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Posts Tagged ‘Shameless Selfie Sunday’

Smutty Seaside Shameless Selfie



Yup! That’s me on the  Cobb in the wind channeling my inner Meryl Streep, or perhaps my inner Selkie. Having just gotten back from Lyme Regis totally inspired and had a fabulous Saturday at Smut Manchester celebrating the launch of The Tutor, I thought it the perfect time for a smutty seaside girly story that was inspired by a trip to Lyme Regis for the fabulous anthology, Smut By The Sea. Enjoy!


Skins Blurb:

When the mysterious Celia follows Tess home in a rainstorm, the sexy encounter that follows is totally unexpected, and yet somehow, Celia is strangely familiar.


smut-by-the-sea Skins Excerpt:

I had to do a double-take. One lone person stood on the Cobb in the middle of the storm. How could there be anyone out there? I was hurrying back my cottage, not the smartest person on the beach for being out in this weather; well actually I was the only person on the beach, except for the person on the Cobb. The storm had come up suddenly. When I’d headed out a few hours ago, it was sunny and warm. I had been sketching a lone harbor seal off and on for the past two days. She had been sunning herself on the rocks. Seals were something I seldom saw around Lyme Regis, so it had been a special treat to get so close to her. But when the weather took a sudden turn for the worse, we both went our separate ways, she probably more comfortably than I. I would miss her.

‘Hey! Hey! Get off there! Are you crazy?’ I yelled and waved my arms like a nutter, the wind catching me and nearly toppling me over. I knew it was a waste of breath. Whoever it was out there on the Cobb couldn’t have heard me above the roar of the wind and the waves. Stupidly, I thought of The French Lieutenant’s Woman standing there looking out to sea. Then I blinked and whoever it was had vanished. Heart racing in my chest, I fumbled for my phone to call 999. But then I rubbed my eyes and it hit me, there wasn’t really anyone there. It had to have been my imagination. I could barely stand up in the wind on the beach. No one could have been standing out there. Even if someone had been, I certainly couldn’t have seen them in this weather.

I was still thinking about the imagined person on the Cobb when I arrived at my cottage to find I wasn’t alone.

‘May I help you?’ I made no attempt to keep the irritation out of my voice, hoping it would cover my nerves at the sight of the young man standing on the porch of my cottage. Yes it was tipping it down, horizontal rain, and the wind felt like it blew right off the polar ice cap, but an adolescent standing in an oversized anorak with nothing but the tip of a nose and the jut of a chin sticking out from under the hood did nothing to make me feel at ease.

‘I’m sorry. I just needed a place out of the rain for a few minutes.’ The voice was the gravelly voice of an adolescent, not quite a man, yet no longer a child either, and the accent was strange, as though the shapes of the words were somehow new to lip and tongue. As I got closer to the porch, the boy threw back the hood and I realized that the boy was actually a young woman drenched to the skin even through the anorak. Her auburn hair hung in dripping tendrils around her face and onto her shoulders.

‘Besides,’ she said, ‘I heard you call and.’ She shrugged. ‘I didn’t want to worry you.’

My insides, which were already knotted, knotted still tighter. ‘You heard me call?’

‘From the Cobb, yes. I heard you call, and I just followed you.’

‘But you’re here before me, how could you have followed me.’

‘I just got here, honest.’ She spoke between chattering teeth. ‘I was hoping for a place to wait out the storm.’ She motioned back into Lyme Regis. ‘But there’s no place there.’

‘Certainly there’s no place on the Cobb. What were you thinking?’ I said, then I nodded up the stairs. ‘Well you can’t stay out here. Come on inside where it’s dry.’ God, was I out of my mind? I didn’t even know this chick and the whole thing felt sort of strange and stalker-ish.

‘You don’t mind?’ She asked.

‘Of course not.’ I wasn’t sure if I was lying of not, but I couldn’t leave her out in this horrid weather.

‘I’m Celia,’ she said, as she followed me up the stairs, muddy walking shoes that looked way pass their sell-by date gripped in one hand.

‘I’m Tess,’ I called over my shoulder as I unlocked the door, and stood aside for her to go in.

Inside she shrugged out of the oversized anorak, which looked, if anything, even older and rattier than the boots, then she stood dripping on the rug in the hallway, looking diminished and fragile in the anemic light of the late afternoon storm.

‘Right. You need dry clothes,’ I said. ‘I can lend you something. It’ll be huge on you, but it’ll do for now. I’ll put your clothes in the drying room to dry, then make us some tea, would you like that? Bathroom’s there,’ I pointed.

When I returned with a track suit and a t-shirt, I nearly dropped them on the floor at the sight of her. The door was wide open and she stood naked and goose-fleshed wringing the water from her clothes into the sink. She turned to face me as though being naked in the bathroom of a total stranger was nothing out of the ordinary, and my mouth went dry.

Honestly, I never look at other women’s breasts. I mean I’m aware of my own, and I fondle them when I masturbate and rather enjoy the feel of them, but it took all I could do to pull my eyes away from Celia’s breasts. Hers were the kind of breasts all women dream of having, high and firm, like heavily iced cupcakes displayed in a bakery window, just enough to fill the cup of a hand and spill over the top to offer a soft swell to be kissed and nuzzled. And strangely enough I could picture myself doing just that. Her nipples pearled dark mauve and heavy atop the raspberry stippling of areolae that were impossibly tight and swollen from the chill, and I found myself wanting to chafe them in my hand and warm them with my breath, with my lips, with my tongue.

Embarrassed, I lowered my eyes, but that wasn’t much better as my gaze followed the flat, hard muscles of her belly down to the tight nest of auburn curls resting protectively above her sex.

‘ … Would that be alright?’

I suddenly realized she was speaking to me. I forced my attention back to what she was saying, forced my gaze back to her lightly freckled face and milk chocolate eyes. ‘It’s just the most amazing bathtub, and I was just wondering if it would be alright. If I had a bath? I haven’t had a hot bath in a long time, at least not a real one. I mean I’ll understand if you don’t want me too, cuz you really don’t know me, do you? And a bath is sort an intimate thing, isn’t it?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you can have a bath,’ I said, finding my voice with difficulty. ‘The big bathtub’s part of the reason I rent this particular cottage every year. Go ahead. It’ll warm you up faster than anything.’ I nodded to the rose geranium bath bubbles on the edge of the tub, but she was already ahead of me. With a squeal of delight, she turned on the water full blast and bent to pour in bubbles leaving me with a view of the tightly muscled half domes of her buttocks, which, when she leaned forward to swish the water with her hand and test the temperature, resting one knee on the edge of the tub, spread like two halves of ripe fruit displaying the dark round O of her anus and the flower-petalled folds of her pink pussy. I thought I would hyperventilate. I was suddenly wetter than I could ever remember being. I wanted desperately to touch her. I wanted to caress the valley that displayed her from back hole to marbled clit. I wanted to slip a finger up into the opening shielded almost shyly by the folds of her labia. The air was thick with the rising steam of the bath. The scent of rose geranium, barely masked the base note that was the tide pool scent of a woman.

I somehow managed to settle the clothes onto the chest at the end of the tub. ‘Can I bring you something to drink? Tea, coffee, I have some wine?’

She offered me an enthusiastic smile. ‘Red?’

‘Red it is then,’ I said.

When I returned, she was lying back in the large tub, her eyes closed, a soft smile pressed to her full lips. I could just make out the shapes of her breasts above the rising foam. She took the glass from me with a nod of appreciation and said, ‘please stay.’ She motioned to the closed lid of the toilet. ‘I’ve not had anyone to talk to for a while and I’d like the company — that is if I’m not keeping you from anything important.’

‘Nothing important. I’m here on holiday,’ I said, settling onto the closed toilet, pleased that she’d asked me to stay. ‘I’m an artist.’ I shrugged. ‘Well I’m a very good hobbyist and I come here every year to paint and draw and walk and be inspired. You?’

‘Lyme Regis is pretty far south for me, actually. I’ve never been before, but I’m glad I came. I can see why it inspires you.’ She took the sponge and ran it along her neck and one shoulder, drizzling fragrant water over the pucker of her nipples. ‘I could never be far from the sea. I’d be lost without it. Would you wash my back?’ She handed me the sponge and I completely forgot all the questions I was going to ask her. My mouth was dry again, however my pussy was anything but. I reached for the soap and brushed my arm against hers as she leaned forward exposing the exquisite curve of her back, delicate as an ivory carving and yet the muscles that spread outward from the undulations of the vertebrae in her spine were strong and deep. She was delicate of build, but clearly not weak.

She sighed softly as I ran the soap down the length of her spine, stopping just where her buttocks flared and cushioned her pelvic girdle. Then I moved it upward in tight circles on either side of the vertebrae and out over the fan of her ribs below her arms almost to where the swell of her breasts began.

‘Mmm, that feels delicious,’ she said. ‘I don’t want it ever to end.’

I didn’t either. I had sloshed water down the front of my shirt, and my own nipples pressed out like they were desperate to get closer to her. It was then she cupped my hand where it rested on her shoulder and said, ‘you’re still in wet clothes.’

In all honesty, I hadn’t even noticed until she mentioned it.

‘You must be freezing too. I saw you drawing the harbor seal on the beach when the storm hit.’ She scooted down to one end of the tub. ‘Come on. There’s plenty of room.’

Before I could ask how she’d seen me when I was sure I was alone, she grabbed the bottom of my t-shirt with wet hands and worried it off over my head, pulling me forward enough in the process that while I was temporarily blinded by my own top, she reached behind me and unhooked my bra. My much larger, much heavier tits spilled forward into her hands as she slid the bra off, brushing her thumbs against my nipples in the process. ‘There, that’s better, isn’t it? Let’s get all those wet and clammy clothes away from you lovely skin. Now stand up.’

I did as she said, and she went to work on my walking trousers, then she slid her hands inside, hooked fingers into the elastic of my knickers and tugged both down. ‘Now step out of them. That’s right. Mmm you smell delicious. You smell like the sea. Somehow I knew that you would.’

As I lifted my leg to step out of the trousers and knickers now pooled around my ankles, Celia did not look away. I could feel her gaze on what nestled beneath my own tight curls. I normally would have been shy. I normally would have tried to preserve my modesty, but I wanted her to see my pussy. I wanted her to see what I looked like down there. She made room for me, and I stepped into the warm sudsy water. Then we maneuvered for space and she, being much smaller than I, scooted closer, lifting her thighs over mine.

That done she leaned up until she was practically in my lap and brushed a kiss against my lips. ‘Please, let me wash you. You have such beautiful skin.’ She ran a finger along my collar bone and then brushed her palm over my left breast and I sucked in a tight breath. ‘You’re so soft and round and full. You look like a woman is supposed to look. I could never look like you.’ Before I could tell her how beautiful I thought she was and how I admired her body, she took the sponge and drizzled warm water across my breasts. ‘Please tell me it’s alright.’

All I could do was whimper and nod, as the sponge moved down my sternum and under and around each of my heavy breasts in turn. Then she took up the soap. I sat hypnotized and wet in ways that had nothing to do with the bath as she lathered and cupped and kneaded my breasts until they looked like they were covered with a soapy white shirt. Then she pushed me back, until I lay with my head resting on the edge of the big tub, and she straddled me. Her soft curls brushed mine, as she drizzled water over my breasts and down my belly. She sponged me in soft caressing motions, moving ever lower onto my belly until I could no longer resist shifting and rocking my hips, grinding my arse into the unforgiving bottom of the tub. She was practically lying on top of me as she let go of the sponge and cupped my pubis with the palm of her hand.

‘Women smell of the sea as men never can,’ she breathed against my face. ‘I love that about women. With women I’m always close to the sea.’


 By Smut By the Sea Vol I Here:


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Shameless Selfie Sunday on the Fells

img_6093You might have noticed I spend a lot of time in the Lake District — every chance I get, in fact. And while you’re reading this, I’m on my way back from another exciting walking holiday in Lakeland. Since the new Lakeland Witches Box set just went up for preorder, I thought a Lakeland selfie might be just the ticket. Tara Stone, the leader of the Elemental Coven, always walks the fells when she needs to think. Honestly, I can’t imagine a more glorious place to clear your head. Based on this Shameless Selfie from the Lansdale Pikes, wouldn’t you agree?

BUT sometimes Tara gets more than she expects from her Lakeland walks. WAY more. Enjoy this little totally shameless excerpt from the third book in the Lakeland Series, Elemental Fire.



Elemental Fire Blurb:

Obsessed with revenge, KENNET LUCIAN makes a deal with a demon, a deal he comes to regret when he meets TARA STONE, head of the Elemental Coven, and a powerful witch with a desire for revenge at least as great as his. Even though the attraction between the two is magnetic and the lust combustive, Kennet must betray her to accomplish his goal, which is ultimately her goal as well; to put a final end to the demon, Deacon’s, reign of terror. But can Tara trust the man who has wormed his way into her heart and the heart of the Elemental Coven? Can she trust LUCIA, the demon with whom Kennet is allied, a demon with her own agenda. The path to Deacon’s destruction is far from clear, and the price that must be paid to be free of him forever may be too high, even for Tara Stone.


Excerpt: Encounter on the Fells:


She picked up the pace as she began her ascent, feeling the sweat break under her arms and low on her back. Then she picked up the pace again. Exhaustion was what she wanted, what she needed. She concentrated on her footing, navigating the loose rock of the ascent around Netting Haws, and that was a good thing. Right now, she’d do anything to keep her mind off Anderson’s loss and off the dream she couldn’t get rid of, even with Deacon in captivity.

By the time she reached the ridge between Maiden Moor and High Spy and followed it on to High Spy, she was hungry. She found a place on the moss just below the summit looking out over the broad, hulking shoulders of Dale Head and Hindscarth, separated from her by the deep abyss where Newlands Beck drained into the Newlands Valley far below. There she settled down, ate Fiori’s cookies, drank some water and lay back to look at the night sky. She hadn’t intended to fall asleep.

This time the dream was warm and sexy, and she found herself in a deep cave. She felt safe and comfortable. No one lakeland-witches-3-efcould touch her here. This was her domain. Caves were always her safe place, and they so often elicited a Pavlovian effect on her body. Caves were the place of powerful dream magic. Caves were the place where she always felt sexy by association. And even now, even in the Dream World, she felt deeply aroused, more so than she had since Anderson had been lost to her.

She undid her blouse and slid her hand inside to caress her breasts. It felt like for ever since she’d had a good fuck, and Goddess, she ached for her loss. As one hand tugged at her burgeoning nipples, the other worried open the fly of her walking trousers and slid down onto her mons. She’d left Elemental Cottage in a hurry, so there was no underwear to contend with. She stroked her soft curls for a few minutes, teasing, anticipating, her hips shifting and undulating against the ground. Then, when she could take it no longer, she slid two fingers deep into the gape of her pussy, wriggling and manoeuvring to where she was hottest and wettest. Just one stroke of her clit and she came in shudders and jerks. She hadn’t realised she’d been that desperate for relief. But she had been distracted lately.

It was then she noticed the exquisite woman with long golden hair sitting so close that her knees practically touched Tara’s ribs. It came as no surprise to her, though surely it should have, but then this was a dream, wasn’t it? The woman’s robe pooled around her and ebbed and flowed like fire.

‘You feel better now, do you not, my darling Tara?’ she asked. Her voice made Tara feel like she was melting into warm, delicious nothingness and seeping into the cave floor.

Tara nodded and moaned softly, for some reason unable to speak, for some reason just wanting to remain in the presence of this woman, whoever she was. It brushed her consciousness fleetingly that maybe she should be concerned about the strange woman in her dreams, but the thought passed quickly, and she lay quietly next to her.

‘Good,’ the woman said, stroking Tara’s hair away from her forehead. ‘I need you to feel better. All of us need you to feel better. We have work to do, and we cannot do it when you are mourning your losses.’ She nodded. ‘Yes, of course I know about your Anderson. And I know that you do not fuck the living. Such a foolish girl you are to deny yourself the very pleasure you so willingly offer the dead. Elemental Cottage is not a nunnery, my darling.’

She leaned down low and kissed Tara on the mouth. Her breath smelled like the fells in high summer. Then she tisk- tisked and gently stroked Tara’s pubic curls. ‘You need more than you can manage with your hand, my sweet girl, no matter how gifted you are in the arts of pleasure. You practise sex magic, surely you know this?’ She brushed slender fingers up Tara’s belly and over the mounds of her breasts. Tara arched up into her heated caresses. ‘Shall I bring you just what you need to make you feel better? Would you like that, my dear?’

Tara could only whimper and nod.

Once again she brushed Tara’s lips with hers, adding the slightest flick of her tongue, and for an instant the kiss felt predatory, devouring. Or had Tara only imagined it? ‘Do not worry, my love,’ the woman said as she pulled away. ‘I shall send you just what you need. Wait here, and rest a little.’ Then she disappeared leaving Tara to writhe and moan on the floor of the cave.

From far away someone shook her arm, someone called to her in distressed tones, trying to bring her back to the Waking World. But she didn’t want to go back. It was safe and warm and happy here. There was nothing but sadness in the Waking World. She just wanted to sleep here in the cave and wait for whoever the beautiful woman would bring to her.

But the shaking and jostling continued. She slapped the hand away, but it kept coming back to shake her. She was just ready to tell whoever it was to bugger off, when she opened her eyes and looked up to see the outline of a man leaning over her. Even in the darkness, the energy emanating from him was magnetic. Everything inside her tightened with anticipation, and Goddess, she wanted him. Surely she was still dreaming.

‘Are you all right?’ His voice vibrated through her chest and his touch felt electric, full of magic. ‘I thought you were dead, then I heard you moaning. I guess you were dreaming. I was worried and then …’

They both realised at the same time that her shirt was open and so were her trousers, and one hand still rested on her mons. She could feel the man’s gaze taking in the situation, and he twigged. ‘Oh shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise. I thought you were –’

‘I was! Dreaming, I mean.’ She quickly jerked her hand out of her trousers and tugged her open blouse across her bare breasts. ‘I was dreaming, and she said she’d send someone and …’ She blinked hard and looked around at the night sky. She couldn’t have been asleep long, but everything felt unreal, different. Was she still dreaming? Dreams could be so powerful at times, so confusing. She reached up to touch his face and felt a surge of magic – some new, some old. Some very old. Had she enfleshed a ghost because of her horny dream? When she walked at night, ghosts did sometimes follow her onto the fells in hopes that she would enflesh them and allow them to experience for a little while the pleasures afforded the living. And any other time she would happily oblige. But when she walked at night, she always sent them away. This was her place, her alone time. No one was welcome to disturb her here, and most ghosts knew that. Had she been that out of it? Was she that desperate for a fuck that her unconscious had broken her own rules?’

The man sat back on his haunches and looked down at her. In the darkness she could only make out his silhouette dominated by broad shoulders, but it was enough to make her own arousal spike. Certainly if she had enfleshed him, she couldn’t leave him in the state he was now, no doubt, in because of her.

He gave a little gasp of surprise when she off-balanced him, pulled him down to her and kissed him. ‘You shouldn’t have come here,’ she managed before she drew him into another kiss.

‘I might say the same about you,’ he replied.

Cheeky ghost, she thought, but she kissed him again. This time he returned the favour. And the power surge she felt went clear from her mouth down to the base of her spine and back again. His eyes fluttered, he gasped against her mouth, clearly feeling what she felt, and there was no disguising the press of his heavy erection against the fly of his walking trousers.

‘What the hell was that?’ She gasped, not entirely sure she wasn’t going to come just from their last kiss.

He pulled back from her with a start, one hand against his lips and the other resting low on his belly. ‘If you do that again, I can’t guarantee what will … If you do that again.’

For a tightly stretched second, they froze in each other’s gaze. Then she forced words up through her throat, struggling to breathe through her arousal. ‘I can’t … I need …’

‘Me too,’ he whispered. She couldn’t see the colour of his eyes in the darkness, but his gaze was baking hot against her.

Focus. Damn it, she needed to be able to focus, to think. She forced a deep breath and then they were both speaking at the same time.

‘I’m sorry … I didn’t … I wouldn’t …’

‘I don’t know what just happened,’ he gasped.

‘Me neither,’ she managed.

Then they were on each other. He yanked the clasp from her hair and clawed it free from the ponytail. She curled her fingers in the front of his shirt and pulled him on top of her, down between her open legs, lifting her hips, wrapping her ankles around his waist and thrusting up to meet him. The sounds coming from his throat were deep-chested, wild, and she wasn’t sure where his grunts and growls left off and hers began as he thrust and ground against her, shoving her arse into the soft moss with his efforts.

lakeland-witch-boxset-pre‘I need to get to you,’ he gasped, pulling away from her, tugging and fumbling at her trousers until they were down over her hips.

She toed one of her boots off and kicked it aside, and he lifted her leg free of the trousers while she pulled open his fly and slid her hand into his boxers until she could wrap her fingers around his heavy cock.

He gasped and pushed them away. ‘Don’t do that. I’ll come in your hand and I don’t want to come there.’ He trapped both her wrists above her head with a large hand while he nuzzled his way into her shirt and battled with his trousers until his butt was bare. Then he released her hands and kissed his way down her belly, shoving her legs further apart as he went, lowering his face, biting the inside of her left thigh just below the swell of her pussy. She yelped and drenched herself. He fingered her open and ran his tongue up from her perineum all the way to her clit and bit again. And she came, bellowing her orgasm into the cool night air.

‘I want you in me, I want you in me,’ she gasped, even before she could breathe again, even before the waves inside her had dissipated.

He positioned himself and pushed into her deep and hard and they both growled like angry wolves. She grabbed his

arse cheeks in an effort to pull him still deeper into her. He dug into the moss with his feet, shoved up onto his knees and lifted her until her shoulders rested in the moss and her hips were in the air, knees pressing upward against her breasts. Then he rolled with her and pulled her on top of him. With one trembling hand he shoved her blouse off her shoulders and her breasts bounced freely into his cupping fingers. With the other hand he expertly found her clit and, resting the flat of his palm on her mound, he stroked and rubbed with the pad of his thumb.

One wave of orgasm collapsed in on the next, like the waves breaking against the cliffs at St Bee’s Head. Then both of his hands settled to her hips and he thrust up, nearly bucking her off in his efforts to penetrate still deeper. His grip on her hips was bruising, and she slammed against him harder and harder with each thrust, emotions surged – emotions that she didn’t want to feel, emotions that she did want to feel, emotions that she had wanted to feel from the time she was a little girl. And somewhere in the midst of their thrusting and pushing, she realised that not all of the emotions were hers. But she couldn’t think, she couldn’t concentrate on anything but the in and out, push and shove, like a mantra, like a spell being woven in rhythm, in repetition, in sync. And then they both came, screaming and raging and rolling in the moss until he was once again on top of her, his weight feeling like the weight of the world, and yet at the same time feeling like a blanket protecting her from the depths of her own pain. How could this be? How could she ever experience anything like this with some strange horny ghost on the fells?

She found herself with a million questions, and yet by the time she caught her breath, she was fast asleep. To her total surprise, he had crossed the dream threshold and they were chasing the dream together.


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A Bit of Garden Porn for Shameless Selfie Sunday

IMG_5995Since The Psychology of Dreams finished a few weeks ago, (If you missed it, you can read it in its entirety by following the link.) I’ve decided it’s time to do something completely different on A Hopeful Romantic, with my Weekend Shameless Selfies. There’s always be bad selfie or photo of me, more than likely doing silly things, along with an excerpt from one of my back catalogue novels or novellas that’s somehow connected with the selfie.

And you guessed it! Tis the season for garden porn! I couldn’t think of a better choice for a sunny August weekend that Surrogates. So, indulge in some sweet, succulent summer fruit, let the juice drip down you chin while you read a truly filthy way to enjoy your courgettes.


WARNING! This is garden porn, so no holds barred. Enjoy the entire first chapter!


Surrogates Blurb:

DANIEL ALEXANDER III takes his marriage vows seriously. Until he gets the balls to ask his wife, BEL, for a divorce, watching each other masturbate is all he can offer his beautiful gardener, FRANCIE CARTER. But when Dan’s friend, SIMON PARIS, agrees to be his surrogate, affairs of the heart get complicated.


Surrogates: Chapter One

‘Francie? Francie, are you there?’surrogates 2
Dan made his way around behind the jungle of runner beans, getting a shoeful of

soil when he stepped off the path. As the warm, moist earth infiltrated his dress socks, he would have cursed his clumsiness, but then he saw her on hands and knees, the swell of her hips slightly raised in her efforts to pull stubborn weeds. She didn’t have to do that. She was the head kitchen gardener, a goddess in her domain. He hired underlings to do the weeding, but fuck, he was glad she took the hands-on approach, especially at times like this. She had kicked off the silly blue plastic gardening clogs she always wore, and her bare toes curled into the soft earth as though the very touch of it was an irresistible pleasure. How could soil between toes be so goddamned sexy?

The thin summer skirt she wore barely covered the heart-shaped roundness of her bottom, hugging her and clinging in the heavy summer heat to the delicious juncture where her thighs met. There were clearly no panty lines. She gardened in skirts, like she wanted to expose herself, like the acts of planting and digging and cultivating made her a naughty bitch who couldn’t get enough. But then that was the way he saw her in his fantasies, and oh shit, did he have fantasies about her! His cock jerked with an insistence that nearly took his breath away. ‘There you are,’ he breathed, fingers already fumbling at his fly.

‘Go away. I’m busy,’ she said, giving some unfortunate weed an angry tug, an act that made the thin skirt quiver, made the firm muscles of her buttocks beneath clench and release. And his balls surged, sending a testosterone buzz clear to the crown of his head.


He ignored the anger in her voice. Well, he didn’t actually ignore it. Her saucy temper made his cock even harder. ‘It’s all right, darling, you keep on working. Just lift your skirt for me.’ He grunted softly as he released his cock into his hand.

‘Lift it yourself. I said I’m busy.’
‘You know I can’t do that, sweetheart.’
She growled something particularly feral under her breath. He figured it wasn’t fit

for polite company, which made him wish all the more that he’d heard it.
‘I’ve got such a load for you. I’ll come all over it if you don’t lift it for me,’ he


‘I have other skirts, Daniel.’ She only called him Daniel when she was really angry. ‘Why do I care where you come?’

‘Because you know where I really want to come, darling, and you have to know how badly I want it.’ He moved slightly to one side, not so far that her magnificent bottom wasn’t the centre of his attention, but far enough that, in her peripheral vision, she might catch a glimpse of him stroking his cock. Even if she couldn’t, she knew what he was doing, and he had no intention of being quiet about it. He lifted his balls free from his boxers and groaned at the feel of himself, so full, so heavy for her.

She gave another angry yank at the offending weeds, and the resulting squeeze of her buttocks nearly sent him over the edge.

He spat on his hand noisily, rubbed his saliva over the length of his cock and groaned again, squinting at her exquisite backside as though if he just stared at it hard enough he could slide the skirt up over her hips with sheer desire. And the view would be magnificent. The way her knees were open, the way she braced herself on the garden mat,


would showcase the tight dark bud of her anus nestled just above the splayed pout of her pussy. And her pussy, he had no doubt, would be slickened from knowing what he was doing, from knowing what he’d come for, what he so desperately wanted … needed.

‘You were with her, weren’t you? You were with your wife,’ she said, reaching a gloved hand to deposit a handful of weeds in the trug next to her, an act that made the skirt ride up even further, leaving him breathless.

‘What? No! I wasn’t. I promise. I had a meeting with my accountant that overran. I swear it, Francie darling. I haven’t seen Bel since I got home. Besides she’s staying over at her sister’s this evening. They’re having a girls’ night out. Sweetheart, you know if I were with her, I’d tell you. Haven’t I always been above board about what goes on between Bel and me?’

She knew he had. Not that there was much to tell, but on the odd occasion when Bel had had too much wine with dinner and demanded he do his husbandly duty, or when she was feeling morose about her advancing years, all thirty-four of them, and needed to be shown she was still sexy, he never lied about it. It didn’t matter what sex acts he’d had to perform to please his wife; when Francie asked for details, he gave them. A part of him hated that she always asked. Surely she knew it would be easier if she didn’t know, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. And he didn’t hold back anything, even though he was always careful to remind her that, when he did his duty where Bel was concerned, it was thinking about her, Francie, that made him come.

And all the while he told Francie what he’d done to Bel, told her details that made him blush, details that made his cock stretch and arch towards her, she listened while her cunt got slick and fat. Even as those details made her angry and unhappy, she asked for


IMG_5999them. And while he told her, she played with herself, fingers darting furiously in and out between her heavy slippery folds, hips shifting and grinding as she asked him in clipped, breathless words for more details. What did Bel’s pussy look like? How did she smell? Could he taste the wine she’d drunk or the spices from Cook’s curry when he ate her out? How hard did her nipples get? Did she talk dirty when he pushed into her? Jesus, having sex with Bel, even though he knew it hurt Francie, was almost worth it to watch the way Francie took the pain, twisted it, turned it, reshaped it and came on it, came in lovely gushing female squirts at what she had made of it in her filthy little head.

Of course she didn’t like it that someone else got his cock while she only got to watch him wank. He didn’t like it either, but there was nothing for it at the moment. As much as he wanted Francie, as much as he dreamed of riding her raw, he was still married to Bel, and he would stay faithful until he got the balls to ask for a divorce. No matter how badly he wanted Francie, he could never behave towards Bel the way his father had towards his mother.

So why was he such a coward? People got divorced every day. Lots of people. Hell, he knew people who had already been married and divorced multiple times. It was a simple thing to ask for a divorce these days. And yet here he was like a damned adolescent begging for a peek under a girl’s skirt. ‘Please, darling,’ he said. ‘I don’t have a lot of time, and I want to spend what I do have with you.’

He saw the sigh shiver up through her body, and he knew he’d been forgiven. She knelt up enough to take off her gloves, then with one hand she eased the skirt up over her hips and wriggled slightly to open her legs a little wider on the mat.


He pressed his thumb to the head of his cock. The urge to come at the sight of her all engorged and open was nearly overwhelming. The pearlescent sheen on the inside of her pouting labia told him he wasn’t the only one who needed to come. As she arched her back downward and forced her bottom even higher, her clit came into view looking like a heavy swollen marble at the apex of her pussy. ‘Oh, Francie,’ he breathed, ‘touch it for me.’

She dipped her index and middle fingers in between her slick folds then drew them upward tightly against either side of her clit until it bulged still further, like soft, ripe fruit waiting to be nibbled. And, fuck, how he wished he could!

‘Do you like that?’ she murmured, glancing over her shoulder.
‘Oh God, yes,’ he grunted.
‘I thought you weren’t going to show. I was angry,’ she said. ‘Oh, I definitely had

plans for the vegetables I was sending Cook for your dinner tonight.’ She nodded at the basket of mixed phallic veg sitting on the ground next to her.

His cock jerked. ‘Show me,’ he whispered. ‘Show me what you were going to do to my veg.’

She took a heavy courgette slightly thicker than his cock, crooked and arched nearly in the shape of a banana. She gave it a leisurely deep-throating that had him thumbing the underside of his cock again, that had him imagining how it would feel if it were him getting the benefit of her delicious tongue. Her cheek muscles tugged and pulled on the courgette like it was a rod of steel.

When she was absolutely certain she had his full attention, she repositioned herself to face him. She wriggled her bare arse down on to the mat with her legs splayed.


With one hand she scrunched her skirt into a wad just below her navel, raking her long slender hand over tightly
trimmed pubic curls, then she slid two fingers into her milky cunt and opened herself. With a little lifting of her buttocks and shifting of her hips she was ready. She snugged the hard jut of the courgette up tight against her reluctant pout.

Suddenly it was as though he weren’t even there, and that made it all the harder for him to hold his wad. She spat on her fingers and rubbed saliva around the place where the courgette met the tight press of her cunt hole. As though the task at hand demanded all the focus in the world, she alternately lubricated and pushed, lubricated and pushed, all the while making tight little grunting sounds low in her belly. He couldn’t take his eyes off the slow but relentless yielding of her grudging pussy to the press of the veg. With each push, with each shift, her clit marbled and beaded harder and harder just above the nudging of the courgette. She continued to push and stroke, push and stroke until at last her pussy hole yielded, her eyes fluttered and she caught her breath in a little gasp as the veg slid cock-deep into her gash.

‘Ah!’ she breathed. ‘That’s better. That’s just what I needed. Such a tight fit, but oh so yummy.’ Then she raised her eyes to meet his and offered him a smile that was almost shy. ‘Now I’m ready to come.’ Fingers still wet from her efforts with the veg, she undid the buttons of her sundress, releasing high firm breasts topped with heavy raspberry nipples into the pinching, kneading caress of one hand.

‘I don’t know about you –’ she grunted as she began to thrust and gyrate against the veg ‘– but I won’t be able to hold back long with all this heft up in my tight little fanny. And when I’m done coming, I’ll let you take the veg to the house for Cook. That way if you want to sneak a taste of my cunt, who’ll know?’ With each breathless thrust


she lifted her arse off the gardening mat, giving him teasing glimpses of her gripping anus, and she knew exactly what he was looking at. She offered a throaty chuckle. ‘Maybe next time I’ll let you watch me shove a nice plump carrot back there. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

He only nodded. This was the point in their wank sessions where he always fell silent, too taken in by the heat of her, by the want of her, by the knowing that this was as much as he could allow himself of her, no matter how willing she was. He yanked at his cock like it was a wild thing he had to tame. He yanked until it hurt, and he kneaded his balls, feeling the surge at the base all ready to spill out on to the warm earth in front of Francie. It was the best he had to offer her right now, his humiliation, his need, his lust once removed.

She fell back on to the ground with a little cry, legs apart, offering him an exquisite view of the tremors of her orgasm tightly stretched around the courgette. The view, combined with the ripe scent of her, was more than he could endure, and he unloaded in heavy spurts on to the ground scant centimetres from her bare thigh. He unloaded till he thought he’d turn himself inside out, convulsing and grunting until he was spent, bent forward on his knees in the veg bed next to her, gasping and gulping for breath.

It was almost enough to give him the courage to ask Isabel for a divorce. He was sure he could almost do it after such erotic bliss, and what a lovely surprise it would be for Francie. But before he could verbalise that bliss, Bel’s voice rang out over the garden wall.

‘Dan? Dan, are you there?’ Fortunately they heard her before she found them.


Francie cursed under her breath, grabbed the basket and fled into the greenhouse.

With a painful effort, Dan shoved his cock into his trousers and kicked at the earth to bury the evidence. ‘Coming, Bel.’ He fought hard not to sound breathless as his wife, dressed in tight jeans and a vest that showed plenty of her ample cleavage, stepped through the gate. He forced a smile. ‘I thought you were at your sister’s for the night, sweetheart.’

‘We had to cancel. She’s down with some sort of stomach virus.’ She grimaced. ‘God knows, I don’t need that.’ She took IMG_5998his arm. ‘I’ll be keeping you company this evening, darling. I thought maybe we’d make our own entertainment a little later. My massage therapist says sex is great for keeping the skin looking young. She says you’d be surprised at all the health benefits of an active sex life.’

Dan gave a quick glance over his shoulder, hoping desperately that Francie hadn’t overheard, but she had disappeared.

Bel continued. ‘Cook told me you were out here, so I thought I’d come down and have Francie send up a few more veg for dinner. During my massage today, Ellen also told me that we’d both benefit from eating more veg. She says a diet full of veg is the next best thing to the fountain of youth.’ She gestured exuberantly. ‘She says veg and sex are the keys to health and vitality. She says Francie probably grows most of the veggie superfoods right here in her garden.’ She looked around. ‘Where is Francie anyway? You haven’t seen her, have you?

Buy Surrogates Here:

Amazon UK
Amazon US
Amazon AU
Amazon CA
Barnes & Noble
iBooks UK
iBooks US

“Full of quirky characters, kinky sex, unusual settings and clever writing, Surrogates is definitely an erotic romance novella I’d recommend if you’re looking for something a little different.” Erotica For All


“This was an exciting and sexy read at the turn of every page, with a storyline that was so original it was brilliant. If you want a fun, fast read with great character flow and connection and hot sex on almost every page this is for you.” Midnight Boudoir


“Surrogates is the perfect novel for any erotica reader out there… hot, sexy, sensual… it definitely defines erotica it in it’s own right. K.D Grace is one amazing author whose novels simply should be devoured!” A Redheads Guilty Reads

“There are plenty of hot hot sex scenes and a case of mistaken identity and misunderstandings. It is a fun and quick read. Overall, very well written. The characters come alive on the pages and they feel real. I recommend it to anyone who likes short, erotic tales and who aren’t put off by some f/f action and threesomes.” Hearts on Fire Reviews


“Surrogates is full of tongue in cheek comedy, and has just the right amount of erotica to fill readers minds with accounts of how both Daniel and Bel get their orgasms. This is a voyeur’s version of heaven.” 5 out of 5, Love Romance Passion


Shameless Selfie Sunday: Some Boots are Made for Walking and some are just Kinky

raymond 018

Since The Psychology of Dreams finished last week, (If you missed it, you can read it in its entirety by following the link.) I’ve decided it’s time to do something completely different on A Hopeful Romantic, so hold on to your hats. I’m beginning a new series of weekend blogs that I’m  calling My Weekend Shameless Selfies. They will feature a bad selfie or photo of me, more than likely doing silly things, along with an excerpt from one of my back catalogue novels or novellas that’s somehow connected with the selfie.

This Sunday I’m talking boots, Kinky Boots. Okay, so I get it, my scruffy sweaty walking boots are not exactly Kinky Boots, but they were definitely in part the boots that inspired my novella, Kinky Boots, and let’s face it, I do get a lot of my inspiration while traipsing the countryside in a pair of walking boots, so that being said, my walking boots can be pretty kinky at times.

Enjoy the first chapter of Kinky Boots.


Kinky Boots Blurb:

After a sizzling encounter in KINKY BOOTS, a quirky all-night shoe store, with the store’s hot owner, FINN MASTERS, JILL HART walks away in the most gorgeous boots ever. Her new boots come with an unexpected bonus, a sexy demon named ELEANOR, who’s looking for a good time. All she lacks is a body, and Jill’s will do nicely.

Jill quits her dead-end job and, not knowing what’s come over her stops by the nearest pub intent on doing tequila shots until she falls off the stool. Instead she does FINN MASTERS in the beer garden, unwittingly participating in her first ever threesome. The boots were the bait, the timing was right and Eleanor has new digs. It’s Finn job to prevent Eleanor’s misbehaving. His failure means he’ll have to ride shotgun and do damage control until Eleanor moves out at the next full moon.

With Eleanor in residence, Jill’s bolder, sexier, willing to take risks. But is she a whole new Jill, or is it just demon courage? And how will Finn feel about her when she’s just plain Jill again? Will the maddeningly magical ménage make Jill’s dreams come true, or will it break her heart?


Kinky Boots Chapter 1

A girls’ night out with Vivie usually ended up a solo act for Jill. It always started out with the best intentions, but then Kinky_BootsVivie would hook up with someone hot, shag his brains out and call Jill all apologetic the next morning, or whenever the hangover wore off. Every time Jill promised herself she wouldn’t let it happen again. But she could never say no to Vivie.

This time they’d gotten separated at the Bluu Bar just off Hoxton Square. Jill figured Vivie and tall-dark-and-dressed-for-success — who had at least been polite enough to buy them both a drink before he whisked Vivie away — were probably occupying one of the benches in the square having a good grope. From there they would graduate to his flat or hers, possibly even the nearest alley if they couldn’t wait that long. Vivie was a bit of an exhibitionist. Crowded into a standing-room-only corner next to the bar, Jill finished her wine then texted Vivie that she was going out for some air.

It wasn’t supposed to be a late night. Her twat of a boss had informed her an hour before quitting time that he needed her to work tomorrow. More like he needed her to do his work tomorrow. He’d been sniffing around the new receptionist every chance he got. It didn’t take a genius to figure their habitual two-hour lunch breaks had nothing to do with business or lunch. He boned the pert-titted receptionist, and Jill got fucked.

Still, she was in Shorditch on a Friday night. If she were going to end up alone, she couldn’t think of any place she’d rather be. It was easy to get caught up in the excitement along the streets lined with bars and clubs and interesting shops. She loved the higgledy-piggledy architecture that often involved glass and steel in the personal space of very accommodating Victorian brick and stone which had already gone through who knew how many marriages of convenience before. All around the concrete ugliness of the sixties groped and nuzzled solicitously at streets that could have come straight from a Sherlock Holms novel. It was a great patchwork of a place, heaving with frenetic humanity all bound and determined to enjoy the hell out of every last drunken, chaotic, celebratory second of the weekend. She was jostled by the enthusiastic spill-over of people with drinks and fags in front of Juno. A hen party pushed past into an off-license. People on the busy pavements crowded onto the narrow side streets impeding the odd taxi or limo. Jill hadn’t walked terribly far before she realized two things; her feet were killing her in the suicide shoes she’d borrowed at Vivie’s insistence, and she was feeling very disoriented, not entirely sure where she was. She blinked and looked around to find herself wandering along Shorditch High Street.

She half stepped and was half shoved into the entryway of a shop to avoid a handful of blokes in Chelsea football jerseys ambling by laughing drunkenly. As she leaned against the rough brick to slip out of the murderous shoes and wriggle her brutalised toes against the paving tiles, the irony wasn’t lost on her that she found herself standing in front of a shoe store. Kinky Boots the softly back-lit sign informed her in elegant gothic script. Underneath in smaller letters it read, Wicked Vintage Shoes. In spite of the late hour, the place was open.

She hadn’t planned to go in. But when she leaned against the door, balancing herself to slip back into the vicious bite of the red stilettoes, it swung open wide. Quickly she straightened herself and glanced around to make sure no one had noticed her less than elegant move. Then there was nothing to do but act like she intended to come right on in. And the thought of a cheap pair of comfy shoes to walk back home in sound like a pretty good idea.

The shop smelled deliciously of well-worn leather and shoe polish with a base note of strong coffee. Immediately she found herself nose to toe with a row of vintage-looking kitten heels flanked by a sexy display of thigh-high boots ranging in style from BDSM du jour to Goth on steroids to sassy sex goddess. She would be the first to admit that fashion was not her forte. But it was very much Vivie’s, thus the enforced suffering of her aching feet.

‘May I help you?’

She looked up to meet the questioning gaze of the store clerk, and couldn’t hold back a little yelp at his unexpected nearness. He glanced at the killer heels, which she still held in one hand, then down at her feet and offered a knowing smile.

‘Just thought I’d stop in for a look.’

She tried to slip gracefully back into the shoes, but he took them from her hand. ‘Leave them off.’ The slight gruffness of his voice was deliciously tactile, rubbing up against her like raw silk. ‘I can see your poor feet need a break.’ He motioned for her to follow him into the bowels of the store right in deep between the high racks of shoes and boots and sandals and mules and old and new and quirky and just plain strange. And in the midst of all the funky, freaky, fantastic footwear, there wasn’t a single pair of trainers or Uggs or Crocks to be found. He guided her to sit in a Queen Anne chair upholstered in pale blue chintz.

‘Are you alright?’ He knelt in front of her and sat the shoes down next to the chair.

‘I’m fine,’ she said. Then she offered a nervous laugh ‘Other than my feet.’

He settled back onto his heels. ‘When women come in here alone at this hour, they’ve usually come over from Juno or the Office after an argument with their bloke. Of course there are a fair few who’ve simply had enough dancing the night away in ill-fitting shoes.’ He offered her a smile that made her feel warm down low in her belly. ‘There’s a reason I keep my shop open after hours on weekends.’ He nodded down at her aching feet.

‘It was a girls’ night out,’ she said. ‘That’s why I’m alone, I mean. We got separated.’ He didn’t need to know that her friend was getting shagged and she wasn’t. ‘These aren’t even my shoes. I borrowed them from my friend Vivie’ She nodded down to the little red feet killers. ‘Well, she insisted, actually. And the skirt too.’ She felt stupid for telling him that. Could she make it any more obvious that she was clueless when it came to fashion and dressing to impress the opposite sex?

He glanced fleetingly at the skirt, and she was suddenly aware of just how short it was, and just how much he could see from his position if he really tried. ‘The skirt, I like,’ he said. ‘However, wearing another person’s shoes is not a safe thing to do.’ The lines of his face hardened. His lips were suddenly set tight as though he were warning her about a serial killer on the loose. When he smiled up at her, his eyes reminded her of the sea that lapped at the cliffs around Tintagel neither blue, nor grey, nor green, none of those colours, yet all of those colours.

The clerk lifted her right foot into his hand. She tried to squirm away but he held her firmly flashing her a concerned glance from under a drawn brow. ‘You could have seriously injured your feet walking around Shorditch at night in someone else’s shoes.’

The skirt she wore was a denim mini, and the way he sat between her legs made her feel exposed, vulnerable, and something a lot more yummy. As he ran his thumbs up her instep and over the pad of her foot, she shifted in the chair sliding down to accommodate his inspection.

‘Shoes are so important. They protect our feet, our soles, the only part of us that regularly contacts the earth. They allow us that intimate connection with our planet while at the same time keeping us safe from it.’ He continued his inspection of her feet, hands moving gently over her arch to the ball then to her toes as he cupped her heel in a warm hand. ‘No two people’s soles contact the earth in the same way.’

Her pulse thudded at the enthusiasm of his little speech which, along with his gentle inspection of her feet, felt shockingly intimate, even more so than if he had actually peeked up her skirt. His actions were having a cumulative effect low between her hip bones. ‘Maybe you could sell me something a little more suited to me.’ Her words rushed out breathless and unsteady.

He placed both hands on his thighs and looked up at her. ‘Did you have a pair in mind?’

She gave a quick glance around the store, and her eyes lit on a pair of mauve boots that came up just over the ankle, low on the calf. They sported delicate kitten heels and were threaded with sage green laces that looked more like ribbons, ‘How about those,’ she said. Then she blushed fiercely. They were lovely, elegant, and any idiot could see, totally not suited for someone like her. ‘Or maybe something a little more practical.’ She avoided his gaze. ‘A little less flashy.’

Ignoring her second thoughts, he stood and walked to the rack. She couldn’t keep from noticing how nicely his butt filled out his jeans. She could imagine that arse had sold more than a few pairs of shoes to women who liked a good view. It was then she realized he had taken the boots straight off the display. ‘I’m hard to fit,’ she said as he knelt in front of her and unlaced one boot.

‘Trust me–’ he smiled up at her, opened the boot and offered it to her like Cinderella’s Prince Charming ‘– I can fit you just fine.’

Everything in her went warm and liquid. Her breath caught at the feel of the leather as he guided the boot up over her heel. ‘I’ve never felt anything so soft,’ she said. ‘And they’re so pretty.’

‘Shoes should be a sensual experience,’ he said moving his large hands up to cup her calf while he settled the boot into place. Then his agile fingers began to work the laces, plucking at them, caressing them, stroking them almost as though he were making music on them, like they were some exotic stringed instrument of leather and lace. And though she couldn’t quite hear the melody, she felt the reverberation of his plucking and threading beneath the hem of the short skirt and all the way up into the moistening crotch of her panties.

‘Nice, huh?’

It took her a second to realise he was responding to her response. God, was she actually moaning? And please, surely she wasn’t grinding her bottom against the chintz. The blush flashed hot across her chest, but then instead of heading for her face, it headed south, settling against her clit with a heated, unexpected nip. And her moan became a yelp, just a tiny one, but a yelp nonetheless. She would have apologized, she would have died of embarrassment and fallen completely through the chair, but he was already working on the other boot, strategically sitting between her legs, breath slightly accelerated, and … Surely she was mistaken. But as he shifted to cup her calf and smooth the second boot against her leg, there was no disguising the hard-on growing inside the front of his jeans.

Her pussy clenched in appreciation. It felt heavy and pouting as though it were begging for his attention from where it nestled just barely covered by a scrap of denim and a bit of satin. ‘You like your work,’ she managed, not actually looking at his crotch, but not actually looking away from it either.

‘Very much,’ he said, working the laces through his nimble fingers, making no attempt to hide his boner.

Was it her imagination or could she actually smell him now? It was not deodorant, not soap, that she smelled but maleness. It was like baked bread and desert heat with some moist thick base note that she felt at the back of her throat rather than smelled. It made her hold her mouth slightly open to take in the fullness of his scent, like a cat taking in the scent of a rival or a possible mate.

Was it her imagination, or could she actually feel his breath against the place where her thighs rested on the chair, teasing just at the edge of her skirt. The growing dampness she now felt in her knickers was definitely not her imagination.

For a moment she closed her eyes, shutting out the precision movements of his fingers and the view of his body hunched almost protectively between her legs. Then she allowed herself to take in the picture of him that her other senses were painting so exquisitely. She heard the catch and slide of his breath, felt the velvet flutter of it raising goose flesh on the soft skin of her inner thighs. She inhaled the complex olfactory portrait of him, the scent emanating from his arm pits, his pulse points and the place where his cock strained in its tight confinement. She could feel his skin on hers as his fingers brushed her calf. It all created a picture of him almost as vivid as the one she had seen.

She opened her eyes just in time to watch him carefully, precisely, rhythmically tie the bow in the lace of the second boot. And as he tugged the looped ends snug against the knot, she felt a ripple up both legs that accelerated and intensified as it raced up between her thighs. It continued along her spine flashing red hot behind her eyes, leaving a plum coloured after-image of the clerk’s engrossed face.

She yelped and jerked in the chair, and the vertebrae in her neck pop. ‘Did you feel that?’ She was a hairs breadth away from tumbling into orgasm, and the man had done nothing more than lace her boots. He nodded, holding her gaze. His pupils were dilated, his breathing was fast. For a second neither of them moved. Time itself didn’t even move, like everything was holding its breath, like everything was waiting, just barely able to contain the anticipation, the excitement.

Then the world exploded back into real time, and she shoved her way out of the chair and onto the clerk who was still settled on his knees between her legs. He tumbled backward against the floor with a guttural sound somewhere between a groan and a growl just managing to adjust his position as she ground her way onto his lap, straddling his groin. The skirt had ridden up over her hips, and the crotch of her panties was the only thing preventing her wet pussy from making a sticky trail over the tell-tale bulge in his jeans.

Before he could say anything, she took his mouth in a clash of lips and teeth and tongue. He was more than accommodating, tongue darting, lips tugging in an effort that quickly escaped the confines of her mouth to nibble down over her jaw and wage a humid, ticklish assault on her nape, every nip of which she felt between her legs. He made quick work of her buttons, then shoved her blouse open and slid a bra strap aside to lift her right breast free to his cupping and kneading, free to be ravaged by his very expressive mouth. ‘I shouldn’t be doing this,’ he whispered against her breast. ‘Not during working hours.’

‘But I need to come,’ she said, then gasped and shuddered as he bit her nipple. ‘I’ll never make it back home like this. Don’t force me to diddle myself in an alley’

‘I’m supposed to be selling shoes, not fucking my customers.’

‘You are selling shoes.’ She wriggled her toes in her boots. ‘See. And who says we have to fuck?’

He offered a wicked chuckle, then rolled with her, and when he was on top, he lifted her legs around his hips so that his still-clothed erection raked between her still- pantied pussy lips. ‘You’re absolutely right. We don’t have to fuck,’ he said, looking down at her with his ocean changeable eyes. ‘I always try to satisfy my customers.’ Then he shifted his hips until his girth ploughed a trough right in between the spread of her labia, pressing her panties tight into her wet folds, the fabric binding with a little hitch right against the swell of her clit as he ground and thrust.

She scrambled to meet him with her own thrust upward, and when she did so, when her hips were off the floor, he slipped both hands into the legs of her panties from behind and grabbed her bum cheeks in kneading fistfuls. His thumbs alternately slid teasingly over the puckered clench and release of her anus.

She dug her booted heels in just above the waste of his jeans for a better grip.

His whole body was tight, ridged, like it might shatter with the next thrust. The tighter his body became, the more liquid hers became until she feared the imminent flood would dissolve her into nothing more than a tidal pool of wet, simmering girl juice.

Each time he thrust she raised her legs a little higher, like she was climbing his body. Each time she raised her legs, his grip on her arse became more possessive, more demanding. The friction was maddening down where clothing rubbed against clothing, and what was underneath felt the heat like flint and steel waiting for the spark. And when the spark came, it ignited a flash fire that left them both growling and straining like animals in rut. The orgasm that started in her cunt snaked up her spine and short circuited her brain just before it slid down all the way to the tips of her toes in her soft leather boots. Then it curled itself around her like a warm embrace and finally settled between her hipbones like something smug, like something self-assured, like something completely at home there.

After that, it all happened at once. Her Blackberry buzzed with a worried message from Vivie. Where was she? Was she alright? The phone on the counter rang and the clerk, with his now wet jeans, scrambled to answer it.

‘What do you mean Eleanor’s missing?’ He spoke in hushed tones while making an effort to straighten himself. ‘You know what night it is. You were supposed to keep an eye on her. You know how she is.’ His voice had become a hiss close to the receiver, though he forced an embarrassed smile in Jill’s direction, trying to make her feel more comfortable, no doubt.

But she didn’t feel uncomfortable. In fact, she felt rather delicious. She wasn’t sure why his obvious stress didn’t bother her. She wasn’t sure why she suddenly felt like the cat who just ate the cream. And she wasn’t sure why she wasn’t second guessing what had just happened. Instead she offered him a seductive smile, blew him an even more seductive kiss, turned in her lovely new boots and walked out the door. She didn’t know why she ignored him, when he slammed the phone down and called after her. And did she hear right? Did he actually call her Eleanor? How utterly strange?

Even though it wasn’t a long walk from Shorditch High Street to her flat, she settled herself in the back of a taxi and was still straightening and buttoning when her Blackberry buzzed again with another frantic message from Vivie. She texted back.

No worries, love! Had totally fab time, & the fun is just beginning.

            J x


Bought sexy new boots.

She giggled as she remembered she hadn’t paid for them. No probs. It would give her an excuse to see the yummy clerk again. And next time she would fuck him. Hard.

She signed the text E xx



Download Kinky Boots Here:

Amazon UK
Amazon US
Amazon AU
Amazon CA
Barnes & Noble




“I really enjoyed the plot of the book and how Jill not only became adventurous in the bedroom department but was more confidant too, she told people what she wanted and she got it. It was written really well and I can’t wait to read another book written by KD Grace.” 5 out of 5, Stressed Rach

“This book by K.D. Grace, whom I’m just discovering as a erotica writer and am really liking, is fabulous! It’s a quick read, spicy, and fun. Who doesn’t need a little spicy in their day?” 5 out of 5, ChantelC

“I really liked the way the story was told with Kinky Boots. Who knew that a Lust Demon would possess someone through a pair of boots. I loved how Jill and Finn got together… It was a great book and well written.” 5 out of 5, Book Crazy Reviews

“KD has a knack of pulling us right into the heart of the plot where we can hear, see and imagine the scenes before us easily. What sets Kinky Boots apart from hundreds of others is the way KD has added the sensitivity between the three of them, these scenes were not only rampant and wanting but tender and loving making the scenes between them so believable and all the more hot and sexy. It’s a fun, creative idea with a fab ending.” Midnight Boudoir

“This is the second book I have read by K.D. Grace, and it will not be my last.  With a sense of enjoyment of one another for all characters, in and out of the bedroom, tenderness and some truly sensual scenes that tug at emotional heartstrings, her smooth writing brings something for every reader.” The Jeep Diva

“The settings and characters are super well developed and the sexy scenes are sizzling! This book is incredible and the plot is totally original… I loved it!! I will be reading it over and over again!” 5 out of 5, Not Now… Mommy’s Reading

“This is one sexy, sexy read. Short enough to read in one sitting but long enough to give you all the story you desire, the dynamic between all the players was fantastic and the trust that Jill gave Finn and Eleanor was well done.” Reading the Paranormal





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© 2018 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

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