“Why are we doing this again?”

Renee rolled her eyes at her boyfriend. “Because she’s my boss.” A tendril of annoyance coiled around her guts and gave them a yank. “And apparently, I’m the only one she trusts to feed her cats.” That wasn’t strictly true—no one else in Melinda’s employ would agree to go anywhere near the little hellbeasts, and as Melinda’s new assistant, Renee was the least important and most expendable employee. She hadn’t been in the position of refusing. She was still on probation, for god’s sake. So every day, twice a day, for the next week and a half, she had to schlep all the way to Melinda’s townhouse, and that was in addition to looking after the office and being on call for whatever bullshit errands Melinda thought of while she was away. Renee was busier with her boss on vacation than when the woman was actually here.

“At least we’re allowed to raid the fridge,” Renee reminded Trent although that wasn’t true either—she was allowed to eat Melinda’s food. Her boss had no idea that Trent was here with her in her fancy townhouse, and she’d be pissed if she found out.

Wandering around the living room, her boyfriend paused in his inspection of a cluster of ugly and undoubtedly expensive glass trinkets, and looked at her. “Mmm, low-fat and low-cal everything.” He rolled his eyes. “The woman must be part air-plant.”

Renee snickered. Melinda reminded her more of a praying-mantis, every ounce of softness dieted away until she was only muscle and sinew fuelled by ruthless ambition.

“Come on, let’s find the cats and get them fed. I want pizza.”

They searched the townhouse, but wherever Melinda’s two spoiled Sphynx cats were hiding, they weren’t coming out.

“You left their food out, Ren,” Trent reminded her. “They’ll come and eat it after we’re gone.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, undecided. “I’m meant to make sure they’re both alright.”

They were in Melinda’s bedroom. Flopping onto the bed that was too big to fit in any room of their modest apartment, Trent looked at her. “She’ll never know.”

Renee wasn’t so sure. “It wouldn’t surprise me if there were cameras everywhere.” Or maybe Melinda was just omniscient, like god. She certainly gave that expression at times.

One of Trent’s eyebrows quirked up. “Oh, really?”

Renee recognised that look twinkling in his eyes, the smile that crooked his lips. Pointing her finger at him, she said, “No.”

“What?” Laughter trembled on the edges of the word. His hands that had been resting on his stomach, smoothed down his flat belly to his belt buckle.

Renee watched him tap his long fingers against the metal sitting between his hips, above the growing bulge in his jeans. Her breath hitched, want blossoming in the pit of her belly.

In his jeans and worn t-shirt, the ragged ends of his shaggy hair spread over the luxurious bedspread, he looked as out of place as a piece of coal amongst a pile of diamonds. She probably looked the same way.

The smile on Trent’s face broadened, became knowing. The metal of his belt jingled as he undid it. The rasp of his zipper lowering had a shiver rilling down Renee’s spine.

Reaching into his jeans, Trent freed his cock from his underwear. Wrapping his fist around it, he pumped it slowly, watching as she drifted closer to him. Renee had felt a pull toward Trent since the moment they’d met, but his cock was like a magnetic field while she was a hapless piece of iron. Once she caught sight of it, she couldn’t stay away. Her helplessness before the power of his dick, made her grumpy.

“You’re a perv, you know,” she grumbled. She stood in between his spread knees where they dangled over the edge of the bed.

“You’re the one watching me jerk off,” he reminded her. “Now, come down here with me.”

“I never should have asked you to come with me tonight. You’re going to get me fired.” But she was already reaching under her skirt to pull off her panties.

“You hate your job and you hate your boss, too.”

He was so right.

Crawling over Trent, she straddled his lean hips and kissed him. She could just imagine the look on Melinda’s face if she saw them, her disgust as they mussed up her sheets. Desire flared, sucked up all the oxygen in her body, and became an inferno.

This was bad.

This was wrong.

Oh god, this was going to feel so good.

Trent’s hands found her beneath her loose skirt. He groaned into her mouth when he felt how wet she was, how ready. He pulled her hips down and this time it was her turn to groan as the length of his erection slid through the slick folds of her pussy. He was so hard against the softness of her sex. She melted against him, all resistance gone.

The rim of his dick rubbed against her clit. Sparks of pleasure whirled through her body, setting her nerves on fire. Urgency clawed her control to ribbons.

Reaching down, Renee positioned his cock and then surged down on it.

“Jesus Christ, baby,” Trent half-exclaimed, half-laughed. He squirmed beneath her, rocking his hips up to get nice and snug inside her. “I wasn’t ready.”

Renee circled her hips, glorying in the feel of his cock filling her up. She smirked down at Trent as his amusement died on a groan. “I was ready.”

She proved to him just how ready she was. She rode him hard, but he didn’t seem to mind. His hands clutched at her hips and then moved up under her shirt to find her tits. Yanking down her bra, he pinched her nipples, hard. Pulling and tugging, he thrust up into her as she slammed down on him. Renee had been right—it felt so fucking good and she screamed as she came, grinding down on him as he filled her up with his own climaxing pleasure.

“I think we should spend the night,” Trent said after they’d both gotten their breath back.

Renee stared at him. “And I think you’re crazy.”

Climbing off of him, she snatched her panties off the floor and hurried to the en suite bathroom to clean up before she dripped cum on anything. When she came back, Trent was standing by the bed, his jeans fastened. He was bent over to look underneath the bed and as she came in, he turned his head to look at her. “I found the cats.”

Renee looked under the bed. Two pairs of bright acid-green eyes looked back at her. Beneath one pair a mouth full of sharp teeth opened up and hissed.

She straightened. “Great. We’ve traumatised Melinda’s cats.”

Trent laughed. Putting his arm around her, he kissed her cheek. “Come on. Pizza time.”

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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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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.”


I don’t blog very often (as you might have seen) so I thought I would post some flash fiction for you to (hopefully) enjoy.

It ended up exactly like it always did.

“Why don’t we go to that new pub?” she said when he called up to see if she was busy. “I’ve heard it’s nice and apparently has a ridiculous amount of good-looking men for me to ogle.”

“What about me? What if I want some ogling action?”

She tutted. “You shouldn’t be looking. You have a girlfriend. Actually, why aren’t you with her tonight?”

“She’s away for the weekend. Her sister’s getting married.”

“And you’re not with her, why?”

“Come on, you know how I feel about weddings.” He spat the last word and probably shuddered too.

She laughed, amused at his disgust. “God, you are just so stereotypical sometimes. So, the pub then?”

“Ugh,” he groaned. “No. I just want a quiet night in with my best girl.”

She was such a sucker for him whenever he called her that, so she agreed.

A quiet night in front of the telly with a takeaway and a bottle of wine—that’s all she planned for, honest—but he kissed her when she opened the door for him. Just a kiss on the cheek, one of his hands cupped around her shoulder and the other braced on her hip, the bottle of wine he was holding cold against her leg. A peck of a kiss as the door shut behind him, but the smell of him overwhelmed her—his usual expensive aftershave, a hint of the one cigarette a day he allowed himself after work, and the unique scent of his own skin. So familiar. She breathed it in and her breath hitched, a twang of arousal reverberating through her belly. He stilled, just for a moment, before his head turned and his next kiss found her lips.

The bottle of wine thunked to the carpeted floor. She didn’t even look to see if it survived its fall intact—she didn’t care. All she cared about was getting their clothes off as quickly as possibly. Hands tearing at each other, they barely made it down the hall to her bedroom to tumble naked onto her bed, his cock already halfway inside her.

They fucked hard and fast, and it was perfect. It was always perfect. They had been screwing around with each other since they had both turned legal, knew each other’s bodies, all their secret sensitive places as well as they knew their own. When she had wanted to learn how to give a good blowjob, it was him she had practised on. When he had wanted to try out anal, they had gotten tipsy on gin and tonics, their drink du jour, and he had played with her pussy until she hadn’t cared where he put his cock as long as it was inside her, and they had both come screaming. To this day, he was the only one she trusted to fuck her that way.

“Why aren’t the two of you together?” her other friends always asked her. They didn’t know they were sleeping together, but they had seen their closeness.

Why not indeed? She always said something along the lines of, “Oh, we’re just close friends. Almost like family.” Except they weren’t. They weren’t brother and sister, and they weren’t just friends. Honestly, she didn’t know what they were and she found herself spending more and more time thinking about it.

She had her boyfriends. He had his girlfriends. And whenever they felt like it, they had each other. They felt like it often.

“Who am I to you?”

The question slipped past her lips as they lay entwined and sweaty on her rumpled sheets.

Lifting his head, he looked down at her. Flushed and beautiful, he wore the face of the man she often dreamed of sharing her life with in every way, not just in a friendship made strange by stolen moments of furtive fucking.

She held her breath as she waited for his answer.

“You’re my best girl,” he murmured, a light she didn’t quite recognise shining from his eyes. “You’re my Annie.”

Her breath released on a sigh and was immediately stolen by his kiss. This time they made love, long and slow, surging together with not a wisp of air between them until they both reached their peak in shuddering gasps.

He left not long after, pressing a kiss to her forehead and leaving her heavy-eyed with sleepy satiation. She watched him go, listened to the front door closing behind him. She didn’t fall asleep.

Now, lying in the bed she’d made, she thought of the girlfriend, celebrating her sister’s wedding, maybe missing him and wondering what he was doing on his Friday night. Guilt tried to slink into bed with her, but she pushed it away—she’d had him first.

Turning her head, she breathed in deeply, drawing in the smell of expensive aftershave, cigarettes, and him that clung to her sheets. It occurred to her that it didn’t feel quite like home unless his scent was on her pillow.