it once.
“Kirsten,” Sarah said for the third time. “Are you okay love?”
“What?” Kirsten responded as if she’d just woken from a deep sleep.
“I asked if you were okay,” Sarah said. “You were on your own when I came in here. While I made a coffee, I was chatting away to you, but you haven’t responded.”
“Oh God, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologise, but please loosen up a bit. You’ve been sitting staring at that wall as if waiting for a death sentence.” She smiled and winked. “Don’t tell me that man of yours has been giving you a hard time … in the nicest possible way.”
Kirsten turned to look at her colleague. Sarah was 40, tall, blonde and attractive. One of the things the younger girls liked about her was that she acted more like a friend than a bitch, like the previous supervisor. Kirsten’s dark lashes fluttered a few times and her lips trembled. She placed her coffee on the table and rummaged through her bag.
“Here,” Sarah said, offering a tissue. Kirsten took long, deep breaths as she wiped her eyes. Sarah put her coffee down and stood. “Come here, you.” She held her arms out and looked down at her colleague.
Kirsten stood and fell into Sarah’s comforting embrace, sobbing uncontrollably. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled against Sarah’s shoulder.
Sarah whispered. “Just let it all out, honey.” Kirsten sobbed freely. A lot of frustration was being released. There was a click as the door to the small staff room opened, but a sharp nod from Sarah sent the person away without a word. She embraced Kirsten until she settled.
“Now,” Sarah said. “I’m going to make us both a nice fresh coffee, with sugar instead of bloody sweeteners. While I’m doing that, you’re going to tidy up that pretty face.”
Five minutes later the pair were sat opposite in the staff room again. Unknown to Kirsten, Sarah had visited the sales floor and told one of the other girls to pass around, that morning breaks would be 15 minutes late. Only then had she returned to organise coffees.
“Okay, you’re looking better now,” Sarah said. “We have a couple of ways to deal with this situation. One idea would be to do nothing, which is not an option. While I consider something else, I’d like you to enjoy your coffee and answer a couple of questions if you will.”
Kirsten nodded and lifted the steaming drink to her lips.
Sarah said, “I have no right to pry. You have no need to tell me what is going on, but I can see that things are not all rosy in the garden.” She paused and sipped her coffee, savouring the sweetness of real sugar.
Kirsten sipped her coffee and peered over the rim of her mug.
Sarah continued. “I’m going out on a limb here honey, so please forgive me if I’m way off track.” She paused. “How would it sound if I suggested that your gorgeous guy was just that, but maybe in some respects he could be a total bastard?”
Kirsten closed her eyes briefly. When she opened her eyes and caught Sarah’s gaze, she couldn’t hold it, and looked down. She bit her trembling lip.
“Bulls-eye,” Sarah said, in confirmation, but not triumph. “Once again Kirsten, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Is it the whole domestic scene, or the bedroom?”
Kirsten swallowed. “Bedroom,” she whispered.
“Look at me,” Sarah said, and waited. “How long has he lived at your place?”
“Nearly a year, but it was only a couple of months ago that things started-,”
“Do you love him?”
“Yes, I’m bloody crazy about him, and most of the time he’s adorable, but-,”
“Does he love you?”
“Yes, he tells me every day, sometimes does the shopping, and helps around the apartment. He does stuff like that, but it’s the other part of our relationship that isn’t right.”
“The intimate part isn’t right?”
“Mmmm,” Kirsten murmured and looked down again.
“Have you any plans for lunch-time today?”
“No. Why?” Kirsten lifted her head.
Sarah reached out and placed a hand on Kirsten’s. “Lunch is on me today. We’ll be going out at 12 noon to a quiet little place I know and we’ll have a chat.”
Kirsten forced a smile. “Thank you,”
Kirsten and Nick finished their evening meal. They were still seated at the dining table when an unexpected piece of news set certain wheels in motion.
“Well, it’s finally happened,” Nick said. “I’m at work until a week on Saturday, and then there are two of us on paid leave for two weeks, before a decision.”
“What do you mean, ‘paid leave for two weeks, before a decision’?”
“Joe said the garage hasn’t got enough work for everybody at the moment, so he’s prepared to keep two of us on the books if we’ll accept half-wages for two weeks. We’ve to take the time off as a holiday, but it will be unofficial.”
“You volunteered to do that without telling me?”
“Well baby, it was me or somebody else, and I might as well have the time off.”
Kirsten imagined how horny Nick would be sitting around all day, every day. He would pounce on her when she arrived home from a day at work.
She considered that he’d take inspiration from the Internet sites he visited. He was probably unaware that he had failed to cover his tracks a couple of times. She had discovered peculiar websites in the browsing history of her laptop, but she was in denial about it.
“So,” Kirsten murmured. “You’re at work normally for two weeks and then you’re off for two weeks?”
“That’s what I said honey-bunch,” he said and winked. “It means I’ll be all rested every day and ready to take you to Heaven and back before bedtime, and then again later.”
Kirsten feigned a smile and thought – he believes that’s how it is. She sipped some water and stood, her mind made up. Since her lunchtime chat with Sarah, she had worried about taking the advice that Sarah gave her. Kirsten had no choice. A discussion didn’t work with Nick. She’d tried often.
She said, “Would you mind clearing the dishes Nick? I have to chase up a couple of things on the company website before I forget.”
“Sure,” he said and winked. “Maybe some night this week we’ll pick up with some bedroom adventures.”
Dimples appeared on Kirsten’s cheeks as she turned to leave the room. She had already decided that they would not be taking his idea of bedroom adventures any further. If necessary she would keep her underwear on in bed, or suggest that Nick slept on the sofa.
Kirsten powered up her laptop at the small desk in the spare room. By the time it was ready, her breathing was erratic. She glanced over her shoulder at the partly closed bedroom door and then went straight to her Inbox.
She checked the email address that Sarah had given her, and entered firstname.lastname@example.org into the contact line. She entered, ‘Initial Contact – Urgent’, in the subject line. Kirsten worried that Nick might sneak up on her for a laugh while she was writing. She had just composed a brief explanation when there was a noise behind her. Kirsten looked over her shoulder, only to see that Nick was visiting the bathroom.
When Kirsten checked over her message and considered that she was sending it to a complete stranger, it shocked her. She hesitated with the cursor over the ‘Send’ button. She didn’t have the courage to press it and bit her lip as she looked at the wall in front of her.
Kirsten considered a two-week period of Nick’s unusual sexual demands and then after a few seconds she looked down at the screen. In a neat little window above her message, there was an assurance that it had gone. She gasped, and closed her eyes.
Nick believed Kirsten when she told him that she wasn’t feeling well. She didn’t look well, but he didn’t know it was because she was worried about his sexual yearnings. She was already wondering how far she would take her enquiry. An email was one thing, but what would happen if there was a reply? Would she be able to continue?
As the evening went on, so the more uptight Kirsten felt. She excused herself more than once and then stood in front of the bathroom mirror. She had opened a bottle of wine at dinner, and after sipping hers, continually topped up Nick’s. He happily swallowed glass after glass.
By bedtime, Kirsten had opened another bottle. Nick’s eyes flickered as he reached the last of the second bottle. He was okay on beer, but Kirsten knew that although he had difficulty handling wine, he enjoyed the taste. Nick fell asleep on the sofa, and Kirsten threw a heavy blanket over him.
It was late when Kirsten crept into the spare room to check her Inbox. There was a response signed ‘Heather’. Kirsten simultaneously smiled and began fretting. The confidential, wild option that Sarah had suggested was now a real possibility. Kirsten responded to the message, by saying that she would like to take the enquiry a stage further. She assured Heather that the initial personal information would be forwarded the next day.
Unknown to Kirsten, at around 2 am, Nick woke up disorientated, and with a dry mouth. He brushed his teeth and crept into the bedroom ready to surprise Kirsten with his raging erection.
“Well baby,” he murmured as he arrived at the foot of the bed. “You’ll probably resist, but you left me on the sofa. I’ll fix you up in no time.”
Kirsten was stretched out and wrapped in the duvet. Her body was lying at an angle and her head was at the edge of the bed. Near the bed on the floor was a small round basin with a brown coloured liquid in the bottom, and it had an unusual aroma.
Nick headed to the sofa and wrapped up in the blanket.
Monday 26th March 2007
Each evening for a week, Kirsten insisted that she wasn’t feeling well, but hinted that she was considering Nick’s suggestions. She went to the spare room every night and sent responses to Heather’s questions.
Kirsten had difficulty writing about her situation at first, but by the fourth evening she had begun to open up. Areas that she highlighted were her concerns about Nick’s desires, and suspicions that she had about his behaviour.
A request came in an email from Heather – urine samples from Kirsten and Nick, and in the same message was a proposed booking date if all were clear and Kirsten wished to go ahead. It was easy to convince Nick that Kirsten had them both checked privately to make sure that she didn’t have a condition that she might have passed to him. Neither of them had ever suffered from that type of thing.
Nick’s main concern was the lack of regular sex, but Kirsten managed to appease him a few times by taking him in hand. She explained that until she was happy that all was clear, she wasn’t prepared for them to mix body fluids. Nick said he was happy enough because at least he wasn’t reduced to dealing with his frustration, although he still did occasionally.
Saturday 31st March 2007
Kirsten continued the practise of opening a bottle of wine more regularly after dinner. She knew that if Nick weren’t getting his leg over every night, he would be content to sink a few glasses of wine. Nick loved the taste, and it tended to make him more relaxed. Kirsten had promised him the previous week that everything ought to be back to normal in the bedroom by the end of the month.
When Nick woke up and looked around, there was no sign of Kirsten in the apartment. Her car wasn’t in her space outside. She must have been okay for work again, so surely everything was okay? A smile crept over Nick’s face when he checked the calendar.
“Well baby,” Nick said aloud. “You might have been sick for a couple of weeks, but you are getting a right royal shagging tonight.” He grinned. By the end of the day, he would have two weeks of lazing around. He’d have time on the Internet and his needs met at least twice a day. Once dealt with by himself, and then later by his lovely girlfriend.
He stroked his cock lovingly. “Oh yes,” he said. “I have a hard time planned for you, my friend.” Nick had breakfast and got dressed for work, a smile never far away.
In the evening, Nick was home first and quickly showered and changed. He was eager to keep Kirsten to her word and he wanted to be acceptable when he sidled up to her after dinner. Things didn’t work out exactly as he had planned.
“This is nice,” Nick said. “But why are we having such a light meal in the evening?” He waited. Kirsten looked at him. “Are you making sure you’re ready for action?”
“No,” she said. “I didn’t want to eat too much because I’ll be driving for a couple of hours later.”
“Where are you going on a Saturday night?”
“It’s not so much where I’m going – it’s where we’re going,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about some of those things that you want us to do, in the bedroom.”
“Oh yeah,” he said. “What’s on your mind baby?”
“I know I shouldn’t have said anything to anybody,” Kirsten said. “It’s just that I know this girl that will do anything for her boyfriend, so I asked her advice.”
“It’s not like you to talk to anybody about sex. So what did she say?”
“She gave me an idea,” Kirsten said. “As long as you don’t fly off the handle with me, I’ve organised something special to celebrate our first year together.”
Nick’s brow furrowed. “Go on,”
Kirsten said, “I’ve set up a short break to help us deal with our sexual issues.”
“This sounds interesting,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “I’m listening.”
“I’ve booked us into a special place for a few days for SECS sessions. It’s a private clinic a couple of hours’ drive from here.”
“This gets better as you go on,” Nick said and grinned. “Sex sessions …?”
“It’s S.E.C.S. – that’s an abbreviation for Sexual Exploration and Consultation Services.”
“Why do we have to book into some clinic? We can discuss things here and then just try them out.”
“We can’t discuss things, Nick. We’ve tried that more than once. All you want to do is convince me how inhibited I am, and how much we should experiment.”
“So how is this private place going to help?”
“This person told me that I might be uptight because of my strict upbringing, combined with my present surroundings. She said that it worked for her and her boyfriend, to get right away from it all.”
“You know I hate a long drive,” Nick said. “I get car-sick.”
“You’d like us to have a more adventurous love life wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah, of course, I would, but do we have to travel?”
“Do you want me to take part in experiments in bed, or not?”
“Yeah baby, but a long car journey ….”
Kirsten knew it was make or break time. “Well my love,” she paused to muster confidence. “You can forget any chance of trying your ideas of fun in bed, or you can sleep on the journey.”
Nick nodded slowly. His brow furrowed as he looked across the table.
Kirsten forced a smile and held up a small sachet. “This is harmless, so the most you’ll have to put up with is a mild headache when you wake up.”
“And this trip to the land of make-believe is tonight?”
“Yes, tonight,” she said. She smiled inwardly, pleased to have pushed herself, but she knew that he might knock her confidence. Kirsten placed a forkful of food in her mouth to give her reason to stop talking.
Nick’s eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped. “You were sick for a week, and you’ve been recovering for a week, but now you can handle a long drive. That sounds strange.”
Kirsten forced herself to be calm. She swallowed her food and took a drink of water. “Believe what you want, Nick, but don’t start looking for excuses, please.”
“Before we go running off, did you ever try this with your previous boyfriend? What was his name – Phillip?”
“No, I explained before, he was just a lazy, drunken shit.” She put her head in her hands. “I don’t want to talk about him again.”
“Okay, so tell me one thing. Did you have a sex life with him, or not?”
“That’s not fair Nick. I’m trying to save our relationship. You are so unlike him, in many ways, but you can be so bloody selfish. I want to try the things that you suggest, but you’re just so … impatient.” She left the table and strode to the window, where she looked down at the street.
Nick said, “You’ve had two previous boyfriends. One of them got nowhere with you and left you, and one was a drunk. You’ve got me who wants to do lots of things with you, and you don’t like to do more than lay back and think of England.”
She turned and looked at him, her lips parting, but she was unable to speak.
Nick held his hands up. “I’m sorry Kirsten, love. That was unfair. It’s just that there’s more to sex than me doing press-ups on top of you.” She squinted at him but said nothing. Her blinking eyes glistened.
“Okay, okay, I’m making a right bloody mess of this,” he said. “I know that sounded awful, but you have to admit, we don’t have the most exciting times in bed.”
“I’m going to pack a bag for the week, Nick. You could do likewise if you want to do this. I’ll prepare a drink for you – if we’re going.”
“You mean a secret potion because you’re a witch,” he said and laughed. She didn’t laugh, and her lips merely twitched when she tried to force a smile.
“Maybe you want me to try too many new things; I don’t know.” Kirsten sighed. “If we do this, I’m hoping that we’ll get things sorted out so that it satisfies both of us.”
“Hey,” he said, smiling as he approached her. “Maybe I’m just oversexed, eh?”
“Yes, Nick, maybe you are,” she said. She couldn’t laugh it off. His remarks had been cutting. “Maybe I haven’t learned to appreciate sexual experimentation.”
Nick’s smile faded. Kirsten squeezed past him to go pack. She managed to hold back her tears but was glad that she’d taken Sarah’s advice and contacted Heather.
An hour later, Kirsten poured a glass of pineapple juice. “I’ve used a stronger juice so that it doesn’t taste unpleasant. I want you relaxed on the journey.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” he said and swallowed the concoction. “If this does anything strange to me, I’ll expect compensation of a special kind.” He winked at her.
“You really can’t stop yourself, can you?” she said. “Compensation will be yours when we get where we’re going.” She treated him to a smile, because she didn’t want to set off with bad feeling between them. When Nick was beaten, he always tried humour.
“I am sorry for spouting off, Kirsten, love,” he said. “I promise, I’ll do whatever it takes to improve things for us.” He held his arms out and they embraced. There was still tension when their lips met briefly. They held each other in silence for a minute.
Kirsten realised this could be a turning point, and she wondered if Nick sensed it.
While Nick prepared the apartment for leaving; Kirsten packed the car.
Kirsten drove from Jedburgh towards Hawick. Nick’s eyes were closing for long periods, but he sat silently, grinning like the cat that got the cream. He adjusted himself three times inside 15 minutes. Perhaps the powder did have strange side-effects.
A glance at the car clock and then at Nick’s face told Kirsten that things were going to plan. She nudged the heater control up a little as she changed gear. Five minutes later, Nick’s eyelids were fluttering like butterfly’s wings. Kirsten nudged the heater control up again. Two minutes later, Nick was asleep. Kirsten turned down the heater.
“You forced me into this,” Kirsten whispered. “I hope I haven’t made a huge mistake.” The only response from Nick was the sound of light snoring. Kirsten knew that she would be the weak link. She accelerated and headed west towards the A74 (M). She took the northbound carriageway of the motorway and headed for the Scottish Highlands.
They passed the services area at Lockerbie and by then, Kirsten was able to judge journey time. Traffic was light, so they would make it to their destination in a couple of hours. She needed to think, so had no music playing. The car cruised along with the steady throb of the engine and the sound of the wind whistling past.
Kirsten considered the things she’d found on Nick’s favourite websites. Had he intended her to find those links, as if by accident? It wasn’t only pictures that had been on the websites – there had been videos too. Nick had visited a wide variety of activities, including same-sex couples of both genders, two of one sex with one of another and some people who were in a different category altogether. There were some very unusual people out there.
“Oh, my ….” Kirsten gasped. She had been imagining herself in some of the scenes and realised that the thought of being with another woman had made her cheeks warm but had also affected her elsewhere in an unexpected way.
She shook her head. It was all very well being curious, but it might feel different when faced with the reality. Kirsten wondered how brave she would be when she met Heather, the woman she had been in touch with by email. It occurred to her that she didn’t even know what Heather looked like, or how many other people worked at the clinic.
Kirsten was zipping past other vehicles and realised that she was in the outside lane, exceeding the speed limit. She bit her lip and slowed. “Get a grip, Kirsten,” she said aloud. She couldn’t decide whether it was apprehension or excitement that was gaining the upper hand, but whatever it was caused her to tremble occasionally.
Source: We Will Never Forget…
Source: Animus and Night Fire
The first author in our Showcase is the very talented, Ophelia Bell. Once you start reading, you won’t stop. For mature audiences only. Are you over 21? If not, go somewhere else. Now!
The first book today is Animus (Sleeping Dragons Book 1). To me, this combines everything I love in one story. Archeology (Yep, I’m a wanna-be Indiana Jones), mystery, erotica… a strong female who’s determined yet relatable.
For Erika and her team of Ivy League-educated archaeologists, trekking through a hot, wet jungle and penetrating the depths of the elusive dragon temple they’ve been hunting is all in a day’s work. Little do they know that once inside, their minds and bodies will become immersed in centuries-old magic, the tantalizing effects of which they are powerless to resist.
To the First Chapter. See ya at the bottom.
Animus Chapter One
Erika always got a little damp between the thighs on the cusp of an archaeological find, but this wasn’t just any old pile of ancient bones she was about to uncover. Today her entire body thrummed with excitement. If the coordinates were right, this would be the find of the century.
The vine-covered rock wall in front of her was the final barrier. Her heart pounded in anticipation of what she hoped lay beneath. With passionate rips, she yanked the foliage away to display the elaborate, smooth carving of a dragon wound into a disc-shape.
The image sent a thrill through her. Hot-damn, we found it! The culmination of her hard years of graduate research rested in the darkness somewhere behind that slab of vine-covered rock. She and her team would be the first to set eyes on it.
In spite of her conviction that they’d finally reached the end of their quest, she glanced back to her geologist for confirmation, itching with impatience.
Eben’s eyes widened and he looked up from the handheld GPS unit. “I just sprung wood, baby,” he said, echoing her own thoughts. “Fuck yeah! This is it!”
Cheers erupted from the group behind them. They deserved to celebrate after enduring an exhausting trek through the remote reaches of the Sumatran jungle to get here, but the true celebration would have to wait just a little bit longer.
“Yeah, but it’s just a wall.” She swept her hands over the ridged face of the stone slab in front of her, ripping down more vines as she went. “How do we get inside, assuming there’s an inside to get to?”
Eben slunk up behind her, pressing his tall, muscular body against her back. His hands covered hers while they explored the rock face. The arousing scent of his heady musk hit her nose and she inhaled.
“Maybe extra hands are necessary,” he whispered in her ear. “Those old dwarves could be horny bastards, wanting their stones touched by everyone.”
“Dwarves… You’ve been watching too many movies. But I know someone’s a horny bastard,” she whispered, shifting her backside away from his obvious hard-on. He didn’t seem to notice, moving around her to inspect the wall more closely.
She let him take control of their exploration of the hard surface before them. Eben had an uncanny ability to suss out the secrets of just about any mineral. He also had a particular skill at sinking his rock-hard shaft into her deeper crevices whenever the mood struck them. It was why she’d been so attracted to him during their undergrad years. Post-graduation, she’d kept him around because he was every bit as ambitious as she was to explore the deeper reaches of the world and all its secrets. It also didn’t hurt that the tall, irreverent blond was very easy on the eyes.
But their relationship had shifted since the start of this expedition. Her desire for Eben was purely built from necessity. He had always been more than happy to scratch her near-constant itch but his remedy to her overactive libido was gradually growing less and less effective.
Erika’s drive to find this temple was ever present during her waking hours, overtaking even that craving for sex. When she slept it was a different story. The need to complete a successful expedition and bring back proof she could rub in all her colleagues’ faces was just the surface of what pushed her on.
The source of her itch – the strange dreams she’d had since she was a teen – had grown more detailed the deeper she dug into her research into the existence of dragons. Now the dreams haunted her nightly with images of a beautiful, virile, red-haired man. One whose voice still echoed in her mind during daylight hours, who promised her the kind of partner she had yet to find among even the most adventurous of her fearless friends and acquaintances.
She’d once been convinced it would take an older man to truly satisfy her, but the closer she got to proving dragons existed, the more she wondered if what she needed wasn’t even a man at all.
“Here,” Eben said, pushing her fingertips into a cleft she hadn’t noticed. She grabbed onto the edge of the fissure and followed it down, pressing as she went until she felt it give. She gasped when the entire face in front of them receded at least a foot and began to slowly shift aside with the rough grinding of stone on stone. More cheers sounded behind them as their team looked on.
“We’re inside!” she yelled, pulling away from Eben and raising her arms up in triumph.
Cool, dry air rushed out, carrying with it a familiar, pungent aroma. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh at the memories that surfaced in response to that scent as much as from the sudden chill of the air.
She’d been dreaming of this place ever since her dad had hinted at a mythical dragon race, spinning bedtime stories that rivaled those her friends heard from their parents when they were children. It wasn’t until she was older when the more suggestively sexual dreams began, but they were no less tied to that seed of curiosity she’d had from girlhood.
In retrospect, she believed her father had left his research notes out deliberately to entice her. She’d read them over multiple times from age ten onward and fantasized ever since about finding the elusive dragon temple her father had always been searching for. All he’d had were small clues, one of which was the tiny jade carving of a dragon she wore around her neck right now. Another was a jade bottle, empty, yet still holding the lingering, spicy scent of whatever substance it had once contained.
Her father had died wondering, and Erika had vowed afterward that she would continue his search. The dreams began around the time she graduated from high school, shortly after she lost her virginity and discovered the wondrous pleasure sex could bring. It was like her first real orgasm had flipped a switch in her mind, signaling that her deep subconscious was fair game for some mysterious, otherworldly dream creature to play in.
Would those dreams come true today? She was here, about to cross the threshold with the same familiar smell from her father’s old bottle filling her lungs with each breath. All she could think about as that aroma inundated her was how her dream lover smelled when his hot body was wrapped around her, his cock buried deep inside, and his deep voice rumbling in her ear, “Mine.”
She shivered involuntarily at the memory, her nipples hardening. At least she could pass the reaction off as a response to the temperature of the air inside and not her arousal at the memories those scents drew from her mind.
Doesn’t that just make you want to read more? The best part? It’s free. It’s available at numerous outlets so everyone can get their dragon fix. Check out Animus today. You won’t be sorry.
Head on over to the Very Sherry Terry blog on Wednesday. She’ll have a review for ya and you can ask some questions. Give some feedback, make a difference today. Authors love to hear from their readers. You’re our favorite people!
Best off? I’ve another story for you. This one is available on audio books! Yeah! And yes, my lovelies… it’s free, too! You rock, Ophelia!
Night Fire Chapter One
Rowan rested on her barstool, sipping her tequila. There was a kind of depravity in seeking out a new lover. A desperation in the act of looking that she hated as much as she loved finding him. Bodies drifted by, carried by the colorful strobing lights and rhythmic music.
She preferred dark places like the club because her vibrant red hair didn’t stand out quite so much. She’d grown up with an unusual set of features that doctors just explained away as a genetic anomaly. She wore colored contact lenses to avoid startling people with the strange, red color of her irises, but the hair color wasn’t so easy to cover up. For some reason no dye would stick, but at least that part she could pass off as a fashion statement, and it did catch the attention of potential lovers. Not that it was difficult to catch their attention, with her unique looks. Even though most women looked at her like she was some kind of alien creature, the men were barely able to keep their dicks in their pants.
Some nights she’d come to this place just to watch, have a drink, and wonder at the eventual crumbling of the women’s wills against the men who found them. What woman would let herself give in so completely to a man? She never would, and neither did she need to. She’d been drawn to lucrative financial opportunities from an early age, forced to find her own opportunities as an orphan. Now she enjoyed collecting rare, ancient carvings, a passion that had proved to be the only occupation that really fulfilled her.
She wore one small piece of her collection now—a tiny, red jade medallion with a dragon carved into it. It was set in gold and hung from a delicate chain around her neck resting just at the base of her throat. She touched it absently, believing she could feel some power in it, but knowing it was all her imagination. The only power was in her ability to seduce a man, but the right one had yet to present himself. She entertained herself watching the club patrons in the meantime.
A couple tumbled into a corner a few yards away and embraced. She watched covertly, entertained that they thought the corner was private even though it clearly wasn’t.
The woman tilted her head back against the wall, inviting the man’s lips to trace down her throat. She wore a tiny little dress that barely covered her. Easy access, Rowan supposed, taking a sip of her drink.
A dark shape sat down at the bar beside her. “A round of drinks says he’ll fuck her right there,” a rough, thickly accented voice said near her ear.
She didn’t look at him, but her skin tingled in a way that let her know he was the one. Sexual premonition? Maybe. Whatever it was, she never needed much information to know a man was worth her attention. This one’s voice—the gruff tone and foreign accent—were enough for her to know without even seeing him. And she smiled at the challenge he’d offered.
“Two shots of tequila says he goes down on her.” She said it without turning back to look at him, though she could feel his presence beside her.
“Oh, darling, that’s cruel. To yourself, I mean. A man never goes down on a woman unless he loves her.”
The small hairs on the back of her neck stood up when he said “darling”.
“That is patently untrue.”
The hot breath of his laugh caressed her shoulder. She heard him shift closer. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed a large, manicured, gold-ringed hand holding a glass. Ice clinked and the aroma of expensive whiskey hit her nostrils. She’d bet anything that the shiny watchband secured a Rolex to his wrist. None of it impressed her as much as his presence, so palpable he may as well have already been sinking inside her, right through her little black dress.
“You’re right. I’d go down on you in a heartbeat and I don’t even know your name.”
Jesus, she was turned on just by his voice. She’d forgotten the couple in the corner, though she still kept her eyes fixed on them. Instead, she imagined she was that woman, and the man was her new friend.
The man had the woman turned around now, pressed against the wall, chest-first. His fingers tugged at the hem of her skirt, pushing it up above her hip. Not even the shadows could conceal the white, round shape of the woman’s ass, a thin strip of dark fabric crossing one hip. That disappeared with a jerk of the man’s hand.
Rowan felt the touch of a large, warm hand at her hip, a thumb grazing a pattern into the bare skin of her back just above the fabric of her low-cut dress. His touch was gentle and cool, but left a promise when he removed his hand. When his hand disappeared, he murmured behind her, “I think you owe me a drink.”
“Wait for it,” she said. Whether it was the way the man in the corner was clutching the woman’s ass, or some particular change in his posture, she had the sense of what he might do next. She had to restrain a laugh when he sank to his knees and buried his face between the woman’s ass cheeks. Rowan could imagine the ecstatic sounds coming from the woman’s throat by the way her chest thrust out and her head flew back, mouth open while the man tongued between her legs from behind.
“Did I call it or what?” she asked, turning around to gloat, only to be greeted by an empty barstool.
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