Cinephile:  a devotee of motion pictures ~ Merriam Webster

I’ll make an admission that most writers won’t. I don’t read very much for pleasure. Between my own writing and editing jobs, I don’t want to spend more time looking at the written word for pleasure. But I consider movies a legitimate alternative to reading.

They really do help me fill my writer’s well. Last night’s movie night with my daughter is a case in point. We watched the movie Mud—not because we wanted so much to see a gritty depiction of life on the Arkansas river. We watched because it was filmed in Arkansas and a friend of ours sold a pickup truck to the film crew that was used by one of the film’s characters. 🙂

The acting was very, very good. Especially that of Matthew McConaughey, who played a man hiding on a tiny sandbar of an island in the middle of a river while he waited for his girlfriend (Reese Witherspoon) to join him on the run. He was wanted for murder. And even though he stole every scene he appeared in, he wasn’t the protagonist, the main character, of the story. This was a boy’s coming of age story, and the boy who was at the center of the story shared many parallels with MC’s character. Both characters had strong arcs, both had problems to work through and events to overcome before the end of the movie, and that’s what makes for good fiction.

I’ll admit this kind of realism isn’t my usual cup of tea, but I recently watched another truly amazing movie—also about “real” folk from my region of the country. In Winter’s Bone, Jennifer Lawrence plays an Ozark Mountain girl who hunts for her drug-dealing dad to make sure he shows up for his trial in order to save her home. I never appreciated her as an actress before this film. But she was so real, so dead-on in her performance as the girl who had so many hurdles to overcome in her quest, I now count myself as a fan.

The point is, I watched those movies, but used the same eye I would have reading a book to dissect the story/craft elements. I studied the director’s transitions from one scene to the next. In Mud, I noted the symbolism of Mud’s lucky shirt—that he wore it until it was rags, that he discarded it when he gave up on himself, and that he tore it into strips to save the boy’s life. I paid attention to their dialogue, their voices. There can be poetry in “real” dialogue. And I find that when I need to “hear” a Cajun voice in my ear, I reach for movies like The Big Easy and Little Chenier. When I want gritty and real for a K&R rescue for a book, and a hero who has issues but needs to reawaken his heart, I reach for Proof of Life. Not to imitate, but to climb into that world and pull the rich, visual and aural details around me.

And if I need to wind down and want straight entertainment, which is mostly why I watch movies, I want the latest Star Trek or Fast and Furious. I love the cheap thrills like anyone else. And those are mostly what fill my DVD rack.

Have any movies inspired you lately?
Answer for a chance to win one of these recent releases. 

Are you in the holiday mood? I have two Christmas books out—one new and one a little older. My earlier one, CHRISTMAS AT ANGEL LAKE, is on sale for only 99 cents! It’s book 2 of my Rescued Hearts series, and like all the books in the series, it stands alone. If you’re a dog lover, there’s a dog story in it that will touch your heart as much as the hero’s and heroine’s story. (There’s a cat, too, but the dog story is the one that will make you sniffle.) Get the book while it’s still on sale!

A LOVE & MURDER CHRISTMAS, book 3 of my Love & Murder series, is also a stand-alone. I just published it last week, and I’m so happy with it. This series is my contemporary romance/romantic suspense series. No paranormal. But early on in the book, I went to bed at night, and a word popped into my head: POOKA

I jumped out of bed, rushed to my office, and scribbbled down pooka. Sometimes you’ve got to listen to the crazy voices in your head. I’m so glad I did. I love the way this book ended up, even if it will be the only book with a five-foot cat pooka in my series.

Thanks to Delilah for inviting me to her lovely blog. 🙂

Below are the blurbs and links to the books, but I’m wondering what your favorite Christmas stories or movies are. I still love the Christmas scenes in LITTLE WOMEN, and my favorite Christmas movies are Love Actually and the original Christmas on 34th Street. What are your favorites? I’m giving away an ebook of A LOVE & MURDER CHRISTMAS to one commenter.

A LOVE & MURDER CHRISTMAS

Good will to all, and peace on Earth. Even to those trying to kill you.

Adam Donahue lives in the perfect vacation place – Door County, Wisconsin. But his life isn’t perfect. His wife was killed by a drunk driver three years ago, and his twelve-year-old daughter has type one diabetes. Now his daughter claims a mythical pooka, in the shape of a giant cat only she can see, is living in her bedroom. It scares him enough to do something he hates – ask for help from his late wife’s best friend.

Lauren Finney’s insurance agent husband disappeared four and a half years ago. Good riddance. Her Irish wolfhound is better company than he ever was. And she misses her best friend more than the missing husband, though Adam – her best friend ‘s widower – makes her heart beat faster. Now it’s time to initiate divorce proceedings against her husband, before the prenup restrictions expire and he comes back to claim half her considerable assets.

As soon as she starts the proceedings, bad things happen. Very bad things.

Then Adam asks her help with his daughter, and good things happen. Very good things.

It might be their very best Christmas … or it might be their very last.

Amazon | AmazonUK | iBooks | BN | Kobo | GP

CHRISTMAS AT ANGEL LAKE

A kitten saved her…

Broke, pregnant and deserted by her boyfriend, Maddie Barrymore swerves to avoid a kitten while driving in a Wisconsin blizzard—and her life takes another turn. Like Puss in Boots, she stays in an empty house. She has the baby, the kitten, gets a job and a degree…yet every day she’s ready to flee if the real owner shows up.

Five years later, he does…

Dumped by the woman he loves, film producer Logan MacLeesh’s heart is as dark as one of his movies. He plans to hole up in his grandmother’s old mansion and throw himself into his work…until he discovers the sexy squatter and her four-year-old son. Before he can call the sheriff, Maddie’s tale of how she ended up there entertains him. They make a deal that as long as she tells him a story every night, she and her son can stay. Even the cat, though Logan’s always been a dog person.

A dog in need of saving…

Far away in another state, a homeless dog lifts his head, sniffs…and smells him. The human who’s meant for him. As he heads through the snow toward the scent, his journey seems impossible, even though it’s Christmas, a time when miracles happen.

Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Christmas-Angel-Rescued-Hearts-ebook/dp/B00FG92FOE/?tag=ediram-20

Amazon UK | iBooks | BN | Kobo

Thanks for stopping by! You can find me at www.edieramer.com, my Facebook page, https://www.facebook.com/edieramer.author/ or Twitter https://twitter.com/edieramer.

I struggled for a while for to come up with a post that we, as writers, could all relate to, other than the same-old, same-old, do-this-and-you’ll-be-a-success type of blog. Then I came up with, what I hope, was a blinding flash of inspiration.

At a time when Americans all over the world celebrate Thanksgiving, together with their many friends, maybe it’s time we focused on giving thanks for our dreams, ideas and talents. After all, not everyone is lucky enough to have dreams, or so we’re told, so we should be thankful.

Ask the naysayers how many of their dreams keep people employed? For example: have you ever thanked people who make the humble pencil, (some people still use them), those who make pens and paper, computer manufacturers, and the people who make all the little components that go into making up such an intricate device.

The list is endless. You can see where I’m going with this. I’ll leave it to you to add your two cents worth.

Be thankful for the people who deliver and sell those products to you and later, hopefully, sell the books you write using those very products.

What about our publishers? You are helping keep them in business simply by writing the best book you possibly can. In their turn, publishers are able to offer you more contracts because you put everything you had into your latest dream.

Then there are all the other authors, and soon-to-be-published authors, all doing the same thing you are. Together we are a formidable force, keeping the wheels of commerce turning.

And let’s not forget our wonderful readers, some of whom would not have been able to share your dream if you hadn’t shared your talent and written it down.

If you’ve been told by naysayers that your “little” dream is too frivolous, tell them to go take care of their own dream. Yours is doing very nicely, thank you very much.

Jean Adams

No Other Love

Lucas Nelson, a man brought to his knees and humiliated by two women in his life, has given up on them. When he finds himself falling in love with Jenna, who he has problems avoiding, he knows he’s in trouble.

Jenna Blake is living the life of her dreams and has made it clear she’s not interested in a relationship with an ordinary man. She wants to marry an aristocrat, like the Earl of Kendal. Nothing must be allowed to get in the way of everything she’s worked for, not even true love.

But Jenna finds Lucas hard to resist. Will she follow her heart? Or will the earl and his aristocratic trappings win her over?

Find this story at Amazon

Hi Delilah fans! I hope you all are more ready for the season than I am—I haven’t bought a single gift yet. But I’ve got a list and am starting with a gift for you.

In keeping with the season, here’s a Christmas you’ve probably never experienced. Allow me to introduce masochist Jarrod Bancroft. In this first novella, A Gift for Jarrod, we meet him as he enters Stonybrook Academy for six weeks of training in submission. Here’s an excerpt:

Several days after his session with Madam, Jarrod noticed the rhythm of the house changed. It was close to the end of his stay, and that knowledge sat in his chest like a rock. He had no idea what he wanted after this. He felt stirred up, his emotions on the surface. He almost wanted to go to the dungeon and ask for a beating so everything going on in his mind would be set aside.

Most of all, he was haunted by thoughts of Madam. Ms. Fitzgerald. A woman he’d desired since the first time he’d seen her, back when he’d been an adolescent with nothing but silly girls and masturbation to relieve the craving that came with thinking of her. A woman who could never want him. Christ, she had to be at least ten years older.

But she didn’t look that much older. She looked beautiful, her body athletic and voluptuous and… He swallowed and forced himself to think of anything else—the fire, the condensation on the window. How much longer could he stay here knowing he might never see more of her?

Damn it, he would see more of her, he decided suddenly. He wouldn’t allow this all to end without reaching some kind of agreement with her. He wouldn’t call it a relationship. But there would be ‘something.’

The girl came to help him relieve his bladder, and his breakfast arrived soon after. Then he and the other subs were scrubbed and groomed until every hair and nail shone. After lunch, massage with fragrant oils, deep enough to relieve any lingering ache, left him blissfully relaxed. His brief glances out the windows found a light snow falling on the already deep layer that banked around the evergreens and along the distant rock walls. The snow only added to his sense of pleasure.

By late afternoon, they were taken to the third floor to a large central space framed in soaring timbers and natural wood with an enormous Christmas tree standing in the center and reaching almost to the high ceiling. It glittered with multi-colored lights and a profusion of ornaments, nothing like the sedate monochromatic trees his mother preferred but instead an almost gaudy explosion of every color and shape imaginable. Quiet strains of music played in the background, some of it recognizable seasonal classics. He grinned, walking around the tree with the other subs, all of them enjoying a surprising recess from their normal discipline.

He glanced around the massive room. Wreaths hung on four glass doors that led to a snow-covered deck which overlooked the same view he saw from his bedroom. Comfortable couches and arm chairs clustered around coffee tables in conversational groupings. Red candles burned here and there, sending off a tantalizing aroma of cinnamon and spice. Flames leapt from logs in an immense fireplace at the far end of the room where a long mantle hosted a row of colorful stockings, dishes of candy canes, and more evergreen boughs. He wanted to laugh out loud.

Platters of food spread over a large table draped in white cloth and positioned near the tree: smoked meats and salmon, trays of cheeses, fondue pots with bagna cauda, creamy rarebit and a smooth Swiss mixture, platters of crisp fresh vegetables for dipping, caviar and fresh crusty loaves of dark and light bread, olives and pickles, nuts and candied dried fruits. On the end under heat lamps were a ham wreathed in pineapple glaze and a roast partially carved to reveal the succulent pink interior. Bottles of wine, sparkling crystal glasses, ornate silverware and heavy china—he’d never seen such an elaborate set-up even at his parents’ home where they prided themselves on outdoing their friends. Two or three uniformed helpers worked in an open kitchen area at the end opposite the fireplace and more delectable smells escaped from there.

Ordered to kneel along the wall near the fireplace, he and the others watched as guests began to arrive. Surprisingly, none of them wore masks. Evidently they all knew each other. They were laughing and talking, wearing exotic flowing clothes of silk and velvet, supple fitted leather, or immaculately tailored suits of the finest tweed or worsted. The stream of arrivals amused and satisfied him in a way he had never expected. No one seemed to notice that he and the other trainees were without clothing. Anticipation fired through him. He felt free.

Madam—Ms. Fitzgerald—appeared along with workers he recognized from his stay. She looked incredibly beautiful, her dark hair piled up high, her cheeks pink with excitement. She wore a navy fitted suit, its jacket fastened with one button and evidently nothing underneath. The skirt hugged her hips and thighs and ended just above the knee. At her feet were very high heels in shiny black, and a wave of emotion rolled over him so strongly he felt weak.

How had six weeks flown by so quickly? How would he live now, away from here, away from her?

She circulated among the guests. Everyone talked in excited voices, standing in energetic knots or sprawled around on the chairs and couches. They were drinking, laughing, some of them passing joints. Jarrod tried to think whether he had never seen people like these. Maybe there had been a subtle undercurrent of such things at his parents’ parties, or at college, or at the firm—but he couldn’t recollect any specific details that would have hinted at such. It made complete sense that people like this—like him—had to be in a safe place before they could let their truth show.

He watched them touch each other’s bodies in casual ways in expressions of pleasure, attraction, fondness. Some of the women’s breasts were exposed, but after what he’d experienced here for so long, the sight of nipples no longer seemed like a big deal. Most of his attention followed Ms. Fitzgerald, and more than once, she caught his stare and the air between them sparked with something almost palpable. He resisted the urge to stand up and walk to her, damn the consequences.

He and the others who had been through the same training session had remained kneeling at the side of the room. At times, he felt one or another guest’s eyes raking over him. His and the other men’s cocks remained hard most of the time now, and he accepted that with a certain amount of pride, just as he felt sure that the women trainees felt satisfaction with the moisture rimming the inner crease of their denuded pubic mounds and the enlarged clitorises peeking from those enticing slits.

There were sixteen of the trainees and the guests many times more not counting the staff. The room buzzed with conversation, laughter, the clink of glasses. The faint scent of marijuana came to his nose every so often, and he inhaled with the hope of catching a bit of the high. He tried to imagine how he and the others would be of service in what was clearly meant to be a holiday celebration. So many delicious scents roiled in the air, so many beautiful lights dazzled his eyes, and the rise and fall of familiar musical strains tugged at his emotions.

You lucky cocksucker, you’ve gone through hell and emerged on the other side.

With an order to stand, one of the staff began working his way down the line of trainees with a bowl and a brush, painting the women’s breasts and mounds, the men’s nipples and cocks with some kind of solution. The freedom to look around had emboldened Jarrod, and Carson gave a quick grin at his questioning look.

“Peppermint candy,” Carson murmured as he stroked a drippy layer over Jarrod’s cock.

The effects came soon enough, a tingling sensation at first and then a deeper burning agitation that made him long to touch and rub. The guests drifted in their direction, and soon the row of subs were under assault as mouths sucked at the liquid candy. Oohs and moans rippled through the room, and in spite of the order to stand without moving, he couldn’t avoid the roll of his hips as one after another mouth closed over his swollen cock or nibbled on his sensitized nipples. The atmosphere became charged with sexual energy.

Soon the entertaining diversion ended, though, and the guests wandered off to cluster around the food table and pour more wine. His gaze, hungry for the visual feast after so many days of blindfolds and keeping his eyes cast down, roamed over the assembly finding one after another remarkable activity that only added to his excitement. One of the men leaned back in the couch as another man unzipped his pants. He looked away, not sure if he should be looking. Intrigued, he glanced back. The man’s cock stood in the air with the other man’s tongue sliding up and down it. Absurdly, he felt nothing but jealousy and desire.

Around them, people laughed in excited conversations. Other intimacies were underway, he realized, all very casual as if part of every-day life. Wine glasses clinked, drinks rattled over ice.

Someone approached him, and he realized it was Ms. Fitzgerald. Her skin glowed in the golden light of the room, all the reflections of ornaments, candles, the fire. Her green eyes sparkled as she neared. At the lapels of her fitted jacket, he could see the curve of her breasts. His chest burned as he struggled with how to express the avalanche of feelings coursing through him, how to thank her, how to make the connection he now felt desperate to make. If he had been alone, he would have seized her arms and crushed her lips with his own.

“Jarrod,” she said, smiling, “I trust you’re feeling well today.”

A shock wave ran over him at her use of his name. Instantly he was in a too-small desk in her classroom.

“Yes, Madam,” he stammered. “Thank you.”

Ignorant wretch, say something meaningful.

“How…are you…look beautiful,” he stammered.

Her gaze glimmered and narrowed, and for an instant, he allowed himself to think that some of the desire he felt might be reciprocated. But then, she backed up a few steps and addressed all the trainees.

“Congratulations on your successful stay here at the Academy, students. You’ve been excellent trainees, and I hope what you have experienced will serve you well. And now, I trust you’ll enjoy your evening with our guests.” She smiled. “We move on to the games,” she announced. And she signaled the staff.

The male students were lined up in what turned out to be a game of tossing wreaths. The small padded wreaths, less than a foot in diameter, were tossed by the guests with the objective of landing on erect penises. A line set by a long green ribbon held the guests ten feet away from their targets, and the room dissolved into laughter and catcalls as guests took their turns. Despite careful aiming and effusive advice, the contestants often failed to land their wreathes successfully even with three permitted tries. It then became a contest of how many wreathes would collect on any male’s particular cock. Less well-endowed males suffered a disadvantage, and the weight of the padded wreathes caused the organs to droop. More than one trainee lost his collection as gravity took its toll. Ultimately the length of the cock determined how many might fit.

Jarrod shuddered with the increasing need to ejaculate as the firm, cottony circles assaulted his groin and upper thighs. His long deprivation rose like a monolithic burden no longer to be endured. Each throw of a wreath resulted in some form of physical contact, even though few of them actually caught on his cock. The laughter of so many observers only heightened his humiliation which in turn added to his arousal.

At the end though, seven of the narrow rings collected on his still-upward pointing organ as its swollen tip oozed pre-ejaculate. To much applause and dressed in fine black leather pants and an open leather vest, Carson came over to hold up Jarrod’s hand and declare him the winner. As the wreaths were removed and his loins throbbed for release, he cast his glance around the room for Madam.

By god, he wouldn’t let this night end without having her.

 (More…)

Read what happens before and after this night for only 99¢ (free with Kindle Unlimited).  If you like the heat and kink, you’ll love the full collection of five novellas in Jarrod Bancroft: The Novel.

A Gift for Jarrod, Book 1 — http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00GYGE3ZM

Jarrod Bancroft: The Novel — http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00QR2SDKE

Sign up for my free monthly newsletter, Liz’s Hot News, at http://eepurl.com/bHOyS9 Newsletter signup by midnight December 13 enters you in a drawing for a surprise gift package!

Follow me for free erotic short works on my website http://lizzieashworth.com/

Like my Facebook author page for updates on other nice and naughty works https://www.facebook.com/AuthorLizzieAshworth?ref=hl

Check out my Pinterest page https://www.pinterest.com/ashworthlizzie/

UPDATE: The winner is…Catherine Maguire!

* * * * *

It is never too late, in fiction or in life, to revise. ~ Nancy Thayer

I love that saying. It’s so simple and so true.

I love the thought of new beginnings. Today’s the beginning of a new month. I have a bright shiny new schedule prepared to help me step out with vigor. Whether I finish everything listed on that plan is still up in the air, but I have hope.

This is the first of December, which means there’s just one more month to go before a shiny new year begins. December is always filled with planning activities for both personal goals and writing goals. I take New Year’s resolutions seriously. One resolution my sister and I shared at midnight, December 31, 1999, was to become who we were meant to be. Which led us to writing. We stepped out smartly in January 2000 with very specific goals, and look at where we are now. We performed the ultimate revisions of our lives.

My question to you is whether you make New Years resolutions or not.
Comment for a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card. 

Thanks for having me as your guest today, Delilah!

I’ve always been intrigued by post-apocalyptic worlds, whether in the style of Mad Max or the more somber visualization of McCarthy’s The Road. Since I’m also a big fan of kissing and happily ever afters, writing a ménage romance set in a world devastated by alien attack was a lot of fun!

PAIRED PURSUIT releases December 1. It’s my first published novel, and I’m already hard at work on the third in the series (the second will release in May).

Here’s the blurb (and the delicious cover!):

Danger rises in the night…and so does desire.

Matched Desire, Book 1

Her last living relative dead, Mari is evicted from her shipping container and leaves Flagstaff for the first time in seven years. Boarding a train for Scar City (formerly Reno), she keeps a white-knuckle grip on her debilitating panic attacks.

When the train lurches, she loses that grip—and is picked up, calmed down, and turned on by the only other passengers in the car.

Finn and Gareth are under orders from their superiors to follow a slim lead on a stolen alien device. At first Mari is only a pleasant distraction, but through their telepathic Twin link, the brothers discover they both sense a powerful attraction to her that goes far beyond pheromones.

With dawning horror, Mari learns the Twins are after the same device she’s seeking, her only hope to get money for a better life. Once they reach Scar City, the three realize they’re living on borrowed time—unless they can discover the device’s secrets before attacking aliens bring the city walls tumbling down.

Warning: Contains two genetically modified warrior heroes, a woman whose worst nightmare is wide open spaces, and distractions of a vibratory nature.

Available for pre-order: Samhain Publishing, Amazon, Kobo, Nook, AmazonUK

Excerpt from Paired Pursuit

Copyright © 2015 Clare Murray
All rights reserved — a Samhain Publishing, Ltd. publication

“I’m not brave, though.” She cast them a confused look. “The moment we left the gates, I felt like hyperventilating.”

“Yet you continued all the same,” Gareth said, reaching into his backpack for what he required. He palmed the small vibrator, turning back to Mari.

“I did, but I’ll be on the edge of panic until we get back. Something might happen to the bike… We might get stranded out here, and it’s already nearly noon.”

“I have something that’ll help distract you.” Gareth held up the vibe. It had been state-of-the-art in pre-Invasion time, top of the line, with an external part that stimulated the clitoris. He’d always wanted to use it but had been saving it for someone special.

Mari’s eyes widened. “Is that…?”

“Not a threat. A promise.” Gareth grinned wickedly, tucking it back into his pocket. “So if you start panicking, you think about me pulling over and sliding that into you.”

“You’d do that?” She eyed him sidelong, but he saw the flare of excitement she couldn’t hide.

“It vibrates,” he said, leaning forward to speak into her ear, “and I have the remote control in my pocket. So if I see you getting all nervous again, I’m going to bring you to orgasm. Right there in my sidecar.”

Her expression—a mixture of anticipation and shock—was priceless. Gareth gave her no chance to argue or back out, bundling her into the sidecar and handing her a helmet. As he and Finn mounted the bike, Gareth made sure Mari was looking, and patted his pocket.

In response, her hand curled around the metal handlebar, but it wasn’t the white-knuckled grip she’d employed on the way out here. Good. She was calmer, much calmer than she had been on the way out. It was so much damn fun, playing with Mari.

Author Bio:

Clare Murray was born and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area, living aboard a boat in her early childhood. She has a degree in Journalism and has worked in libraries in both California and London. In 2006 she moved to England, where she now lives happily with her husband and two children.

Find her here: website, Twitter, or Facebook

Guilty pleasures… We all have them, don’t we? Whether it’s putting off that boring but important task you know you need to do (ahem…taxes!) in favour of watching reality TV, or eating the last double-choc chunk cookie you were trying to save for your spouse.

One of my favourite guilty pleasures is sneaking off at a party, and hiding out in an upstairs bedroom with a good book! Yes, all the other introverts are high-fiving right me now…

Speaking of books, I have a scorcher for you – Rachel Kramer Bussel’s latest erotica anthology, Dirty Dates: Erotic Fantasies for Couples, which is full of pleasures, both guilty and not-so-guilty.

Cleis Press has generously offered to give away a copy of the book to one lucky reader!

Just tell us in the comments what your favourite guilty pleasure is, and on Tuesday 1 December I’ll draw the winner’s name out of a hat.

And now, because I like to tease, here’s an excerpt from my story “Switch”, included in Dirty Dates. The naughty little snippet below is the start of a reunion between two lovers…there’s a twist in the story, too, but I won’t spoil the suprise!

From “Switch”, by Mina Murray

“You’re early!”

I don’t mean to sound accusatory, but I’ve been practicing a new dance routine and am not exactly dressed for a sexy reunion. The yoga pants I’m wearing have bleach stains around the hems, and my tank top has also seen better days.

“Yeah? Well, you’re sweaty,” he says, and drops his bag in the hall.

“Sorry,” I say, grimacing. “Let me take a quick shower and I’ll welcome you properly.”

Grady kicks the door shut behind him and tugs me into an embrace.

“I’m just teasing, Cass,” he murmurs against my throat. “You smell amazing. You smell like woman.”

I groan at that. He always knows the right things to say, the things that get me wet.

Strong hands grip my hips and heft me up against the wall. I have no choice but to wrap my legs around his waist, unless I want to fall. My arms loop around his neck and I lean in for a kiss, but he holds himself just out of reach.

“I missed you,” he says.

“Oh baby, I know,” I purr, and rub myself against him. “I missed you, too.”

He lets me kiss him then, light brushes of my lips against his that gradually build into something deeper and more consuming. It’s been so long, I feel like I could almost come from this alone: from his tongue in my mouth, his breathless kiss, the pressure of his hips rocking against me. But it’s not enough, and eventually we have to break for air.

I unravel myself from around him. Even before my bare feet touch the floorboards, I’m reaching for his belt.

“Not yet.” He stills my hand. “Not till after I give you your present.”

“Grady, you shouldn’t have.”

“It’s something we’ll both enjoy.”

He smiles, a sly look that does nothing to warm his eyes. That’s when I start to get nervous.

See, Grady has this uncanny ability to change gears, right when I least expect it. One minute he’ll be all sweet and solicitous, then some hidden switch will trip inside him and he’ll become this domineering bastard who’ll make me crawl to him, make me beg. He’ll drag me to my limits and then make me take that final step into the void, alone—and fully conscious of what I’m doing. And when I’m on the other side—after I’ve fallen—he’ll praise me and tell me he’s proud of me, and that’s what will make me cry.

Sometimes I don’t know which version of Grady I love more. But I know which one I’m getting this afternoon.

About mina murray

Mina Murray is an Antipodean, whisky aficionado and (part-time) smut-peddler. Her work is published in anthologies by Cleis Press, Tempted Romance and Mischief Books, including Seductress: Erotic Tales of Immortal Desire; Best Bondage Erotica 2013; Brief Encounters: Tales of Fast Love; Sudden Sex: 69 Sultry Short Stories; The Mammoth Book of Quick & Dirty Erotica; Baby Got Back; The Big Book of Orgasms; Dressed to Impress; and Lords, Ladies, Butlers and Maids. Mina’s sexy stories for 2015 appear in Three of Hearts, Conquests: An Anthology of Smoldering Viking Romance and Dirty Dates. Visit Mina at her blog | twitter | pinterest