erotica

Prompted: The Anthology!!!

I was not planning to enter this contest, but since my friend Oleander was lovely enough to host it–I did! Julia Von Rist was the winner, read her story here, and find the rest of the results here!

And then? This prompt/contest turned into an anthology, courtesy of the genius of Oleander! She asked me to be her co-editor, as we have worked on two anthologies together already (Chemical [se}X and Tie Me Up). This third time is already the charm!

I hardly think this is going to be our last endeavor, in fact I know it is not! But this is our third project, and I am pleased as pie. Oleander wrote an amazing post about Prompted yesterday along with the cover reveal. The cover is a photograph I took, with warm shades of magenta…I was on the train, and took this picture based on a comment that sub-Bee made on this post. I took the photo, because it reminded me of the image that she described:

There is something truly hot about being on my knees in front of a man in a suit.

Here is a teaser from my story, to get you by until Prompted is out! Make sure to follow our Twitter and Facebook page, as well!

Veronica wanted him so bad, sometimes she couldn’t breathe.
It wasn’t because he was one of the top executives in her company, she had ached for him before that. When he was an architect just out of grad school she had, and now he was a partner at the firm. She started as a receptionist, and now she was an executive assistant.
His.
Their careers were in very different directions, but they had known each other the entire time. He did not have that air about him that so many of the others at the firm did. He was always accessible and warm to her. Whether he was going to a meeting and wore jeans á la business casual–the way only he knew how–or he was in a three-piece suit, his affect on her was almost fatal.
He had a particular passion for watches, his one excess, his one vanity and she admired it. He had catalogs from all of the auction houses on a shelf in his library. She got them all, either walking to the one that was near them or having them messengered over.
Veronica bid for him over the phone. He never had a limit, he just expected her to win it and she always did. Including one for his former fiancée. It had been hard for her to look at the delicate diamond piece that he had selected for her. Veronica knew he did not ask for it back when they ended their engagement, and that made her crush on him even harder.
If that was possible.
Her fingers moved languorously over the red tab that marked the pocket watch that he had his eye on. She let her finger linger over it, imagining it on his lightly haired wrist. Veronica especially wanted to win this watch for him. He was moody since he had broken up with his fiancée, and it was would cheer him up.
Veronica waited on the phone, while she was looking at his schedule. Being his right-hand also meant that she was responsible for all of the administrative staff, so when a literal fight broke out between two of her admins…she had to run to break it up.
When she came back to her desk, she had underestimated the time it would take for his lot to come up. Damn it! She had missed the lot! His lot!
It was with a heavy tail between her legs, that she knocked on his door. He sat inside facing it.
“Can you close the door, Veronica?”
She nodded, her tight chignon even tighter as she did.
“You were not at your desk, and you missed the lot.”
“How did–“
She wanted to snatch back her words, how dare she question him? Nervously, she tugged at the edge of her silk blouse first, then her pearls.
“How did I know? I just happened to get off of my conference call early, and was going to tell you I could do it for a change. When I buzzed you, you were not at your desk…”
She twisted the pearls, and bit her lip.
“You’ve never disappointed me before V, this is uncharted territory for us. You are always perfect. How are you going to make me feel better…about this?”
The length of his gorgeous tall frame was slouched in his chair.
“So much is going wrong around me V, and now even you…”
“I always want to please you–“
He raised an eyebrow at her. His desolate expression shifted, as he studied her face.
“I usually please you don’t I?” she asked.
He sat up straight, and suddenly in her silk dress that was only sheer on the top and the edge of the skirt, Veronica felt transparent.
“You always please me V, you always have…”
Veronica was unable to breathe, as he stood up and walked toward her. His finger caressed a tiny polka dot in the sheer area of her dress.
“There is only one thing I want more than that watch, and it cannot be bid on. You do not have a price tag do you Veronica?”
“What do you mean?!” She huffed, her breasts rose between them.
“I phrased that clumsily, I meant you are not for sale. But I want you…I’ve always wanted you.”
Veronica saw that iconic scene from Butterfly 8, when Elizabeth Taylor writes “No Sale,” on a mirror with lipstick.
“But what about your fiancée?”
“I wanted you first…”
“But you never…”
“We work together so I never, but now only you can make me feel better…”
He kissed her, and she pulled away from him panting. He caressed her scalp and loosened her chignon, before he steered her back gently against the door. Veronica held his hand, her finger slipping inside the band of the gorgeous watch he wore today. He took her hand and put the watch on her, slipping it up along her arm until it fit.
“That’s all I want you to wear right now…” he said pulling at his tie.
Veronica took his hand, and kissed it.
“You can leave your suit on, and tighten your tie.”
“Why?”
“It’s how I always imagined it when I fantasized about you…”

Discussing The Joy of Anthologies with Kate Hill Today!!!

Last week, Del Carmen featured an excerpt from Tie Me Up on Kate Hill’s blog. Today, I am Kate’s guest! I am talking about the joy of anthologies–go over and see my post

Pick a prompt, any prompt…

I was not planning to enter this contest, but my friend Oleander casually mentioned she would like it if I did. Well right after she said that to me, I was on the train and took this picture based on a comment that sub-Bee made on this post. I cautiously took this photo, because it reminded me of the image that she described:

There is something truly hot about being on my knees in front of a man in a suit.

I chose prompt number eight (spontaneous office sex) for the contest:
You can enter too!


Veronica wanted him so bad, sometimes she couldn’t breathe.

It wasn’t because he was one of the top executives in her company, she had ached for him before that. When he was an architect just out of grad school she had, and now he was a partner at the firm. She started as a receptionist, and now she was an executive assistant.

His.

Their careers were in very different directions, but they had known each other the entire time. He did not have that air about him that so many of the others at the firm did. He was always accessible and warm to her. Whether he was going to a meeting and wore jeans á la business casual–the way only he knew how–or he was in a three-piece suit, his affect on her was almost fatal.

He had a particular passion for watches, his one excess, his one vanity and she admired it. He had catalogs from all of the auction houses on a shelf in his library. She got them all, either walking to the one that was near them or having them messengered over.

Veronica bid for him over the phone. He never had a limit, he just expected her to win it and she always did. Including one for his former fiancée. It had been hard for her to look at the delicate diamond piece that he had selected for her. Veronica knew he did not ask for it back when they ended their engagement, and that made her crush on him even harder.

If that was possible.

Her fingers moved languorously over the red tab that marked the pocket watch that he had his eye on. She let her finger linger over it, imagining it on his lightly haired wrist. Veronica especially wanted to win this watch for him. He was moody since he had broken up with his fiancée, and it was would cheer him up.

Veronica waited on the phone, while she was looking at his schedule. Being his right-hand also meant that she was responsible for all of the administrative staff, so when a literal fight broke out between two of her admins…she had to run to break it up.

When she came back to her desk, she had underestimated the time it would take for his lot to come up. Damn it! She had missed the lot! His lot!

It was with a heavy tail between her legs, that she knocked on his door. He sat inside facing it.

“Can you close the door, Veronica?”

She nodded, her tight chignon even tighter as she did.

“You were not at your desk, and you missed the lot.”

“How did–”

She wanted to snatch back her words, how dare she question him? Nervously, she tugged at the edge of her silk blouse first, then her pearls.

“How did I know? I just happened to get off of my conference call early, and was going to tell you I could do it for a change. When I buzzed you, you were not at your desk…”

She twisted the pearls, and bit her lip.

“You’ve never disappointed me before V, this is uncharted territory for us. You are always perfect. How are you going to make me feel better…about this?”

The length of his gorgeous tall frame was slouched in his chair.

“So much is going wrong around me V, and now even you…”

“I always want to please you–”

He raised an eyebrow at her. His desolate expression shifted, as he studied her face.

“I usually please you don’t I?” she asked.

He sat up straight, and suddenly in her silk dress that was only sheer on the top and the edge of the skirt, Veronica felt transparent.

“You always please me V, you always have…”

Veronica was unable to breathe, as he stood up and walked toward her. His finger caressed a tiny polka dot in the sheer area of her dress.

“There is only one thing I want more than that watch, and it cannot be bid on. You do not have a price tag do you Veronica?”

“What do you mean?!” She huffed, her breasts rose between them.

“I phrased that clumsily, I meant you are not for sale. But I want you…I’ve always wanted you.”

Veronica saw that iconic scene from Butterfly 8, when Elizabeth Taylor writes “No Sale,” on a mirror with lipstick.

“But what about your fiancée?”

“I wanted you first…”

“But you never…”

“We work together so I never, but now only you can make me feel better…”

He kissed her, and she pulled away from him panting. He caressed her scalp and loosened her chignon, before he steered her back gently against the door. Veronica held his hand, her finger slipping inside the band of the gorgeous watch he wore today. He took her hand and put the watch on her, slipping it up along her arm until it fit.

“That’s all I want you to wear right now…” he said pulling at his tie.

Veronica took his hand, and kissed it.

“You can leave your suit on, and tighten your tie.”

“Why?”

“It’s how I always imagined it when I fantasized about you…”

Read more about this post here!

filtered photo by f dot leonora

Superstar Guest Blogger Tamsin Flowers Talks About Her Sexy Serial Alchemy!

I consider Tamsin Flowers a supplier of sorts. Our friendship started because she was always recommending decadent books, and she even joked about being my supplier. She had no problem with it! Then I started reading her work, which is so well-written and so sexy. When she started talking about her Alchemy series, I was very intrigued. When I read the prequel, I was hooked. Alchemy is written as a serial, so there are monthly installments and it is so good! I am turning over my blog to Tamsin, so she can give you the inside scoop. She is including a delicious excerpt as well and I am pretty sure after reading it, you will think of her too…as a supplier of premium erotica.

A little background on Harry and Olivia, the central characters in the Alchemy xii series:

Alchemy xii has been a long time in the making. It must have been more than two years ago that I first decided I wanted to write the story of a submissive in the form of a diary. At the time I was working on other stories and books, so the idea kicked around at the back of my mind for a long while—it was always the project I was going to get to next, until something else caught my imagination and Alchemy was postponed once more.
One of the reasons for its long gestation was a matter of finding my characters. Various Doms and subs came into being, and were experimented with in short stories and pieces of flash fiction. However, none of them quite grabbed me and demanded to be written. I had to think very carefully about what I wanted my central characters to be—and I quickly came to the conclusion that I wasn’t looking for an alpha Dom and a compliant ingénue to become his sub. I had to escape from the D/s stereotypes.
And then one day, Harry Lomax sprung into my mind, virtually fully-formed and chomping at the bit to get into the story. He’s English, with the cut glass drawl of a public school boy. Hard drinking, hard smoking, hard fucking. Skinny and never happier than when he’s able to show off his pierced nipples or the outline of his big cock through the tightest trousers. And all the things a Dom shouldn’t be—irreverent, inconsistent, funny, flawed and, when he feels like it, perfectly cruel. While being extraordinarily kind. I fell in love with him immediately and I’m sure, as I get to know him better, it’s an affair that’s going to run and run.
Olivia was different. She hid from me for such a long time, even while Harry was pacing his dungeon in expectation. But eventually she started to take shape. It was important for me to develop a character who could give Harry Lomax a run for his money. There would be no point in making life too easy for him—the only way to really appreciate Harry is to push him to his limits as a Dom. So Olivia was never going to fit the sub stereotype. She’s taller than Harry and stunningly beautiful to boot. She’s smarter than Harry. And she hasn’t been naïve since the day she was born. When Harry discovers her, she’s already showing an interest in the scene and it’s up to Harry to uncover where that interest lies. And he finds out very quickly, it has nothing to do with calling him “Sir!”
They’re an explosive couple so every interaction they have is a battle—and as I’m still writing the later episodes in the series, even I couldn’t tell you yet who’s going to win!

Excerpt from Alchemy xii – January
I studied the bulge in the front of Harry’s jeans. I grew wet looking at it. He peeled off his black shirt. The sight of his dark nipples, pierced by silver bars which held them erect from his chest, was enough to make me dizzy. Diary, I want this man more than I’ve ever wanted anybody—he’s so damn hot, I could weep.
A sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead and I could tell by the rasp of his breath, he was just as turned on as me.
“Lie down,” he said, pointing toward the bed. His voice cracked as he said ‘down’. He turned away from me.
I stood up and walked over to the bed on shaky legs. I didn’t know if he wanted me to lie on my front or my back, so I lay on my back, placing my hands up behind my head. As I did this, Harry crossed to a chest of drawers against the opposite wall. He opened the top one and started rifling through it. I raised my head to watch. He pulled out an assortment of leather cuffs and harnesses, dropping them on the top of the chest. After a minute, he selected several from his pile and swept the rest back into the drawer. He came over to sit on the edge of the bed.
Without saying a word and keeping me on my back, he bent one of my legs up so my heel pressed against my buttock. He took a double leather cuff and strapped one section around my thigh. The second part of the cuff went around my ankle, holding my leg in a bent position. I could hardly lie still as I felt his fingers on my flesh. I had a sudden urge to reach out for him, just to pull him on top of me.
“Harry…”
“Safeword.”
“Palindrome.”
“You won’t need it. I’m only going to fuck you.” Only? Jesus, what that did to me! “But some people panic when they’re restrained for the first time.”
“Not the first time,” I said.
“Good,” he said, walking round to the other side of the bed.
I could see his erection pushing at the front of his pants. I couldn’t wait to see his cock revealed. He caught hold of my other ankle and strapped it to my thigh in a similar fashion. I tested the restraints by trying to move my legs but I couldn’t.
Harry laughed.
“Like it?”
He stood at the end of the bed. I realized he was staring right down between my open legs. My face suffused with color but inside me a dull ache of longing made itself felt.
“Like it?” I threw his words back at him.
“You know, Olivia, I can gag that pretty mouth of yours.”
“But then you couldn’t kiss it.”
“Plenty of time for both, darling.”
He came up one side of the bed and sat down close enough to me so he could lean forward to capture my mouth. He owned me with his kiss, which seemed to last forever. My legs strained against the leather cuffs as my hips rose and fell with need. My wrists pushed against his hands as he held me flat against the mattress, but my mouth yielded to his and my breasts burned with the need to be touched. All I could think about was the moment on my first evening with Harry when he’d strapped me to the silver bed post before marking my back so thoroughly. I’d thought he was showing me what it had felt like for the little sub in Master Blasters. But it dawned on me now, he’d been showing me what it would be like if I surrendered myself to him.
I broke off our kiss.
“Harry, I need…”
He put a hand over my mouth.
“You don’t get to ask. I know exactly what you need, Olivia. I’ll decide when you get it. But just as last time was all about you, tonight is mine. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
His eyes, dark stormy blue, drilled into me.
“Yes, Sir.”
He reached for another leather cuff from the nightstand and strapped it around one of my wrists. He pulled my arm down to my side and, on hearing a sharp metallic snap, I realized he’d attached it to a ring on the side of the thigh restraint. Once more, he walked around the bed to do the same thing to my other hand. I lay immobilized, at his mercy, and I couldn’t imagine a place I would rather have been at that moment.
I watched from where I lay as Harry bent down to unlace his boots. If I hadn’t been so desperate to have him inside me, I could have spent all day watching the man undress. His bare torso rippled as he moved, hard and sinewy. Skinny rather than pumped up, every muscle acutely defined—just the way I like. The silver at his nipples glinted in the light. I longed to let my tongue explore the contrast between hard metal and soft flesh. I wanted to bite him as fiercely as I could, to leave my teeth marks on his shoulder. I wanted to bury my face in his armpit and breathe in the scent of his sweat.
Harry kicked his boots away and peeled off black socks. The rasp of his fly zipper sounded like music to my ears. I sighed, making him look up at me with a delighted smile.
“Close your eyes,” he said.

You can find Tamsin and Alchemy here:
Tamsin’s Superotica
Alchemy xii

Coming Undone With Kristina Lloyd!

I am really trying my best not to go all fan girl here, but I am a HUGE fan of Kristina Lloyd! I enjoyed Asking For Trouble followed by Darker Than Love so much, I trolled bookstores looking for her latest offerings. She is a superior writer, and writes the type of dark erotica I adore. Ironically enough, she is going to explore that dark decadence as part of her blog tour here. I am delighted to be a leg on her tour, in support of Undone…so without further ado, let’s come undone with Kristina!

Undone and dark erotica

The word “dark” is often applied to my erotica, both by others and myself. I like it, but sometimes I wonder what it means. Does it refer to boundary-pushing sex? Politically or morally problematic desires? Characters who are damaged? Troubled? In danger?

I’ve never written a character whose predilection for BDSM is a consequence of past abuses, and if I ever do, please revoke my writing privileges. Nor do I write about genuine trauma of the sort where Social Services should intervene. My characters however are frequently troubled by the relationship they’re developing, or the kind of sex they’re having. They’re anxious, conflicted, and they’re going to continue along the same dangerous path because they’re in the grip of an erotic compulsion.

“Dark” in the context of erotica suggests, I think, a book which allows readers to luxuriate in a story they might not want to fully experience in real life. To me, dark has a velvety quality. Interpretations are always going to be subjective and my second book, Asking for Trouble, is the one most likely to be rejected as “too dark” by some people. My third book, Split, is set in a puppet museum on the Yorkshire moors. I describe it as “Wuthering Heights with bondage”, and an eerie Gothicism informs the darkness in that book. The setting isn’t the most obvious choice for an erotic novel but I loved creating that disquieting, off-kilter atmosphere.

My fifth book, Undone, hits the shelves tomorrow, 11th September, and opens with the discovery of a body in a swimming pool. The dead man is Misha Morozov, one of two men my protagonist, Lana Greenwood, has just spent the night with. Lana owns a cocktail bar, The Blue Bar, and I had a great time building this bar in my imagination. Last week, I wrote about the inspiration behind Lana’s bar, and how I took the history of a small building in my town, Brighton, and gave it to my fictional bar. The building which inspired me was, I discovered, a funeral parlour in the nineteenth century. I couldn’t leave such a detail out, especially in a narrative where my central character is haunted by a man’s death.

Here’s a short excerpt:

My vision for The Blue Bar came together when I learned the building had been a funeral parlour in the nineteenth century. Inspired by that fact, I chose a Victorian Gothic aesthetic with a muted, background colour scheme of black, silver and cream. I wanted the room to look like a fucked-up fairy tale, an antechamber in a palace of seductive dangers forever under threat of forest vines encroaching from outside. I think I achieved my goal.

The walls are cream satin with a faint shimmer of fleur-de-lys, and a sleek, stuffed crow in a tall, glass dome watches over events with black, unseeing eyes. A row of booths opposite the bar in dark oak and upholstered black leather are customised church pews, now reminiscent of open compartments on a macabre pleasure train. I like to imagine they once carried satanic day trippers to and fro along the blasted wastelands of an apocalyptic beach.

I don’t make a big deal of the fact the bar is housed in a former chapel of rest. Sometimes, however, people enquire about the architectural features. Paradoxically, perhaps, given its potential for historic morbidity, the chapel’s stained-glass windows provide a sense of respite and tranquility. They were my starting point when I conceived of the bar’s design. The main windows, at the head of an alcove with a wooden, barrel-vault ceiling, are actually casement doors opening onto a small ironwork balcony. Directly above the two wings of the glass door is a matching stained-glass semi-circle, and the combined effect is of a saintly arch. The glass is formed of small leaded panes, a tiling of coloured squares. Daylight shines through the delicate blues, lilacs and the pale sea-greens, creating a hazy island of beatific calm that would have once fallen onto a gleaming casket or pasty-faced corpse.

That pool of soft, subaquatic light inspired the actual bar, a cubed LED counter inset with blue luminosity. The combination of enchanted gothic and industrial minimalism could have clashed horribly. Instead, the counter seems to hover like an uncertain mirage, echoing the stained-glass balcony doors and complementing the weird magic of the place.

I’d hoped to create a sense of the bar being a hub leading to other worlds. My table tops are clear glass while the chairs are reproduction Rococo in black velour and silver. I have an oval vintage mirror framed in cream and fixed at a wonky angle. It’s a looking glass Snow White might have peered into after one gin gimlet too many. ‘Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the drunkest of them all?

*

If you’d like to know more about Undone, please hop over to my blog for an excerpt, and check out the other stops on my Sexy September blog tour.

Kristina Lloyd writes erotic fiction about sexually submissive women who like it on the dark, dirty and dangerous side. Her novels are published by Black Lace and her short stories have appeared in dozens of anthologies, including several ‘best of’ collection, in both the UK and US. She lives in Brighton, England.

About Undone

When Lana Greenwood attends a glamorous house party she finds herself tempted into a ménage à trois. But the morning after brings more than just regrets over fulfilling a fantasy one night stand. One of the men she’s spent the night with is discovered dead in the swimming pool. Accident, suicide or murder, no one is sure and Lana doesn’t know where to turn. Can she trust Sol, the other man, an ex-New Yorker with a dirty smile and a deep desire to continue their kinky game?

Amazon UK paperback :: Amazon UK Kindle :: Amazon US Kindle :: Amazon CA paperback :: Amazon CA Kindle

BAD BOY MÉNAGE RELEASE DAY

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: Penelope Pruitt , 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!!!

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!

Wicked Wednesday #100 — Full Circle

Eliza was happy that she was going to meet Rafe at his sister’s gallery opening. Meeting him there, she could blame her state of mind on jetlag and not having eaten. Quickly leaving her luggage at the coat check, she had barely walked into the space before she was handed a glass of champagne she gladly accepted.

“Eliza!”

Fiona rushed to hug her. Eliza enjoyed the genuine warmth from her sister-in-law-to-be. Fiona was the artist her parents had not expected to have in the family, and the reason why they and Rafe tried to mold Eliza into the daughter they had really wanted.

She was perfect by their standards and Rafe’s.

Her husband-to-be stood behind his sister, his appraisal of her was appreciative and she felt placated. Her back in New York dress was one Rafe had selected himself. As soon as Fiona let her go, Rafe moved forward, caressed her hip and took her in his arms.

“I missed you,” he breathed behind her ear. She smiled more so because she was ticklish there as opposed to returning the sentiment.

She was not unhappy to see Rafe, but it was not as easy this time to leave Oscar…

Oscar, she whispered his name over and over in her head since she learned it, saying it to herself when she thought about him which was often.

Paris had been Oscar and Eliza. Oscar was in Shanghai now without her, and she was in New York with Rafe. She looked up at Rafe, into his eyes that studied her as if he was making sure there was nothing different about her. He closed his eyes, and pressed his lips to her forehead. Later when they were alone, she knew that the darkness in those eyes was going to be her very sensuous reality and she was very eager for that. To learn him again, her hands pressed to the expanse of his wide chest before she buried her face there. His lips were on the top of her head, as he caressed her face and pushed her hair away from her cheek.

Her eyes were glazed as she stared at the Francesca Woodmanesque photos that Fiona had filled the gallery with. It was clear that Woodman was an influence on her, Fiona’s work was a happier expression of that style. Champagne and delicacies flowed about them, as they strolled through the gallery.

“Fiona, this is gorgeous,” Eliza said, still in Rafe’s embrace.

“You always know the right thing to say,” Rafe whispered to her after his sister walked away.

The sepia photos were lovely, and Fiona was young, fearless and not afraid to use her body as an instrument.

Eliza wished that she had that kind of confidence.

Rafe’s parents appeared around a gallery corner and kissed her before they kissed their own daughter. Eliza had that kind of relationship with his parents. She had now come full circle from her accidental transgression.

This was where she belonged.

“How was Paris?” Rafe’s mother asked her beaming.

“Paris is Paris!” she exclaimed brightly, as Rafe squeezed her.

“It was more lovely while you were there,” he said.

She closed her eyes as Rafe kissed the tip of her nose. His mother continued beaming,

“You lovebirds! Let’s go have dinner, we have reservations close by…”

Dinner was pleasant talk about Paris reinvented by Eliza without mention of Oscar. Fiona was silent all throughout, having expressed dismay at her show.

“It was a lovely show Fiona, I am not sure why you are so miserable,” her mother said to her.

“I need inspiration Mother. Everything I am doing seems so homogeneous…”

“So you are saying you have come full circle with your art?” her father asked.

“You want to travel again?” Rafe asked with weak patience for his younger sister.

Fiona played with the gooey chocolate cake she had ordered, not looking at anyone at the table.

“I have only really ever gotten grants to work in Europe. There is a grant I could get in Shanghai…Eliza, you speak some Mandarin don’t you?’

Eliza choked.

“Yes, I can write a bit too.”
“You said you wanted to go somewhere exciting for your next vacation. Maybe if Rafe will loan you to me, we could go to Shanghai I want to visit anyway. I have a friend there who is an artist, and the scene there is kind of ambitious and if one of us speaks the language…”

“Of course Rafe will loan Eliza to you Fiona,” Rafe’s mother eyed Rafe and Eliza strongly which Fiona could not see because she was sitting next to her.

Rafe and Eliza were silent. She was going to be the obedient faux daughter, and go to Shanghai with Fiona.

Oscar, she almost said out loud, but caught herself as she exhaled a whoosh of air to disguise the sound of his name.

Home later with Rafe, he took off his tie.

“This would be the second place that I cannot come with you. Paris, now Shanghai…”

He held his tie, and opened his shirt.

“I can still say no,” she said walking over to him, putting her hands on his chest.

She wanted him to tell her no, wanted him to tell her not to go. She would have listened.

His dark eyes appraised her.

“I cannot disappoint my parents, they will not let Fiona go without you, and that means Fiona will go however she has to. We are a family, sometimes we have to make sacrifices…”

She nodded, looking down, he raised her chin so she looked up at him and kissed her.

“She can borrow you, but you are mine. My perfect girl…”
Eliza looked up at the cracks on the ceiling, moaning as he kissed her and again on a deep whoosh of exhaled breath, she hid the name she almost moaned and thought of Shanghai…

Find more Wicked Wednesday here:

wickedwed

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Wicked Wednesday Prompt #99 — Safe Sex

Eliza guessed she dozed off, there was a secret smile inside her when she woke because they had not had to leave as quickly as they had the first time so that she could return to Rafe. She rolled onto her side and relished when he squeezed her simply because he felt her move, easily she maneuvered from under him and out of the bed. On the dresser, she pulled a tissue from its dispenser and moved the used condom that was there. She walked into the bathroom, the cool tiles underneath her feet startling her from the still warm feeling from being with him again.

Oddly she removed the condom from the tissue and looked at it for a moment. Her fingers French manicured as a joke because she was going to Paris, with the thinnest lines of white because she just started to grow her fingernails a few weeks before. She had been a diligent nail biter. Those manicured fingernails caressed the used condom which she tied in a knot. The evidence of what she had done with him, this man who had wrecked her inside even when she did not believe she was ever going to see him again.

One thing that she cared about in this whole affair was that she was safe about it. Rafe deserved that much from her, if nothing else. She knew what Rafe tasted like, what he felt like inside her, bare and warm. She liked it, she had liked everything she thought…

Dumping the condom into the wastebasket, she washed her hands then sat on the toilet and was distracted by sensation of urinating that made her want to have sex all over again. She wondered what exactly was she doing? Why had she done this again when it had wrecked her? Now Paris was not going to be about business, it was going to be about pleasure. Pure pleasure no matter what happened when they walked out of this hotel room, and he walked out of her life for a second time.

Flushing the toilet, and hopefully her emotions, she washed her hands again and walked back into the bedroom. He was lying on his back with one leg up and looked at her.

“Did you bring your restlessness to Paris, cherie?”

Walking as if she was fully clothed at one of her meetings, she crossed her arms and flexed her foot.

“Business brought me to Paris. Was that a question?”

“What is this Jeopardy? Yes, it was a question.”

“I thought there were no questions, no guilt, no rings…”

Her ring was still on.

“I have to know about you now, because I am going to need to know who you are in case you show up in the next city I am in.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said sitting on the edge of the bed. “This was an aventure.”

He pulled her close to him.

“You speak a lot of French don’t you?”
He kissed her and she was sure she was flowed over his body like a waterfall, her sharp words betrayed by her body.

“I have cocktails tonight with some clients, I have to go,” She pulled away slightly.

He released her.

“I have something tonight as well, what are you doing after?”

Eliza studied his face and could not decipher what he was about. What he wanted.

“Is your fiance here?” he continued to question.

She shook her head.

“Are you alone?” she asked him, now that questions were allowed.

He nodded, as he pulled her close to kiss her again. She did not resist, even though she did have to go. When they pulled away, she looked into his eyes posing a question and answering his at the same time.

Cocktails later were a blur, she kept looking at her watch and wondering if it was almost time to return to him. She had two drinks and sipped them laboriously as one of the men at the table tried to flirt with her furiously and she did not want to end up in the mist of another aventure. It seemed that it was true that ever since she had gotten engaged more men seemed to notice her.

Slightly tipsy, she walked out of the restaurant and hailed a cab for the first time in Paris. Delivered to her hotel, because she had a meeting in the morning, she went up to her room and he was already there. His mouth tasted of scotch, and she sucked on his lip to get all the taste of it.

“So how was your meeting Eliza?”

“How do you know my name?”

He pointed the suitcase in the corner with her name tag on it.

Eliza shrugged.

The telephone rang and she ran to it, kicking off her heels.

“Rafe?”

Her conversation with Rafe was as hushed as she could make it, as he walked about the room pretending to be distracted.

“I love you too,” she whispered and then hung up the phone. “You do not have to pretend to be distracted, the conversation is over.”
He turned around,

She rushed over to him, placed her hand on his chest.

“What is your name?”

“Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name…”

His smile was broad as he quoted the Rolling Stones’ song lyrics.

“You are the devil,” she concurred. “You are…”

She closed her eyes and the special darkness of his kiss commanded her life and she wrapped a leg about him. Tipsy and full of need, she did not care what this devil’s name was for the moment.

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Wicked Wednesday Prompt #97 — “Hotel”

Eliza was always waiting. As a younger woman with her friends in bars looking for Mr. Goodbar like the novel and movie she had read and seen. Now she was in the hotel bar waiting for her fiance. Curled protectively over her drink, she thought about all the things going on in her life, all at once at a pace she could barely control. Slowly, a man sat beside her at the crowded bar, everything about him was slow, measured including his smile at her. Eliza felt inside her as if everything had stilled in that moment.

She tried to be still, still curled over her drink. The man did not even seem to notice her after he smiled, which she felt was for the best as she stirred her drink aimlessly with the cutoff straw that was inside it. She crossed her legs, hooking her ankle so her legs seemed crossed twice.

“You’re engaged?”

Eliza’s lips had just touched the rim of her glass, as she looked up at him startled by his sudden speech.

“Yes,” she choked slightly even though she had not had a sip. Looking around nervously to avoid looking in the man’s eyes, she remembered she was waiting for her fiance conveniently.

“Looking for your fiance? He’s probably not going to come.”

“What do you mean?”

She was sure her eyes darkened like Rafe told her they did when she was mad at him. The stranger was taken off his game for a moment which pleased her.

“I mean I don’t think your fiance is going to come, and I think you are coming with me.”

He held her upper arm loosely, but his grip was firm nonetheless.

“My fiance–”

His finger on her mouth was soft, almost a caress, and she was lulled into silence. She knocked over her drink, and burned with embarrassment. When she looked up at the bartender, he waved her off and she got off the stool as she was being gestured to by this man who she did not know. Her heart was beating calmly, nothing about her was wild as he took her out of the bar.

They waited near the elevators, as he took out a pack of cigarettes. He offered her one, she shook her head but he kept the cigarettes extended until she took one.

“You are going to have a hard time with the obey part of the vows, aren’t you?”

“They do not have that in the vows anymore.”

“They should,” he said inhaling smoke.

Eliza raised her eyebrow at him as he lit a cigarette for her. She had stopped smoking a few years ago when she became domesticated, or rather when she started living with Rafe. But now the feeling of the cigarette in her mouth made her feel happy. Made her think of a time when she was free. It was almost as if she were that person again.

“You think so, huh?” she said blowing out her own cloud of smoke. “Does your wife obey you?”

He snorted.

“I’m not married. But if you vow to be with a man you should obey him, and he should protect you.”

Eliza inhaled and shook her head. She wondered if Rafe was looking for her now. It was a very dim thought in her head, she did not think it would be awful for him to wonder where his perfect fiancée was for a moment.

Perfect, perfect, that was what he said about her and what he expected. She did obey him, and he did protect her but it was hard to be perfect.

“My fiance is perfect,” Eliza said out loud what she was thinking.

“Then what are you doing out here with a stranger when he is looking for you?”

Shrugging and swinging her cigarette back with her arms, from her perfect black dress that Rafe loved her in so much, she declared.

“I am not perfect.”

He grabbed her and kissed her so hard she thought she would lose her breath. Her lips throbbed from his after he pulled away from her, and put his arm about her.

The elevator was right on time and they walked into it. It was mirrored all around and she could see every angle of their bodies.

He kissed her again, this time she was not out of breath but wanted more even as he gave it. When they pulled away this time, he lifted her chin so she looked up at him.

“Are you going to obey me?”

“I am not getting married to you,” she stuck out a her tongue with insouciance.

He pulled her close to him.

“But I will protect you if you do.”

“Protect me from what?” she questioned looking up into his eyes. He looked down at her without blinking.

“From what will happen if you don’t obey me.”

Her eyes fell to the floor, she felt him looking at her. When he tilted her chin to look up at him again, she tried to avoid his gaze, but he made her look.

“I have simple rules: no names, no questions, no guilt and you keep your ring on.”

“That’s it?”

He nodded then pressed her to the coolness of the mirrored wall, kissing her so that she almost believed she would go through the glass. Peeking for just a moment as they kissed at the overhead mirror to see how it looked to have him cover her. The view made her so wet she shifted her legs, so he pressed himself all the more to her. She moaned unexpectedly even to herself, as he kissed her neck which was always her weakness.

They came to his floor and managed not to look so disheveled, since she could see in the mirrored hallways. But in his room, he did not turn on the lights. There was just the light from the moon outside.

“No lights?”

She clapped her hand over her mouth.

No questions.

He took her hand from her mouth and kissed it. She did feel protected from herself when he did that, as if to say he was okay that she had forgotten for a moment.

He pulled her hands up over her head, and pulled her body closer than close to his. Eliza was on a tilt as if dangling from a puppeteer’s string, pressed herself to him and closed her eyes opening herself to the darkness. His mouth on hers was so divine she almost wanted to pull out all of her hair as he tugged at it, her hand rose tugging at her hair with his until he kissed her fingers after pulling her hand away.

Everything she experienced was going to be him: his hands, his mouth, his body. And he was much more gentle than she would have expected considering how brutish he came off at the bar and in front of the hotel smoking. She liked the smell of cigarette smoke on their clothes as they floated past her against the wall.

Against the wall he pounded into her, her head rolling and bobbing, knocking her into another reality. He held her so close she almost could not breathe, she closed her eyes and embraced this other world she was in where she was not perfect. A world in which her arms were tight around a man whose name she did not know, but whose savory scent she wanted to scrape with her teeth.

Because it would end, this would end…

They dressed in the moonlight, and he walked her back out into mirrored hallway, and into the mirrored elevator where she watched him cover her overhead in the mirror again with a kiss. The elevator opened and revealed the bar from a distance. Eliza walked out first, Rafe was standing facing the opposite way at the bar. She walked over to him with a spring in her step, knowing she was imperfect.

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