"A Week in the Snow" -- The First Preview

It's good to be back...and it's so, so good to be naughty!

A Week in the Snow is my latest release. I'm signed with Total-e-Bound, and I am so excited to announce that A Week in the Snow will be released on June 27!

To start the celebration, let's start with a naughty kind of celebration. Here's your first sneak peek at the latest erotic fun:

She pictured him as well as she could, drawing on her memory of those photographs he had sent her over the Internet connection. She envisioned his broad chest, the smattering of black hairs, the almost-flat stomach and the strong, shadowed jaw.

She also envisioned those pictures of his long, hard cock, the photographs that filled the computer screen when she opened the file, the ones that made her mouth water and her heart pound. The thought of having that in her mouth or between her thighs had kept her dreams in high gear. Now he was within less than an hour’s drive, but there was no way she could get to him.

But she did have him in her head, didn’t she?

Rebecca grinned and rested her forehead against the cool wall of the shower. The emotion of the evening caught up with her again, but instead of the urge for tears she felt the urge to do something that proved she was alive—something vital, something powerful.

The water slid down her back, arrowed down over her ass and dripped from her pussy. She let her breasts brush that shower wall, too—and though the water was incredibly hot, the wall was still cool. The rush of sensation was heady, made more powerful by the emotion of the evening. She pressed harder, until her nipples were flat against the wall, hardening at the contact, her breasts tingling with the pressure.

She took a deep breath and arched her back, pushing her head under one of the streams of water. It cascaded over her face. She held her breath as long as she could. When she pressed her forehead against the wall again, she was breathing hard. She spread her legs a bit wider, and suddenly she could see the picture in her head of what she must look like: a young, sexy woman dripping wet, her legs open, her whole body braced, waiting for whatever a lover might do to her.

Rebecca stood under the water and let the feeling build. The fantasy took flight, the images of Gene’s cock in her head adding fuel to the fire. She thought about the way he sounded when he came, so strong and vulnerable all at once, and that alone was enough to send a surge of wetness between her thighs. She slid her hand down her flat stomach and rested it there, right below her belly button.

The water cascaded over her fingers as her thoughts took a different turn. She imagined someone was watching her, someone she didn’t know, and her thoughts of Gene slipped away to be replaced by this new, intriguing fantasy. She pictured a man behind her, watching her while she went about what she was doing right then, which was sliding that hand even farther down.

She brushed the inside of her thighs and pressed her breasts harder against the wall, pushing her ass out, bending her knees just a little to make more room for whatever fantasy man might be watching her. She imagined he could see everything, her pussy open and dripping, a blatant invitation to the cock that might want to slip into her tight, wet hole.

Rebecca pressed her hand against her pussy and rocked. She bit her lip to hold in the long, low moan. The adrenaline of the night was now heading in a decidedly more sensual direction, and she let all the emotion flood her, let it turn into passion as she rode her own hand under the dual showerheads. She slipped two fingers into her cunt and imagined the fantasy man behind her, watching as her fingers disappeared inside her, maybe moaning his own pleasure as he stroked his hard cock. She slid her fingers out, stretching her pussy for his gaze, inviting him to put
something of his own in there.

Her fingertips danced across her clit as she imagined that fantasy man moving up behind her, slowly, giving her time to move away if she was so inclined. She imagined his tongue on the back of her neck, tasting the water that ran from her skin. She could almost feel him placing his hands on her hips, holding the swell of them, and pressing the head of his hard dick against her opening.

He would slide in slowly at first, testing her acquiescence, but soon he would be overcome by how slick and hot she was. He would start slow and gradually move harder, faster, until he was almost ramming her, lifting her feet from the floor with his thrusts, making her struggle for balance as he began to ride her.

With a quiet groan, she pushed two fingers into her pussy. As she pulled them out, she stroked her clit, then pushed them back in. She kept it up until she was panting and trembling. The water slid down her body and she imagined it was the gaze of her mystery lover, watching everything she did, every move she made. She envisioned him waiting, holding back, and finally feeling those first contractions of her pussy around him, announcing that she had reached the pinnacle of pleasure she deserved.

She imagined the spurt of his cream, so much hotter than her own wetness, and that was the final edge of fantasy it took to make her come. She bit her lip at the last moment to keep from screaming out her pleasure as the orgasm swept over her, reducing her to whimpers and moans.

Her knees gave way and she slid to the floor of the shower. Her body thrummed with pleasure. It was enhanced by the adrenaline of the evening, strong enough to make her gasp for breath. She burst into laughter, her mouth muffled by her hand, trying to keep quiet, mindful of the man who was somewhere in the house with her.

She had never felt so alive.

In the coming weeks I will add more teasers for your pervy pleasure, as well as a list of upcoming appearances and maybe even a few contests. Stay tuned!

---

Stand

I have to admit: I am not a big fan of Rascal Flatts. Not usually. Something about their music just doesn’t strike any of the right chords with me, so to speak. But several years ago they released a song called “Stand.” It was one of those songs that just hits where it counts. I remember where I was the first time I heard the song, and now I can recall that day as clearly as if it just happened an hour ago.

You feel like a candle in a hurricane
Just like a picture with a broken frame
Alone and helpless
Like you've lost your fight
But you'll be alright
You'll be alright

The lyrics spoke to me. Within the span of the song I saw so many things flash through my head. So many people came to mind. There was my mother, my grandmother, my grandfather and my little brother. There was my best friend. There was the man who loved her, the man she lost – the man we all lost. There was the random woman I had met at the grocery store check-out line, the one with so many mouths to feed and not enough money to do it. I thought of so many people who had been through so much.

It became an anthem of sorts. At that time in my life, things were smooth and easy. I was fortunate, and I knew it. But I tucked those words away in the back of my heart, just in case. There would be a day – I knew that for sure, even then – when push came to shove.

‘Cause when push comes to shove
You taste what you're made of
You might bend ‘til you break
‘Cause it’s all you can take
On your knees you look up
Decide you've had enough
You get mad
You get strong
Wipe your hands
Shake it off
Then you stand

And when push came to shove, it pushed hard. It knocked me off my feet.

This past year has been one of upheaval and change. Not all of it has been good, but I am confident that all of it has been leading me in the right direction. There were times I convinced myself I had it all together, had it all planned out. Then there were times when I felt like those lyrics were written just for me, when they were so pertinent to the moment – times when I was so lost that the only firm ground was the ground itself, and so I was actually on my knees, in the darkness, looking up to see some kind of light.

Life's like a novel
With the end ripped out
The edge of a canyon
With only one way down
Take what you're given
Before its gone
Start holding on
Keep holding on

For every success I have seen over the years, it seemed like there was a parallel and equally large failure. These failures were often personal – it’s funny how a career can go so well while everything behind the scenes is falling apart – but I did what so many do, and put on a brave smile while the walls caved in.

Then there came a day. A night. A moment. A time when I decided I was done.

It was time to shove back.

There was no huge shift in my actions, nor was there a significant change in my daily life. Not at that point. But there was a shift in the atmosphere, a change within me that started to change everything else. Gradually at first, like the ripple effect on a pond, circles that started out small and eventually reached out to touch every part of the shore of my life.

I started writing novels again. It started as a way to get out the emotion, pour myself onto the page, cheaper than any counselor and probably more effective. I started to find the person I used to be, the one before the world took a toll. I started back at the beginning, just like that little girl with an old Royal typewriter, pounding out one line after another and hoping I didn’t make a mistake, because that corrector ribbon always left ink and dust all over my hands.

Every time you get up
And get back in the race
One more small piece of you
Starts to fall into place

The words fell into place. Sometimes it was difficult, the words jumbled, like puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit. Other times those words fell into place with an almost audible click, so certain and true the aim. There were nights when it was just me and a blank page, staring each other down. Then there were days when the words flowed like water, so fast my hands couldn’t keep up. It was starts and stops, beginnings and endings, forward and back, until I finally found my rhythm. Until I found my place.

Today, I have a better sense of where I am going. The changes are not done yet. They keep coming, like waves rolling in – some small and not much in the grand scheme of things, some larger and more dangerous, some serious movers that lift up sand and shells and driftwood and all the trappings of a life before the swell.

But for the first time in a long while, that’s okay. I no longer fear I might drown.

I found firm ground, and I finally stood up.