Should I be embarrassed? We’re not teenagers anymore.

You and I was my first erotica release in 2017. It began as an experiment in steamy “sudden fiction”, then later became a five-piece series of flash fiction chapters. I was reading a lot of Literotica back then and wanted to see how things would turn out if you shot for the same level of heat but with a more introspective tone.

Hope you enjoy this little excerpt from my early foray into rude writing 💜

The credits finish. In reality, a second passes, but it seems to take forever. It’s so quiet, I can hear the tap drip in the kitchen. Should I be embarrassed? We’re not teenagers anymore. But we’ve never been this close before and my skin is burning.

“Should I get up?” I ask. I’m exposed and awkward, unsure of where this goes. What would it mean to you, if I sat up? Should we pretend this never happened? The questions in a question.

Your mouth moves, silently at first. Then you say: “You don’t have to. I mean, if you don’t want to.”

You look in my eyes and I wonder if you can tell I’ve thought about us being here. I wonder if you know I borrow the clothes you leave behind when you crash after a big night; if you know I know they smell the way you do up close. With my face pressed against you and my belly in knots.

Fuck it. I don’t want to keep wondering.

“I’ll stay a bit,” I say. I smile and move my head, press a little harder; you breathe deep. “Hey, I don’t have to be anywhere tonight. Do you?”

“Nowhere,” you shake your head. “Nothing planned.”

“Can I take this?” I ask. I tug at the waistband of your shorts. A wispy tuft peeks out from the gap between your shirt and underwear.

You look like you’re about to say something; either ask me to stop or to keep going. I wait to feel your hands on the back of my head, wait to hear you tell me, direct, to put your dick in my mouth and suck it until you come. But that’s only how I imagine you. You’re too polite for that. You just nod and wait for me.

You lift your hips and I slip your shorts off. The cut of your v-line surprises me. It really shouldn’t. I’ve seen you countless times, shirt off, passed out drunk exactly where I’m lying now. But not like this, I suppose. Not where you’re inches from my face with your eyes on me and your abdomen rising and falling like unbreaking waves.

Read the rest of You and I

This book (short story) is a freebie if you get it from most outlets.

Or it’s 99c on Amazon.
A beautiful brunette woman is embraced from behind by a masculine pair of arms. She closes her eyes and revels in it.

Abandon all shyness, ye who enter here…

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She is helpless against it, and I watch.

Birdwatchers started as an early practice piece for first-person perspective and deep POV. I was obsessed with the effect of the “unreliable narrator” on the reading journey, and this is what came of a couple evenings’ study. I also wanted to write a story that included birds because bird stuff is cool.

Anyway, please enjoy this excerpt of Birdwatchers, a short story about an erotic encounter on a summer afternoon:

She reaches behind her and tugs at the strings. They come apart and her white bikini top falls around her waist. She gathers her hair and wraps it in a scarf on top of her head. Then she lies back. She reaches for her book. Her breasts settle on her chest. Her nipples, the colour of wrens, face the blue sky.

It’s quiet here. Tourists don’t hike this far up the mountain. She must know it; she doesn’t bother looking around before slipping a hand into her bikini bottom. The motion of her fingers is obvious beneath the fluttering fabric.

Her breathing deepens into a rhythm. Her chest rises and falls, lifting and lowering the book she clutches in her left hand while her right one shudders between her legs. Her belly is tight. Her crimson lips are soft and pouting.

“Oh!” she cries. But her voice is swallowed by the forest.

Her canary yellow picnic blanket is crumpled in a nest around her. Her body is turbulent, swept away by a squall. It whips her until she starts to tremble, her headscarf comes loose and, finally, she drops the book.

“Oh!” she cries again, and arches her back against the rock bed. Her sunglasses topple off her face. Her eyes are hummingbird green and beating their wings in the storm.

And then, she sees me.

Hands fly to cover her naked breasts, but the tempest rages on. She is helpless against it, and I watch. She rolls onto her belly, body still billowing. Her legs curl beneath her, knees to chest, and she buries her face in the blanket.

The gale becomes a breeze and fades into the distance.

She looks at me and sits up. Her body is exposed now, breasts heaving as her breath comes back to her. She keeps her eyes on me while she re-does her hair and rests the sunglasses on her head. She smiles.

“Why didn’t you take a picture?” she asks. “That’s what you came here for, wasn’t it?”

“N… no,” I say. I hold up the camera, fighting the weight of the lens. “I came to watch the birds.”

She sits back and crosses her legs in front of her. She points her toes towards me, then at the sky, then back to me. She licks her lips.

“So…” Her smile deepens. “Watch the birds then.”

Read the rest of Birdwatchers

Birdwatchers is available at major ebook retailers.

Birdwatchers cover

In the mood for more?

This post is part of a blog hop. Check out more steamy excerpts in this event.

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