UPDATE: The winner of this contest is…Suzanne!

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Those of you who read me, know I love to write short. Short stories, that is. I write them for publication in anthologies, and sometimes to release on their own, as I did with yesterday’s release, Big Brass Buckle. When I have a nice group of short stories written, I publish them together in volumes entitled Strokes. I have two volumes out at present. By Christmas, I hope to have a third. If you’ve never read my short stories and think you would never be satisfied with anything less than a 100 pages of manuscript, I challenge you to reconsider. Sometimes, something small can be quite edible and delicious!

Post a comment today, and you’ll be entered to win
a free download of Strokes, Vol. 1!

From New York Times Bestselling Author, Delilah Devlin, comes a naughty collection of seven bedtime stories for a week’s worth of nighttime reading pleasure—a little “som-som” to inspire sexy dreams or a one-handed orgasm, or to be read to a partner and enjoyed together.   Witness one woman’s desperate attempt to seduce her busy husband in “Lily’s Last Stand”. In “Nip ‘n’ Tuck” follow a shy seamstress’s adventures with an online suitor that doesn’t go quite as planned. Dive into “Dreaming by the Sea” where a woman with a mysterious past is surprised by a lover who strides naked from the ocean to claim her. An adventurous Victorian nurse learns the pleasures of steam-driven technology in “Dr.Mullaley’s Cure”. A New York commuter shares lustful daydreams of with another subway passenger in “The Morning Ride”.  A woman finds the limits of her inhibitions tested in a one-night stand in “All About Me”. In “The Obedient Wife”, find out what really happened between The Beauty and the Beast. Hint: It’s not your children’s fairytale!

Short excerpts:

From “Lily’s Last Stand”:
The F-bomb fell effortlessly from her mouth, leaving him feeling bemused. “Who are you?”
“Can I tell you who I want to be?”

From “Nip ‘n’ Tuck”:
She suppressed a grin. He was being a good sport about this. She’d been the one to design the scenario. Something she’d always fantasized about doing to a stranger, but had never had the courage to try. Not until “TallDarkBanker” teased her in a private chat room into revealing her innermost desires.

From “Dreaming by the Sea”:
He leaned his forehead against mine. “A kiss, Despy. Let me give you a kiss. I promise all will be answered.”
A kiss. How simple. How frightening. Everything would change. I knew it.

From “Dr. Mullaley’s Cure”:
“I feel…nearly…oh, the agony…oh, doctor!”
Mrs. Headley gave a choked little scream, her upper body arching on the table before settling again. Her flushed cheeks shone with sweat, but the smile she gave the doctor was so filled with gratitude I felt a stirring of something akin to pride for the doctor’s skill.

From “The Morning Ride”:
She saw him, or at least from the knee on down. Shiny black loafers. Knife-edged creases on his charcoal trousers. Sweeping her gaze upward, but still not looking directly, she eyed his tall, lean body, embracing the quickening tattoo of her heart. When he took his seat along the opposite wall and two seats down, she let out the breath she’d held, the pinpricks of darkness that had narrowed her vision to a tunnel, fading back. All was right in her world again.

From “All About Me”:
“Why don’t you go first?”
He shook his head, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. “Now, see? That’s not what I want. And you said I could have anything I wanted if I made you come.”
I snorted. “How do know you I didn’t fake it?”
A sexy grin stretched across his face. “Baby, you came so hard you peed on me.”

From “The Obedient Wife”:
The door swung open, and every word she’d rehearsed flew from her mind, because a great hairy beast dressed in trousers and boots and nothing more filled up the door.
“This be the girl?” the beast rumbled.
The daughter shivered at the deep, warm sound, unsure whether it was pleasure or fear and also unsure which excited her more.

Longer Excerpt from “Lily’s Last Stand”:

Lily Newcomb checked her makeup in the rearview mirror. She wore a new shade of lipstick—“Waitress Red”—on her lips with a slick of gloss to wet them. Brent used to say red lips made him think of blowjobs. That ought to make him sit up and take notice.

Then bracing herself, she let herself out of her Volvo and tugged the belt of her raincoat securely around her waist, trying not to think about how ridiculous this was, how cliché. But she was at wit’s end.

Brent had just spent his last night burning midnight oil. They had enough now—enough money, enough things, enough of the right friends and associates. It was time Brent turned his considerable skills toward shoring up another relationship. One closer to home.

Lily used his spare set of keys to open the outer door of the law offices and let herself inside. The reception area was dark. As was the corridor. Only a sliver of light shone beneath her husband’s door. They were alone.

She unbelted the coat, letting it drop into a messy puddle at her feet. She fluffed her hair, combing her fingers through her bangs to tousle them. With a last deep breath, she strode on her four-inch patent leather heels to his office, grasped the knob with her sweaty palm and inched the door  open.

Brent sat at his desk. The neck of his white, buttoned down shirt was opened, his tie askew. His dark hair looked deliciously messy as he frowned at the document in front of him.

Before he lifted his gaze, she leaned against the doorframe in a seductive pose and tossed back her head, hoping he wouldn’t laugh when he realized she was there—and what she wasn’t wearing.

She heard a cough. Brent’s gaze rose and widened, giving her quick once-over before he bolted from his chair.

Too late, she realized he wasn’t alone. She thrust a hand downward to hide her sex, wrapped an arm around her breasts, but it was too little protection, too late.

Brent’s partner, Lou, rose from an arm chair, instantly averting his gaze. He coughed again. “I can see why you were in a rush to get home, Brent,” he said, sounding strangled. He turned to walk toward the door, shielding his face with a hand and offering a muffled, laughing, “Nice seeing you, Lily,” as she stood, slack-jawed beside the door. In the distance, she heard Lou whistling tunelessly as he exited the office.

Heat crept across her cheeks as she glanced at her husband. “This was a bad idea. I’ll just let myself out,” she said in a little voice, backing away.

Brent kept coming. His face wore that look, the one he assumed when dressing down an intern for shoddy research. “Lily, get back here. Now.”

Lily bit her lip, then dropped her hands. She eyed him with trepidation. Not because she feared him. Brent was never harsh. But because she hated disappointing him. Too late again, she realized she’d acted rashly. Would she ever learn patience? To let things happen in their own time?

As always, she’d seen a problem and rushed to solve it. It had seemed a simple plan. An ambush, really. He’d been staying later and later at work over the past weeks. And if she didn’t know he had a deep streak of integrity running through his core, she might have assumed he was having an affair. But she knew him. She used to work for him. She’d seen how deeply he could sink into a case to the exclusion of everything else. She’d just never thought she’d be shunted to the side for so long.

Tonight, she’d decided to give him a wakeup call. Remind him that he wasn’t alone. That he had responsibilities at home to consider.

Only now, she felt foolish. Desperate. Tears burned her eyes, but she lifted her chin, refusing to let her humiliation make her cower. She dropped her arms.

Brent strode toward her, his expression neutral. His firm lips tight and crimped. When he stood in front of her, he snagged her wrist and pulled her across the threshold, then shoved the door to close it.

He towered over her despite the heels—the only item of clothing she’d worn this night besides her abandoned coat. His gaze swept her again, but this time, she noted the flare of his nostrils. Did he catch the scent perfume he’d gifted her with last Christmas?

After she’d opened the gift, he’d held out his hand for the bottle, then tilted it to wet his finger. He’d traced a path downward, between her breasts. That had been the last time they’d gotten wild and reckless together. Since then, sex had been perfunctory, an afterthought once they fell into the bed at night.

His intense gaze bored into hers. His pupils expanded, darkening his eyes.

Her own body reacted in opposition to the tension rolling off him—liquefying, melting toward him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I thought you were alone.”

He didn’t answer, but lifted one hand, palm up, and cupped a breast. His thumb flicked the tight, pearled tip. “Lou’ll be discreet, but what would you have done if I’d had the whole team in here?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Given you a lap dance?”

He snorted. “Lily, have I been neglectful?” he asked, his voice gruff.

“I’ve missed you, Brent.”

“I’m home every night.”

“You’re there, but…you’re not.”

His jaw tightened. He dropped his hand and stepped back.

Damn, was he really that angry with her, that disappointed that he’d reject her now? Lily blinked and lifted her chin, feigning pride when it lay in tatters all around her. “I’ll go home. I apologize again.”

“Did I say that you could leave?”

I’m a busy girl. I rarely have the luxury of time to sit down with novel and read it cover to cover. So, it’s natural I love to read short stories. My love of reading them led me to writing them, and eventually to editing my own collections of short stories. Here’s a snippet from a short story of mine that the British publisher Black Lace published, entitled “Have Sex Will Travel.”

click on the cover to buy

Post a comment today and you’ll be entered to win a $5 Amazon gift card!

The Russian’s fingers did it for her.

As annoyed as she’d been with his arrogant set down on the train platform before they’d boarded, one look at his hands as he clutched his newspaper in front of his face and she was mesmerized, unable to drag away her gaze.

He had large hands, shaped like shovels, dark, sparse hairs sprouting below the second set of knuckles. His fingers were long—the tips blunt and thick. His nails were clean, trimmed, but not filed or buffed. He had a man’s large and capable, but unfussy hands.

Evie surreptitiously clenched her thighs. Two of those thick, blunt fingers would equal the girth of the last cock she’d had thrusting up inside her. Three would stretch her to the point of delicious pain. His palms would be slightly calloused, but she could already imagine the feel of them rasping over her breasts. Her boyfriend’s hands had been as soft as hers.

The newspaper snapped, and her gaze shot up to meet his over the top of the pages. The same narrowed glance he’d given her on the platform now seemed to hold a hint of challenge.

Evie’s cheeks grew warm. He’d caught her staring. At his hands. At the long fingers curling tighter around the paper he held in front of him. He probably knew exactly what she’d been thinking.

She glanced away, reaching for the backpack at her feet and pulled out her itinerary to review it for the hundredth time, staring at the pages, but not really reading.

Something deliciously unexpected arced in the air between them. An electric charge of sensual curiosity that didn’t dissipate the longer they sat, side-by-side, on their red-upholstered bench, pretending not to notice their deepening breaths or the number of times they restlessly shifted in their seat. It wasn’t the vibrations beneath them from the train ripping down the track, even though the steady even hum added a subtext to their restless movements.

Evie crossed her legs, wishing she’d worn something less comfortable than her favorite pair of faded blue jeans and a Three Doors Down concert T-shirt. She dressed like a grad school student in a state of arrested development, which she was. Or a teacher who’d saved her meager salary to splurge on museum tickets rather than a holiday wardrobe. Also true.

The Russian wore a dark brown business suit. A summer wool that fit him well without an overly tailored cut that would hug his frame. He’d left off the tie. His dress shirt was opened at the neck to reveal the base of his throat and give a hint of the dusting of dark hair that clothed his broad chest. Comfort seemed to be his priority over style.

The paper lowered to his lap, and Evie suppressed a groan, caught again. His gaze rested on her—telling her silently he knew she’d been watching him.

She lifted her chin. ‘It’s not as if I have anything else to do,’ she muttered, knowing he didn’t understand a word she said.

A soft snort was his response. Then he folded the paper and stuffed it into the handle of his brief bag. He crossed his arms over his chest, then began a slow perusal of her body that left her slightly outraged—and incredibly aroused—beginning with her breasts and sliding slowly down her body.

Was he truly attracted? Or did he think he could intimidate her into giving up her berth? That he hadn’t wanted to share the small compartment with her had been apparent in the low, heated argument he’d had with the attendant who checked their tickets and collected their passports.

Having been shocked that she’d been given such a nice accommodation in the first place, no doubt a mistake but one she wasn’t going to admit, they’d have to pry her cold dead fingers from the sides of the cabin door to remove her now.

She’d withstood her cabin-mate’s irritation, ignoring both men as they spoke and gestured toward her until The Russian had uttered a low curse, unmistakable by his tone, raked a hand through his straight brown hair before finally, grudgingly, taking his seat. He’d made a great deal of noise opening and slamming his case, drawing out his newspaper and raising it so high she knew he wanted to tell her she didn’t matter. He would simply ignore her.

Only it seemed he found it impossible to dismiss her. Was his predatory stare simply his new tactic to drive her out?

Oddly, Evie found herself growing amused. Let him stew. Let the tension grow so thick that neither of them could pretend something wasn’t happening here. ‘I’ll be out of your hair by morning, anyway,’ she drawled.

While his dark gaze lingered on her breasts, she eased back in the seat, straightening her shoulders so that her breasts lifted subtly. If he kept looking, he wouldn’t miss the sight of her nipples beading beneath the thin material of her bra and tee. She unfolded her legs and crossed them again, drawing his gaze down to her long legs. She might not have fully fleshed-out curves, but her slim body did manage to pull male glances everywhere she’d traveled so far.

One asset in particular seemed to hold their attention longest.

Knowing she was being a little devious, Evie bent over to rifle through her pack, pretending to reach deep for something while her cropped tee slid up her back to reveal the upper edge of her turquoise thong.

When she straightened, she caught his glance sliding away from her bottom. Feeling smug, she couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged at the edges of her lips and turned her head to lock her gaze with his, returning his challenge without blinking.

Only maintaining that stare proved hard. The longer she looked into his face the more she took note of his strong, square jaw, the dark, slashing eyebrows that overhung deep-set brown eyes, the thin sensual lips that firmed while she continued to look.

Suddenly, he stood, his height towering over her. He shrugged out of his jacket and folded it, laying it atop his brief bag. When he sat and pulled off his shoes and socks, Evie’s triumph wilted, wondering what he was up to now. Without glancing her way, he stood and opened the cabinet above her head to fold down the upper bunk.

Evie quickly ducked to keep from getting bumped. ‘You could have given me a warning,’ she said grumpily.

Another soft snort had her tilting up her face to meet his steady stare. His hands pulled open his belt, unbuttoned the top of his pants, and he efficiently pulled his shirttails free. Read the rest of this entry »

In case you didn’t know (and I’d understand why—my release schedule has been very busy the past couple months), I released a new collection of my own short stories a little while ago. It’s the second volume of Strokes, and it’s filled with naughtiness. Enjoy the excerpt! It’s from “Tailgating at the Cedar Inn” which was one of two stories recently published in Penthouse Magazine. Yes, I’ve been in Penthouse—my mama’s so proud! 🙂

If you post a comment today, you’ll be entered to win
a free download of this book!

From National Bestselling Author, Delilah Devlin, comes another naughty collection of seven bedtime stories—a week’s worth of nighttime reading pleasure.

Ride along with two soldiers, just returned from war, who find sweet release in “The Long Ride Home.” In “Tailgating at the Cedar Inn,” a woman has one last fling with two sexy construction workers. A cowboy kidnaps his “Runaway Bride” to get some sweet satisfaction. A woman travelling alone in Europe enjoys a hot steamy sauna in the “Textile Free” zone. In “Love in Bloom,” a florist tempts her high school crush. A naughty nooner with an office colleague ends in a “Quick Draw.” A dispatcher kicks inhibitions to the door when she seduces a younger truck driver in “Drive Me Crazy.”

Four of the stories have appeared in separate Cleis Press anthologies. Two of the stories were featured in Penthouse magazine! All the stories are featured in one sinfully hot collection…

I stepped out of the shower onto chipped and cracked aqua blue tiles with grout so dingy I couldn’t tell what color it had been. Not that the bathroom was dirty, thank god. Just old. Like the rest of the 60’s-built motel I’d found on the little back country road.

Standing before the sink, I toweled my hair then shook my head like a dog, not caring where the droplets landed. The mess wasn’t one I’d have to clean. For one last night, I could be irresponsible, messy, even if only in a small way.

I draped the towel over the edge of the old white tub and sauntered naked into the small room with the double bed. The air smelled of tobacco and industrial cleansers. The bedding looked clean if a little nappy from wear, but I peeled back the quilt-top and tossed it on the floor anyway. Pristine white sheets beckoned.

Just as I lay back, sighing with relief, sounds from outside the room jarred me from my happy haze. Tires squealed, masculine laughter bellowed through the thin walls, and car doors slammed.

A sigh escaped and I stared at the bared rafters above. The laughter faded. I reached across to flip off the switch to the nightstand lamp with its yellowed shade. Lying in the darkness, I willed my body to relax, one limb at a time. That day, I’d driven three hundred miles. I’d have gone another fifty for a decent hotel, but the shorter route my Garmin dictated led me through narrow two-lane roads deep in the Ozark Mountains. I doubted I’d have found anything nicer.

Maybe I should have stuck to the Interstate, but I’d wanted to shave some miles. Little did I know the route would keep my foot busy pushing on the gas pedal then the brake the whole way. Exhausted with nerves shattered, I’d seen the crooked Vacancy sign outside the Cedar Inn and made my decision on the spot, swerving into the empty gravel parking lot. Not until I’d opened the door to my tiny, musty room did I have second thoughts about my decision. But how bad could the room really be? I’d turned on the swamp cooler set into a window frame and felt my hair frizz instantly.

Not that I’d really cared. No one was around to impress. Other than the clerk at the front desk, a skinny, twenty-something redneck with puppy dog eyes, the place was deserted. At the thought, I’d shivered a little bit, double-bolted my room door and checked the lock on the window. Visions of the shower scene from Psycho didn’t put me off taking a long, lukewarm soak to wash away the road grime and sweat. Read the rest of this entry »