From the first when Charlie of Sex Blog (Of Sorts) fame suggested this meme, I loved it because it was girly and clever (like she always is). Sadl, there were stipulations that would have made it difficult for me to participate. I was over the moon when she revised the rules and I could be a part, but apparently it is now a contest! Gosh, if I do not win, I just hope she tells me what her favorite anthology is and…OMG Kristina Lloyd has sweetened the deal with a copy of Undone?! Okay, here is my “entry!”

Shirley swore as she pointed her leg to apply nail polish to the run that had started high up on her thigh. She was pissed about the run, but swore because the only bottle of polish she had that could be used was cherry blossom…with her black from head-to-toe outfit. Even her bra and thong were midnight-colored. But she had no choice they were going out for her boss’s birthday, and she had to look perfect.

She had never fucked her boss, but her close rapport with Arthur made the entire company think they had and she did not correct them. In lieu of an actual love life, it was nice that people thought she was fucking him. And it meant no one asked her any questions, so she did not have to answer anything.

Especially to her boss’ smug boss Oliver, who insinuated out loud about their relationship. For him, she had to look especially good.

Everything went as planned, even her run cooperated. Gins and tonics flowing like a river, who would have noticed anything awry anyway?

Shirley was back at her desk, even though everyone else had left for the day. Her close rapport with Arthur was because she worked like a fiend.

“No wonder Art is so in love with you, your blood is the color of cotton candy!”

A quick glance over her shoulder, and she saw him. Instead of being mortified that Oliver saw her cherry blossom nail polish fix, she turned around and fished through her drawer for the dried out bottle of cotton candy polish she had.

“This,” she stood up full of indignation and thrust in his face “is cotton candy!”

With that, she pulled down her black dress and grabbed her bag.

Oliver did not move.

“So what color is smeared on your ass then?”

He startled her, but she hid it.

“Cherry blossom.”

“You are tough as nails for someone who is nailing her boss.”

“I am not fucking Art!”

“Really?” he scoffed.

“No, I’m not, but if all of you want to believe it I could care less!”

“Then why,” He looked at her with amazement and confusion. “do you make it seem like you are?”

Looking in Oliver’s eyes was something she had always avoided. Their intensity quieted her bravado.

This was a question she didn’t want to answer.

“I don’t care what anyone thinks about me!”

Oliver would not move, and she wanted to get past him. Shirley felt sweat bead on her temples, she wanted to go before she started sweating profusely. A drop of sweat started its trickle down her face, Oliver wiped it away…

“You’re hot…”

She could have gotten him out of her way, but her two gin and tonics gave her a lazy buzz. But she knew what she was doing, and she was damn hot.

For him.

She knew that was why she really hid behind Art, so she could keep herself af arm’s length. Her smart mouth had got the better of her, admitting she had been misleading trying to spite Oliver.

Now what was she going to do?

He followed another bead of sweat down her cheek with his finger, used the dampness to ease his way down her cheek and into the hollow of her neck. Moisture beaded along another part of her body with his touch.

“Yeah,” she answered as if there had not been an involved delay in the conversation. “I’ve been running around all day…”

He didn’t answer. She recognized the fixed look in his eyes, the tightness of his lips and the way his cheeks sucked in as he looked at her…Only she believed it was an illusion, her emotions playing a Harry Houdini on her. Shirley moved as if she was shackled in chains and breaking free.


She turned right around, and dropped her bag but did not try to pick it up.

Looked at him.

“I know I never gave you much of a reason to like me, but I have behaved badly with you…” His shoulders were squared, his head bowed.

She rushed to him to let him know it was okay. When he looked up, his face was a breath away from hers. His kiss was expected and not. She proceeded to comfort him as she had intended within it, her hands caressing his face and hair. But his mouth quickly made her caresses rougher, transformed by her previously latent desire. He grabbed her ass where the nail polish was. Afraid he would get it all over his fingers, she tensed biting his lip before remembering the polish was not wet anymore.

But she was.

photo by f dot leonora


Wicked Wednesday #112 — Last Tree In The Forest…

Not quite sure how they got there, but the woman grabbed my trunk so I noticed her right away. Her long dark hair covered everything but her broad smile, which even I had difficulty being immune to. The man with her had no chance.
It did not look like he wanted a chance.
I wanted to know what they were saying but they spoke in whispers, her hair covered their mouths so I could not even read their lips.
I am huge–almost kissing the clouds—so visually they were a lot smaller than me. But they were not small, what was going on between them was not small at all. When she swung her hair away from their faces, their kiss was deep. His hand grabbed the hair she flung away, pulling her closer to him. She was lured willingly, and she grabbed my trunk again to lure him to her.
To me.
Maybe she wanted me to be part of it. This had not happened in a long time. When there were more of us, it was a frequent occurrence. Sometimes it was like an orgy out here, especially at night. But now it was just me–and now them. It looked like I was going to be part of it, which excited and intimidated me at the same time.
She pasted her back against my trunk, I am very hard obviously but she did not seem daunted. Pressing herself against me again and again, in her response to him pressing against her. The stimulation was almost too much for me, but I was frozen in place as I had been for all my life.
He kissed her until she turned her mouth, ragged and gasping for breath. He held her face, and kissed her again until he was breathless.
Together they panted, looking at each other with wide smiles. His fingers caressed the curves and the opening of her lips, his finger entering her mouth. She closed her eyes, held his finger fast and pounded her palms against my trunk like a fierce drum.
He removed his finger slowly, and her lips followed it for a bit. They pressed against each other again, with the famine I had seen before when I was not alone here. People used to flock here for trysts, and we were more than obliging. We contained them, their secrets and let them do what they wanted. We were the ultimate voyeurs.
Now I was alone, but this couple found me. They made me alive again with their hungry bodies. With their hungry emotion. It was hard for me to date their relationship, but the man mirrored the kind of longing I had felt for some time now. As if instead of filling her, she was filling him. She looked felicitous in that not so secret way women do when they are completely fulfilled.
Their frenzy could not be hidden, their eyes darted about so that I knew they liked the being out in the open but away from prying eyes. Well except mine, as they pressed against my trunk. I could not see the parts that the others so easily revealed in the past, but the arrangement of their bodies made it clear they were doing it.
The woman began pounding my trunk harder, a litany of exclamations that was not the usual language. I had not heard this language before. I have been in the same place all my life, so I only knew the one language they emitted when they came here in couples or more.
The man’s litany was completely familiar to me, before it became guttural. They reached the height of their pleasure and then stopped.
I stopped too.
They were in a rush. Since they had not even taken off their clothes, her palms left my trunk as she raced him to button up and zip. It was a draw, as he took her hand and kissed it. Then he kissed her mouth. It was not a goodbye kiss I suspected.
For her.
But for me, I would be left alone. The last tree in this vast forest with only memories of the other trees and lovers who had sought us. I watched them until they were dots and then…gone…

More Wicked Wednesday here:


photo by f dot leonora



I am so excited about the release of BAD BOY MÉNAGE, which also happens to be the Ravenous Romance book of the day! It was extremely easy to acquire stories from my selection of submissions, and I got to work with so many authors I know and love again.

Every story is so delicious, and as always there is a different interpretation of a bad boy. What is your definition of a bad boy? Tell me about your favorite fictional–or personal–one, and I will give you a copy of BAD BOY MÉNAGE!

Some of my fabulous BAD BOY MÉNAGE authors including: Amanda Earl, Kimber Vale and Giselle Renarde are blogging about the release as well. Stop by and visit them, they’re amazing!

I am still jumping up and down, this NEVER gets old for me!!!


Wicked Wednesday #111 – Masturbation Fodder

Eliza rubbed the piece of raw marinated steak between her hands. Rubbing the steak was like masturbating. The constant rubbing shook her breasts, her nipples jumped against the silk of her slip, which made her so tight between her legs she would have stopped to touch herself if she had not been touching raw meat.

Everything was masturbation fodder for her these days. Everything made her want to rub herself.

She had recovered from the car accident, but had not recovered her sex life. Cooking made her happy, she did a lot of things now to make to make herself happy.

She was living with Rafe again, and they were devoted to each other as they had been before, but they had not made love. Their mutual dabbling outside their relationship was something they had to consider. Neither of them was happy about what had happened, but they had planned to make a life together and that was not something they planned on breaking.

She felt like she had felt when she was in Shanghai, and her lust for Oscar had driven her barefoot in a cab to his hotel to get to him.


Her thoughts drifted to thoughts of Oscar which made her cry as if she had been chopping onions. She rubbed the steak again, the spices spread over her palms, wrists and inside her fingernails. It was the spices there that touched the tips of her fingers that made her entire body tingle. She quickly washed her hands which were remained redolent of sage, that wafted up her nose when she grabbed her breast and rubbed her nipple with her index finger. Her hand slid down over and under her slip, and she was just about to ease the tightness between her legs…

“What are you doing?”

Eliza dropped her hand to her thigh, turning back to Rafe sheepishly.

When she turned away from him, she felt him move behind her. He had not been that close to her in such a long time, his finger on her was like striking a match against its box.

His hand was on her breast, but it did not smell of sage. He smelled of sandalwood and bergamot. She leaned against him, unsure if it was of her own volition or simply for the depth of her lust. Her hand was on the top of her thigh, his hand covered hers.

“I missed you…”

He put his hand about her neck, and she gasped even though he was nowhere near choking her. She tilted her head so that he could kiss her neck.

“I missed you,” she admitted shyly as if she felt she was being unfaithful, when she was with the man she was engaged to.

Rafe kissed her neck, cheek, temple and just the very corner of her mouth, his hand still on her breast. Her slip fell down about her ankles, and she did not step out of it but spread her legs as far as it would allow her. She leaned into him even more, she wanted it from behind. There was no intimacy lacking even though they were not facing each other. The sound of his zipper made her so tight, she closed her eyes trying to bare it.

He put his hands on her shoulders after he kissed both of them, and entered her. His style was always animal, he made her feel like he was marking her. This time especially he was, he really was. His thrusts pressed her against the sink and she gripped the steak in response, tenderizing it with her fists.

Then Rafe was tender, kissing every inch of her body. Eliza quivered with the sensation of his lips, wishing she was a writer because she was sure there was a clever metaphor here. Rafe inside her while she fondled a steak.

Steak would now be legitimate masturbation fodder for her..

More masturbation fodder, I mean, Wicked Wednesday here:


photo via Google Images

Wicked Wednesday #110 – Online Chatting

Oscar had never really been one for online communication. He had probably believed the trend would end. It did not,
and now he was extremely interested in it. It was the only way he really communicated with Eliza, and now Severine.
Severine was just a friend for now, but they were attracted to each other. Yet as they chatted in person, and online they were both too hung up on their current involvements.
Though Oscar remembered the taste of her lips like wine that was still on his lips and he forgot, until he inevitably licked his lips. The sweet liquory stickiness revived on his tongue. He almost could have with her, but in the middle he noted how distinctly she did not smell like Eliza.
Additionally, Severine murmured to him in French how she was thinking about her ex or current?
They slept together chastely that same night. Severine discussed how her lover wanted her, and his other woman. Oscar could easily see how the man could want both. Now that he had not fucked her, it was all he could think about. He got excited when her name popped up in e-mail or texts.
She had just texted him that she was entering the cafe where they were meeting. Without her really making an effort, her walk was sex in Roger Viviers. The transparency of her black dress secretly revealed  parts of her that without showing too much, whet his appetite for much more of her.
She stopped in front of him, and they kissed twice on each cheek.
A slow Jacques Brel song played in the cafe, and he watched her fingers tap to the beat when she sat down.
“I’m sorry about the other night, I wanted to say that in person even though we have been chatting online. I’m sorry…”
She looked down, and he touched her hand.
“About what?”
“I’m sorry I told you all that about the man I’ve been with. And I am sorry I did not let you…”
She continued to look down.
He traced the vein on the inside of her wrist, her skin was hot and damp there. Their lips touched almost at the same time. His arms about her revealed the rest of her was hot and damp as well. He kissed her with more and more urgency. More than he was usually comfortable with in public.
Severine was warm and moist in his hotel bed. Soft and delicately perfumed with herself, since he had never smelled a fragrance like hers.
“Now, I am not sorry,” she said leaning on her elbow and looking warmly at him.
He caressed her cheek with his thumb, and pushed her hair out of her face. Kissed her as his answer.
This beautiful woman in his hotel bed, like how he had been with Eliza in Paris not long ago. Eliza was doing well after her accident, he had chatted online with her earlier that day.
Severine was not a replacement, her soft sweet arms about him joining them. Their kisses were even sweeter than before.
Now he knew how big the human heart could be…

More Wicked Wednesday here:



Big City

Growing up, I always heard people say they did not want to raise their children in the city. Like city kids were wild animals left loose. I grew up in the city, and I think I turned out okay! There is so much ingrained in me as a result of being a city kid.
Brooklyn is as close to suburban as I ever want to live. It is a borough of New York City, but mostly residential. Even as New York feared its Manhattanization, it is still nothing like Manhattan. Sometimes I like to spend an entire day in Brooklyn, and never get on a train. I love days like that, though they are few and far between these days…
I have sick wanderlust, mostly I seek other big cities by water. Even when I am in another big city, sometimes it seems dwarfed to me because I am so used to New York. I feel like this is it? It is not a cliché if you can make it in New York, you can make it anywhere. Nothing has ever been like New York to me, as big and overwhelming…
But I love to leave it, don’t forget that. And not every return is so home sweet home feeling either. Traveling made me discover there is so much out there, and as great as New York is it cannot embody everything. I remember recently having a horchata latte, something I have never seen in New York.
Often I walk the streets of New York in race-like fashion, and wonder why I cannot stop it when I am elsewhere. I am
always the fastest person unless I make a conscious effort not to be. In New York, I have to move.
But New York is the place I feel the safest, I know so many of its nooks and crannies. New York is the gritty place I went to high school, and rode the subway to places I had never been just to see what they looked like. Where parts of Manhattan feel as familiar to me as Brooklyn, and yet I am surprised almost every day by some person or place. Tall buildings contain me. Sometimes all I think of is the next place I am going to go, or try to learn another language or explore a new cuisine. I take refuge in museums, taking in their immeasurable beauty. Or sit in the lobby of a hotel to write during lunch–my writer’s space.
New York is a giant examination of contradictions, but ultimately home. Living here makes me philosophical and dreamy. Once I only wanted to live here, now I see other places maybe I could live in. But New York is written on me, and indelible.

photo by f dot leonora


Wicked Wednesday #109 — Shame

Severine tried her hardest not to shame Rafe for leading her on. She was as much to blame as he was in this case, she realized as she closed the door to the aircraft. The sound resounded like closing the door on Rafe, though it was clear that they were going to see each other again at some point.

She took a deep breath, and turned back to her colleagues putting on the smile she had as a model and in the small acting roles she had. An extra special smile since she was working with Eleanora, who had tried to shame her by saying she only did “beautiful” jobs. Even finding a vintage French magazine she was on the cover of, announcing she was beautiful like it was something to be ashamed of. Yet Eleanora herself was beautiful, and a struggling actress.

Walking down the aisle with an extra sashay. She noticed a man in a suit he wore so well, and blushed as if she was looking at him naked. Making sure to serve him when she and Eleanora pushed the dinner cart, she introduced and bid herself at his service. For the entire flight she sat alert and perched like an owl, ready to serve him in first class where he barely fiddled with the amenities.

When they were landing at Charles De Gaulle, Severine was distracted for the first time from him by a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower.


She had not been in Paris in a long time.

The man said goodbye in heavy American-accented French as he walked past her off the plane. His scent warm and clean like nothing she had smelled on a man before.

It startled her days later, when she recognized his scent and long body in her favorite cafe. She was even more startled when his eyes lingered with recognition.

“Flight 2127…” she murmured in English.


Severine smiled when he said her name, sure he remembered her name because of the beauty that Eleanora shamed her for.

“You remember me?”

“You were very nice.”

She searched his fingers for a ring with her eyes.

“It’s my job to make sure every passenger has a good flight.”

“Well you were extra nice, you made me smile.”

“I am glad…I don’t know your name?”
“Oscar, my name is Oscar.”

“Nice to meet you Oscar.”


More Wicked Wednesday here:


photo by f dot leonora


Bad Boy Ménage Cover Reveal

Today, I got the cover for my newest Ravenous Romance anthology! It never gets old for me, the excitement I feel when I get a new cover. I have already plastered the image on Twitter, Facebook and my phone.

Recently, my blog has illustrated a lot of my writing, but I never hung up my editor’s hat. I love wearing both…and the
stories in this anthology are just as amazing as their cover.

My books can definitely be judged by their covers!


Sticky Note No. 5

This is inspired originally by Blacksilk–the entire concept. This particular note is inspired by the rain, and facts true and false. I executed it because of the lovely, lovely, lovely Marie Rebelle, who runs Wicked Wednesday and so inspired my last post too…

Transcript: the missing word is a caveat of writing on the train.

i don’t care if i get (wet). you don’t he says. i don’t. she opened the door where literally buckets fell on her of rain she had lingered with him until the sky darkened and the drops were thick before buckets, buckets poured on her. it was outside without looking back that she felt him, not the rain, but him and what it had been like to linger with him using the premise of the fear of rain to stay even though he did want her to go but she had to in the pouring rain except the rain was him.

photo of sticky note taken on the lap of f dot leonora while on the train


Wicked Wednesday #108 — Flight Attendant

Severine looked stern as she walked through the terminal. She had not put up her hair, so it tumbled wildly long like a demi-cape behind her. Her impossibly high stilettos were more than possible for the long-limbed former dancer, model and current flight attendant.
When she saw him, her stern expression softened. She put her bag down, and stood in front of him.
“Your hair looks wild,” he remarked.
Obediently, she reached to sweep it up. He stopped her hands over her head, pulling her to him with her hands in his.
“I like it like that.”
There was a suggestion of a smile on Rafe’s lips, as he watched Severine search for cues from him. He thought of her long hair spilled across his bed, the way it tangled about her and the things that he had done to her.
Severine was not like Eliza. It was nice with Severine because he could tell her what was going on, and he knew that she would be fine with it. He could tell her he would not see her anymore, and she would not get emotional.
He let her hands go. Touching her made him want her: the softness of her flawless English with a French accent, and the filthy things that she said to him in French.
He put his hand at the small of her back, and led her to an intimate corner of the airport bar. He knew she was already wet and ready for him, and he was quite ready for her but he was not going to scratch that itch.
The slap she delivered him when he told her about Eliza made him raise his hand to strike her, simply because he was so startled. But he caught himself.
“I only see you occasionally when we are able to meet up, you are always flying…how could that be serious?”
“I thought that we were not together because of my job. I always wanted more Rafe, I always wanted to be with you…”
He had not meant to hurt her, but her dark eyes were moist even though he knew that she was not going to cry in front of him.
She looked down at her drink and took a sip. He loved having afternoon cocktails with her. Her kisses when she greeted him were usually of champagne she had had in the first class section of the plane, but she liked prosecco mixed with amaretto with him.
“So why are you still sitting here?” Her eyes retreated as she took another sip. He ran his hands through her hair, knocking over her amaretto and prosecco.
Severine gasped as the drink spilled on her lap. Rafe kissed her, and ran his hand up her leg to the dampest spot of her lap so she gasped even more.
Afraid he was going to fuck her at the table, he signaled for the check with his free hand.
Tangled hair about her body, Rafe looked at Severine in her airport hotel room moments later.
“A goodbye fuck?” she questioned rolling onto her side. “Adieu,” she whispered leaning to kiss him. He tugged a section of her hair, kissed her and pulled her to him. Using her hair, he climbed on top of her with his fingers between her legs.
“You are always wet aren’t you?” he breathed, then licked along her ear. “Aren’t you?”
With little preamble he entered her. Inside her, he remembered saying to Eliza if she was having sex with someone she was in love.
Inside of Severine was a feeling he could not describe…Sex with her was extremely good, when he was with her she was perfect. Just perfect.
She clung to him after, he breathed out strands of her hair. He had underestimated her feelings for him,
and apparently his own lying in the Venus Flytrap of her hair, soft skin and French perfume. Severine emitted a sweet French song of words that was not the usual filth she titillated him with, but something else.
Something else that did not need a translation…

You can find more Wicked Wednesday here

photo via wikipedia