She catches a glimpse of his face through the crowd, and her already thumping heart leaps.

What’s he doing here? The club is just the kind of place he hates—too loud, too frantic, too many bodies crammed in together, too much of everything. He’s a man who prizes control, restraint. That’s part of the reason they are as repelled by each other as they are attracted. He’s control, but she is chaos.

Her eyes search the sea of dancers surrounding her. Now that she’s seen him she can’t not look for him. She slips through the crowd in the direction that she saw him, away from her friends and the arms of the guy she’d been dancing with. He makes a grab for her, his fingers grazing her wrist, but a deft twist and she’s gone, swallowed up by the dancers.

Bodies buffet her, twisting and gyrating. Music thrums through the humid air, stroking against her skin. Everything is damp, sweaty. Later, she’ll think it’s gross, but right now it makes her senses sing with visceral awareness of the hundreds of bodies moving around her, against her. As soon as she’d stepped into the club, she’d gotten wet, her pussy flooding with adrenaline-fuelled excitement. She isn’t the only one turned on, she bet; most of the people here are looking to hook up after they spend the night drinking and dancing. She’d been planning on fucking the guy she’d just been dancing with, but she doesn’t need him now.

She is nearing the edge of the dance-floor when a large hand wraps around her upper arm. She doesn’t jump. She’d know his touch anywhere.

She turns and there he is. Tall and broad, his sweat-damp t-shirt clinging to the heavy muscles of his chest and shoulders, he towers over her. The flashing coloured lights highlight the glower hovering at the edge of his expression, the feral darkness of his deep-set eyes. Tension thrums from his hand into her flesh. His nerves are strung tight and she can tell he can’t wait to leave. But here she is, an unexpected surprise to take his mind of it. A zing travels through her, a shock of electricity streaking from the base of her skull down her spine to the clenching sheath of her empty cunt.

He tugs on her arm, leading her away from the dance-floor, and she follows him. A smile of anticipation curls the corners of her lips, becoming a full-blown grin they arrive at a shadowed corner behind the DJ’s booth. The music swallows her laughter when he presses her against the condensation-wet wall with the hard length of his body. She opens her mouth to ask him what he’s doing here, but he kisses her, his tongue surging past her lips without preamble, and she realises she doesn’t really care.

It’s always like this. A touch, a kiss, it sets them both off like a spark to dynamite. Nothing else matters, not the club behind him packed full of people, nor the fact that after tonight they probably won’t see each other for months, if not years.

He’s rock hard against her, his muscles, his cock, vibrating with a mixture of discomfort and need. She touches him, her stroking hands greedy and comforting at the same time. She isn’t surprised when he unseals their mouths only for as long as it takes to capture her wrists in his hands and pin them to the wall above her head. His hold is bruising tight and she moans against his marauding mouth, her hips bucking to rub her throbbing pussy against the line of his erection. He firms his hands around her wrists, gripping them to the point of pain, and sandwiches her between him and the wall so tightly she can’t catch her breath. He can’t control what’s going on around them, but he can control her. She nips his lips, reminding him that she can’t be tamed. Not for long and never completely.

She gasps and laughs as he spins her round. One of his hands secures her wrists back to the wall, while the other reaches beneath her short skirt and tears her panties off in one vicious tug. Movement brushes against her ass, and then he’s pulling her hips up and surging inside her, his cock piercing her in one forceful thrust. If she hadn’t been so wet, it would have hurt.

Her head reels as he fucks her. She can’t move, she can barely breathe, but pleasure scores through her regardless. She comes hard and fast, her body jerking in helpless spasms, the music eating up her screams. He hammers into her, riding her climax, finally holding himself deep as he spurts his own orgasm into her convulsing pussy.

They both jerk as they remember they’re in the middle of a packed nightclub. He lets her go, his cock sliding out of her in a rush of wetness that trickles down her thighs and that she hopes no one will notice. She’ll feel his touch on her for days; bracelets of aches around her wrists, a sharp soreness in her cunt. She’ll savour it until the next time.

His hands on her shoulders turn her around. It’s too dark back here to see his face, but she knows everything she needs to from the gentle press of his lips to hers before he’s gone.

She makes her way back into the crowd, back to her friends. She doesn’t wonder when, or if, they’ll see each other again. It’s a certainty to her that they will. They exist on the edges of each other’s worlds, caught in one another’s gravity and both unable to pull away.

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New Release!


AL FRESCO from Ladylit Publishing, has made an early arrival in the world, and I couldn’t be more excited. This anthology may be mini, but it is jam-packed with sexy stories of lesbian lovers indulging their passions in the great outdoors.

Here’s a short excerpt from my story, Tryst:

Oh god, she was going to drive me mad. My clit pulsed with a sharp ache. I could feel the little bud swelling up in hungry demand, peeking through my pussy lips for Trina to touch. Her fingertips grazed the hypersensitive bundle of nerves and I flinched, a whiplash of pleasure rocking me in my seat. Trina didn’t look at me to see what was wrong—she knew what she was doing to me, she could feel it throbbing beneath her fingertips.

Trina rubbed little circles over the very tip of my bold clit. Pleasure fizzed and sparked through my body. My grip on the table tightened so much the tips of my fingers turned white.

You can buy AL FRESCO at:


Evan is half expecting Maddie to be there when he opens the door, and doesn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when she isn’t.

The flat is so quiet as he closes the front door behind him. It’s only been a little over a fortnight since he had last been here and already it feels like an eternity. If it weren’t for the objects scattered around that are his, it could have been a stranger’s home, not somewhere he had lived for the past three years.

A fragment of memory skips across the surface of Evan’s mind. Their raised voices. His gut sick with anger and frustration, and underneath them, the acid bite of shame. The argument that had sent him storming out, screaming that he didn’t need this, he didn’t need her. The slam of the door behind him, cutting off the sound of her tears, the sight of betrayal on her face. The memory still has the power to make him flinch.

He’d said he didn’t need her, and she’d taken him at his words.

Please stop calling. Stop texting. I don’t want to listen to you anymore. You made your choice and it wasn’t me. Come and get your things.

There are a stack of unassembled cardboard boxes on top of the coffee-table, scissors, and a roll of packing-tape. Leaning against the table are a couple of rolls of bubble-wrap. Unsubtle reminders.

He sighs.

Shrugging of his jacket, he throws it onto the sofa and after turning on the radio for some noise to keep him from thinking too much, he gets to work.

Three years. After almost an hour he has filled just two of the boxes and there’s nothing left of his in the living room, kitchen, or study. Not much to show for three years of life together. He’s left Maddie the things they had bought as a couple, even the ones he wants. He doesn’t know why. Yeah, two boxes. Not much to show for three years of living together and the two years they were together before that. But then again he hasn’t started on the bedroom yet.

Once, this room had been his favourite place in the whole world. Now, he walks in and barely recognises it. The furniture has been rearranged or replaced entirely. The bed is the same, but the bedclothes are different, new. The photos that had adorned the walls, are gone, replaced by artwork he doesn’t like and woven wall-hangings that he does.

Memories rise up and this time, he can’t stop them. Knees folding, he sits heavily on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. He shouldn’t be sitting there—it isn’t his bed anymore, just hers. He doesn’t get up. Instead, he lies back and lets the memories roll through him. The nights, the mornings, all the times in between.

He closes his eyes, squeezing them tight to hold on to the images flickering on the backs of his eyelids. Sensations move through his body, ghosts of feelings that have been haunting him, that he has tried to exorcise, but can’t, he just can’t.

The feel of her beneath his hands, warm skin and soft flesh. The silk of her hair spread across their pillows as she smiled up at him, eyes bright and a flush of arousal staining her cheeks the same pretty pink as her nipples. His cock hardens as he remembers the feel of her against him, around him. Her pussy warm, and wet, and so tight it feels like she never wanted to let him go. The taste of her, sugar melting on his tongue.

Evan can remember it all.

The mornings when he would wake up with his cock already in her mouth, and the ones when he woke her up by sliding inside her. The nights when they made love together so sweetly, and the ones they had fucked in a frenzy of passion, so hungry for one another it felt like they could never get enough. And then there had been those crazy times, like the one when they’d gotten drunk and horny with one of her friends—he remembers looking up at her as he was balls deep in that other woman, as Maddie was grinding her pussy on her face, and thinking that he was the luckiest man in the world.

Why had he thrown that away?

Maddie’s smell is still on the sheets. Closing his eyes, he inhales, taking in the scent of her and imprinting it on his memory. It will fade, he will forget, and he wishes he had the balls to take something of hers so he could hold on to a small piece of her forever.

Getting up, he smooths out the rumples he’s made in the sheets, erasing the evidence of his presence. Here, he doesn’t need to go through the wardrobe and drawers—Maddie’s’s done it for him. He opens the boxes stacked in one corner of the room and finds all his things neatly folded. He guesses he should be grateful, but there’s only a pit in his belly, empty and wide.

He hefts them out to sit by the front door with the others. A couple of trips and then he’d be gone.

It takes three, and then he’s standing at the door about to close it for the last time. He’s got his coat. He’s turned off the radio. He wishes she had been here.

Closing the door, he locks it, and posts the keys through the letterbox.

It’s over.

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Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Flat Out Fabulous

This is my entry for the lovely Sex Blog (Of Sorts) Lippie competition. I hope you enjoy it 😉

“Here she is. The one we’ve all been waiting for. The sexy, the irrepressible, the flat-out fabulous Miss Ruby Shimmers!”

The sound of applause drowns out the music’s intro. It makes her heart thump as it hadn’t a moment before, electricity buzzing along her nerves. Her stomach clenches below lungs squeezed breathless. “Breathe. Just breathe,” Ruby reminds herself and throws herself into the light.

The music catches her, wraps her in its arms like a lover, and spins her across the stage. She whirls so fast her self-doubt can’t cling on, flying off into the darkness beyond the burning bright lights. Why had she been so worried anyway? She doesn’t even know. She knows the music, knows the moves. God, she’s practiced so much the sequence is imprinted not just in her muscles, but on her bones, her soul. When she dies, she’ll dance this dance in the afterlife.

Ruby shimmies.

Ruby shakes.

She gyrates her hips and wiggles her ass.

She dances her black feathered fans across her body, playing peekaboo with her bare breasts. Her nipples are painted the same brilliant red as her lips, but with added glitter to catch the light, snare the eye.

She can feel the audience watching, wanting, feel the touch of their hungry eyes. She holds them all entranced.

Joy fills her up, bubbling out from her belly, a champagne fizz tingling underneath her skin. It spills out of her glitter-adorned eyes and the wide stretch of her blood-red lips. It tightens her nipples and makes her pussy throb, liquid lust spilling out. Bending over she wriggles her butt, displays the damp crotch of her frilled signature red panties, and listens to the crowd roar its approval, its desire. She looks over her shoulder and winks into the darkness, and they go wild again.

Ruby laughs. The silvery sound blending in with the music. She spins away, fans fluttering around her, stroking against her naked skin with a thousand airy fingers.

They haven’t figured it out. The nameless, faceless crowd—they think she dances for them.

She twists and twirls.

She taunts, she teases. Giving them a little, but never enough.

Ruby fucks the air and makes love to the music.

The only person she dances for is herself.

Wake-Up Call

“Wakey-wakey. Eggs and Bacey.”

Hugh didn’t even bother to open his eyes. “You lie.” There was no sizzling spicy smell of frying pork perfuming the air, and after a night like the last one, he wasn’t going to get out of bed for anything else.

“Okay,” Ashley admitted, sitting on the side of the bed next to his waist. “I lied, but I did bring you coffee. Mmm, yummy yummy coffee, just the way you like it.”

Hugh opened one of his eyes, just a crack. She wasn’t lying this time. There was a mug of pale tan liquid just in front of his face, and the smell—mmm, Hugh wanted to purr at the deliciousness of it.

But if he took the coffee then he’d have to get up. Getting up meant going to work and work meant misery no matter how much lovely coffee he had.

“No,” he snapped, squeezing his eyes shut and tightening the arms wrapped around the pillow beneath his head. “Want bed. Need bed.”

“Ugh, you are such a child sometimes. How about this?”

Hugh was intrigued enough to peek.

Slipping the strap of her camisole off her shoulder, Ashley bared one of her breasts. Dipping a finger into the mug, she brought a drop of the liquid to the tip of her nipple. It hung there, suspended, golden brown against the pink of her nipple.

“If you’re going to act like a baby,” she murmured, “maybe I should treat you like one.”

Careful of the cup still in her hand, she leant forward and grazed his mouth with her nipple.

The taste of coffee seeped into his mouth, warm and milky and sweetened with sugar and her skin. He couldn’t slip back to sleep now if he tried.

He licked his lips. “More.”

She smiled at his demands. Drawing back enough to dip her finger back into the cup, she smeared the warm liquid over all of her nipple. Hugh didn’t wait for her to lean back down—lifting his head, he sucked her wet nipple into his mouth. He licked the taste of the coffee away and then started to suck in soft rhythmic pulls, silently demanding more. This time, she dripped another drop just above the tight seal of his lips. He hummed in appreciation and Ashley moaned with the strength of his suck.

It wasn’t not enough.

Hugh released her nipple with a soft pop of sound. “More,” he growled, but when Ashley moved to hand him the cup, he put it on the bedside table. Liquid hits his hand as the coffee sloshed over the side, but he doesn’t care. Twisting his body, he bore Ashley back onto the bed. Her hands clutched at his shoulders as he moved on top of her, her legs spreading to cradle his bigger body.

“I thought you wanted more coffee,” she laughed.

“I don’t need coffee to wake me up,” he said, pushing up her camisole and rubbing his stubble-roughened cheeks over the ripe swells of her tits. He nipped at the peaks making her yelp and squirm underneath him, her pussy grinding against the hard line of his cock. “All I need is you.”

Hugh slanted his mouth over hers. Delving his hand into her pyjama pants, he played his fingers through her slick wet folds before strumming the hard knot of her clit. He ate the moans and whimpers from her lips and then made her make some more.

Thrusting two of his fingers into her, he pumped them once, twice, and then Ashley was coming, squealing her orgasm against his mouth, her cunt squeezing his still pumping fingers. Aftershocks were still shaking her when he slipped his fingers free, and, moving to the side, flipped her onto her belly. A little adjustment of their clothes and bodies, and then he’s inside her.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned into her ear. “So hot and wet and tight. Like fucking heaven.”

She moaned in answer, lifting her hips up to met his shafting cock, and then Hugh can’t speak anymore more. All he can do is fuck her hard and fast, but not too fast that she doesn’t come again, milking a bone-shaking orgasm out of his cock with lush, hungry pulls.

Breathing hard, they both collapsed onto the bed. Turning her head, Ashley kissed him. “Now I know the proper way to get you up in the morning.”

Hugh smiled against her lips, pleasure energising him better than any caffeine buzz. “Mmm, anytime.”