Curvy Girls!

When I got my copies of Curvy Girls in the mail, I squealed with delight. Yes, squealed.

It's safe to say I am very excited about this anthology. I was thrilled from the moment I saw the subject matter (curvy girls!) and of course, the fact that it was edited by the awesome Rachel Kramer Bussel. I've been in many of her anthologies before, but this one? I really, really wanted to be in this one. Perhaps it's because I'm one of those ladies that shops at Hips and Curves. Perhaps it's because I believe the curvier, heavier -- and often, yes, downright sexier -- women don't get a fair shake when it comes to feeling desirable. Perhaps it's because as the years go by, I care less about what people think and much more about how I feel.

And let me tell you, these days, I'm feeling sexier than ever!

I'm going through this book, reading one story each night. It's tough to pace myself, because I want to read it all in one sitting, to devour it like I might go after every inch of a lover's skin with my tongue and teeth and lips. But I am holding back, giving myself a little treat every night, because I want to draw out the pleasure.

My story "Passing the Time" is part of the collection. It's about a woman named Amber, who is puzzled at the sudden lack of affection from the man who said he wanted her. More than that, it's about what she chooses to do about it, and how much she enjoys it. Here's a snippet:

She had all sorts of ideas now, and no one to share them with. She wondered again where he was, and why he hadn’t called like he said he would.

Leaning over with a sigh, Amber put the lotion on the windowsill above her bed. As she did, her gaze landed on the space beside her nightstand.

On the little red box peeking out from under the bed.

In that box resided a variety of adult toys, from vibrators to dildos to pearls to clamps. She looked at the box for a very long time. In all her concern that her boyfriend didn’t feel the way he once had, her sexual desire had taken a vacation. She had played with herself the day before and found that the resulting orgasm wasn’t worth the time. It was nothing but a thin, joyless spasm of physical release that left her feeling even worse than she had before she started.

But as Amber looked at the box, she started thinking.

First she got sad.

Then she got angry.

Then she got busy.

She yanked the box out from under the bed. Something in there rattled—batteries, probably. She opened the top and looked at the first toy there, the dildo that looked quite a bit like her boyfriend’s cock. She picked it up, testing the weight of it in her hand. She looked at the phone. It sat there silently, mocking her hopes that she would hear his voice while she contemplated exactly what she was going to do with that toy.

Because she was going to do something with it, by God.

Something kinky.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The plastic had warmed in her palm. It still didn’t have the heat her boyfriend’s body did—what could? —but it would do in a pinch. And if this wasn’t a pinch, she didn’t know what was.

Her hand drifted down her chest. Her nipples were hard and hurting already. She ran her hand along where he had been, traced the bruise his tongue and teeth had left there a week ago. She shifted in the bed, lay down on her back and let her fingers walk all over her skin. It was slick from the lotion, warm from the shower. Goosebumps rose everywhere when she thought of the kisses he had bestowed on the back of her neck, of the way he had kissed her ear and made her sigh. She touched all those places and then some, and hardly realized her other hand was moving up and down on the toy in long, fluid strokes.

Her legs shifted. Her knees opened. She slid one hand down between them, careful not to touch the most sensitive places. She loved the way her legs felt. The smoothness of them was delightful, and she lingered there. Soon she was moving a little, pushing her body up to meet her hand. She spread her fingers and slid them between her legs.

She was wet. A tiny moan escaped her.

She lifted her hand to her lips, licked first one finger, then another. She moaned again, a low and secret sound, something for herself alone. She tasted sweet, maybe even a little more than usual. She suddenly remembered the toy in her hand and was surprised that she was stroking it. She slid it across her thigh and let out a shuddering breath. She wanted to be filled, to be slammed hard, to be made love to. All at once.

She pushed the toy against her clit. Her moan was louder this time, and the sensation rolled through her with the force of a fast-moving wave. Good grief—had she really been that tense? The relaxation and the tension combined together, made her struggle to move slow.

“Slow,” she said out loud, taking a deep breath. The toy slipped against her clit, back and forth, warming even more as her wetness spread over it. She arched up and took the tip inside her lips. Her pussy was as smooth as her legs were. The wetness flowed unchecked across her lips and down the crack of her ass. She would have to change the sheets later. She didn’t care.

And she finds all sorts of other naughty things to do from that point on...want more? I'll stop teasing you and give you the link to go get one of your own.

A Steamy Excerpt from The Green Room

One day soon, I will explain the story behind The Green Room. Oh, my...that will be a long blog post. There is quite a story to tell!

But for now, I am dishing up a sexy excerpt over at Hitting the Hot Spot.

Read the excerpt from The Green Room here.

"A Week in the Snow" Naughty Excerpt

Sorry I haven't had much time to post as of late...that will change soon!

In the meantime, he's a little something naughty from A Week in the Snow. Enjoy!

She climbed off of the snowmobile and took off her coat. Outside the garage the moon had drifted behind the clouds and it was almost pitch-black, but they could still hear the roar of snowploughs, so much closer now. The roads would be cleared by morning, and then they could pull her car out of the ditch, and then…

And then?

Rebecca stared at the snow until Richard pushed the button that lowered the garage door. They were left in utter darkness. She listened to him as he moved towards her, the rustling sound of his coat the only indication of his movement. When he wrapped his arms around her from behind, she bit her lip and fought the urge to cry.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she murmured.

“Maybe there’s nothing wrong at all.”

She shook her head. “I’m not usually this emotional.”

“I knew seeing your car again would be emotional for you. Maybe this is part of it.”

“It’s not the car,” she whispered. She turned in Richard’s arms and found his lips in the darkness. “It’s not the car.”

He kissed her back. “What is it, then?”

“I’m jealous.”

The admission was like fuel to a fire. His desire for her blazed brighter than before, something he hadn’t thought possible. He grabbed her arm and hauled her to the door of the garage, fumbling with the doorknob until she moved ahead of him and opened it for him.

They burst into the kitchen and immediately he took her down to the floor, where she rolled on top of him and reached for the snap of his jeans. Richard kicked them down, even as she stood above him and stripped out of her clothes. There was the sound of a seam ripping, a zipper opening, a swish of fabric on the tile floor, then she was on top of him, guiding him into her with one deep thrust.

At the now-familiar sensation of his cock impaling her as deeply as it could, Rebecca took a deep breath. She began to rock back and forth. There was no gentleness to her as she rode him, and when Richard reached up to touch her, she yanked his hand away. She looked right into his eyes as she slid her pussy up and down his cock.

“You’re mine,” she hissed. “For the rest of my time here, I’m going to fuck you so often and so hard that you won’t look at another woman for months.”

The warmth of her words flooded Richard. It was the balm he had always wanted, but had never really had, even when he’d worn his wedding band. “Show me.”

She sat straight up and ground down hard. Her nails found his chest and drew sharp lines, taking away his breath and leaving raised welts on his skin. He thrust up into her from the floor, raising her up on his hips, and she pounded back so hard it hurt them both. The intensity of the physical taking pushed Richard quickly to his limits.

“I’m going to come.”

“Good,” she said. “Say my name when you do it.”

“Rebecca.”

“More.”

“Rebecca. Rebecca…Becca…”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to come…”

When he did come, he didn’t hold back. He shouted her name as his cock twitched and spurted into her. She rocked hard on him, getting the most out of it, and when she felt the heat of him flooding her, she reached down between them, touched her swollen clit in just the right way, and came with him. Her pussy tightened on his dick as she threw her head back and cried out, her fingernails bringing blood from his shoulders, her whole body rigid, every muscle tense.

When it was over she sat on him and looked down into his eyes. Neither of them smiled. Neither of them knew what to say.

Finally she stood on shaky legs. He sat up and looked around at the kitchen as though he had never seen it before. He held on to the table as he stood, almost afraid his knees wouldn’t hold him, his hand smarting with the motion. As soon as he let go of the polished wood, Rebecca flung her arms around him, almost knocking him back down to the floor.

“Thank you,” she murmured, though she had no idea what she was thanking him for.

**
Want more? Get your copy of A Week in the Snow here. It's available in both ebook and print!

It's hot as hell when a man does that...

Who's in the mood for a little naughty?

As A Week in the Snow begins, Rebecca is traveling from sunny Miami to very cold and snowy Iowa. Though a series of unfortunate events, she winds up getting stranded on an icy road. Richard is the man who comes to rescue her from a wintry cocoon.

Soon afterward, Richard is in bed, doing what lonely men in bed do in the middle of the night...

And...well, I'll let Richard take it from here.

Usually the fantasies that filled his mind were of a nameless, faceless woman, maybe dressed in leather and wearing high-heeled boots, daring him to come and take her -- if he could. Sometimes it was a trip to the sex toy store, where the clerk behind the counter was more than willing to try out all the merchandise with a good customer. When nothing else worked, he thought about two women, and that always seemed to trip his trigger.

This time it was the sex toy store. He slid his hand up and down, not quite ready to start stroking yet. He thought about sex toys hanging in neat rows on the corkboard walls. He imagined browsing through all the dildos and vibrators, not all that interested in buying one but intrigued by the different shapes and sizes. Then he would find the row of plastic pussies, the holes inviting him to stick it in, and the clerk would ask him what kind he liked most. Soft and slightly loose? Tight and a bit hard? Maybe really, really tight, the kind of pussy that would suck your dick even as you fucked it?

He started to stroke his cock when the clerk leaned over the counter. Her low-cut blouse rode even lower, and he got a good view of two large, round nipples. “I can help you find one you like,” she said. She licked her cherry-red lips as she looked at his crotch.

Richard made a fist and pushed harder into it, imagining how tight the clerk’s pussy would be, and how she would use it to great advantage. He pictured her bending over the racks of cock rings, helping him test one out as he pounded her from behind. He secretly hoped someone else would come into the store, a man perhaps -- one who would gauge the action with one look and decide that maybe that clerk needed a bit more than she was getting.

Sure enough, in fantasies, dreams come true. The man who walked into the store wasted no time in dropping his pants and offering his cock for the clerk’s mouth. She took it, moaned with approval, and rocked back and forth on two dicks. It was Richard who had made her want that, Richard who had the best of things, who would fuck her pussy until he made her come.

He tightened his fist and in his head the clerk moaned, her pussy getting tighter, almost ready to come by the sheer pleasure of his thrusting. He didn’t even have to touch her -- she was just that close, that fast.

In his bed, Richard arched his back and gritted his teeth, the orgasm right over the horizon, almost within his reach. He envisioned the clerk reaching back, between her legs and underneath herself, to cradle his balls in her hand. She would pull them gently, knowing just what a man liked, and when she did it would make him come…

Tap, tap, tap.

Richard froze in mid-stroke. His mind was pulled from the sex toy store back to the here and now, where he lay on a lonely bed with his dick in his hand. That dick was throbbing, right on the verge of exploding. The clerk vanished with the sound of another knock on his door.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, no. This isn’t happening.”

There was another tap on the door, this one a bit more hesitant.

He sat up on the edge of the bed, his dick protesting every movement. The erection that had been so enjoyable a moment before was now a source of pain as he grabbed his robe from the foot of the bed. He slipped his arms into it, hoping she wouldn’t open the door.

“Yes?” he asked, and blushed in the darkness at the sound of his voice, so rough and raw.

There's something so damn hot about a man pleasuring himself. *sigh*

If you're interested in reading more, check out A Week in the Snow in print or ebook. I'll put up more excerpts from time to time, because I just love to tease!

An Excerpt from The Green Room

The Green Room is one of my latest releases, and one of my favorites of all the books I have written. Here's the short and sweet, teasing blurb:

The glare of the spotlight, the paparazzi cameras, the tabloid snickers and the bad influence that flows as fast as a river through it all -- can love really survive the rigors of fame?

You can read a bit more about that here. But now, on to a sexy excerpt!

The concert that night was nothing compared to the sex.

Anthony’s hands were everywhere. He played me like a fine guitar, finding all the chords to strike deep within my most forbidden places. On my hands and knees, I braced myself on the rumpled bed. He slipped deep and I hissed in a breath of satisfaction.

“Is this what you want?” he moaned.

“For now.”

The motion was steady and unbroken. We were both dead tired, but that didn’t seem to matter. Nothing seemed to matter, not even when his cell phone rang from somewhere on the nightstand. My fingers searched the polished top until I found it. Feeling entirely inappropriate and loving every second of it, I flipped the phone open and handed it to him.

“Yes…yes, I’m here in the hotel room…”

It was his wife.

I bit my lip and thrust back hard. I was determined that he would not forget who he was fucking, who had got him here, who had led the way to that recording contract he would sign in a few days. I swivelled my hips, reminding him who was really fucking whom. My lack of shame would bother me later, but right now I was too far gone with illicit pleasure to care.

“I miss you too, honey…”

He dipped one finger into the cleft of my ass. I pushed my hips up, inviting.

“No…no, I’m not sure…”

He thrust harder, and I reached under us to touch his balls. He struggled to control his breathing. He pinched my hip viciously, as if to warn me against acts that were far too indecent to carry on during a phone conversation. I squeezed with my inner muscles hard enough to make him stifle a moan.

It was a battle of wills, and I wasn’t the one holding the cell phone.

I picked up the pace, merciless.

“The show went well…I’m going to be in Alabama tomorrow…”

I looked at him over my shoulder. “Sodomy is illegal in Alabama,” I mouthed.

Anthony slipped out of me. He pressed hard against the tighter hole, the one that he hadn’t sampled yet. I pushed back and felt the delightful sting as my body began to open under his. I swivelled my hips, trying to make it easier.

“The show was great. Lots of fans…the place was packed…”

He held perfectly still. I thrust back slowly. I would pay for my little ingenuity in the morning, but I didn’t give a damn. I wanted to be as dirty and naughty as I could be while his wife listened to what she didn’t know was happening. If I had stopped to think about it, I might have been appalled by my actions.

Lucky for me, I was too busy fucking to think.

I thrust back harder, and Anthony’s cock slowly impaled me. I opened under the pressure with a burn and a moan. Anthony quickly covered my mouth.

“I’ll call you in the morning, honey…”

We suddenly found the right angle, the perfect fit. He slid all the way home, his balls pressing hard against me, every inch of my body throbbing with heat.

“I love you, too,” Anthony said to the Mrs Keenan as he began to move back and forth in earnest. He said goodbye, hung up the phone and tossed it to the floor. He grabbed a handful of my hair and thrust hard. Pain and pleasure shot through every pore of my body.

“Who’s doing the fucking now?” he growled in my ear.

I looked over at the mirror on the wall. I watched everything—our bodies, his thrusts, and my own face, flushed and wild with passion. I watched as he pushed my shoulders down on the bed, the better for my fingers to reach beneath me.

“Touch yourself. Make yourself come when I do,” Anthony demanded. I found my clit and began to play myself with the rhythm of his thrusts. The orgasm built from somewhere so deep it was almost frightening. I watched in the mirror until the pleasure of it made my eyes heavy, and I cried out into the comforter as I came.

Anthony followed right behind me, emptying himself with a harsh groan. For long moments there was no sound in the room, save our unsteady breathing.

“Oh, God,” I whimpered when I could finally catch my breath.

He slid out of me. I collapsed onto the bed, exhausted.

“Is sodomy really illegal in Alabama?”

I laughed weakly. “Sodomy is illegal in lots of places. Especially in the south.”

“What’s the penalty if you get caught?”

“Castration, maybe.”

I slowly climbed off the bed. Anthony came with me, one hand on my belly to make sure I didn’t fall. My shaky legs came through admirably, and I wobbled towards the bathroom. Anthony watched me as I stepped into the shower.

“Is adultery illegal or just immoral?” he asked.

“It depends on how good your divorce attorney is.”

Want to get your own, in ebook or in print? Go here.

"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!

---

Let Me Seduce You...

Ah, yes. Seduction. That's what LoveHoney is all about this month, as they showcase the new Seduction anthology from Black Lace. They've chosen an excerpt from my short story to be feature this month, as well as an interview with yours truly!

You can read an introduction to the book here.

You can read the excerpt from "Rush" here.

And you can read my interview here!

Want to leave your own review of the book? You can do that here.

And...if you order Seduction, you get a free vibrator to help you act out a few of those naughty fantasies between the pages...what could be better?

With all this Seduction going on, it's getting a bit hot in here...

Are You Ready for Seduction?

A hot read that leaves you panting for more, Seduction is a deliciously naughty collection of stories that allow the reader to indulge in many forbidden passions. This collection has a story to meet everyone's fantasy.

That's what CataRomance had to say about the new Seduction anthology from Black Lace. My little naughty "Rush" is among the offerings in this fantastic book. Here's a preview:

An excerpt from "Rush" -

“You’ve dipped this cock into more pussy than you can count, haven’t you?” she asked, holding his cock in her hand like it was a throttle. Her thumb was on his head, swirling in circles. “I’ll bet you’ve had more ass than you can count, too. And more blowjobs.”

He looked at her and said nothing.

“You’ve had so many fucks, they all blend together into a blurred chain of pussy. Don’t they?”

This was it. She was going to crucify him for his sexual past. He knew it was coming. How could he have been so stupid?

“And I’ve hardly been with anybody. I don’t think that’s fair, do you?”

He opened his mouth to speak and nothing came out. He felt almost two inches tall.

“I think I should have some pussy, too.”

David blinked in surprise. His cock surged harder in her hand. She giggled like a schoolgirl and sank her mouth down on his dick. Her tongue sucked and her lips drew back hard and when she pumped him into her throat, he went to redline. She stopped sucking right before he could get off.

“What do you think?”

Never, ever ask a man what he thinks right as he’s about to come. You just might get exactly what he’s thinking, and it might not be tempered with common sense.

“I would love to see you fuck other people,” David said.

Her eyes widened.

“Holy shit,” she said with an air of wonder.

She sucked him deep, one last time, finally giving him a bit of mercy. He came hard. He shot everything into her mouth. He saw stars. She licked and sucked until there was nothing left.

“Other people,” she murmured, and giggled.

David knew he was in big trouble.

*

Of course, he reneged on everything as soon as he was coherent enough to do so. Sure, he would love to see it, but he would never actually be able to do it, he told her. It was a good fantasy. Sometimes he thought about it. Not often, though. Not hardly ever, actually. And why would he want to share? He didn’t like to share. He wasn’t good at it. He didn’t want to share her. Would she want to share him?
She looked at him the whole time with knowing eyes and that wise little smile.

“Do you have anybody in mind?” she asked simply.

David sighed in exasperation. “Did you hear a single word I said?”

“Every bit.”

“Good. I think I made myself clear.”

“Sure. I’ve been thinking about a stranger. I don’t want to run the risk of ruining a friendship, so any of your friends are out. My friends, too. Friends are better kept as friends and not made into fuck buddies, don’t you think?”

He stared at her.

“Well?”

“You’re insane. You’re not fucking anybody else. That’s final.”

She winked at him and giggled again.

“Okay, big man. Whatever you say.”

*

There's quite a bit more where that came from - David and Katie have quite the adventure! To get this story and all the others in Seduction, get your copy here.

"Memphis" in Do Not Disturb: Hotel Sex Stories

Do you think hotels are sexy? Do you ever wonder what the couple in the next room are doing? Do you ever feel like a different person when you're tucked away in a hotel, hidden from the world in one of those rooms that have seen countless lovers, trysts, heartbreaks, heartthrobs, and other things you can only begin to guess?

You can find a bit of it all in Do Not Disturb: Hotel Sex Stories. You can find my story "Memphis" there as well. Here's a preview:

Is that how it started? Is that how affairs begin? With a simple gesture or word that suddenly turns an old friendship or a new stranger into a lover crying out above you in a rented bed somewhere on the edge of nowhere? Is it something that drops out of the blue and explodes like a bomb, fragmenting your life? Or is it something that plants inside you and grows into beauty and memories that evoke smiles, building you into something stronger than you once were?

I’ve discovered that for me and my married lover, it is a bounce in your step that everyone notices but can’t explain how it got there or exactly when it appeared. It is a phone call, a voice on the other end that is clearly a man yet when someone asks you who that was, you recall the name of your best friend who is clearly a woman. It is pulling up beside a sports car parked outside of a hotel in a town you’ve never visited before, an open door with the “Do Not Disturb” sign already in place. It is no time for words before you are rushed into a dimly lit room and surrounded by his arms, his voice, and his desire as you both collapse to the bed that has become your refuge.

He was married. I knew that as I walked with him out of the restaurant and slid into the passenger seat of his sports car. I heard her name in my head as he drove, one hand on the wheel and one hand on my thigh. I saw her in my head as the door closed behind us. I listened to her voice laughing with him as he pressed me back against that door and kissed me. I felt the guilt as I kissed him back, but I wanted him more than I wanted to heed the ethical conscience that was shaking its head in shame.

I didn’t hate her. I didn’t even want to hate her. She was my best friend. She was a good wife, a good mother. She was a better woman than me. She didn’t deserve this.

I slipped his wedding band off and it dropped to the floor.

Want to get the rest of the story and a few other naughty tales? Get your copy of Do Not Disturb: Hotel Sex Stories by clicking here.

Time for Bedding Down...

The gorgeous Bedding Down anthology is now here!

Bedding Down: A Collection of Winter Erotica is on shelves now. My novella "Six Weeks on Sunrise Mountain, Colorado" is included in the book.

Here's the cover blurb for my bit: A billionaire recluse and a beautiful paparazzo generate some serious heat in a snowbound cabin in the Colorado Rockies...

And here's the first page or so, just to tease...

The weathered old porch creaked as Fletcher rocked back and forth in the chair. The moon slowly came up over Sunrise Mountain, casting its silver light over the cedar and pine. Snow had started to fall hours ago, the kind of snow that turned to ice as soon as it touched anything on the ground. The trees were leaning with the pressure on their branches. The road was impassable already, and would remain that way for weeks.

Fletcher was completely unconcerned with time and content to be snowed in. He went on rocking and listened to the snow settling on the old tin roof above him. Every now and then he spotted an owl, rising on white wings, gliding soundlessly over the treetops. The moonlight turned the owl’s eyes into bright prisms of light for an instant before it disappeared into the leaves again.

The shape of a small animal at the end of his long gravel driveway caught his eye. Fletcher calmly reached for the shotgun propped up against the porch railing, running his hand over the smooth barrel, ready to use the weapon if necessary. Eventually the animal left the shadows and walked through a shaft of moonlight, showing Fletcher the distinctive markings on its face – a raccoon. The little fellow waddled its way up the rocky road that surrounded the cabin and occasionally stopped to sniff the air, barely bothering to glance at the now-familiar man up on the porch. Fletcher relaxed and let his hand fall from the barrel of the gun.

Up on Sunrise Mountain, all kinds of animals might come hunting to his doorstep, but it was very doubtful any of them would be human, and that suited Fletcher just fine. He had jumped into the rat race at a fresh-faced twenty-two, straight from college to a high-pressure job in Silicon Valley. By thirty-two, the dot com boom had slammed with the force of a nuclear bomb, and he was a millionaire many times over. By the time he was thirty-five, he was so burned out he didn’t give a damn if he had a dollar to his name, as long as he had some peace of mind. There was no one he trusted.

It hadn’t taken long for him to realize that the worst predators were of his own kind.

Fletcher looked back up at the moon. It danced into the snow clouds, turning the world darker. His ears made up for what his eyes could no longer see in the dim light. Leaves rustled with the breeze. Tiny animals scurried around the sides of the cabin, bolder now that they were under the cover of night. A mountain lion howled, and though the sound echoed with menace through the wide valley between the hills, Fletcher’s confident ear knew the big boy was miles away.

The raccoon was still making its way up the drive. Fletcher had taken a liking to his furry neighbor and kept back a bit of dinner now and again, then set it around the porch for the raccoon to find. Fletcher liked to watch the pretty creature in the moonlight. It was the only company he had up here in the middle of nowhere.

He watched as the raccoon stopped in mid-stride and looked toward the top of the ravine. Fletcher slowly stopped rocking and listened closely to the sounds he understood just as well as his own language – the slight tapping of one tree limb against another, the abrupt silence of a larger animal when it caught the scent of a human on the air, the unholy scream of a hawk as it dove for prey. The raccoon listened, too, its tiny head cocked to better hear the sounds on the air.

Fletcher heard it then, the sound that was so out of place – a scuffling, bumbling sound, unlike any of the sleek animals so accustomed to wandering through the woods at night.

He rose slowly to his feet, staring at the place from where he was certain the sound had come. The raccoon was down on all fours again, sniffing cautiously, still as a stone. The sound came again, but the coon wasn’t making a move to investigate, and Fletcher knew that wasn’t a good sign. That raccoon was a smart animal. He knew better than to attack anything bigger than he was.

Fletcher thumbed the safety on the rifle and lifted it to his shoulder.

If you want to read more, you know what to do. Enjoy!

That Naughty Green-Eyed Monster...

Ah, what a jealous little woman she is, there on the cover of that book. And a redhead, just like me! Fitting, I suppose, because one of my latest stories is now in that pretty little book, J is for Jealousy.

How does a woman handle a rock-star boyfriend's nutcase fans? Listen in as one who has been there tells her friend just how it's done...

***

"I watched Adam work the crowd in the way only he could, signing autographs and making everyone feel welcome and special. He paid a bit too much attention to that little blonde slut who had been lusting after him in the front row -- she was right there beside him, moving closer and closer as she talked on and on about how wonderful he was. Of course he always had a thing for blondes and I knew that, he didn’t try to hide it and how could he? Never mind that I’m not a blonde. I teased him about it until he shot back and asked me to dye my hair.

Sorry...you’re right. Stick to the story. Good grief, you act like you’re horny or something!

This one couldn’t have been more than twenty, probably younger, with bleached hair and enormous breasts that couldn’t possibly be real. I quirked an eyebrow at Adam, and he grinned back. He had dealt with her kind a million times before.

Adam was looking at her, his full attention on whatever she was saying. He was just being a nice guy like he is, you know. But she was moving closer. Her breasts brushed his chest. Before anybody realized what was coming, she rose on tiptoe and slid her tongue into his mouth.

Oh, yes she did! Can you believe the audacity of that bitch?

What did I want to do, you ask? I wanted to kick her ass! But security was pulling her away and Adam was blushing like mad, and I didn’t want to make a scene among those fans who were already so curious about me as it was. I had to make myself scarce before I gave into temptation and throttled the bitch.

Adam caught up with me halfway to the bus. “Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t kiss her back. Where are you going?”

“I’m so tired of this shit!” I hollered as I yanked my arm away from him. Oh, hell. I wasn’t mad at him. Not really. I just needed somebody to take my anger out on, and he was convenient.

“I’m yours,” Adam said, as if that solved the entire problem.

“I just wish they knew it,” I said. I admit it -- I was playing the victim card. We had been over and over this whole conversation a million times.

So then Adam said, “Let’s show them.”

That stopped whatever I was going to say next. He had to be kidding, and I was not amused. I asked him what in the world he was thinking, what in the world he was talking about, did he really think that I would buy a suggestion like that as being the real deal?

Adam shut me up with a kiss. A good, deep and rowdy kiss, the kind that made my knees weak. He whispered against my lips. “I’m dead serious. Try me and see.”

I couldn’t believe this. He was actually suggesting it! There must have been fifty people there in the parking lot, watching us.

Waiting.

Adam’s cock was already pressing hard against me through his jeans. I heard someone laugh, then a murmur rose from the crowd as he bent his head and kissed me again, this time with even more passion than before. My resistance began to melt away.

When I opened my eyes, I saw the slut that had kissed him. She glared at me. Yes, she did. That fucking bitch. Just thinking about her now, all this time later? It still pisses me off.

That glare? That did it. He was mine, damn them all, and anyone who didn’t believe that could just watch this!

I slid my hands down his back and he tensed up, then laughed a little into my mouth as his tongue danced across mine. Did he think I would go through with it? Probably not, but the realization dawned on him soon enough. Every part of my body was primed and ready and as with all longtime lovers, he knew it instinctively.

I pinned my eyes on that bleached whore on the edge of the crowd.

“He’s mine,” I said. I was loud enough that everybody could hear. “Wanna see?”

One person laughed, and another yelled encouragement. A few people left but most stayed, jockeying for a better position. Adam laughed as he grabbed my shirt with both hands and lifted it over my head, leaving me no room to change my mind. The cool breeze fluttered over my tight nipples and made me shiver. Or maybe it wasn’t the breeze. Maybe it was the fact that we were being watched?

Let’s see how the tabloids wrote about this one!"

Enjoy the rest of the story and other tales of that naughty green-eyed monster gone awry: Get the book here.

"From the Corner of Fourth and Main"

I'm thrilled to see my short story "From the Corner of Fourth and Main" included in Ultimate Gay Erotica 2008. If boys on boys turns you on, this is one anthology that will trip your trigger over and over again.

Here's a snippet of my tale:

He leaned against the brick wall. The sidewalk thudded under our feet. He was my height, which meant I could look right into his eyes while I stood in front of him. Those eyes weren’t interesting at all, placid and brown with short lashes, but his mouth made up for that. He had lips that curled perfectly around a cigarette, the slow upturn that came from a pout. They were soft and supple and kissable, even here in the glow of the neon light. Those lips would have been perfectly at home on a young woman in a glossy magazine.

Those lips were made for sucking on things.

“You got a name?” I asked. The surprise flickered across his face.

“Yes.”

That was the best I was going to get, and it was good enough. More than good enough, actually. He just seemed like a Yes. He seemed like the kind of man who had heard that word more often than he had heard his given name. For a brief moment I toyed with the idea of testing him, of telling him to drop to his knees right there, but I didn’t, not only because I wasn’t brave enough to come out with such demands, but because I knew damn good and well he would do it.

In the moment of silence he pushed off the wall and moved toward me until we were mere inches apart. He was thin and lanky and hot. The heat from his body breached his thin t-shirt and my polo and went straight to the center of my chest, a burning ember that slid all the way down to where he wanted it to be. He smelled like cigarettes and whiskey and the slightest hint of sweat.

He waited until I shifted my weight and looked away. With a sly smile and not a single word he turned away from me and headed into the crowd. Only the merest tilt of his head told me to follow.

I did as I was told. I studied him from behind as we walked down Fourth Street and toward the river. He was thin but solid, his shoulders not all that broad, his hair a little too long in the back. He walked with a swagger, the only thing about him that suggested he was younger than he looked. A tattoo of symbols ran up the side of his neck, ending at that sweet spot right underneath his ear.

He led me down the street, then suddenly cut into a small alley. At the end of the alley the street rose and narrowed into a catwalk. The river rushed below us, and for a moment I was dizzy. I grabbed the railing and the whole catwalk chattered in protest.

“Don’t look down,” he called over his shoulder. “Look straight ahead.”

I focused on his hips, where the tapered curve of his back disappeared into the too-tight jeans. We crossed the grate and went up a fire escape. He took a running start, snatched the ladder with one hand and swung. He climbed it like a monkey up a tree.

I followed, the old paint chipping off against my hand, the metal burning my skin even in the cool of the night. I stumbled twice before finding my rhythm, swing and up three, swing and up four, swing and three, over and over and up and up until we came to a door that wasn’t locked and a room that was lit by a small table lamp.

“My place,” he said.

What happens at his place, you ask? You can get your copy of the book here.

"One Breath at a Time" is Available NOW!

My latest novel, One Breath at a Time, is available TODAY all over the UK! You can get it at your favorite bookstore, or you can save yourself all that trouble and just get it online by clicking here.

Here's the blurb:

Kelley is a woman with a broken heart. She doesn't need another complication in her life, and certainly not another man. But when she stumbles across Tom, the things she thought she didn't want are exactly what she needs. As they fall for each other and embark on a compelling journey through dominance and submission, both lovers strive to shake away their dark pasts. But is blinding passion enough to keep them from being ripped apart?

And here's a preview:

Tom opened the gate and I drove through. I watched him in the rearview mirror. His jeans were slightly tighter than they should have been, perfect to show off that toned rear and thick thighs. His shirt was button-down, an expensive designer number that fit across his shoulders as if it had been tailored especially for him. I had been very surprised to see the tag, and silently calculated what that shirt must have cost.

‘Considering I only have three shirts that are suitable for going out like this, I think the expense was worth it,’ he teased. And he wasn’t kidding. The dressy clothes in his closet were few and far between. This was a man who was comfortable in his own skin, with his own style, and no need to answer to anyone but himself.

‘You are gorgeous in that,’ I said to him now as he climbed into the truck.

‘Maybe I should buy designer clothes more often.’

‘You’re gorgeous in anything. And out of anything.’

‘Somebody’s horny.’

I smiled and turned the truck toward my house on the other side of town. The sun was going down; streetlights were flickering to life. Tom rode quietly, his hand on my thigh, watching every move I made. At the first red light, he unbuckled my seat belt.

‘Hey,’ I breathed in mock protest.

His hand slipped between my legs.

Tom’s fingers pressed hard against my crotch, pushing the cotton of my leggings against my pussy. I was already wet. I relaxed my thighs and leaned back in the seat. Tom took the opportunity to push harder between my open legs.

The light changed to green and I drove on. Tom moved his hand away, leaving me aching for more. He gently flipped the compass hanging from the rearview mirror. He opened my glove compartment and leisurely explored the papers and CDs he found in there. He studied my registration. He turned on the radio to see what station I had been listening to, then turned it off again.

We came to another light.

This time Tom wasted no time. His hand slipped down the front of my pants. I opened my legs and he slid a finger deep into my pussy. Slowly he began to slide it in and out, fucking me with it while I bit my lip and tried to look as though nothing was wrong. The man on my left wasn’t paying any attention, but the woman in the turn lane was looking our way. Tom gave her a wicked smile and slid two fingers into me, pushing up hard on that magic spot that made me horny as hell. I leaned my head back against the seat.

A car honked from behind me. My eyes snapped open, and Tom’s hand disappeared. The light was green.

‘Fuck,’ I murmured, and hit the gas.

Tom busied himself with picking my purse up from the floorboard. He unzipped it and started looking through it, completely ignoring me. He pulled out the lipstick and twirled it up and down. A notepad, a tube of lip balm, a few pens – all seemed to be of interest. He pulled out a wrapped tampon and grinned before pushing it back down to the bottom. He studiously ignored my wallet but pulled out photographs that he found in a side pocket. He flipped through them slowly but didn’t say a single word.

When I came to a stop at the next light, he was on me.

His tongue slipped into my mouth, hungry and punishing. He bit hard on my bottom lip. One hand went under my shirt while the other went between my legs. He pinched one nipple while two fingers slammed into my cunt, lifting my hips off the seat. I let out a squeal of delight. His lips trailed back to my ear, where he bit down again before he whispered.

‘I’m going to fuck you in public. You know that, don’t you? This is just a warm up. One day I’m going to strip you down and spread your legs and give complete strangers a damn good show. You would do that for me, wouldn’t you?’

‘Fuck, yes,’ I growled.

His hands disappeared, and I was left dazed.

‘Drive,’ he ordered.

*
If you want more, you've got to get the book!

The book can also be preordered here. Though it's out in the UK right now, it will be released everywhere in March.

Coming Together: Under Fire

It was only a few months ago when wildfires flared in California, scorching thousands of acres and destroying hundreds of homes. This Christmas will be quite different for those families who have to rebuild a home from the ashes.

You can help! A group of erotica writers, led by the impressive talents of Alessia Brio and Will Belegon, have come together for those devastated by the California wildfires. Coming Together: Under Fire features hot, sizzling erotica that will warm up your winter nights...and ultimately, help someone in need. All proceeds from Coming Together: Under Fire will be donated to the victims of nature's fiery wrath.

It comes in print and ebook, and is available now from Phaze. Click here to order yours.

Here's an excerpt from my story in Coming Together: Under Fire. Enjoy!

* * *

The End of the World
by Gwen Masters

Australia, 1978

The Gibson Desert was the end of the world.

I was certain of this. I stood on the hood of the old Land Rover, the one with the three useless canisters full of petrol in the back. I turned in a complete circle and gazed in every direction. The vast emptiness made me dizzy. There was nothing there. Nothing. Only the tracks from whence we came, and those were quickly disappearing under the weight of the wind. Australia was a big country with more sand than was good for it.

Patrick sat in the front seat and surveyed the map. He had a compass in his hand. His face looked grim.

“How much farther?” I asked. “Can we walk it?”

Patrick snorted with mirthless laughter. “Sure. In a bloody month or so.” He flung the map down on the passenger seat and yanked his hat down over his eyes. The floppy brim obscured all but his mouth, which was set in a long, thin line of annoyance.

We had set out from Alice Springs a few days earlier, determined to try our luck at the crossing. It was ridiculous to most, but to us it was necessary. We didn’t want to go along the conventional beaten path. A photographer and a writer, out in the middle of nowhere; it would make for a few good books. Besides that, it was a personal mission. We were working on the goals we had set for ourselves, and hopefully our failing marriage would keep stride with the victories.

It was working until that engine threw God-knows-what and stopped us dead in the middle of no-man’s land.

“You could help me here instead of getting so upset,” I snapped. “We have to think.”

“Okay.” Patrick yanked the hat off and slapped it on the dashboard. Dust and sand flew from it in a beige cloud. “Let’s think. We have a Rover that has gone belly-up. We have a radio that doesn’t fucking work. We have enough water to last for three days, no more. We are in the middle of the desert and the next outpost is four hundred clicks away. What do I think? I think we’re in a goddamn bloody mess, that’s what I think.”

“Three days of water?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“That’s what I said,” he said, spacing the words out as if I were slow.

“How the fuck did that happen?” My hands were on my hips and I was glaring at him. I knew what picture I made, and I knew he hated it. I didn’t care. Right now I was very close to hating him.

“It happened because I thought we would be there in time!” he exploded. “I’m not an outback photographer. I shoot runway models, for crying out loud. I eat catering. Not...not snake and snipe and whatever that bloody dog thing is—“

“Dingo?”

“Yes!”

“You have never eaten dingo. Stop being melodramatic. I’m the only person out here and I’m not going to listen to your bullshit.” I leapt from the top of the Rover and landed smoothly on the sand. The heat of it immediately warmed the bottom of my boot. The sun wasn’t overhead yet, but she was well on her way.

Patrick slammed his hat against the dashboard again. I looked at the ground, where two pieces of metal lay in the narrowing shadows. Those had come from the engine. And I had no idea where they went or how to put them back. There were no tools in the Rover anyway.

We were well and stuck.

I climbed into the back of the Rover and unfastened the canvas tarp that served as a roof. Patrick watched as I rolled it across to the windshield and fastened it down. “That makes it hotter,” he complained.

“The sun is worse.”

“You would know,” he said snidely. “Why don’t you just call your Outback Jack ex-boyfriend to hop over on a wallaby and save us?”

I looked out over the desert, trying to think. “Camel.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t ride wallaby, for God’s sake. You ride camel.”

Patrick snorted in annoyance. I watched the shadows and the wind gather together. This was a land of mirages. I wondered if I might see one. It would surely be better than the guy sitting next to me.

Patrick tapped a pen over and over against the steering wheel. The sound was maddening, but I wasn’t about to give in and snap at him about it. Fighting would not help matters. It wouldn’t help the situation we were in and it damn sure wouldn’t help our marriage. I was on the verge of being done with him for good, and I was almost certain Patrick would reach that point very soon. Perhaps even today.

Why the hell had I shacked up with him anyway? That’s all it had been. The sex with Patrick had been spectacular from the night we met – literally. I never fucked on the first date until Patrick. But it was so damn good, I couldn’t feel ashamed about it. One night led to a weekend and then a week and then six months later I was pregnant. The shotgun wedding was romantic enough, and then the miscarriage came three weeks later. Patrick and I were left with a marriage from which the foundation had disappeared.

We had battled it out for three years, which was about two years too long.

But the sex? Christ, it was good.

“What are you thinking about?” Patrick snapped out of the blue. I jerked back to reality.

“Huh?”

“What? Outback Jack?”

I sneered at him. “I was thinking about what a good fuck you are,” I said bluntly. Even in the midday desert heat, I could see Patrick’s furious blush.

“Liar.”

“What is the point in lying at this late date? We’re going to leave each other, you know. Our marriage is over. Our lives might be too. What good would it do to lie?”

Patrick glared at me and got out of the Rover. He took off at a slow jog, looking from side to side as he ran. So he was going to be the big hero. What was he looking for? Something I had been unable to see from standing on top of the Rover and gazing out over the gravel hills and sand dunes?

I couldn’t wait to divorce the pompous bastard.

* * *

Get the rest of the story and other hot erotica in Coming Together: Under Fire. The erotica will warm your body, and the giving will warm your heart.

In the Rain

In the Rain
by Gwen Masters

“You’re the color of the sky
Reflected in each storefront window pane,
You’re the whispering and the sighing
Of my tires in the rain...”

-Jackson Browne, “Sky Blue and Black”

Larry’s radio murmured as he turned into the parking lot of that hotel, the one with the broken mirror in Room 108, the one with the non-smoking rooms that smelled like smoke and the king-size beds that were too big for two people in love. The windshield wipers made their comforting thump-whack and his watch kept up the steady ticks and the rain poured down, coloring everything a darker shade as he thought of Katherine.

She would be cooking dinner about now, standing in the kitchen with her blonde curls tied up in a bun, or maybe under a bandana, one of those cheap ones from the discount store. She would be doing half a dozen things at once, manning the brigade of pots and pans as she sidestepped around a two-year-old and hollered to the six-year-old that his room had better be clean before he came to dinner or there would be serious trouble. After stirring a pot and hearing the grandfather clock chime she would holler again, her voice carrying down the hallway and to the bedroom where a man would be taking off his shoes after a long day of work, smelling the good smells and feeling his stomach rumble.

Larry remembered what that was like.

The old Ford truck was one they had made love in when they were courting, back when dinosaurs roamed the earth, before children and mortgages and things that went wrong. One night while they were lying down on that bench seat Katherine had gotten her long blonde hair caught in the door handle and she couldn’t move and somehow that excited them both, excited them so much that Larry went at her hard enough to rock the truck on its wide wheels, hard enough to fog the windows. The whole time the radio was playing one song after another, songs that meant something, songs that fifteen years later were like that truck: they don’t make ‘em like that anymore.

When it was over Larry had untangled her hair and she had cried because his hands were so tender and so careful, and because she loved him so much.

Lightning struck something nearby. The sound was loud enough to make Larry jump, close enough to turn the radio to static. Thunder roared. Larry watched the little blue car come through the curtain of mist. Behind the wheel was a pretty brunette, a bit on the heavy side with deep blue eyes and a radiant smile. She looked frightened as she drove under the light of the neon sign, and Larry guessed she was afraid of storms. He was learning more about her every time they met.

She ran to the shelter of the hotel room. Larry watched her as she opened the door to Room 108. He caught a glimpse of the broken mirror and thought about how Erin kept getting the same room as though they were testing their luck, as if the clerk at the front desk didn’t notice that they only stayed for a little while. Did she want to get caught?

Larry wondered if Katherine had wanted to get caught and if that is why she had left her own hotel key in the console of the car. He wondered if she had left it there deliberately and if she had ever thought about the way he would react, the suspicion and then the anger and then the shock of finding out that he was right after all.

She had been in Room 214. At least that time, she had been. Larry wondered if she had ever watched the new man in the mirror as he fucked her, perhaps in Room 108.

Another clap of thunder, and this time Erin looked out the window. She hadn’t seen his truck yet, parked way over there on the other side of the lot, but he climbed out anyway. He had forgotten his umbrella. By the time he dashed through the rain and the door closed behind him, he was soaked. Erin remedied that by removing his clothes.

She was wearing something silky. Her skin was scented with the fragrance that was uniquely her, the one that was seductive. She also wore a wide gold wedding band. Larry needed to make love to a married woman, to take what was taken from him, and Erin seemed to understand, seemed to revel in it sometimes by asking him if he thought Katherine had ever fucked her new man like this, or like that, or like this.

Larry came harder than ever when Erin did that, because it was like permission to go where his mind was going anyway, it was like having both of them in bed with him, it was living out the questions in his head, and it disgusted him yet made him want more at the same time.

He didn’t want to think about it.

Larry kissed Erin and lowered her to the bed and removed her clothes a little bit at a time, until he was between her widespread legs and she was playing with her nipples. He looked up and watched the harsh light from the bedside lamp as it glinted from her gold band.

He played his tongue over her lips, nice and slow, teasing each one. He delved into her, his tongue at first, then his fingers. By the time he touched her clit she was writhing under him and he knew how to do it, knew what would set her off, knew how to make it last. She told him over and over that he was better than her husband was and he clung to that like a drowning man clings to driftwood he happens to find in the ocean.

The new man would be sitting down in Larry’s chair now, looking at the food on the table and perhaps looking at the woman who served it. What was she wearing? Something that the new man would take off later in the bedroom that now belonged to them but used to belong to Katherine and Larry?

Larry bit gently on Erin’s clit. She wiggled in that certain way. Larry slid two fingers into her and then three and then four. Larry knew she would be sore and he was glad for that. He wanted her to be sore from him when she fucked her husband. That was important.

“Baby, I love you,” Erin gasped, but Larry didn’t hear her.

His mind was in a house across town, sitting down to dinner of mashed potatoes and peas and beef brisket with that good gravy only Katherine could make, and Larry felt a hunger inside, something deeper than anything food could fix.

Then Erin arched up into him and she cried out, a long wail that told him he had done what he was supposed to do. It was his turn now, because that was how things worked, wasn’t it? He did his duty and then she did hers or they did it together and that was supposed to be the correct way. It was all supposed to feel right.

Larry slid into Erin and she moaned, that deep down way that she always did, not like the gentle whimpers that came from Katherine. He moved deep into her and held her hair in his fists, the way she always liked it. He said all those things he had never said to Katherine, things like slut and whore and bitch and Erin broke out into goosebumps and moans with every new word. They turned together, her on top and him on bottom, and she rode him hard while she played with nipples on breasts that were bigger than Katherine’s, much bigger. Her body was rounded and soft and it was a turn-on of immense proportions (at least that’s what his dick said and by God, dicks don’t lie). It wasn’t more or less than the body Katherine had. It was just different.

When Erin leaned forward and rode him in that perfect way that drove his cock against the back wall of her cunt, the way that put pressure on his pelvis and his belly and everywhere else, Larry wrapped his arms around her and pressed his face to her throat. He came hard, deep inside her, where her husband might find it if he chose this night to fuck his wife.

When it was over, Larry said all the right things and did all the right things, but Erin knew he was far away. He could tell it by the look in her eyes when she saw the look in his.

“I said something wrong, didn’t I?” she asked, and Larry didn’t know what she meant, but he held her and kissed her and told her no, she hadn’t said anything wrong. She had said everything right.

She smiled and was content, and that was good. Content was good.

Two hours and then they were gone from the hotel room, the door closed and nothing amiss, the broken mirror in darkness, her little blue car disappearing in a haze of rain and fog. Larry drove slowly out of the parking lot and turned up the radio, which was no longer static but crystal clear, songs from years ago that still meant something. He turned toward the apartment across town, the one with the mismatched furniture and the empty fridge.

The rain poured down harder, hard enough that he had to squint to see through the windshield. Finally Larry had to pull over, had to sit there while every song on the radio told another tale from the story of his life and the rain pounded the hood of the old Ford. Unable to be here, he closed his eyes and he was there, sitting down to a dinner of beef brisket and mashed potatoes and peas, Katherine was smiling at him, and all was right with the world.

Originally published on Clean Sheets, copyright 2007.