Tag Archives: Sexy

Sign up for a free copy of On Fire: Erotic Romance Stories

5 Jun

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Who’s excited for summer? Hopefully, all of us! I am looking forward to vacations by the beach, attending my first bachelorette party and, of course, beach reads, including my July Cleis Press anthology On Fire: Erotic Romance Stories.

If the title and/or steamy cover (isn’t it HOT?) sound intriguing, I’ve got a great deal for you: Through June 18, 2017, one month before the ebook release (the print version pubs on August 8), I’m offering a free e-copy to interested readers in exchange for an honest review on Amazon and/or Goodreads. To sign up, fill out this form with your name and email address by June 18th. Your contact information will only be seen by me, and only used to send you the review copy. I’ll send you a copy, then you can post your review any time on Goodreads, and starting July 18th on Amazon. I just ask that you include the phrase “I received a free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review” with your review when you post it. It’s that easy!

Here’s the book’s blurb:

In On Fire, today’s top erotic romance authors don’t skimp on love or lust—they are entwined in tales that will make pulses pound and hearts race. Bestselling editor Rachel Kramer Bussel takes us inside the passions of couples who go above and beyond in their pursuit of sexual and romantic satisfaction, exploring the racy to the outrageous during their many arousing adventures. You’ll treasure the sex toy exploration in “Every Second of It,” find paranormal pleasure in “Masquerade,” and be transported to “A Place As Beautiful As This.” You’ll go “Beyond the Blindfold,” find out what lurks in the “Art of Darkness,” and delight in discovering “The Sweetest Thing.” These steamy stories by Kristina Wright, Delilah Devlin, Giselle Renarde, Kay Jaybee, Victoria Blisse, Jade A. Waters and others are perfect intimate reads to enjoy with your lover or for your own pleasure.

Want to know more On Fire? Visit the official Tumblr to read my introduction and the table of contents. And if you want to get a free copy for review, use this form by June 18, 2017 and check your inbox!

And stay tuned for our Lady Smut week celebrating all things On Fire and Fiery starting July 17th!

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Rachel Kramer Bussel (rachelkramerbussel.com) has edited over 60 anthologies, including Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 1 and 2, Come Again: Sex Toy Erotica, Begging for It, Fast Girls, The Big Book of Orgasms and more. She writes widely about sex, dating, books and pop culture and teaches erotica writing classes around the country and online. Follow her @raquelita on Twitter and find out more about her classes and consulting at eroticawriting101.com. You can follow Rachel on BookBub to get notified about new releases and ebook sales.

Wild Excerpt for Wild Week

18 May

by Kiersten Hallie Krum

Hope all you readers have been enjoying Wild Week here at Lady Smut. Whether it’s Alexa Day’s Praise of the Wild Man or Elizabeth Shore hunting for ethical porn, it’s a wild time day by day to celebrate of the nomination of my novel, Wild on the Rocks, for InD’Tale’s Magazine‘s prestigious RONE award in the Suspense/Thriller: Short category. Voting goes all week, and I’d love it if you’d head on over and show some support for Wild on the Rocks, which is now on sale for $.99 exclusively from Amazon!

Vote today!

Wanna know what you’re getting into? Keep reading to see how, a year after their divorce, Jasper and Quinn find each other again in the most unlikely of places. Of all the joints in the world…

Enjoy this excerpt from Wild on the Rocks!

 

 

Casa Blanca, Barefoot Bay, Florida.

“Toldja. Beaches, babes, and booze. The unholy trifecta. Praise sweet baby Jesus.”
Twist’s voice sounded through Jasper’s ear pierce as he scanned the patio area where the rehearsal dinner
cocktail hour was under full swing.
He had to admit that, for once, Twist had got it right.
The Thornquist wedding—or the Thorny Wedding as the security team had taken to calling it—was as
opulent as advertised. Jasper stopped trying to count the number of recognizable faces from notable Washington
families after the first hour. Not that he knew a lot of them on sight. Twist had a better take on the Who’s Who,
given he came from some seriously old money, a secret he kept close and actively hid from their team.
“There’s definitely enough booze,” Jasper agreed. “We’ll be fishing women in formal wear out of the
pool before the bride gets down the aisle.”
“Ah, the wet gown contests. Nothin’ like a dirty debutante.” He sighed with such exaggeration, Jasper
fancied he felt an actual breeze. “Sometimes, at night, I can still hear the screams…of pleasure.”
He absolutely would not smile at Twist’s ridiculousness. “We’ve been here twenty-four hours and your
degenerate side is already at full throttle.”
“Brother, it’s my best side.”
“How ’bout we try to be professionals for a while. Did you tag the congressman’s daughter?”
“Your four o’clock. She’s on her third drink and laughing with the bartender.”
“Spectacular. That’s what we need: a horny bartender.”
“The bartender is a woman, and if she’s horny for the congressman’s daughter, then I’m moving in for a
ringside seat. Shee-it, she is hawt.”
At the mention of a female bartender, Jasper’s head instantly filled with the image of Quinn, her whole
body shaking with laughter at something stupid he’d said before she leaned her elbows on the bar to get closer to
him as if even the air between them was too much distance to bear.
Until she’d run out on him six months later while he was OUTCONUS and put all the distance of the
world between them for good.
Annoyed, he shook off the memory like he longed to shake off the woman. That’s why he was here, right?
To exorcise the taste and feel and haunting memories of his wife on a willing woman.
Ex-wife.
A short-term, holiday affair was the perfect way to end the self-enforced abstinence he’d endured since
his divorce. Jasper was normally careful who he fucked, his career and his family history enough that he didn’t
treat sex as casual even when having casual sex. The one time he’d taken a chance on a wild lover, she’d
quickly become his wife and soon after broken his heart but good.
This temporary fantasy away from his shattered life was the perfect place to learn from his mistakes. And
make a few new, short-term ones.
“Was it ‘hot’ or ‘horny’ where we lost you, Queen?”
Twist’s voice held more than a thread of humor in it. If he made one comment over coms about Jasper
being hard up, best friend or not, he was going to kill him.
“Sit rep,” he snapped.
“You’re not CO on this op,” Twist reminded him with no small amount of glee. “Man, you should see this
bartender.”
Jasper rolled his eyes behind his aviator shades. “We’re on a job, Twist. Not on vacation or the prowl.”
“We’re on a job on vacation, Queen. And I take my wingman duties seriously for both. Relax. You can
count on me to Set. You. Up.”
“I’ll relax when you stop yapping in my ear while I’m getting paid to look after people who could buy or
sell small countries with their pocket change.”
“You better have more than change in your pocket, brother. Not kidding, Queen. You need to come over
here and check her out. She is smokin’ hot.”
“Happy as I am to hear you appreciate the staff, maybe you could spare the rest of us the play by play,
Sisti.”
Luke McBain’s terse voice made Jasper grimace. Thanks to Twist, he was getting chastised over coms.
Soon as they were off duty, he was gonna kick Twist’s ass.
“I could do for a little play by play,” one of the other guards admitted. “These political fuckers are boring
as hell.”
“These political fuckers are our well-paying clients,” McBain reminded everyone. “Try not to disrespect
them to their faces.” A series of “yes, sirs” flooded the com line. “Rehearsal’s over. We’re headed back to the
resort.”
Along with five of his guys, McBain was down on the beach guarding the principals—bride, groom,
attendants, and parents—while the rest of them babysat everyone not in the wedding party. That McBain’s wife
and her wedding planning partners were on the beach probably had a lot to do with his hands on approach at that
vector. “Queen, report.”
“Guests are bugging out from the patio, moving into the dining room. Got ten lingering.”
“Hustle them along. I want everyone under roof in five. Rocco, Johnny, and Marlowe, you three are in
Junonia’s main room covering the dinner. It’s a sit down, so stay out of the way, but remain visible. The rest of
you patrol the perimeter. Sisti, meet up with Queen on the patio. The two of you take position inside the
restaurant at the bar.”
“Sure you want Twist close to the hot bartender?” Jasper asked.
“I’ve seen the woman. If he hits on her, I’ll want a ringside seat. I could use a good laugh today.”
Jasper wasn’t the only man chuckling over the channel at that one.
He moved from his position at the back corner of the patio from which he could see all the way down to
the beach. Table by table, he gently urged people into the restaurant proper, waiting as the women gathered the
whatnot women everywhere seemed to cart around with them no matter the occasion. His go bag had less to it
than some of these women’s purses.
He felt Twist at his six as he helped an octogenarian to her feet and transferred her surprisingly strong
grip to the arm of a waiter. The old dame patted his ass before shuffling off.
“Please tell me you’re not that hard up,” Twist begged, and Jasper heard him in stereo; at his back and
again through the coms.
Damn it.
“Fuck off,” he muttered.
“Oh ho!” Twist chortled with an elbow to Jasper’s gut. “Queen’s losing his cool! Is the world ending?!”
“Keep it up and yours can be.”
Twist snorted, and Jasper would’ve been happier to see his friend up to his old tricks if only he wasn’t
the target.
“I can do you better than a biddy,” Twist promised.
“For the love of my sanity, don’t help me.”
“Gotta look out for my boy.”
“Try doing that by not discussing my sex life on open coms.”
“What sex life? You haven’t gotten laid in months.”
“You know wingman and stalker mean two different things, right?”
“Rumor has it, you’ve got the bluest balls on the team for a man without a pregnant wife or girlfriend. The
boys have bets on how long it’ll take you to nail someone this weekend.”
“I’ll take that action,” Ryan, on the perimeter, piped in.
“Me too,” added Rocco from inside the restaurant.
“Done,” Twist confirmed. “We’ll settle up after the dinner.”
“I’m not hitting on the bartender,” Jasper vowed. “Leave me out of this little clique.”
Twist slapped a consoling hand on Jasper’s shoulder. “Ladies like it when you know how to find that
part.”
Laughter rang on the coms again while Jasper shook his head. “I can’t believe this shit,” he muttered.
“Believe it. Consider Operation King Me underway.”
Jasper’s gaze hit on McBain, who waited for them at the patio door to the restaurant. “Shut it,” he ordered
even though he knew McBain already heard Twist’s nonsense in his ear.
“When Nick gave me your names, I had no idea we’d be getting security and a show,” McBain gibed.
Jasper bit back a grimace. McBain eyed Twist with a peculiar gleam that made Jasper uneasy. “You know, don’t
you?”
That nagging sense of trouble that had been prodding the base of Jasper’s skull all day finally burst.
“What did you do?”
But Twist looked equally confused. “Swear Roy, I have no idea what he’s on about.”
Boss or not, Jasper raised a brow at McBain in silent demand. He jerked his head in a “follow me”
motion and led the way from the patio into the restaurant’s bar.
“I thought it was coincidence or a joke. But my guys only finalized her background check this morning.”
Her? Alarm snaked up Jasper’s spine. Oh, hell no.
“They gave me the final report this morning,” McBain continued. “Not hard to see you share the same last
name.” He gestured toward the bar where a woman worked to fill cocktail orders. “Don’t suppose she’s your
cousin?”
Jasper watched her move, the dance of her motions unchanged from a year before, a sinuous weave that
only hinted at the flexibility she’d brought to their bed. He’d told her once he’d never seen anyone make pouring
a glass of wine look so sexy.
This was still true.
Her dark-brown hair hung past her shoulders now to the middle of her back, long layers that fell forward
to brush her sharp cheekbone when she bent over the bar to serve a drink. He knew how those strands felt when
gripped in his hands, or scraping down his belly as her wide, lush mouth mapped its way down his body to her
target.
She wore the standard server’s uniform of white top and black bottoms, but her collared, tuxedo shirt was
fitted to her impressive rack, emphasized by the two buttons she left undone to show the tempting gulley in her
cleavage. The shirt nipped in at her waist and what little of her black trousers he could see clung to her hips. A
long pearl necklace was twisted into a knot to dangle down her front and Jasper knew, he knew, she’d be
wearing her motorcycle boots, even to this kind of wedding. When she stretched for a bottle off the top shelf, the
banner of skin left bare at her midriff came into view and Jasper proceeded to completely lose his shit.
“You already know she’s not my cousin,” he snarled while rage flooded his body and instant arousal made
him hard as a spike. “She’s my wife.”

* * *

Nettie’s tray clattered onto the bar. “Holy shit,” she gasped, eyes fixed on the restaurant’s entrance. “Is it
Christmas already?”
Quinn glanced over her shoulder as a trio of men crossed the threshold. The last rays of sun shined
through the door behind them, blinding her and making the men little more than shadows. Large shadows with
broad shoulders.
Hoo. Shah.
She shielded her eyes and turned back to the blender. “We should send God a fruit basket.”
“Full of gold.” Nettie nodded toward the man on the end. “That’s Luke McBain. He does the resort’s
security. Very married to one of the wedding planners.”
“So looky, but no touchy.”
Nettie grinned. “Exactly.”
Quinn checked the men out again from the corner of her eye. All three wore black collared shirts tucked
into belted black trousers and topped with aviator glasses they removed almost simultaneously as they came
fully into the bar and approached the women. As classic a uniform for their job as her black and white get-up
was for hers. Standing nearly at the same six-foot plus heights—though the one on the opposite end from McBain
was an inch or two shorter—they were all armed, two with weapons in hip holsters while the guy in the center
sported a shoulder rig.
To Quinn’s mind, shoulder rigs were the sexy, Mad Men version of gun holsters. In a good way. Intensely
masculine but minus the infuriating sexism. So her eyes lingered on that man, skimming over his wide, muscular
chest framed within the holster’s leather strips while she absently noted he alone of the three had his sleeves
rolled up to the elbow. His thick throat rippled as she watched and sharp hunger spiked deep in Quinn’s belly,
the likes of which she hadn’t felt in more than a year. What looked like two days’ worth of scruff covered his
scarred chin, surrounding lips she’d bet were full and a shy short of too fleshy when not drawn into their current
tight line. Coasting past raised cheek bones, the hair on the back of Quinn’s neck lifted and her nipples
contracted into painful points as her avaricious gaze met eyes she already knew were a stunning golden hazel
when not darkened with swelling rage that made his pupil expand until the color was a mere glowing rim.
“Can you imagine having that in your bed every night?” Nettie said.
“I can, actually.” Quinn replied on little more than an exhale. The bottle of wine in her hands trembled.
She set it down on the bar with extreme care and deliberately laid her hands on either side of it before looking
up into the breathtaking, hard-set face of her husband.
Ex-husband.
“Fuck, Roy, but you can pick ’em,” the third man said as he settled onto a stool, seemingly oblivious to the
heaving tension.
Quinn ignored him. She knew better than to look away from the seething powder keg that was Jasper.
“You look like a recruitment poster for Badasses ’R Us.”
He stepped toward the bar as though seconds from yanking her over it. “You look like you’re on your way
to try out for the Coyote Ugly sequel.”
His friend split a grin between them. “Okay, now I believe she’s your wife.”
Ex-wife,” Quinn and Jasper snapped simultaneously, which made the man crack up.
“Cut it out, Twist,” Jasper growled.
This was Twist? She risked taking her eyes off Jasper, fascinated to finally meet his closest friend, though
it escaped her why it could possibly mattered after all this time.
Twist’s grin didn’t falter, but it didn’t reach his eyes, either, and the frank animosity there scorched her
skin.
Okay by her. Not like she was trying to make friends.
“Luke McBain.” The other man introduced himself with a warm smile. She tore her eyes from Twist and
reflexively accepted his proffered hand.
“Quinn McQueen,” she replied without thinking and immediately regretted it when Jasper’s entire torso
recoiled.
The tailored shirt rippled over his muscled chest, mesmerizing Quinn so that Jasper startled her when he
leaned those bare, cut forearms on the bar and got right back in her space.
Holy crap, arm porn. She was in no way prepared for her ex-husband’s delectable arm porn.
He glared at her hand still caught in McBain’s until she tugged it free. “Come again?” The sibilant
whisper coasted over her skin. Quinn caught her breath.
Even though his arrival right now, right here, and all that might mean scared the holy shit outta her, even
after all the bone-crushing, lonely days and weeks she’d spent without him, even now, that deep rumble of his
voice raised goose bumps on her arms.
“Jasp,” she whispered with absolutely no idea what to say beyond that or how to justify being Quinn
McQueen again without telling him that simply having his name was a comfort when she felt more lost than ever
before in her life.
His eyes flared with heat. They were close enough now for Quinn to see that ribbon of green gold around
his pupil glow bright. She locked her knees and clutched her hands together beneath the edge of the bar to keep
from grabbing him.
“You’re using my name again? Since when?”
“About a week ago,” she admitted, her voice small.
“For hell’s sake, why?”
Because I’m on the run from the Russian mob and the only place I’ve ever felt safe was with you.
Yeah, like either of them was prepared to detonate that cans of worms.
She forced herself to shrug. “I like the cadence.”
His hands spread wide on the wood. She half expected him to vault right over the bar. “You like the
cadence?” he hollered back, practically in her face.
She huffed out a breath. “It’s not like I expected you to find out about it! What are you doing here
anyway?”
He tossed an incredulous glance at McBain as though the answer were obvious. And to be fair, it kinda
was. “Searching for buried treasure.”
Despite his dry tone, Quinn’s eyes went wide at the thought of such an adventure. “Really?” she breathed.
“Jesus, no. I’m working security for the wedding.” He shook his head with familiar exasperation. “Christ,
you look ready to abandon everything to go buy shovels and rent a trawler.”
“Ah, is this gonna be a problem?” McBain asked.
Slowly, Jasper eased back from the bar. “That remains to be seen.” Quinn could see he was already
locking himself down, pulling those pesky emotions back under his control. He’d always been able to get over
her so easily when she’d barely been able to let him walk out of a room without her.
Guess nothing had changed on that front.
“What are you doing here, Quinn?”
Irritation quickly replaced her shock, and Quinn reclaimed her attitude along with it. “Uh, working.
Obviously.”
“And I’ve no doubt my wife would appreciate it if your impending domestic didn’t upset her high-society
wedding,” McBain warned without heat.
Quinn zoned back in on the unfinished tab before her. “Shit. Nettie, I’m sorry. Let me get you sorted.”
The waitress eyed her with rampant speculation. Quinn expected she and Jasper would be tasty fresh meat
for the locals when this got out. Say in five minutes. Or however long it took Nettie to speed dial the whole
world as she knew it.
Charity would have a cow not to have had first dibs.
“Don’t worry about it, hon,” Nettie reassured her, but Quinn was already dumping the trio of cocktails.
“These margaritas have settled. Take the wine out while I whip up a fresh batch.” Running the blender
would hold off Jasper’s impending interrogation, too, maybe long enough for her to come up with an explanation
that didn’t involve the words “Russian mob” and “murder.”
Because there was no way he was letting it go that easily. Jasper McQueen did not quit until he got what
he wanted, be it answers or his ring on her finger or her ass in his San Diego condo.
“Queen, you and Twist stay here for the duration of the dinner. Rotate out with one of the boys in the
dining room on the hour,” McBain ordered. “Time for me to walk the perimeter.”
She threw a look at him over her shoulder in time to see him give Jasper a shoulder clasp of male
solidarity.
Great. He had reinforcements.
“More bartenders are coming tomorrow with the catering staff for the wedding,” she explained needlessly
after McBain exited and Nettie toddled off. “But I’m it for tonight’s dinner, so I don’t have time for a chat.”
“I’ll wait,” Jasper promised.
Of course he would. “Ho-kay then.”
Since she couldn’t budge him and had zero hope of ignoring him, Quinn focused on the work. She finished
the margaritas as Nettie returned with a new order, all the while feeling Jasper’s accusing gaze locked on her,
his eyes tracking her every move as though she’d disappear if he blinked.
God, he looked good enough to eat.
Down girl. He wasn’t hers anymore, and while she might still look, not being able to touch would
probably kill her before the Russian mob did.
* * *
“So!” Twist broke into the charged silence with his usual delicacy. “How’d you crazy kids meet?”
“Vegas,” Jasper growled. “The last time you forced me on vacation. And no, it did not ‘stay there’.”
Twist’s disbelieving gaze switched back and forth between Jasper and Quinn. “That was only a long
weekend. You’re telling me you met and got married in four days?!”
Said like that, it sounded as nutso as it was. But Jasper had taken one look at Quinn in the bar of the
Bellagio that first night and knew there was no one else for him.
Shockingly, she’d felt the same.
For a little while.
Betrayal battled with rage for dominance and beat down the fuckin’ thrill that’d ripped through his chest
when he’d first realized Quinn was within reach again. He barely stifled the urge to drag her over the bar and
handcuff them together before she could leave him again.
He reached for his frayed control and found it in tatters. That had been the case with Quinn from the start.
The moment he laid eyes on all that was her—tits and ass and so much infectious attitude, she nearly vibrated
with it—he’d been wild for her.
Christ, two minutes around her and already she was driving him mad.
And he didn’t need an audience for that madness.
“You’re not being paid to guard that bar stool,” Jasper pointedly reminded his friend.
“Jeez, bring a guy to paradise for a vacation, and all he wants to do is work.”
“Vacation starts after we’re done with this job. A job that has to pay for that vacation given we’re on
enforced leave without pay.”
“You’re on what?!” Quinn said, pausing in her drink mixing to gape at him and Twist.
Jasper stifled a wince. Quinn had a rabid curiosity streak and tended to dig in exactly where he didn’t
want her. “Leave it.”
“Whoops,” Twist taunted. “Cat’s outta the bag.”
“You can cut that shit out at any time.”
“It’s hardly top secret intel. Unlike your marriage, apparently.”
Quinn grabbed a bottle of triple sec and shot him a look. “I know, right?!”
Jasper’s head tipped back so he investigated the ceiling. “And now you’re bonding. Spectacular.”
“Hey, pal, you’re the one who went to Vegas, married a superhot chick, and hid it from everyone you
know, including me. Inquiring minds wanna know.”
“I wanna know.” Jasper heard the anonymous mutter in his ear piece and realized with embarrassed shock
that he and Twist were still on coms. Christ, they were all a bunch of gossiping women.
He ripped the mechanism out of his ear and threw it across the room where it shattered a vase so
violently, Twist jumped. “Maybe you could do me a solid and hold off until after I find out how the wife I
haven’t seen or heard from since she ran out on me a year ago winds up in Barefuck Bay the exact day we do!”
That brought Quinn’s chin up. “Ex-wife,” she reminded him, unruffled by his uncharacteristic display of
temper. “And you left me first.”
Jasper’s hands curled into fists. The gall of the woman! “I was on a mission,” he gritted out between
clenched teeth, blood on a fast boil. “For my country.”
“Yeah, well, next time have the courtesy to let your wife know you’re leaving before you disappear for six
weeks!”
He set his feet and crossed his arms and practically read her mind when she swept him up in a glance and
smirked. The Patented Jasper McQueen Stubborn Stance. “Terrorists aren’t known for giving advanced notice,
babe. We go where we’re commanded to go, and when the intel comes in or the embassy is attacked or the
hostages are taken, we go fast. And it was eight weeks, which you would know if you had bothered to stick
around!”
Her eyes narrowed. “Maybe I would have, sweetheart, if I hadn’t found out from some reluctant secretary
at the yard when I called trying to find you that you didn’t even bother to tell the Navy you got married!”
Jasper’s retort was stymied by the beep of his watch alarm marking the hour. He hit the off button and
ordered Twist, “Go relieve Rocco.”
“We don’t switch out for another thirty.”
“Find something to do,” Jasper snarled. “Somewhere else.”
Twist made a show of getting up. “Sure I shouldn’t stick around in case you suddenly need an alibi?”
“Don’t need an alibi, ’cause when I kill you, it’ll be justified.”
“You love me. You know it.” He winked at Quinn, and then scuttled back as Jasper took two menacing
steps in Twist’s direction. “Calm down, Queen, I’m going. Gotta line up a bridesmaid anyway now the hot
bartender is off the market.”
“You should go with him,” Quinn advised after Twist had cleared the doorway, shutting the wooden
panels behind him to close them off from the party.
But Jasper had just realized this was the perfect chance for him to find out what the fuck went so wrong in
their marriage that she scuttled away like a fugitive without so much as talking to him. Had he pushed too fast for
too much? Had he frightened her? Or was it merely that he’d been her next wild ride and she’d never loved him
in the first place? It’d torn him up for months, wondering what he had done that was so wrong he chased away
the love of his life.
But now she was here. Now, he would know.
He planted his feet again, hands on hips. “Not going anywhere till I get some answers.”
It helped that the rehearsal schedule worked in his favor. The rehearsal guests had finally tucked into their
entrees making a break from cocktail orders. The wait staff made similar use of the lull and efficiently prepped
tables for the next course in the other room, which meant he and Quinn would be effectively alone in the bar
until the dinner ended.
He saw the moment Quinn realized he had her trapped.
She took a step back, grabbed the ledge behind her, and leaned back against her hands. The position thrust
her chest forward and lifted the edge of her blouse even further away from her low-slung trousers.
Rock, meet hard place.
Jasper knew she was too pissed at him to be deliberately trying to arouse him, but that didn’t reduce the
size of his reaction.
“Oh yeah?” she replied and fuck him, her sneer was such priceless Quinn attitude that, in spite of himself,
he had to fight off a grin and get a tighter rein on his hard on. “Like what?”
“Like why you’re using my name again when you told me—through the lawyers, because God forbid you
should talk to me—how eager you were to shed every trapping of being married, including my name.”
She shrugged. “I changed my mind.”
That ratcheted up his simmering rage so fast, he almost put his fist into the bar.
His narrowed gaze swept her from top to bottom. Her cheeks were flushed, enough that he could see the
heated flesh even in the dim light of the bar. She dodged his eyes too, which was a very un-Quinn thing to do…
unless she was trying to hide something from him. “Cut the crap, Quinn. You in trouble?”
His jaw clenched when her face went blank. That quick, she’d shut him out. If not for her body’s reactions
—reactions he suspected she had no clue she was giving him—he’d have thought her unmoved by his return.
“It’s really none of your business.”
“Bullshit.”
That cracked her mask. Irritated, her shoulders squared off. “Where the hell do you get off?”
“Where do I get off? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No, Jasper, I am not fucking kidding you,” she said with an exaggerated patience that ramped him up
even more. “We are divorced. Dee-vorced. Who and what I am is no longer your concern.”
That did it. Jasper could practically hear the tether of his control snap as he vaulted over the bar, locked
his hands on her hips, and yanked her against him.
Her hands flew up on a gasp, but he was too fast for her to push him away, and they got caught instead
against his chest. Jasper took advantage of her open mouth and swooped in.
Her taste was narcotic. His mind fogged over and the burn in his chest exploded as he drank deep.
Somewhere along the way that day, she’d indulged in a shot of rum. He licked the spicy flavor from her lips and
dived deeper.

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Caught by surprise, Quinn had no time to put up her shields, shields she’d held fast even when he’d been
deep inside her, so he owned her mouth from the start and rubbed his tongue against hers in a slow rhythm that
belied his raging lust. She always wanted to rush to the finish and never more than when they were having sex,
laser focused on her orgasm and ready to get on with it. So he would bridle that instinct and instead prime her
with slow teases of what she’d get when he had her naked and spread for him. Blissful torture that only his
brutal training to become a SEAL had allowed him to endure, but she’d always, always, made it more than
worth it.
This time, slow was going to have to wait for round two.
Or three.
He lifted his mouth to give them half a second to catch a breath, nipping once at her bottom lip because he
couldn’t stand to lose her taste even for that long. She exhaled loudly through her nose and then took the
offensive, and it was her tongue in his mouth staking claim and filling Jasper with exultant satisfaction.
My wild lady.
One of her hands slid under his pit to grab his lat while the other plunged up into his hair to hold him to
her. The movement put them chest to chest and Jasper groaned as the hard points of her nipples poked him
through their shirts. She lifted her lips, tilted her head, and kissed him again, the new angle deeper and
astoundingly more intimate.
Crushed between them, her necklace rattled against his chest until it gave up the battle and split apart,
crashing pearls to the ground like scattered hail. He felt her back-of-the-throat whimper in his dick and squeezed
the bounty of her hips. She followed his silent direction by boosting her ass up onto the ledge so he could bump
her knees wide and finally, finally, shove his hard cock into the cradle of her covered pussy after being denied it
for twelve…fucking…months.
His arms crisscrossed the small of her back, brushing the edge of those low-slung pants so that his thumbs
skirted the top of her ass. He held her tight enough to make breathing a chore, and he didn’t care, he didn’t care
one damn bit, they could suffocate from kissing and that’d be fine by him, because he knew the second he set her
free, she’d be gone.
And he would not lose her again.
And then, as suddenly as it began, the kiss was over. They stood there, clutching each other, mouths as
close as possible without connecting, breathing heavily in shared astonishment, each unwilling to be the first to
shatter the moment and bring hard reality back to crash around them.
I missed you. The words ripped through Jasper’s soul. He’d missed her mouth, her tits, her pussy, her
deep brown eyes, the scar on her chin, her sharp tongue, and her ridiculous sense of humor. He missed how she
held him and how she took him and how she got him better than anyone, even Twist. He’d hear a pun and think to
text it to her knowing she’d never met one she didn’t like, only to painfully remember he’d blocked her number.
He’d go to a bar and expect to see Quinn behind it, so he stopped going out except when called to untangled a
teammate, and that immediately put Maverick back in his mind, and fucking hell, he did not need that right now.
She’d turned his world effervescent so that it fizzed with joy and laughter, like one of her drinks,
showered him with wild beauty and then wrenched it all away to leave him feeling utterly abandoned, something
he hadn’t experienced since his adoptive parents returned him to foster care only to keep his two younger
brothers as their own.
I missed you.
But Jasper knew better than to say that to Quinn. And that hole she’d left behind that had ached in his chest
for twelve long months rang hollow with renewed loss.
“You still kiss like a wet dream,” he muttered instead.
It was a mistake. Quinn immediately went stiff with insult and tried to yank free of him, but she’d never
been a match for his strength—though always more than a match with her tongue—and he braced to get the edge
of it and not in the way he wanted.
Instead, when his arms locked her in place, a deeply wounded look seeped into her dark brown eyes, eyes
that yet shimmered from their kiss. It pierced past betrayal and abandonment to stab Jasper right in his aching
heart. “You’re a son of a bitch, you know,” she whispered.
That was truer than she could realize. His hands cupped her jaw. I missed you. “What trouble are you in,
Quinn?” he asked again. His thumbs brushed her racing pulse, coaxing her to capitulation.
Not that it made a dent in his determined wife. She blinked, erasing any hint of that rare vulnerability, and
said, “Honestly, it’s none of your business,” and Jasper was done.
Enough fucking around. His fingers dug a bit deeper into her skin, enough that her mouth popped open
with an invitation he’d bet she didn’t realize was on offer. “Everything about you is my business, and you’re
gonna stay my business until one of us stops breathing no matter what goddamn name you’re wearing when we
do.”

Size 18 and sexy with a “great big ass:” Body positivity in Alice Clayton’s Cream of the Crop

21 Oct

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

I look to romance novels, as well as other types of fiction, to both entertain me and, on some occasions, inspire me. Cream of the Crop by Alice Clayton, her second in her Hudson Valley series, does both because of its bold, outspoken and very sexy size 18 heroine, Natalie Grayson. In some ways, I’m like Natalie; I used to live in New York and brie is my favorite kind of cheese.

Cream of the Crop by Alice Clayton

Cream of the Crop by Alice Clayton

But in one key area, I’m sadly not like her: she doesn’t apologize for her size, wish she were a smaller size, or have any hangups about her body or her attractiveness. Whereas I, despite working on “loving my body,” which perhaps doesn’t need quotes around it but feels like it does, from my teen years into my forties, simply don’t have her level of sheer belief in myself. Here’s how Natalie describes her approach to men:

I found a certain kind of power in walking into a room where I knew no one, and figuring out how everyone ticked. Narrowing in on the best-looking guy in any room, and going on the offense. Size-eighteen women were supposed to be timid. Size-eighteen women were supposed to be shy. Size-eighteen women were supposed to be grateful for any male attention, and to feel especially honored if a good-looking man paid attention to them.

Fuck all that noise. I took the best-looking guy home with me whenever and however I pleased. Confidence went a long way. You walk into a room armed with the knowledge that you can have anyone you want? You can literally have anyone you want.

Plus I had a sweet rack. Which always helped.

No matter what size you are, I’m pretty sure you could do with a boost of Natalie’s confidence, which in the novel, extends beyond the bedroom and into the advertising firm where she works. Even though the hero, sexy cheesemonger Oscar, seller of her beloved brie, gives her butterflies and leaves her tongue tied in the beginning, she is still someone who exudes a core belief in her own power, strength and hotness that I envy.

There’s a fabulous moment, the ultimate flirtation crossed with mixed signals combined with some grammar nerd hijinks, where Natalie and Oscar are talking for the first time outside of his stall at New York’s Union Square Market, where she first met him. She’s been lusting after him but didn’t know whether he was aware of her existence, and after telling her, “I know exactly who you are,” he elaborates with, “You’re the Brie girl with the great big ass.”

She takes offense at first, as probably most women would do after being told they have a “great big ass,” but Oscar isn’t sure what he did wrong. She asks him, “Are you saying great big ass? Or great comma big ass?” That’s classic Clayton rom com right there.

Befuddled, he repeats her last question back to her, so Natalie tells him. “Okay, I’m confused. So you’re not saying that I have a great big  . . . ass, you’re saying that I have a great . . . big ass. Meaning—”

His answer? “Your ass is big. And it’s great…How is that confusing?”

She lets him know, “You’re not supposed to say something like that to a woman.” But because she’s so hot for him, and coming to understand exactly what he meant, she responds, “Luckily for you, I’m aware that it’s a great ass. And yes, it’s big.”

Can you imagine all the “Does this skirt/dress/jeans make my ass look big?” conversations that would be eliminated if every woman could embrace the size of her bottom, and the rest of her, the way Natalie does?

I did forget one other thing Natalie and I have in common: beyond brie, food is a centerpiece of our relationships. Clayton’s descriptions of Natalie’s love of cheese and the way she savors other meals is part and parcel of her personality. She’s not going to order a bland, boring salad just because everyone else is doing it, just as she is bold enough to go after whatever and whoever she wants. She doesn’t shrink away from the richness of food around her, and in fact, revels in it, as does her pal Roxie, the heroine of the first book in the series, Nuts.

This might not seem like that big of a deal, but the body positive and food loving message in these hilarious romances spoke to me in a major way. I have moments of confidence, about my body, my ambitions, my core self, but they are all too often softened by the fears that literally wake me up at night, the impostor syndrome lurking in wait for any time I get too lofty in my goals. The other day, I put on one of my favorite skirts, a silky black number that clings to my ass in a way that emphasizes it, rather than minimizing it. I was looking for the perfect complement to a new sweater, and stood in front of the mirror, debating whether or not to ditch that skirt for one that might not put quite the same focus on my rear. But I went with it, because despite all the things I wish I could change about my body, I want to be more like Natalie. I want to have at least a little of her confidence.

As a feminist, I’m so pleased to read about a heroine who, yes, has her stumbling blocks, because a romance novel without drama wouldn’t be compelling, but who isn’t hung up on how much she weighs or the number labeled inside her clothes. As someone who, despite knowing logically just how punishing and unfair our culture’s beauty and body image norms are, still finds myself falling down the rabbit hole of thinking my life would be “perfect” if only I dropped 10, or 20, or 30, or 40 pounds, I need these kinds of reminders. I applaud those who are taking this ongoing struggle into the real world, like Good Housekeeping Beauty Editor Sam Escobar, who shared their weight and clothing size on Twitter as a way to normalize these numbers. In solidarity, I’ll share mine: 180 pounds, size 10 or 12, large or extra large, depending on the retailer. What I took away from Natalie is that it’s not about the number, it’s about how you feel about the number. She doesn’t let it stop her from doing anything or anyone, nor does it keep her from eating fabulous foods and simply luxuriating in being herself.

I don’t weigh myself anymore (I got that figure from various doctors’ visits), but I know that in the last few years of living in suburbia, where I don’t get nearly as much daily exercise in as I did as a New Yorker, I’ve put on plenty of pounds. I’ve had to update my wardrobe because much of the old one doesn’t fit. I’m not proud of that, but I also don’t want the entire focus of my life to be on depriving myself in order to fit back into them. I want to bring a little of that Natalie magic into my mindset, especially when I start to waver and fall into a body image shame spiral. I’m not going to pretend that will be simple or easy, but I’m sharing that vow here because I want to push through those negative moments so that I can make the most of my time on earth, rather than spending it berating myself simply for existing.

I’m off to attend romance convention Shameless Book Con in Orlando, where I’m going to tell Alice Clayton exactly how much Natalie meant to me, while picking up her latest, Roman Crazy.

Rachel Kramer Bussel (rachelkramerbussel.com) has edited over 60 anthologies, including Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 1, Come Again: Sex Toy Erotica, Begging for It, Fast Girls, The Big Book of Orgasms and more. She writes widely about sex, dating, books and pop culture and teaches erotica writing classes around the country and online. Follow her @raquelita on Twitter and find out more about her classes and consulting at eroticawriting101.com.

Servant of the Undead, erotic zombie horror free read

4 Sep

Isabelle Drake’s Servant of the Undead

If you’re new to this serial, you can start with Part 1, “Do it.”

Part 17: “You’ve had enough when I say you’ve had enough.”

Hayden grabbed a towel from the rack and set it in the sink. Hot water splashed across it, soaking it quickly. Once it was completely wet, he turned off the water, wrung it out, then wrapped it into another towel and carried them both to the bedroom. Rachelle was under the covers, only her face visible above the quilt. The sexual haze was gone from her eyes, and she was smiling.

Weighed down by the guilt over what he’d gotten her in to, Hayden climbed onto the bed and pulled the covers from her body. She was still naked, and the shadowy light coming in through the now vacant window outlined her body.

img_7582“See something you like?” she asked.

Hayden took the hot, wet towel from inside the dry one. “I like it so much I want to take good care of it.”

“I thought you already did.”

Hayden turned away and pressed the corner of the steaming, damp towel to the top arch of her foot. “Is it too warm?”

She stretched her legs and placed her feet side by side. “You may proceed.”

He took his time, working gradually up the insides of her thighs, then circling around her pelvis. By the time he wiped the moisture off with the dry towel, she’d fallen asleep. He tossed both towels across his laundry basket and climbed in beside her. Outside, the wind-filled snow continued and the wind howled. Icy flakes brushed the windowpane.

Hayden rolled over and tried to concentrate on the curves of Rachelle’s shoulders and the sexy slope of her neck. He set his hand on her throat and felt the light, steady beat of her pulse.

He couldn’t do that again. He had to get rid of Mattie.

He rolled over, trying not to think about what she’d done to him in the bathroom—lifting him up, setting him on the edge of the sink. Owning him with her emotionless caress. His cock responding to her touch—even when he didn’t want it to. A shiver worked up from the soles of his feet, the rousing tremor, a mixture of fear and sexual need. It wasn’t right to feel this way. It wasn’t human and there wasn’t anyone alive who could help him.

Unless someone else had been where he’d been and knew what he needed to know.

He wasn’t Mattie’s first. He did his best to quell the roll in his stomach as he accepted what he’d become. A toy. A necessary pet. A sexual servant.

What had become of the others who filled the role before him?

Killed? Did they become like her, a creature that preyed on others?

If she hadn’t come in through the library window when she had, interrupting the research he’d been doing for the newspaper, maybe he’d have the answers. He’d know what to do to protect himself or at least how to keep Rachelle safe. Hayden tossed again, turning away from the storm and the thing that lurked in it.

No, not thing.

Things.

***

“It’s fantastic stuff. You’re going to get more of it, kid.”

Hayden cringed at the word kid. Holding the phone to his ear, he hopped off the curb and leapt over a snow bank, offering his reply as he stomped across the nearly empty street. “This whole zombie thing is going to blow over. The snow will melt, the comic convention will end, and everyone will get back to their life and forget about zombie tribes and life-or-death sex.”

“Life-or-death sex. I love it! Write that down, use it for the next headline.”

Hayden reached the corner and jumped over another pile of snow. “There doesn’t have to be another headline.”

“What’s your problem, college boy? You too good for zombies?”

f78a5a21bc7dc87a17582a3ae3b7a389Not by a long shot, apparently.

“This is the best angle we’ve had in months and you know it. Get your ass back over to the library right now, or wherever you dug that stuff up, and write me something about that life-or-death sex. And more pictures. I want more of those.”

Images of the previous night slashed through Hayden’s mind as Bob continued. “You do this for me, I’ll do something for you.”

Hayden halted in the middle of the sidewalk. He’d never heard that, or anything close to it, come out of Keeler’s mouth. “I’ll look into it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’m all the way over in Cambridge,” he lied then continued with the truth.  “I spent hours talking to that widow you set me up with. I got some useable stuff. Papers that prove she’s the long-lost daughter of Punchy McLaughlin.”

“All right. Fine. That does sound choice. But I want you back on the zombie sex stuff first thing in the morning. Don’t even come in to the office. Just get your ass out of bed then get me something hot. And fresh. You know I want it fresh.”

“Yeah. I know.” After Bob grunted a goodbye, Hayden ended the call but didn’t slide his phone into his pocket.

He started walking again, making a list of things he wanted from Keeler. Money. A better desk. Most of all, he wanted access to the man’s connections. Even though he ran a tabloid, Keeler knew people at the Globe and a few at The Times–people who could offer him a better job. A real job. An introduction to a couple of them, that’s what he wanted most.

The streets were amazingly clear and the snow had stopped that morning, but the going was still slow and his legs ached from stepping over uneven heaps all day. Once he was on Commonwealth, a block from his apartment, he stopped, leaned on a low wall sheltering some steps and hit Rachelle’s number.

She answered on the first ring. Her greeting was the usual, but the tone in her voice made the hair on the back of his neck rise.

“You okay?” he asked. “Something going on?”

“Going on?” She laughed, then added, “What would be going on?”

He scanned the nearby rooftops and checked under the eaves. “You sound…different.”

Her laugh lowered, the sound making a shiver roll down his back. “I have you to thank for that.”

More images from the night before tumbled through his mind. Some good. Most not. “So everything’s okay?”

“Stop with that already. When will you be home?”

“Soon.” He watched a van from Cindy’s Market drive past, another lie forming as he started to speak. “Hey, I’m expecting a package. You didn’t happen to see a delivery person hanging around out front, or anyone looking for me, or knocking on the door, anything like that, did you?”

“No. Hurry up and get home.”

Hayden kicked a clump of snow. It rolled a few inches then hit another. There was so much snow. It was everywhere, piled high and stacked in corners. And the wind, constant and biting. There was no escaping. “I am on the way, but I have to write up an interview and do…some other stuff when I get there.”

“Other stuff, huh?” She laughed tightly, the sound rolled through him, making his muscles twitch.

Rachelle ignored both his comment and the silence. “Come over to my place as soon as you get home.”

“I—”

***

Want more? The next part will be here next Sunday. Or, you can come over to the Servant of the Undead Wattpad page and read more for free right now. Unfamiliar with Wattpad? It’s an online community for readers and writers. Its filled with free fiction of all kinds. It’s easy to log in and get started; you can use your Facebook account.

Until next time, follow Lady Smut, we’re always here to inform, entertain, and keep you up to date.

***

Isabelle Drake writes erotica, erotic romance, urban fantasy, and young adult thrillers. Best Friends Never, her newest release is the first in the Cherry Grove dark YA series.

Servant of the Undead, erotic zombie horror free read

7 Aug

Isabelle Drake’s Servant of the Undead

If you’re new to this serial, you can start with Part 1, “Do it.”

Part 13: “That’s right. Just like that.”

Rachelle remained silent, opening her mouth again, readying herself to suck his dick. Hayden lowered his hips and gradually slid his cock in. She closed her mouth around his shaft and sucked, pulling him deeper and deeper in. Once he was in as far as he could go, she curved her tongue around his shaft, swirling it around him with careful attention.

Servant“That’s right. Just like that.”

His encouragement made her suck harder, and he let himself go, forgetting about the thing watching him and feeling nothing except the strong pull of Rachelle’s mouth as she sucked and licked his rock-hard dick. The simmering current surging through his body got hotter, heating his muscles, centering his attention on his own needs. The intensity was frightening, the urge to brutally fuck her mouth nearly overwhelming. To fight the all-consuming lust, he bent down and licked Rachelle’s pussy. Her folds were soft and so, so wet. Her clit was stiff and easy to find. He flicked his tongue across it and her thighs tensed. She lifted her hips, asking for more. Hayden responded to her need, sliding his tongue in deeper, caressing her clit gently, over and over again. She matched his rhythm, licking and sucking his cock, using her mouth to consume his shaft.

He delved deeper, and again she responded, using her mouth to tell him she wanted more. Each time he stroked, she did, and their motions became one.

The bliss was short lived. His awareness of Mattie came back, slipping into the back of his mind then seeping into his consciousness. His awareness of her flowed through him like a heavy fog, filling his veins with thick dread. He fought it, trying to concentrate on the slick folds of Rachelle’s pussy, gliding his tongue over her sensitive skin, but the heavy pulse of his blood slowed his senses. He could no longer feel the glide of Rachelle’s tongue on his cock or the wet heat of her mouth on his skin.

Hayden looked up and she was there, staring at him, consuming him with her greed and demanding he to give in to her. He did. With his next breath, his senses tripled. He could see the flecks in Mattie’s eyes. Somehow, impossibly, he smelled her icy scent, felt her breath inside him. The sensations from the flick of Rachelle’s tongue and the slick heat of her mouth returned. Keeping his gaze connected with Mattie’s, he thrust deeply into Rachelle’s throat. His motions turned careless, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she took still more of him, letting him fuck her mouth with harsh jerks.

Every nerve ending in his body fired. His cock twitched and his balls tightened. Hayden felt it all, every tiny motion of Rachelle’s tongue, the slight graze of her teeth, the fleshy curves of the inside of her mouth, and even the whisper of her breath brushing across the fine hairs circling the base of his cock. The sensations pooled together, creating a wave of hot electricity that ran through his body, electrifying his muscles and heating his blood. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced, let alone imagined.

Mattie owned him. But God help him, right then he didn’t care. He would’ve done anything to keep the wicked sensation alive and breathing inside him—an all-consuming life force of its own. He dropped his head to taste Rachelle’s pussy, sucked her plump flesh into his mouth then speared her clit with his tongue. Each lick brought a new wave of unbelievable, impossible pleasure, and Rachelle’s response told him she felt the same ferocious electricity and all-consuming unnatural bliss. Hayden lifted his head.

As he locked gazes with the creature, Rachelle sucked his cock, swirling her tongue around his stiff shaft. Mattie knew each spin of Rachelle’s tongue. Knew how desperately the girl beneath him was sucking, doing her best to satisfy him. She nodded and lowered her palm from the window.

He dropped his head, again placing his open mouth across Rachelle’s hot, wet pussy and sucking gently, pulling her nether lips into his mouth. His mouth came alive with her sweetness, and she responded by angling her head back to slide his rod deeper down the back of her throat. She took all of him, her lips brushing the skin at the base of his shaft. The sensation was as awesome as it was undeniable, unbelievable. Hayden gave himself up to the pleasure and pumped his hips, lifting his dick out of her mouth then thrusting it back in.

Want more? The next part will be here next Sunday. Or, you can come over to the Servant of the Undead Wattpad page and read more for free right now. Unfamiliar with Wattpad? It’s an online community for readers and writers. Its filled with free fiction of all kinds. It’s easy to log in and get started; you can use your Facebook account.

Until next time, follow Lady Smut, we’re always here to inform, entertain, and keep you up to date.

***

Isabelle Drake writes erotica, erotic romance, urban fantasy, and young adult thrillers. Best Friends Never, her newest release is the first in the Cherry Grove dark YA series.

Servant of the Undead, erotic zombie horror free read

24 Jul

Isabelle Drake’s Servant of the Undead

If you’re new to this serial, you can start with Part 1, “Do it.”

Part 11: “I’m glad you’re enjoying the challenge.”

Hayden snatched up his scarf then circled the bed so that the view from the window was clear. “Rule one—do whatever I say.”

ServantRachelle stretched out, spreading her arms across the coat beneath her as she tilted her head back and looked up at him from half-closed eyes. “I’ll do whatever you say.”

“Sit up and take off the bra.”

She did.

“Give me your hands.”

She offered him her hands, and he wrapped the scarf around her wrists, looping it between her hands so that when he tied the ends to the bedpost it would be harder for her to get free. Once her arms were securely tied above her head, he went back to the foot of the bed to retrieve one of the stockings.

“What are you going to do with that?” she asked, her voice a curious purr.

“Rule number two.” He tugged on the stocking. “Don’t speak unless I ask you to.”

She chuckled. “Are you serious?”

He intentionally ignored her question as he wrapped the stocking around the base of his stiff cock then tugged. The pressure increased, and he moaned with the need for release. With each thump of his heart, the hot blood flowed in his veins, the pressure building, blocking out everything else in his mind. He lowered his other hand and caressed his shaft. The skin under his fingers was on fire. Even the lightest touch made his nerve endings skitter. The pleasure was so intense it bordered on pain, and he continued to stroke himself, feeling the last shreds of his human control slipping away.

Rachelle sucked in a sharp breath. Her shock motivated him to show her more. He wrapped the other end of the stocking around his tip. Once it was secure, he tugged lightly. The stab of pressure took his breath away, and for a split second he was lost, a captive of himself. He tugged again, almost hoping he would pass out from the force of the sensation. But the pain only served to heighten his awareness of Mattie’s stare through the window, reaching him, touching him, even though she was yards away.

Finally, he loosened his grip, dropped his hands. His cock was impossibly stiff and tight, aching with need. “Do I look serious?” he asked, shocked at the roughness in his voice.

Rachelle’s mouth opened, but just as quickly, she snapped it shut and nodded.

Hayden grabbed the second stocking, moved back to the side of the bed then wrapped it under her breasts. He secured it tightly, feeling the solid bones of her rib cage give slightly as he tugged. Her tits lifted and her nipples tightened. He licked the peaks. She arched her back and shoved more of her tender flesh between his teeth. Once he was sure, her nipples were moist and hard, he took the other stocking and wrapped it above her breasts, again tightening the silk and applying gentle but firm pressure on her well-rounded mounds. There was enough length remaining from each stocking to secure them together in the center of the front. He wrapped the ends around a couple times. The final knot applied enough pressure to separate her breasts and create a pulling-pushing effect.

Her nipples were pointed and hard, her flesh firm and motionless. He reached forward and tapped each tight peak with his finger. “Do you like it?”

She nodded.

“You can speak when I ask you to,” he said.

“I like it. Very much.”

He reached between her legs, stroked her soft pussy through the black lace.

“See if you can get your panties off.”

In response, she tugged on her arms, silently asking him to untie her. He shook his head. “Without your hands. If you want them off badly enough, you’ll find a way.”

She squirmed and the waistband twisted, exposing a tiny bit more of her smooth skin. She wiggled more, lowering the panties over her hipbones just an inch. After several sideways attempts to lower them more, she lifted her hips and scooted down as far as her tied arms would allow. Then she crept up, using the curve of her ass to force the sheer fabric lower. Each time she lifted her body, her back arched, forcing her breasts up, closer to his face.

Hayden gripped his shaft and stroked. The tight, warm skin felt good in his hand. Firm and alive. Very, very alive.

Still lifting and lowering, Rachelle started twisting her legs, bringing her knees together as she writhed on the bed. Most of her ass was exposed and the sloping curve of her pelvic bone and the light patch of hair were beginning to appear above the band of the panties.

Hayden continued stroking his cock, watching Rachelle struggle with her task. Her head was thrown back, her lips open and moist, and the scent of her arousal filled his nostrils. As he stared, he was aware of the darkness swirling in his soul.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying the challenge,” he said, admiring her long, fluid motions.

She turned her head and their gazes connected for only a heartbeat before hers dropped to his hands. Hayden let go of his cock, took the panties in both hands, and yanked. She shifted, bringing her legs up so the scrap of fabric slid to her calves then over her feet. He shoved her legs apart, then climbed between her knees.

Want more? The next part will be here next Sunday. Or, you can come over to the Servant of the Undead Wattpad page and read more for free right now. Unfamiliar with Wattpad? It’s an online community for readers and writers. Its filled with free fiction of all kinds. It’s easy to log in and get started; you can use your Facebook account.

Until next time, follow Lady Smut, we’re always here to inform, entertain, and keep you up to date.

***

Isabelle Drake writes erotica, erotic romance, urban fantasy, and young adult thrillers. Best Friends Never, her newest release is the first in the Cherry Grove dark YA series.

Servant of the Undead, erotic zombie horror free read

17 Jul

Isabelle Drake’s Servant of the Undead

If you’re new to this serial, you can start with Part 1, “Do it.”

Part 10: “I’ll follow your rules.”

Hayden set his book bag by his desk and started shrugging out of his coat. Once he had it off, he peeled away his scarf, gloves. Kicked off his boots. Then he tugged his sweater up and off.

Rachelle had rolled onto her side. Her bra twisted, and one of her nipples showed above the lace. When she started to gather the coat to toss it to the floor, he shook his head. “Leave it.”Servant

As she shoved the fur beneath her, he threw his shirt down, kicked off his pants.

Rachelle pulled her knees up, let her legs fall apart, and then closed her knees again. “I stayed around even though you kept fucking me vanilla-style because I just knew you had a dirty side.”

Mattie’s green gaze flashed in his mind, and he remembered the other girl lifting her miniskirt for him, right there in the middle of the library. The tight grip of her slick, wet channel and the way he pumped into her right there on the library table.

“You don’t know the half of it,” he said, his gaze going to the window. The blizzard was still fierce, but thanks to the street lamps, he could see into the swirls of snow. He crossed the room and peered out, looking right, then left, searching until he found her.

Still hunched under the eave, she crept forward, sneered, and then inched forward. Hayden breathed in through his nostrils and let the air out slowly through his mouth. Outside, the thing nodded, assuring him she was going to get what she wanted. Again, she crept closer, smiling in her unsmiling way, as she moved sure and steady like the storm.

Hayden moved away from the window, spinning on his heels so the window was at his back. He could block the creature from his sight, but not from his mind. She was already controlling him in ways he was only beginning to suspect. The image in his mind of what he wanted to do to the girl in his bed was just one of those ways.

Rachelle lay before him, opening and closing her legs, showing off the smooth skin of her inner thighs and the delicate lace covering her pussy. No matter that she was, in truth, a spoiled daddy’s girl, she didn’t deserve this. What he was doing was wrong and he knew it. Yet he wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

Maybe the effect the creature was having on him could actually be a good thing. Revealing it to Rachelle would show her she needed to leave him, and she would be free of the danger.

“Take off your stockings,” he said, nodding to the black silk skimming her thighs and calves.Part 7

Rachelle was quick to do his bidding, unhooking the garter tabs with an unsuspecting smile. She rolled the right stocking down, shook it with a flick of her wrist tossing it toward him. It landed near at the foot of the bed, a sheer snake stretched across the cream velvet cover. She took off the other in the same way, removed the belt, then dropped back onto her elbows.

Hayden had taken off the rest of his clothes and stood naked, his body tense, his soul clouded. He picked up a stocking, slid it across his palm. “You sure you’re ready for this?” he asked, pulling it taut with his fists.

“Yes Sir.”

“Let’s start with a couple rules.” He set the stocking back down and took a step forward, conscious of his hard dick jutting out in front of him. “I have two.”

“Not three?” She cocked her head and looked sideways at him. “Don’t rules always come in threes?”

“Not from me. I have two.” Hayden came around to the side of the bed. “Do you agree?”

“Aren’t you going to tell me what they are?”

“Nope.” He thrust his hips forward, and the tip of his shaft pressed against her lifted leg. “You agree to follow the rules, then I tell them to you, then we go ahead.”

She pouted, her pink lips forming a soft rounded hole he thought about shoving his cock into. “And if I don’t?” she asked. Already he knew she would obey. It was obvious in the quick rise of her chest and the dark, lust-filled gaze of her eyes. She had no way of knowing he intended to push her far past her limits.

Hayden rocked his hips again, quicker than the first time so she couldn’t miss the incredible stiffness. “You’re going to agree to whatever I say. We both know it. But I want to hear you say it.”

“I’ll follow your rules,” she said.

***

Want more? The next part will be here next Sunday. Or, you can come over to the Servant of the Undead Wattpad page and read more for free right now. Unfamiliar with Wattpad? It’s an online community for readers and writers. Its filled with free fiction of all kinds. It’s easy to log in and get started; you can use your Facebook account.

Until next time, follow Lady Smut, we’re always here to inform, entertain, and keep you up to date.

***

Isabelle Drake writes erotica, erotic romance, urban fantasy, and young adult thrillers. Best Friends Never, her newest release is the first in the Cherry Grove dark YA series.

Servant of the Undead, erotic zombie horror free read

10 Jul

Isabelle Drake’s Servant of the Undead

If you’re new to this serial, you can start with Part 1, “Do it.”

Part 9: “What are you waiting for?”

The landing of the third floor was smaller than the other two because there was only one apartment on that floor. Rachelle was waiting for Hayden there, standing next to the open door with her back against the wall. She was wrapped in a long brown fur coat, the smug expression on her face confirming that she expected nothing less than a scorching-hot, mind-blowing fuck.

Tapping one bright-pink nail on the plush collar, she asked, “Remember this?” She smiled and swayed lightly as she held the coat tightly against herself.

Hayden let out a thick breath and eased his shoulders back. His book bag bumped his thigh. “Yep.” He eyed the coat, a bundle of fur that probably cost a year’s tuition. “You had it on the first night we met.”

She nodded, stroking the fur with two fingers. “I still feel a bit baServantd for ditching that other guy.”

Her words were a lie and they both knew it. Rachelle rarely felt bad about anything she did.

“He was in over his head,” Hayden replied with a shrug, remembering the way the poor man kept glancing at the door every time Rachelle touched his arm. “He knew it, though,” Hayden continued, but even as the words fell from his lips, he was suddenly reconsidering the other man’s response to Rachelle. Maybe the guy had been looking for a way out because he’d sensed Rachelle was the type of woman to pull a man down the wrong path.

Why hadn’t Hayden considered that before?

“Stop looking like that,” Rachelle said. “It’s too late to worry about him now.” She ran her fingertips down his damp sleeve. The collar of the heavy coat fell forward, revealing very expensive-looking, intricate black lace lingerie that shoved her breasts upward into his line of view. The gentle swells were impressive, but not in the dangerously sexy way Mattie’s tits demanded attention.

A fat drop of melted snow ran down the side of his face, trickling its way to his neck. Rachelle was right. It was too late. Too late for her. For him. He clenched his jaw, fighting a roll of anger.

Feeling the threat lingering outside, he grabbed both of Rachelle’s wrists and lifted her arms above her head. He leaned into her and used his weight to press her to the wall. “I don’t want to think about that night anymore.”

Her bright-blue eyes gleamed. “Are you going to apologize for keeping secrets and not telling me you had such a naughty side?”

What kind of girl gets turned-on by her guy screwing around with another woman? Maybe he didn’t know Rachelle as well as he thought. Maybe he didn’t really know her at all.

Hayden ran his mouth down her throat then straightened, taking his time to gaze across the black lace covering her breasts. Still holding her to the wall, he angled back and checked out the matching garter belt and panties. Sheer stockings covered her legs. “I don’t feel sorry,” he said. It was mostly true.

She ran her tongue between her lips then bit her lip. It was a coy move he’d seen before, but this time he understood it was anything but the shy response of an inexperienced girl.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Ready to fuck you senseless. As requested.”

“What are you waiting for?”

Hayden released her arms then shoved her through the open door. He didn’t wait for her to catch her balance. He pushed her again, shoving her through the living room, down the hall and onto his bed. She fell in a heap then rolled onto her back.

Still on his feet, he could stop now and risk not giving the creature outside what she wanted. Even as he considered the possibility, he knew he wasn’t going to stop. It was a wish, a pointless idea that he had any way to control the wild thing that had crawled into his life. Until he had a plan to get rid of her, she was going to take whatever she wanted from him and he was going to keep giving until she didn’t want any more. His immediate concern—find a way to keep Rachelle as safe as possible. Right then, that meant fucking her.

Rachelle’s heavy coat had come mostly off, and she was clinging to it as though it could somehow help her maintain her dignity. As though the coat could somehow hide the truth of who she really was, a girl about to be used by a boyfriend she didn’t really know while a creature perched on the ledge outside watched.

***

Want more? The next part will be here next Sunday. Or, you can come over to the Servant of the Undead Wattpad page and read more for free right now. Unfamiliar with Wattpad? It’s an online community for readers and writers. Its filled with free fiction of all kinds. It’s easy to log in and get started; you can use your Facebook account.

Until next time, follow Lady Smut, we’re always here to inform, entertain, and keep you up to date.

***

Isabelle Drake writes erotica, erotic romance, urban fantasy, and young adult thrillers. Best Friends Never, her newest release is the first in the Cherry Grove dark YA series.

Servant of the Undead, erotic zombie horror free read

3 Jul

Isabelle Drake’s Servant of the Undead

If you’re new to this serial, you can start with Part 1, “Do it.”

Part 8: “I’ll be watching.”

Holy fuck, Hayden was starting to remember what it felt like to be inside Mattie. Driving into her tight core, pounding until he couldn’t think straight.

Hayden glancServanted at the apartment. Rachelle was not peering out the window, watching for him. Thank God. He shifted back. Most girls would probably get pretty pissed at a guy who took a video of himself grinding his dick into her, but this girl seemed anything but pissed. Hayden found himself watching the flicker of her stubby black fingernails as she inched up the hem of her skirt. He knew she wasn’t wearing panties. Five inches was all it would take and her bare pussy—

He took a sharp step forward, ready to shove her out of the way if necessary. She grabbed his arm and jerked him close enough for her nipples to brush against him.

“My girlfriend is waiting for me,” he said, pointing to the third story of the brownstone.

Mattie tossed back her mass of hair, exposing a small black device tucked into her ear. “I know. ‘Don’t make me wait.’ Isn’t that what she said?” A cruel smile tugged on the corner of her full mouth as she took in his expression. “You don’t understand yet, do you? Let me explain. You belong to me now. Until I’m done with you, that is.” She forced one of her legs between his thighs and lifted until her knee pressed into his solid cock. “I’m liking you more and more, so we may be together a while.”

Hayden jerked his arms free and reached for her pale throat. The skin beneath his palms was wet, slick, smooth. And cold, lifeless.

“Go up there and fuck your girlfriend,” she said, then shoved him away and moved toward the wall of the row house. She propped her booted foot on the cornerstone and lifted herself. She slithered up; her hands clutching the frost-covered bricks, then paused about ten feet from the ground. “And make it hot. Because I’ll be watching.” And with that, she crept up to the third-floor window and nestled under the eave.

Still feeling the soul-stealing gaze of Mattie’s cold, hungry eyes, Hayden jogged up the snow-covered steps. After kicking the heavy, white heap away from the door, he pulled it open and stumbled inside. A gust of icy air and cloud of flakes followed him in, blasting his face and sending a sharp chill down his neck. Once the door was closed tight, he paused, looking through the beveled glass, searching through the blizzard-filled night. Of course, she wasn’t there where he could see her.

She was hovering above the window, waiting.

A new type of shiver worked its way down his spine. A fierce tremor that he didn’t know but understood.

Do it.

Whatever she wanted, he would. If only to manage her until he could get control, decide what to do next. Hell, he needed more than control—he needed to find a way to get rid of her.

Breathing in a lungful of pure, warm air, he headed up the stairs, each step filling him deeper with a new dread—bringing Rachelle into whatever it was he had with Mattie. He would make it all right, manage the situation. Somehow. As long as Rachelle didn’t come in contact with Mattie, he could keep her out of it. Whatever it was that he’d gotten himself into.

 

Want more? The next part will be here next Sunday. Or, you can come over to the Servant of the Undead Wattpad page and read more for free right now. Unfamiliar with Wattpad? It’s an online community for readers and writers. Its filled with free fiction of all kinds. It’s easy to log in and get started; you can use your Facebook account.

Until next time, follow Lady Smut, we’re always here to inform, entertain, and keep you up to date.

***

Isabelle Drake writes erotica, erotic romance, urban fantasy, and young adult thrillers. Best Friends Never, her newest release is the first in the Cherry Grove dark YA series.

Servant of the Undead, erotic zombie horror free read

26 Jun

Isabelle Drake’s Servant of the Undead

If you’re new to this serial, you can start with Part 1, “Do it.

Part 7: “Roaming the streets?”

An unnatural mixture of light came from buildings, the moon and the eerie brightness of Servantthe unrelenting storm. The historic Old South Church was behind him on his right, stoic and solid. The garish light of a 7-Eleven blinked up ahead on the left, red, green and promising twenty-four-hour access to Slurpees, cigarettes and bullshit junk food. Even in the blizzard, the contrast was jarring.

On the backside of the Old South Church, an open window smacked against the stone exterior of the wide building. Weak light shone from within. Wind howled up Dartmouth Street, cold, biting bursts of snow-filled air, bitter like the ice of the Charles River about ten blocks away. The window snapped shut with a crack, then burst open again. Inside the church, the light faded.

Hayden winced, forcing his gaze away from the church and his legs farther into Boston’s Back Bay. Of course, there was nothing to see in that window—no girl with dark eyes, smudged with black eyeliner, and D-size breasts wrapped in strips of red wool. Crazy thing was, if he told someone he’d done some random girl at the library—right there on one of the sturdy oak tables, they’d probably be jealous. At least smack him a high five. Hell, the whole thing fit together like a fantasy from an old sci-fi pulp paperback. But now that he was away from the girl, he felt anything but fantastic. Whatever sexual spell she’d cast over him had faded, and he was reconsidering his state of mind.

And, he realized, reconsidering the girl.

Her scent.

Her physical strength.

Her power over him.

Unable to stop himself, he glanced back, searching through the whipping snow, scanning the wall of the church, tracing the points of the Gothic arches until he spotted the window. It was still open, still swinging slightly, and still empty.

Thank God.

Clutching the straps of his backpack, he trudged on, concentrating on maintaining a smooth, steady rhythm. The few blocks to Commonwealth Avenue went quickly enough, and once he spotted the rows of lighted trees lining the boulevard, the tension in his spine eased, and the lingering anxiety lifted. Even muted by the heavy snow, the tiny white holiday lights brightened the fierceness of the weather, making it almost postcard pretty, instead of what it actually was—a monster of a storm that had choked the life out of the entire city.

d40574bec76925c961a59063b71e087fHayden lifted his scarf to cover his mouth and pull in a warm breath. The air filled his chilled lungs. Relax. He had a hot girl waiting for him and, thanks to an accidental video, a bonus check on the way. Life—or at least that night—was damn near perfect.

That was his last thought before spotting a familiar pair of heavy black boots peeking out from beside the snow-heaped bushes lining the front of his brownstone. He didn’t need to run his gaze up the long, lean legs covered in tattered fishnets and see that nearly pointless miniskirt to know it was her sitting on the steps.

The solid, booted feet swung in, disappearing. The air in Hayden’s lungs went cold and came out in a raw rush. Wind howled behind him, pushing him forward, propelling him. Same as when they’d been together in the library, her face was plain, her gaze scanning the area around them in quick sharp sweeps. But this time she wasn’t looking for just anyone. She was waiting for him. And all traces of sweetness were gone.

“You thinking about paying those bills?” she asked, pointing to his backpack as she swung forward, her boots sliding easily into the deep drifts beside the bush. “It’s going to suck if they shut off your wireless.”

Hayden shoved his scarf below his chin. “It’s rude to go through other people’s shit.”

She set her hands on her hips and arched her back, forcing her incredible breasts into his line of vision. “How else was I going to figure out where to find you?”

“Why did you need to find me at all?” he asked, trying to circle her, to get away from her and the wrongness that was now seeping into the night. Two steps and already he felt the sensation of the smell settling deep in his mouth, seeping across his molars.

She watched his lips part as she moved with him, gliding, matching his movement as though she anticipated each step.

“Is it about the pictures? The ones posted on the Weekly’s site?” he asked.

She kept moving with him, her brown eyes taking on the green sheen he’d thought he’d imagined in the library. “Yeah, it was the pictures,” she murmured, “but not how you think.” She tucked her fingers under of the strips of wet wool circling her torso and tugged. Bare white skin peeked between the wraps as she shimmied to adjust them. Not that her changes did any good. The full curves of her breasts and the tight peaks of her nipples were still totally obvious. Then again, maybe that was her point.

Hayden ground his teeth, trying to crush the sensation in his jaw, but couldn’t pull his gaze away from her glistening, exposed body. Tiny icicles clung to the tangles of her hair and flakes of snow dotted her thighs, bare above the edge of the tights. He cleared his throat, trying to keep his mind from acknowledging the blood flowing to his cock. “The guy I work for thinks they’re a great tie-in to the zombie stuff—my piece, the comic convention and the opening of Zombie Rites. And all that stuff about zombies—”

“Roaming the streets?” she cut in, grinning as she dropped her hand to smack snow off her limp skirt. Once she got the clumps off, she ran her fingers across the hem, inching it up her bare thighs.

***

Want more? The next part will be here next Sunday. Or, you can come over to the Servant of the Undead Wattpad page and read more for free right now. Unfamiliar with Wattpad? It’s an online community for readers and writers. Its filled with free fiction of all kinds. It’s easy to log in and get started; you can use your Facebook account.

Until next time, follow Lady Smut, we’re always here to inform, entertain, and keep you up to date.

***

Isabelle Drake writes erotica, erotic romance, urban fantasy, and young adult thrillers. Best Friends Never, her newest release is the first in the Cherry Grove dark YA series.

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