All posts by K D Grace

Meditations on Laundry

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“We went through a lot of workout clothes this week,” I say. Raymond is making coffee and I’m folding clothes in front of the drying rack that clutters our kitchen whenever we do laundry. Sometimes it clutters our kitchen all week long until I finally get around to folding the clean clothes and putting them away. However this week I am making a virtuous effort to get everything ironed and put away by Wednesday.

“We’ve had extra workouts this week,” he says as we both listen to the satisfying gurgle of the mocha maker sitting on the cooker.

clothes_basket “Both your gees are clean and ironed, all ready for Saturday.” I nod to the pristine karate uniforms hanging over the kitchen door. He teaches a karate class on Saturdays in Sutton and goes into London for a workout in the morning as well.

“Thanks.” He says, getting out the coffee cups. Raymond doesn’t iron, but he makes kick-ass coffee and a mean bowl of oatmeal. “Are you going in with me to walk?”

“I plan to.” I just happen to be folding the breathable Eddie Bauer shirt I wore last week when Emma Louise Burbidge and I walked the London Parks, and I smile at the memory. I don’t smile at the memory of the ratty tank top I wear whenever I do the roots of my hair between visits to the hairdresser – always something I put off until I start getting skunk strip down the centre of my part. I fold it hastily and put it in the basket. Interesting that I take care in folding the clothes that I have fond memories of wearing recently, and not so much with the ones I don’t.

Raymond hands me the coffee just in time as I turn my attention to the frustrating task of folding his myriad black socks. The thing is, he has a gazillion pairs and they’re all look almost but not quite exactly a like. They’re just different enough to make matching them a real nightmare. Some have different coloured toes, some are ribbed differently and there are at least three kinds that are identical except for the ribbing on the cuffs which varies in width by millimeters. I hate folding men’s black socks. This morning he has mercy on me and takes the task off my hands so I can return to the pleasure of folding the history of our week told in laundry.

“You’ve got a rip there on the sleeve,” I say, holding up a blue shirt. “And the collar’s getting tatty. I think we should retire this one.”

He studies it for a moment and nods his agreement. “I caught it on the corner of the filing cabinet in the printer room. Something needs to be done about that.”

“You know, every week we can detail the past week’s history in our clean laundry,” I say. In our dirty laundry too, I think, but I’d rather not think about that so much reminded of the ripe load of workout clothes I put in with extra detergent on long cycle.

Writing image He gives me The Look – the one he always does when he thinks possibly meds might be requires. Then he nods to my coffee cup, because clearly I haven’t had enough caffeine yet this morning.

“No, seriously. Look” I pull a pair of his blue workout shorts off the rack. “Remember kettle bells last week?”

“That was a killer,” he says with a smile that says he likes kettle bells class best when it’s a killer.

“And look, those walking trousers — I wore those in to try on new boots at the North face shop, but they didn’t have my size. Then I got ‘em muddy on the walk to Newland’s corner the day after.

“And that long-sleeve t-shirt there,” I nodded to a faded red V-neck. “I wore that last Wednesday when the house was like a deep freeze and I was trying to finish up the week’s edition of In The Flesh for my blog. I wore that blue hoodie too and spilled tea on it in the process, and then I got toothpaste on it that
evening when I brushed my teeth before bed.”

“I guess you’re right,” he says, looking around at our partially folded history lesson. “I never thought of it that way.

Neither had I, but there have to be a thousand stories in people’s laundry – dirty or clean. My laundry mostly tells the story of someone who writes and works from home, someone who walks a lot and works out a lot. Raymond’s tells the story of a man working in management, seeing clients, catching up on never-ending reports. They tell the story of a man who loves martial arts and loves being active. Sometimes there are travel stories, like the stain from some exotic sauce acquired while entertaining clients in a seafood restaurant in Alexandria. Sometimes there are anatomy stories, like the way his socks wear on the heels while mine wear out on the bottoms. We both threw away a couple pairs of socks after we’d finished the Coast to Coast walk a few years ago. I wear high socks when the weather’s cold and I’m sitting on my arse spending long hours in with my characters. I wear short light socks in the gym.

The point is that the stories of our lives and the fodder for the stories of lives I make up can unfold – or
fold, in this case – in unexpected ways. Perhaps Raymond was actually using his martial arts skills to raymond 018fight off spies who infiltrated the copy room to steal company secrets. Perhaps that’s how he ripped his shirt. Perhaps I woke up this morning and found myself folding the laundry of some stranger, none of it mine, none of it familiar. Perhaps the mud on my walking trousers was actually from my night haunts of staking vampires in old churchyards.

Mind you, most of the time, the folding and putting away of laundry is cause for little more than a sigh of relief that it’s done for this week and I can take down the racks and unclutter the kitchen. But sometimes, even folding the laundry can be more than it actually appears to be, and at the end of the day, everything tells a story – even men’s mismatched black socks.

In The Flesh Part 29: Dark Paranormal Romance in Progress. Enjoy!

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In the Flesh 11880534_1463650103936599_545702979581425574_nIt’s Friday and time for episode 29 of In The flesh. Susan returns to Chapel House to face the Guardian, but will even the best made plan be enough to keep her and her friends safe?

There are only a few more episodes of In The Flesh left, so be sure to mark Fridays on your calendar, and hold on to your hats because things are about to get wild.

In the Flesh  is very dark paranormal erotica. When Susan Innes comes to visit her friend, Annie Rivers, in Chapel House, the deconsecrated church that Annie is renovating into a home, she discovers her outgoing friend changed, reclusive, secretive, and completely enthralled by a mysterious lover, whose presence is always felt, but never seen, a lover whom she claims is god. As her holiday turns into a nightmare, Susan must come to grips with the fact that her friend’s lover is neither imaginary nor is he human, and even worse, he’s turned his wandering eye on Susan, and he won’t be denied his prize. If Susan is to fight an inhuman stalker intent on having her as his own, she’ll need a little inhuman help.

 

To read the story in its entirety up to this point, follow the links.

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4 Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25 Part 26, Part 27, Part 28.

 

In the Flesh Chapter 29

It took an eternity for us to get to Chapel House and, at the same time, we arrived far too soon. I wasn’t ready, but then I knew there was no being ready, not really. How could I ever be ready for what was to come, but now that my mind was made up, more than anything I just wanted to get on with it. For a moment, I hated Michael for taking the choice from me. I hated Magda for agreeing to his demands, and I hated them both for keeping it all from me. Beyond that, I felt Michael’s withdrawal from me, his absence with a pain that nearly brought me to my knees. But there was nothing for it. I squared my shoulders and took a deep breath. Focusing on the task at hand was the only way to deal with the pain right now. Michael would live. That’s what mattered most.

I left the Land Rover without giving myself time to think. There was no comfort to be had by lingering, nothing that could be done to make what I had to do any less a solitary act and, while both Alonso and Talia assured me that the plan would work, I knew only too well there were variables none of us could foresee. I knew only too well how crucial timing was. From the back of Chapel House, I entered through the wrought-iron gate and into the garden, concentrating on the thump, thump of Magda’s stone heart talisman against my breastbone, the weight of it heavier and heavier with each step I took. It was the feel of it against my skin that centred me, kept me focused, in spite of my anger at the woman. Very soon, none of that would matter. The tangle of the overgrown garden that had been an impenetrable maze when I was last here now was only a slight distraction. I wasn’t trying to escape. I wasn’t trying to steal anyone away. The Guardian would not hinder me from my returned to Him. I was only halfway to the kitchen door when I was all but overwhelmed by heavy scent of roses. I was really beginning to hate the fucking scent of roses. My stomach clenched fist tight, and for a moment I thought I would vomit. But I knew things now, things that even the Guardian didn’t. They might not make a difference in the end, but they did to me. I closed my eyes and thought of Michael sleeping in his bed in his lovely home with the sun coming up over the fells. I thought of crawling into bed next to him and breathing his clean, outdoorsy scent rather than the cloying, funerary scent of roses; I thought of being folded in his arms next to the strong steady beat of his heart. Which would continue to beat when I was finished here. I thought of Michael alive and sleeping peacefully, and I found my voice. “I’m here. I’ve come back. Just like you knew I would.”

2015-09-04 16.16.05 HDRAnd instantly I was embraced from behind, with such force and with such bodily presence that I had to glance over my shoulder to be certain there was no physical flesh. “I knew you would return to me, my little scribe.” The voice was like velvet against my ear, and I was reminded with the sudden tightening of my nipples beneath an invisible caress and the catch of my breath as my heart began to race, that no matter what magic Magda Gardener had woven around me, no matter what I had schemed and written on my Mac before I left High View, I was still horribly vulnerable, and I still wanted Him more than I ever wanted anything in my life. When He touched me, I could barely remember my own name, let alone what I was supposed to do when the time came. I found myself wondering if maybe Magda and Michael were right to give me no more of a task than to lie down and spread my legs. That — I could just about manage. That – more than likely I would have no choice in anyway at the end of the day. I took another deep, steadying breath, as invisible lips kissed my ear and the nape of my neck, as a splayed hand rested low against my belly pulling me back against an erection that felt flesh and blood real.

“I had to,” I whispered. “I had to come back to plead for Annie’s safety, for that of my friends. Surely you knew that I would.”

“Of course I knew that, my darling.” Somewhere in the back of my mind I was aware that my jeans were open, and I leaned heavily against the broad chest at my back, shifting my hips to ease the path of His hand as He wriggled warm fingers down inside the waistband of my panties.

“If you love me, as you say you do, then surely you can give me that. I’ve returned to you of my own free will, as you asked. Surly you can grant me that one simple request, the safety of those I love. Consider it a gift for your beloved. They’re nothing to you, after all. It’s only a little thing I ask.”

The air moved around me in a sudden rush of wind, hot and rancid with the smell of burning garbage.

“You understand, of course,” He said, “that you would have saved those you love a lot of suffering if you had stayed with me to begin with.” The shrug of His body felt almost like a thrust. “Oh, I realise that you had no choice in the matter when you were abducted by that bitch, Magda Gardener and the angel, but even that doesn’t fool me, my darling. I know well that you left willingly.

“That you came back willingly is also a lie. You came back because of my threats to those you love.”rose images

“But I came back,” I said. “The vampire didn’t want me there any more than you did.”

“The vampire, yes. He may be long dead, but his familiars all live and draw breath. He was wise to return you to me. Still,” there was another shrug of a thrust, and I realised to my horror that I was all but riding His hand as He slid it deep into my panties. “Still, all I would have had to do, dear little scribe, was wait. In time you would have returned to me in desperation, just as all of those who love me do. In time there would have been nothing Magda Gardener, the angel, nor the vampire and all his minions could have done to thwart your efforts to get back to me. In time, there would have been nothing short of your death that would have kept you from me. And that, I would have never allowed. So you see, you have nothing to bargain with.” A simple twitch of His fingers and I orgasmed, the heat of shame rising up my neck and burning my face even as I waited breathlessly for Him to bring me again.

“That I was impatient to have you back in my arms, that I was impatient to pleasure your body and have you pleasure mine – now that through my angel, I may have a body for you to pleasure — well, that is all that kept me from waiting for you until you came back to me of your own accord and threw yourself at my feet.”

I don’t know how He managed it or how I missed it, but I found myself on the mattress in the windowless space Annie had prepared for me as a guestroom. “I would have you on the altar to celebrate your return, my love, as is fitting for my consort, but it is tainted with your friend’s lust for me. I would have it cleansed and purified before I have you there. For now, I shall ravish you here. I shall punish you and hurt you for playing the whore with the angel, who belongs to me as surely as you do. I shall make you suffer even as I love you, even as you beg me for more.” Invisible hands eased me down on the bed, and I braced myself, concentrating with what little of my wits was left to me on the weight of the stone between my breasts. “This shall be the place of your punishment, the place of your purification, and only when you are repentant and once again pure, shall I enter you on the high altar.”

He pulled away suddenly and, for a second, I thought he had left me. “Where is the angel?” He asked.

“Oh he’ll be here soon enough,” I said, lying back on the pillow, cupping my breasts and thumbing my nipples, knowing if He were anything like most men, that would focus His attention quickly enough. “I wanted some time alone with you before he got here.” I ran my hand down to cup myself between my legs, absently stroking. The scent in the air was suddenly spicy, like Christmas evergreen laced with sandalwood and cloves. “You’ve been inside him. You’ve possessed him, used his body.”

“And I shall again. Do not try to deceive me, little one. He will come to me, and when he does, I promise once I’ve been inside him, possessed his body, there will be nothing you can do to persuade him to help your pathetic friends.”

dark moon image_xl_6338206“Oh, I know he’ll come,” I said, nibbling on my lip and catching my breath as I played with myself. Even scared shitless as I was, it wasn’t hard to masturbate, even to bring myself to orgasm, when just being in His presence kept me only a hairs breadth away. “It’s just that I want to know what it feels like too. You’ve never inhabited a woman’s flesh, have you? Or perhaps you can’t. Perhaps you can only inhabit men, maybe only angels. Have you ever possessed anyone other than Michael?”

The scent of him became more strongly cloves and nutmeg. “Of course I may possess who I will, though most vessels are not strong enough to contain me for very long, and I am loath to use up a good lover too quickly.”

“I’m not just any vessel. I’m a Scribe, and you promised me when I freed you, you promised me what every scribe desires. Don’t you remember, you said you could give me the mind of god.” My breath hitched and I made a show of nibbling my lip, of moaning softly. Though in truth, it was hardly a show. It was just doing what I had to do to keep from begging Him to fuck me.

“As you so rudely reminded me, I am not a god.” There was just a tiny whiff of garbage among the fragrance of holiday spices.

“You’re right. I was rude. I apologise.” And then, perhaps I drifted off for a few seconds, caught up in my own lust. I think it might have been the thump of the stone heart against my breast bone that brought me back to myself with my thighs spread wide, knees bent, feet flat on the mattress. The air was rank with the scent of male heat, and I had the sense of Him on the bed with me, face between my thighs watching, with deep fascination, the dance and dart of my fingers.

“It feels good.” He spoke and the cloves and nutmeg scent peaked.

“You have no idea,” I gasped, swallowing back the words in a little whimper and writhing against the mattress.

“I hear that for women it is different, for women there are no limits to the number of times they may take their release … well for women who are with mortal men, that is.”

I nodded with another little whimper. In truth, if it weren’t for the thump, thump of Magda’s talisman constantly reminding me why I was here, I would have been lost in my own lust, groveling for him to take me.

“Please,” I begged. “I know you can do whatever you want, but you told me, that very first night when I released you from your prison, that you could show me the mind of god. Surely that had to mean the you would possess me, take my body as your own, fill me with you, with your mind, let me know what it is you feel, what you think, how you see the world, even if it’s just for a few minutes, even if it’s the last thing that will ever matter to me as myself before you take me over completely and I stop caring about anything but you. I’m not stupid. I know that’s what awaits me no matter what you say. And, after all, I did release you.”

“It is true, my little scribe, you did set me free — truly a feat no one else in a thousand years could accomplish. Therefore, what I have promised, I will perform. ” I felt His palms move to the insides of my thighs and the intimate muscles of my body convulsed with anticipation. “It is but a small thing for me,” He said, running a tongue I couldn’t see over my flesh and parting me with slow wet kisses, “And I am most curious. Therefore, I shall do as you ask, and I shall give you the mind of god.”

I think I might have screamed, as His presence moved into me, as my body stretched and spread and In The Flesh 2 12006311_1476805985954344_6570546160088833292_nexpanded outward like the beginning of the universe, and just when I was certain I would fly apart into nothingness, the world righted itself, and my body was filled completely with Him. Before I could adjust
to the sensation, He spoke.

“I shall enjoy wearing the flesh of a woman.” As though it were no longer mine, my hand caressed my breasts with the awkwardness of a teenage boy, while He slowed my efforts between my legs so that he could explore the flesh He now possessed. I felt both split in two and at the same time, for the first time in my life I felt whole, feeling the rhythm of my heart beat, beat, beat, against the solid stone of Magda’s talisman. “Oh yes, it shall be a pleasure for both of us, my little scribe, but only until the angel gets here,” He added quickly. “For without the angel’s body, I will never be to you more than a touch you cannot see, a caress you cannot return. I will have his flesh, possess it as my own, and then, my lovely, I may service you as you deserve.”

Classic Erotic Fiction That Makes 50 Shades Look Tame

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My guest today is Laura Varnishe from the School of Squirt, here to remind us that really hot erotica … well it’s been around for awhile. Remember, there’s a world of really fantastic erotica out there, and it’s always great to see someone else’s recommendations. Welcome, Laura!

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When 50 Shades of Grey was released in 2011 it broke records and made headlines thanks to its provocative storyline and graphic sex scenes. The book went mainstream and spawned countless similar books as well as a movie adaptation that drove sales for the book through the roof a second time.

But what if I told you there are books that make 50 Shades look absolutely tame in comparison? The fact is erotic fiction has a long and torrid history which includes entries that simply defy anything Christian Grey could come up with.

 

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120 Days of Sodom by Marquis de Sade (1905)

Without a doubt, the single most iconic piece of erotic literature is 120 Days of Sodom. The book’s “plot” (and we use the term loosely here) is an obvious afterthought to readers. Instead, the book is little more than a catalogue of every insane, over the top sex act you can imagine, along with a few you couldn’t have dreamt up in a million years. The book has been banned by both schools and governments and remains the undisputed King of Erotic Literature.

 

 

 

 

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Venus in Furs by Leopold von Sacher-Masoch (1870)

Venus in Furs makes the list not only because of its graphic sex scenes, but because it focused on a sexual theme simply unheard of at the time of its publication. Severin von Kusiemski, the main character of the novel, spends his time describing his dreams and fantasies – all of which have to do with being dominated and possessed by a woman. This role reversal was scandalous at every level when the book was published in 1870 and it remains so today.

 

 

 

 

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Delta of Venus by Anaïs Nin (1940 / 1977)

Delta of Venus is a collection of short stories that focus on various aspects of erotic fiction. The collection was originally written in the 1940s for an unnamed private collector and was eventually published in 1977 after Anaïs Nin passed away. Themes in the book run the gamut from homosexuality and male desire to extreme sexual restraint and incest.

 

 

 

 

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The Story of O by Pauline Réage (1954)

The Story of O is another pop-culture icon but few people have read the original work. The book focuses on a young woman, O, and her journey as a willing sexual slave. O’s story involves repeated sexual objectification and is heavy on extreme BDSM. The book was originally banned in its native France though obscenity charges were eventually dropped.

 

 

 

 

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The Sluts by Dennis Cooper (2005)

This modern entry to our list proves that erotic fiction has both evolved and, in some ways, gone back to its roots. Like 120 Days, the plot in The Sluts is secondary to the action. The story of a young male hustler is told through a series of online reviews, emails and postings to fictitious websites. As the young man’s story is revealed, readers are treated (if that’s the right word) by a catalogue of what he endures which includes everything from rough sex to amputation.

 

 

This article was written by Laura, who, when she isn’t reading erotic fiction, can be found over at School of Squirt.

 

 

 

C.A. Bell Stops by to Discuss BDSM Poetry (@cbellAtrix09) #bdsm #poetry #erotica

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tourbutton_bdsm-poetryHi there, and thank you K.D Grace for letting me drop by to promote my new release BDSM poetry. Don’t dismiss me right away because you read the word poetry, I promise this collection is not full of thy heart bleeds and my bosoms heave. I am an erotic fiction author so there will be no bosoms or bleeding hearts, promise.

This collection is made up of many styles of poetry and as it says in the blurb, consists of meaningful, intimate, and downright filthy poetry. BDSM poetry is about exploring the different elements of BDSM, and although they are written as poems and most of them rhyme, they still tell a story and take you on journey. So, give it a go and see what you think, because poetry is a powerful expression of writing and feeling.

BDSM poetry is available at Amazon and on kindle unlimited, so please take a look and leave a review, as your feedback is always welcome and taken on-board.

Excerpt

Mistress

On the floor,

on all fours.

Kiss my shoe,

the heel, too.

Crawl around,

don’t make a sound.

Just do as I say,

or you will pay.

You’re here for me,

to set you free,

control your mind,

help you unwind.

So, do as I wish,

do not resist.

Never question,

my aggression.

Kiss my hand.

Now you may stand.

Don’t look in my eyes,

nor at my thighs.

Don’t speak a word,

for it won’t be heard.

Remember your place,

and my embrace,

you will feel,

to help you heal.

Now hold out your cock,

and I’ll unlock,

unleash your rage,

from its metal cage.

Hold it at the base,

for now, you’ll taste,

the sting of my crop,

across the top…

 

BDSM PoetryBlurb

BDSM is a collection of poetry containing f/f, anal play, femdom, bondage, shibari, anal play and much more. It contains meaningful, intimate, and downright filthy poetry written in acrostic, ballad, cinquain, and free verse.

This collection is intended for the open-minded people out there who love all things BDSM.

So, let BDSM take you on a journey into the taboo, and give the most erogenous part of your body, your brain, a treat.

Bio

C.A.Bell was born and raised on the outskirts of London, England, but for the past three years has resided in a much more rural town of Shropshire, where she and her husband married and made a home. She is currently working on a number of projects, including the follow-on book to The Architect, and aspires to be a well-known author.

Buy Links

Amazon UK http://www.amazon.co.uk/BDSM-C-BELL-ebook/dp/B017Y6BZ6A/ref=la_B0140XPC0U_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1449045678&sr=1-3

Amazon US http://www.amazon.com/BDSM-C-BELL-ebook/dp/B017Y6BZ6A/ref=la_B0140XPC0U_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1449045927&sr=1-3

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Social Links

http://authorcabell.co.uk

@cbellAtrix09

https://en-gb.facebook.com/people/Author-C-A-Bell/100010696021804

Blissemas Snogs in the Snow: Sexy Kisses and Naughty Fun Under the Mistletoe

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It’s time for Blissemas Snogs in the Snow, and here’s a bit of Christmas in the City from my novella, A Valentine for Christmas, which is a part of the Chariad Love Under the Mistletoe Collection. I’m offering a little snog of my own, a bit of a stocking stuffer (you see what I did there) Comment to enter, and I’ll send an eBook copy of any novel on my back list to the winner — from K D’s novels or Grace Marshall’s. Your choice. You can check out my Book Page to see what tickles your fancy. I promise, your stocking will be well stuffed!

AND! Don’t forget to check out the great stories, posts and giveaways, on Blissemas every day through the 24th of December. You won’t want to miss out on anything!

Happy Blissemas!

 

A Valentine for Christmas Blurb:

All work and no play, bah humbugging CEO, Gerard Jasper’s, anonymous Christmas gift is actually a Valentine — Moira ‘R.M.’ Valentine, the mysterious CEO of the Valentine Corporation. Moira’s walk on the wild side has accidentally landed her naked and bound with red ribbon under Gerard’s tree – not good when their companies are negotiating the deal of a lifetime. When two lonely people with enough baggage to fill a 747 come together for Christmas, the fireworks rivals New Years at Times Square, but can they overcome their pasts to give each other the true gift — a merger of hearts?

 

A Valentine for Christmas Excerpt:

It was late when Gerard got home – even later than he’d anticipated, but that was fine for him. Being tired enough to sleep for a week made facing the next few days a lot easier. He shoved out of his jacket and slung it over the ladder-back chair by the door, then loosened his tie, somehow not finding the strength to actually remove it completely. Ignoring the evergreen bunting strung across the balcony above the stairs, he made his way into his study. From the credenza across from his desk, he poured himself a neat whiskey then dropped into the Cordovan leather chair beside the fireplace. He tossed back the shot, then closed his eyes. He only intended to rest them for a few minutes before he went to the kitchen where he knew Olga had left food prepared for him. He’d specifically overseen the menu this time to make certain not a slice of turkey nor a smidge of cranberry sauce darkened the fridge. It was bad enough his apartment was decked out like Rockefeller Center, but at least he could dictate his own meals.

Yes, he had only planned to close his eyes for a minute, but it was a scuffling sound and a soft moan that startled him from sleep and from dreams of falling into deep, icy water. He opened his eyes and looked around. In the silence he could hear heavy breathing. There was another moan. He exhaled slowly and looked around the room. Carefully, cautiously, he leaned forward in the chair, wrapped his fingers around the poker in front of the fireplace, and pulled it free from its stand. Holding his breath, he came slowly to his feet.

There was more scuffling and a sharp, low grunt. It sounded as though it were coming from behind the Christmas tree. Fucking tree was a health hazard, a fire hazard, and Twyla never stopped to think that it was perfect for a thief to hide behind, though how the hell anyone could have gotten past his security was beyond him. He tightened his grip on the poker and raised it like a baseball bat. Bracing himself, he took a step forward, but the next moan he heard was decidedly feminine and it was definitely coming from under the tree! With a quick movement, he reached for the lamp near the chair and switched it on, and the moan became a little yelp of surprise.

Cariad Christmas 2014 Collection‘What the …’ Words died in his mouth as he lowered his arm and dropped the poker against the chair. He blinked twice then rubbed his eyes. Surely he still had to be dreaming. Thought this dream beat the hell out of the usual drowning dream. There was another moan and, as his eyes adjusted to the light, he realized it came from the woman lying on her side under the tree. She was completely naked except for the red velvet ribbons that seductively bound her wrists and her ankles. The only other thing she wore was a sprig of mistletoe pinned in the muss of thick, dark hair that fell over her shoulders, partially obscuring breasts that were obviously full enough to balance the rest of her figure that curved dangerously in all the right places. Even in that confused post-wake-up state, Gerard’s cock got the picture just fine. But what the hell was a naked woman doing tied up beneath his Christmas tree?

Before he could ask, the woman moaned again – louder this time – and doubled over as though she were in pain.

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ he asked, dropping to his knees, forgetting the fact that this chick had invaded his privacy.

‘Oh, God!’ she gasped. ‘It’s my leg. I have a cramp. In my left hip and it’s making my butt numb.’ She bit back a curse that he was pretty sure would have curled his hair if she’d let it fly. But he figured perhaps she was on her best behavior – red ribbons, mistletoe, and all.

It was then that both he and his cock remembered, at exactly the same time, that she was tied up. He was in complete control. He settled on his haunches and folded his arms across his chest. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he asked.

She moaned again and tried to shift to a more comfortable position, which made her breasts bounce and her hair slide away to reveal nipples, darkened and stiff atop goose-fleshed areolae. ‘I’m your Christmas present.’

He blinked. ‘My what?’

‘Christmas present? You know, happy holidays, noel, peace on earth … ouch! Oh hell, that hurts.’ She hissed between barely parted lips and writhed in a way that should have made him sympathetic, but only made him hornier. ‘Could you please untie me so I can take care of this cramp?’

‘My Christmas present?’
‘Yup. Ouch! Ow! Please!’
‘From whom?’ Oh fuck, the more she shifted and

shimmied, the more her breasts bounced. They were exquisite, and the more they bounced, the more of his brain function rerouted itself to his cock.

‘I don’t know,’ she bit back. ‘It’s a surprise.’

‘Clearly,’ he said. ‘But how do I know you’re for real?’ Surely Terrill and Twyla wouldn’t be so cheeky. Would they? He quickly added, ‘How do I know that the minute I untie you, you won’t try shoot me and rob me?’

She gave him a sour look. ‘Seriously? Where would I put a gun?’

His eyes followed down the curves of her body to the

juncture between her legs with its tight nest of dark curls.

Whatever it was she was about to say, she swallowed it and offered a forced smile that was not quite coquettish, and all the sexier for it. ‘You’re welcome to frisk me.’ She nodded down over her belly. ‘Just please untie me so I can work out this damned cramp.’

He studied her for a long moment while she writhed and bit a full bottom lip he found himself wanting to taste. ‘It was pretty ballsy of someone, anyone really, to send me a prostitute as a Christmas present.’ He leaned forward. ‘I don’t need to buy sex, you know?’

‘I’m not a prostitute and you’re not buying me.’ She sucked back a sharp breath. ‘I’m a gift. Pleeeeese,’ she begged, ‘untie me.’

‘I don’t need a gift. I didn’t ask for a gift.’

‘Of course you didn’t ask. That’s why they call it a gift.’ She practically bounced off the floor as another wave of pain hit.

‘I still don’t trust you,’ he said. ‘But I don’t like to see a woman in pain either.’ He heaved a hard-put-upon sigh and leaned forward, pulling her into his arms. She yelped as he scrambled to his feet and moved to the leather sofa in front of the fireplace. But instead of laying her down on it, he sat and turned her over his knee. What the hell was he doing? He should untie her, toss her in a taxi, and send her on her way.

‘You’re gonna spank me?’ Her voice came out high pitched and breathy. ‘I haven’t done anything.’

‘Might do, if you give me any grief,’ he said, realizing too late that draped across his lap as she was, she could definitely feel his erection. Well she was naked, wasn’t she? And he was a healthy male. How the hell was he supposed to respond? Besides, it wasn’t like she hadn’t been expecting to make him hard. ‘So tell me now,’ he said, keeping his voice as neutral as he did in

the boardroom in spite of the message his body was giving, ‘where does it hurt?’

‘My left hip, part of my butt cheek, and my upper thigh, where I was lying against the floor.’ Before he could respond, she wriggled her exquisite bottom and his cock surged beneath her. He swallowed back a tight moan. If she really were a Christmas gift, even he had to admit, she was the best he could ever remember getting.

‘Ow! Ow! Ow!’ She interrupted his silent admiration with a squirm and a curse, her bottom shimmying and thrusting her hips close to his very intrigued erection. ‘Do something! It hurts!’

Awkwardly, not knowing where to touch first, he began by massaging handfuls of well-muscled, perfectly rounded female hip; the feel nearly took his breath away.

‘Oh God! Oh God! Ow! Ow! Oh God! A little more on my butt,’ then she glanced over her shoulder when he stopped massaging. ‘Look, either untie me and let me take care of it myself or massage. It hurts!’

‘You’re pretty bossy for a sub,’ he said. ‘Maybe I should spank you.’

‘I don’t care if you spank me, but just take care of the cramp first. Besides, who said I was a sub?’

‘Well, aren’t you? You were all tied up.’

She jerked and nearly bucked off his lap. ‘Look I’ll be a sub, I’ll be a Dom, I’ll bark like a dog if you want bk-snogsinthesnow-buttonme to, just please massage already!’

It didn’t take many kneading handfuls of pliant bottom and thigh before he realized his mistake. The more he massaged, the more she squirmed and moaned across his lap and the harder it became for him to ignore his growing need – especially not with her running commentary.

‘Oh God! Oh God, yes! That feels so good. Ah! Ooooh! Yessss!’

He was just about to relent and untie her in order to

preserve what remained of his dignity when she stopped moving, causing his hands to still on her bottom. Then she dragged in a shaky breath and gave a little wiggle. ‘Do you want me to take care of you?’

He was about to lie to her and tell her he was just fine, when she gave a hard shrug and fell off his lap. With a little grunt on impact, she maneuvered herself with way more grace than he could have imagined under the circumstances until she knelt in front of him, looking up at him with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Her breasts rose and fell as each humid breath bathed his lap in heat. She gave the slightest inclination of her head toward his crotch, and he was lost. The woman knelt at his feet, red velvet ribbons binding her ankles and her hands behind her back, in the perfect position of submission. With another nod of her head, a lock of shimmering chestnut hair fell over one eye from where it had been pinned beneath the sprig of mistletoe, and she sighed softly as he gave in and fumbled with his fly.
He was awkward, like a fucking teenager, as he maneuvered himself free, but this time her moan was not one of pain, and his own moan, as she took the length of him into her mouth, was a close twin. He rested an uncertain hand on her head, and she made a hungry sound deep in her chest as he pulled her further onto him. Yes, perhaps she was a gift, bound as she was, with only her mouth free for him to use as he saw fit. She was a vessel for his lust, a lust that was breathtakingly heavy after being sublimated so long. She was a vessel, breasts heaving, lips pursed, muscles straining, holding herself still, allowing him to use her. He fisted his hands in her hair and thrust up off the sofa, grinding and shifting into the tight grip of her mouth, controlling her, moving her forward and back, forward and back against the thick of him. Yes she was a vessel for his lust, and she was his. All his.

He made no apologies as he came in her mouth, even as she struggled to take him all in. He made no apologies for the tightening of his fist in her hair, for the fact that he had come so quickly and so hard, causing her to gag and swallow furiously several times before he collapsed back on the sofa, before she relaxed her mouth, released his well-worked cock, and rested her head in his lap, gasping for breath. For a time that could have been seconds, could have been hours, he leaned back against the sofa with his eyes closed, drifting. At some point the white-knuckled grip he’d had in her hair relaxed and opened and he began to stroke the cascading locks that were softer than silk, a repetitive motion that calmed him, took him away from himself as nothing had in a very long time. When he came back to the present, he could feel her warm, even breathing against his bare groin and, even though it couldn’t have been long, his cock was already responding to the thought of what this woman had just done to him, what she had allowed him to do to her, all against his better judgment. Okay, no matter what she said, she was still a prostitute – had to be. But she was a gift, a feisty, cheeky, sexy gift, who seemed to intuit exactly what he needed, and at least for now, she was all his. How pathetic was he that he grasped at such a gift, allowing himself refuge in something so contrived, something that was escapism and nothing else? Still, the long Mistletoeholiday weekend looming before him suddenly didn’t seem quite so endless.

When he leaned forward and kissed her head, she moaned softly and looked up at him. He managed to partially do up his fly against a package that was already reasserting its dominion, then he stood and lifted her once again. Since she couldn’t slip her arms around his neck, she buried her face against his shoulder, and he could feel her muscles tensing against him as he mounted the stairs, her weight strangely balancing his own. In his room, he lowered her onto the mattress of the big four-poster bed, then he untied her feet, carefully massaging the circulation back into her ankles and calves before he moved to do the same to her hands. All the while she moaned her pleasure and relief, eyelids fluttering, lips parted and swollen, a tantalizing reminder of what she could do with that delicious mouth. ‘That’s better,’ she sighed. ‘Oh God, that’s so much better. What the …?’ Her eyes burst open and she squirmed as he bound the ribbon back around her wrists and tied them above her head to the bed frame.

‘I like you bound,’ he said, pausing to drop a kiss on each of her heavy nipples when he finished.

 

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