Categories
books love lust romance women

Nothing Keeps Me Anywhere by Dahlia Bliss

(Here is a preview of the next Dahlia Bliss book, Nothing Keeps Me Anywhere. Let me know what you think)

When a dating coach meets a waitress at a convention, sparks fly, but life throws many obstacles in their path towards love

CHAPTER 1
The jet lag meant my charm was running on fumes. Norwich. London. Dallas.
‘Are you with the convention?’
Her voice made me look up. Amused and challenging at the same time. The universe often challenged these small pockets of quiet contemplation. Sitting down and being quiet was a confrontation.
She cleaned the counter with a towel bunched into a ball of cloth. The raised knuckles on her right hand and the flex of lean muscle in her forearms caught my eye. Her green eyes peered at me with curiosity, highlighted by the spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the thick ebony hair trying to escape the tight grip of her hairband.
The distraction that she afforded was unmeasured. A restlessness dogged me, and even arriving a day before my part of the Better Men Project Seminar, keen to enjoy the atmosphere, did not ease it. It was more like arriving to give a terrible diagnosis.  Amusing.
‘I am.’
She sighed with something extra in it that made me smile. She shook her head and my eyes fell back to the page. The breadth and curve of her shoulders drew my attention again as she went back to the kitchen. Imagining the flex of muscle beneath her uniform distracted me further.
She returned with a fresh pot of coffee. There was a roll to her hips that made the muscles in my chest and neck hum with interest. A tautness in the midsection and thighs strained the skirt they made her to wear.
‘I wonder if you have more to offer on the subject.’
She chuckled as she refilled my cup. A scent carried from her skin to my nose, mingling with the coffee that she poured and the faint memory of peppermint on her breath when she spoke.
‘I do, but the hotel doesn’t encourage such blunt exchanges of opinions with its guests.’
Her eyes glanced upward, took me in as my stomach fluttered with anticipation.
She met my smile with a roll of her eyes.
‘So, you’re asking my permission or you’re being covert?.’
She wiped the table with a slow drag of the cloth, using it as a reason to stay there. The coffee was strong and it saturated my senses with each sip. My voice was soft, reflecting the playfulness that had stirred in me. No promises, no expectations, but a chance to have fun with someone. At least to make a single serving friend.
‘Are you allowed to sit down?’
She shook her head, lowering her eyes, but there was a challenge there. I pointed past her to the patio area and asked if I could smoke out there. She nodded as I stood up.
‘Come on, we can talk out there.’
She went to return the pot to the kitchen as I went outside.
Her footsteps scuffed along the concrete as I lit up and she came outside to stand beside me.Up close, there was the warm bouquet of her skin, green tea and cinnamon. She took the cigarette, then she lit it, her hands touching mine so, but the song of her touch made something shift in me.
Callused skin on her elbows, ashen against the black ink of her tattoos. Punches raised her knuckles, strength in her forearms. The worked out body that came from using it, moving it in a way that tested you. Each look was a challenge, sometimes playful, sometimes serious. My finger drew up to point them out to her.
‘That doesn’t come from wiping tables. The elbows, too. What is it, Muay Thai?’
The corners of her mouth twitched as she brought the cigarette to her mouth and took a shallow drag.
‘You think you’re smart, don’t you?’
I shook my head as I turned to face her.
‘I could pretend to be stupid, but it wouldn’t make you feel better. When’s your next fight or do you take a class?.’
She tilted her head to her left and narrowed her eyes.
‘Eight weeks.’
I leaned forward and held the cigarette down by my side as I whispered to her.
‘What did you want to say to me earlier?’
She squared her shoulders and darted her eyes away from me.
‘I would go off on you about the men’s rights movement, but it seems kinda rude now.’
A last drag and a raise of my eyebrow.
‘If I’m offended, that’s my choice not yours.’
She looked behind her and swore beneath her breath. She asked if we could continue our chat later.
I let her enjoyed watching how she moved. The customers were wearing the passes of attendees. Returning to my table, my cup still sat on the saucer and when I picked it up. The sound of men offered hope. Part of me still missed it.
I watched their faces and saw them file out of the seminar as they reacted to the other waitress when she came over to wait on a small group of them. One attendee leaned forward and put his hand on top of hers. She flinched.
I walked over to them and asked them if they were here for the seminar.
One of them shook his head in a slow, mocking gesture as he glanced at the waitress with a pinched expression.
‘ It’s a conference about Excellence In Masculinity.’
I nodded as I took them all in. I could see their flushed faces and the way their chests rose. They lost these boys who had a measure of self-esteem back.
They always reminded me how much more drunk you would get if you stole from your parent’s liquor cabinet as opposed to when you were old enough to buy your own. I asked open questions, and when the waitress asked for their order, I put it on the card as I brought another chair over to their table.
As we sat there, I saw one of them refer to his tablet, exchanging tight glances with some others at the table. He held the tablet up, showing me the profile picture.
I nodded and the table’s demeanour changed. The man who had touched the waitress peeked back at her and smiled.
‘I’ve got  game.  Did you see me anchoring her?’ he said.
I gave a small nod and I looked at her as the waitress I had been speaking to refilled the coffeepot as she looked at me with a curious expression on her face.
‘I did, but you missed out there.’
He leaned forward, eyebrows drawn, keen for my insight as I sat up and put my shoulders back.
‘Don’t approach someone who’s at work, when it’s a customer service gig.’
He spluttered.
‘ Anchoring creates good associations ‘
I raised my hand.
‘Sure it is, if they’re free to choose not to interact with you. She’s at work, mate. That takes away her choice.’
He lowered his eyes and his lips moved against his teeth as he struggled to maintain his composure. I reached out and touched his right arm as I told him to look at me.
‘Let go of the need.’
He sat up, his eyes wide. I locked eyes with him.
‘What’s your dream for yourself?’
His eyes shifted up and left as he sat there. His friends were all focussed on my actions as I fixed my gaze on his face and kept my hand near his arm.
‘I want to start my business.’
I nodded.
‘What does that feel like for you?’
He spoke about how his dad ribbed him for college. I saw him wince when he mentioned it, and I touched his arm again.
‘You hold on to that, don’t you?’ I said. ‘Your dad’s disapproval.’
He nodded before I thumped the table, which made him jump as I told him to let go of it.
He blinked as he sat back in his chair.
The smile on the guy’s face was worth the approach. He reached out his hand and I took it, giving a light but firm handshake. His palms were damp and embarrassment flushed his face while his eyes were bright.
We continued to chat as they ate. Then as the waitress cleared the table, they asked if I would join them but I waved them off, explaining that I had been on a lengthy flight.
They went back in and I wished them well, returning to my table. The waitress came back over with a pot of coffee.
‘What did you do?’
She poured.
‘Managed their expectations, you could say.’
She looked back to where they had been, then returned her attention to me again. I noticed that she had applied some lip gloss.
‘I didn’t get your name.’
I raised an eyebrow.
‘John.’
She grinned, biting her lip as she finished pouring my coffee.
‘Andrea.’
She narrowed her eyes.
‘You went to say something to me earlier?’
Her face went red as she rocked back on her heels.
‘I had this entire thing prepared about how exploitative and aggressive the men’s movement is.’
I picked up my coffee cup and looked at her.
‘I’d like to hear it, Andrea.’
She shrugged, trying to hide her discomfort. I remained seated, and she was about to speak when I heard her colleague call her name. She gave me a regretful smirk before going over to her.
I returned to the book but kept glancing up at her, feeding a tension that made my muscles strain with arousal until I could no longer sit still. I stole one final glimpse before swallowing my desire and heading up to the peace of my room.
The quiet was very little solace. My limbs buzzed with caffeinated energy that I knew I would need to burn off. I changed into shorts and ventured down to the hotel gym.
I set the bar up on the squat rack and loaded plates onto either side. I wanted to feel the resistance, to get into my body so I could burn away the excess.
Slipping a towel around my neck and dipping beneath the bar, I balanced it between my shoulders as I pushed upwards from my heels and lifted it free of the rack. I took a careful step back as I felt the weight and kept my core tight, before bringing my butt down to my heels with a smooth exhalation of breath.
I grunted as I rose back up, driving from my heels to keep my form. At the top of the movement, I finished my breath, so it connected me to it, and then I repeated the action.
Six repetitions later, I stepped towards the rack and replaced the bar before walking around a bit to get the blood back into my legs and recover. When I went into my second set, I breathed through it. By the last repetition, I could feel the pressure of my body resisting. It was on unsteady legs that I finished the final rep. I took it back to the rack and my hands shook while I stripped off the plates.
I stood there stretching when Andrea walked past.
I smiled as she turned to look at me. She shook her head, grinning, then moved on through the hotel. I laughed before I resumed my stretching and then walked over to the chest press machine. I did two sets on my chest, though I would have preferred a dedicated bench, but I still got a good workout from it.
I went out for dinner, having come in a half day before I’d needed. A bookstore browse which turned into an hour long cup of coffee with a book. I found a small steakhouse where I ate at a corner table as I read and enjoyed a porterhouse, a baked potato and a glass of cabernet.  My cab pulled up outside the hotel. The attendees were meeting up for the evening.
One guy waved to me. I raised my hand, walking over to them.My legs were aching but I sucked in a deep breath as I went over.
‘How was the afternoon?’ I said.
He nodded and his friend reached his hand out.
‘Are you coming out?’
Looking past them, I saw that Terry was there, in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had the platinum bracelet on his wrist he’d shown off the last time we had worked together.
He called them names when the doors were closed. He saw me and I watched the corners of his mouth flicker downward before he came over.
‘Hey asshole.’
I smiled as I asked the guys about their day. Terry had already done his part, so tomorrow I knew I wasn’t working against anything. He still had the night to fire them up though, and he always put up his peacock feathers whenever we worked together. He had made the less palatable traits of his personality generate an income. He would still bitch about missed auditions when he was an actor who believed himself capable of playing over one part.
Terry looked at them, then at me.
‘The minibus will be ten minutes. There might be room.’
He corrected his posture and I saw his chest puff out a little. I shut my eyes and took a slight breath before I told him I would see him there.
I went with a black shirt and trousers, with polished boots.
When I came downstairs, I went straight out to the minibus. I sat next to the adolescent man I’d spoken with earlier, Ben and we talked more about his plans and dreams. He asked a lot of questions about England, which I obliged him until we hit the city centre, when nerves stole his attention.

Categories
books romance women writing

Until She Sings

It was an idea which amused me. A supernatural office comedy with a cast of animal familiars working for The Devil.

There’s a very specific reason for the usage. He’s an Englishman, and people once believed he walked England and spoiled things. My version hasn’t left.

It also involved a virgin. So, when I sent it to my former agents reader, she responded with the perfect response;

What is this about?

There were some amusing ideas, a couple of good sequences but otherwise nothing of substance.

Except Caitlin. All the scenes with her worked. So, reshaping everything else made sense through asking what her goals were.

Women’s journeys tend to resemble the labyrinth. So, looking back, this came through the scenes and overall flow of the story.

Daniel was The Devil. He wanted you to know that about him. More of a fallen angel figure finding redemption through the divine feminine but the saturnine nature of the character came from there.

The musical element came from the original book, as Caitlin was in a power trio. My preferred arrangement or the massive ensemble like Snarky Puppy or Prince backing bands.

Both books excite me in terms of structure. I always aim for story first, and if it takes a large cast then so be it.

Anyway, this is about Until She Sings. Its out in paperback and ebook. It’s had good reviews and I’m proud of it.

Now, about the animal familiars…

Categories
beauty love men poetry women

Vicious Angels

We are atoms

In collision

Collusion

Through it all

I feel you

As I go about my purpose

Through pain and hunger

Late into the night

Even as disaster looms

Like vicious angels

I remain

Endure

And in this

You surrender

Gentle animal

Kind to everyone

Implicit strength

Leaner now

But still

Tuned into

The symphony of you

I hear it

Can pluck it from silence

No matter how hard

You may try

Tear down

Or build

When it comes to you

All the same

Isn’t it?

Now shut up and come here

I want you to feel me

With a force I’m not sure

Wouldn’t leave marks

Categories
beauty erotica love women

Chocolate Covered Strawberries

I had gotten here as early as I could, but saw that quite a few others had the same idea. My stomach lurched at the thought of just being another face in the crowd, made invisible by weight of numbers. My solipsism had weaved so many scenarios for us, and this, the closest to actual reality, appeared to have unravelled before it could come to fruition.

I took ten minutes to get inside, moving myself closer to the front of the room. A stack of fresh hardbacks, a jug of chilled water and a glass dominated a small table. Federico, the owner walked through and grinned in disbelief at the numbers.

‘If you all buy something, I might make rent this month.’

A peal of nervous laughter snaked through the air. The ghost of online purchases made several people grip their copies a little tighter than normal, but Federico grinned, flushed with delight at the amount of people in his bookstore. I glanced around, not seeing anyone I knew, and enjoyed the slight cessation of my nerves.

Federico cleared his throat.

‘So, without further ado, allow me to introduce -‘

He said his name and my heart pounded in my chest.

He walked out from the back of the shop, his caramel eyes twinkling with nervous excitement. He wore a crisp white shirt, blue jeans and a black leather belt. His skin was tan, and his beard was thick and trimmed, dusted with silver around the chin and cheeks.  I watched his mouth, his lips and went into myself with the force of the connection.

Max glanced over the sea of people, smiling as he put his hands together.

‘Hi, well with these things, you know what you want to hear from me better than I do knowing what you want.’

His eyes met mine and he smiled, mouthed ‘hi’ and carried on speaking.

My breath quickened in my lungs as our eyes met. The reaction was immediate, fierce and visceral as my thighs clenched against the hot pressure in my pelvis. He kept glancing in my direction, smiling as he spoke. He offered to read a chapter from his work in progress and everyone applauded as he sat down to read.

His voice was melodic, with an interesting grain to it which drew people in. His accent made the inevitable erotic overtones sophisticated and beguiling, and by the end of the reading, I could see my own feelings mirrored in the expressions of the audience.

They were women, and when Federico broke the spell by asking if anyone had questions, some of them shifted in their chairs, resentful of being woken from the moment of connection he offered.

The question-and-answer session alternated between technical questions about his approach and details about the books he had written. He was polite, earthy and pragmatic about his approach, but he spoke about it with such passion he grew effusive and intense with it at points.

I joined the queue, having brought a copy of his last book. I got to the front. He looked up, flexing his right hand to ease the cramp of repetitive signing.

‘Hi.’ I said.

He smiled and set his pen down.

‘Hey, you. It’s great to see you.’

My face flushed and I fought the awkwardness that rushed into me, the warring emotions that his presence evoked in me. Body fought mind, thought and feeling wrestled within me and I passed him the book to sign.

He wrote something in the front, then signed it with a flourish and handed it back. His index finger brushed down the length of my thumb and I shuddered with excitement. I moved away and he held my gaze, evoking a twisting anticipation and nerve that made my eyes damp with a depth of feeling that robbed me of my calm. I left the bookstore, finding the mass of people too sensual and in depth to bear for a moment longer. The afternoon was bright and warm, I lifted my chin to the sky and breathed in deep, willing myself to calm down.

I opened the book. He gave me his room number and the pseudonym he had checked in under.

Spare key at the desk. Let yourself in if you come.

M

The signing continued until four p.m. I went to my car and sat behind the wheel, debating the urge to see this through.

I started the car.

2.

My voice shook when I asked for the key to the suite. The receptionist rewarded my courage by not looking up from the computer as she slid the card across the desk. I took it and walked to the elevator. The concierge asked me what floor and I told him. The elevator ride took an eternity viewed through the filter of my warring emotions. Each floor promised an exit, but something rooted me to the spot until I arrived at his floor. The doors opened and I stepped out, trusting that my legs would carry me the rest of the way.

I let myself in. It was an enormous suite, with a double four poster bed, a dining table, a mini bar and a desk set by the window. The carpet was thick beneath my feet and I glanced around, surprised by the opulence on display.

I heard the door open and turned. He stood in the doorway, a grin of unabashed pleasure and surprise splitting his face in two.

‘I didn’t expect you would come.’

His voice was soft, tinges of vulnerability set alongside the rough, deep brush strokes of his voice.

It robbed my mouth of moisture and I smiled as I turned around. I wondered how I looked to him in person. My self consciousness could be cruel and here it had a grand opportunity to stick its claws deep into my soul.

He stepped towards me.

‘Fuck, you are gorgeous.’

I flushed and looked away.

He shook his head and ran his tongue over his lips. He reached out his right hand and rested it against my cheek. The brush of his fingertips sent an electric charge through me. I squeezed my eyes shut and gave a choked sob. He lifted his hand away and I opened my eyes.

‘I’ve not been able to think straight since I saw you today. I don’t know how I made it through the rest of the signing.’

His voice had softened and sweetened with vulnerability. I reached up and touched the collar of his shirt, running it between my thumb and forefinger as I gazed into his eyes and nodded.

‘Nothing happens here unless you want it to.’

His voice had thickened. I glanced at him, the broad shoulders and deep chest beneath the tailored shirt, and he rested his hand over mine. His palm was rough and warm against the back of my hand.

An eternity passed before he leaned forward, his lips open and I glanced at them, soft and full before I shut my eyes and let every thought go in pursuit of the feelings his words and voice had awoken.

They had never gone to sleep.

Our lips danced over one another. Each contact was a flame igniting and an electric current charging through me, each pore of my skin opened to him, to all that his words had promised. When his hunger reached his hands, I whimpered and reached to guide them where I needed them the most. His fingers danced and pressed against me and we lost ourselves in the raw, beautiful moment of our first kiss.

He pulled back and grinned.

‘Are you hungry?’

I frowned and he laughed.

He went over to the refrigerator and pulled out a silver tray wrapped in cling film, which he tore open with lustful gusto. I caught the smell: fresh strawberries and the dark, rich tang of cocoa. He took my hand and pulled me to the bed. He turned and picked up a strawberry between his fingers and slipped it between my lips. I closed my eyes against the fresh sweetness and the following dark, rich burst of cocoa and cream on my tongue. I kissed him and he groaned with pleasure as he put an arm around my waist.

‘I will feed you, baby girl.’

You had heard him say it again and again but to hear it, in the air then dancing against the tiny bones of your ear, into your brain and body takes you to a place of divine decadence.

‘Yes, Daddy.’

3.

We fed one another, peeling away our clothes as we progressed from playful feeding to smearing streaks of it over one another.

We laughed at our audacity, and played things gentle at first, as much to assuage my nerves as to allow us to expand the afternoon into the play I had imagined in the fevered moments where my hands would act in his stead, trying to bridge the distance with the sweet fire of orgasms given up to him.

He ran a slice over my nipple and popped it in his mouth as he suckled me. My hand went to the back of his head as I pushed my hips up against him. I told him how sweet he was, and he looked up at me, circling his fruit-covered tongue against my nipple, feeding me with his beautiful, brown eyes as I fed him.

He did not rush to undress me. He savoured each unveiling as a treasure in its own right, or used it to enhance the stolen, assertive play of it all. When his fingers slipped underneath the waistband of my panties, and his fingers parted me before sliding forward, a raw, wild power charged through me like wild horses. Beneath his fingers, I clung to him as he massaged me, alternating his mouth between my nipples and breasts, making my chest wet and sticky. He covered me in his filth, took possession of me and made me his.

‘Please, Daddy, can I come?’

He moved his lips away from my nipple and shook his head. I groaned and pushed against his hand. His touch made me bold with need.

‘Please?’

He murmured no through a mouthful of my breast and continued to stroke around my clit. Each contact made the throbbing grow in intensity. I fought against it, but his touch was insistent and expert until despite my clenching denials, my orgasm burst within me, sharp and urgent. I clung to him, eyes closed to everything but the power of his touch.

He withdrew his fingers and suckled them in his mouth.

‘You taste so good, baby girl.’

I blushed and looked away, but he reached up and brushed his fingers through my hair before he leaned forward and kissed me. I reached to his waist and unbuttoned his jeans, then pushed them down and moved him onto his back. I reached into his underwear and pulled his uncut cock free. I rolled the foreskin between my fingers before I bent at the waist and took him into my mouth. He reached out and took a handful of my hair. The wanton urgency of it made me take him deeper and he gasped as I drew him in and out of my mouth. The velvet hardness of his cock against my lips fed my hunger for him and when he took a firmer grip on my hair, I swirled my tongue around the head and relished the burst of sweet pre-cum. I gulped it down and looked at him, my eyes wide with the joy of how he moved from giving to receiving without a loss of his power. A crude primacy made me bring my hand and stroke the tight, soft skin of his scrotum, how his testicles were full and the noises he made as I massaged him.

He growled that he would come and I nodded, too lost in the ritual of having him in my mouth, under my power and when he pushed his hips upward and grabbed my hair tight, I took in every drop of his vital, masculine self, suspended in the sweet thick fluid of his come. I swallowed him down and lifted my chin so as not to spill a drop.

He pulled me down to him and wrestled me onto my back. He reared back, his cock still half hard as he bit his lip and looked at me.

‘Oh baby girl, you are something.’

He undressed and came forwards. He kissed me on the lips then covered me with them, exploring me with his lips and tongue until he brought his hands under the backs of my knees and pulled me down the bed. A trail of beautiful, burning kisses tickled my navel before he gazed into my eyes and smiled at me.

‘My pussy is so beautiful.’

He lowered his mouth. He used his tongue and lips together, testing and rejecting particular combinations of pressure and texture based on my response to him. I stroked his head and closed my eyes, let his mouth fill me with a pleasure that was both transcendent and physical.

4.

Afterwards, when we had exhausted ourselves, he cradled me in his arms and pressed his lips to the top of my head.

‘What was that for, Daddy?’

I felt his smile opening against my scalp.

‘Everything.’

His voice had darkened. I had nowhere else I wanted to be, but the world was calling us both.

‘I don’t know when or if I will see you again.’

The thought lashed across my heart and I struggled to remain lost in the gooey, creamy bliss of his presence.

‘Well, it’s funny you should say that.’

I lifted my head and looked at him.

‘Don’t make jokes like that, Daddy. It’s not funny.’

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

‘I wouldn’t joke about something like that. I can’t confirm anything yet, but it’s part of why I’m here on this leg of the tour.’

He would not reveal anymore. Instead he took me into the shower with him. We washed and touched one another, hungry for one another beyond the recuperative limits of our bodies. He dressed and walked me out to the car. We did not exchange details because we had never been out of one another’s lives.

I would message him, saying and not saying what I had taken from the night together and then one morning, he sent me an email with a link to a local news site.

It was a press release that the university would appoint a famous writer to teach a course there. The photo was from his press kit, a head shot that showed his delicious smile and the sculptured line of his jaw. A moment perhaps when he was alluding to happiness rather than feeling it.

The smile was for me.

For us.

I ran my tongue over my lips and tasted strawberries

 

Categories
erotica love lust short fiction women

Untouched Places

Untouched Places

1.

Bette stood at the counter, stretching out her aching calf muscles, stiff from the lengthy drive. A weekend with her sister and her family was exhausting and the hours on the road made everything from the soles of her feet to the top of her headache if she stayed in one position for too long. The meagre relief of a covert stretch and a large mochachino would make up for the pleasant yet melancholic weekend with Rose, Harvey and Timmy.

She ordered, paid and moved to the right as she felt a pinch at the top of her right hamstring. Bette winced but kept moving. These days, she worried about becoming a miscellany of aches over being alone.

It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling; she told Rose whilst they watched Harvey and Timmy play catch in the garden. The last embers of the barbecue glowed slowly whilst plates sat there, heaped with wilted salad leaves and ragged lumps of meat and fat commas of condiments. It was a problem for tomorrow, as Bette and Rose sat there, finishing the last of the Pimms, holding court on Bette being single.

She heard her name being called as she blinked with surprise. As she took her drink out to the car, a removal van pulled out of the parking lot. Her house was perfect, she decided, but the terrible allure of change was inviting in its awfulness.

Bette saw her phone sparkling with notifications. A dating app which was attempting to get her interacting with it again, reminding her of all the single men she was missing out on. She stopped, cleared the notifications and deleted the app. There were dates, but they were half-lived experiences, boys wanting to be men and even then wanting to be a sibling over a parent. No one she thought to bring home. She put her phone away, lifted the lid of her cup and blew across the surface. Her eyes blurred and she knuckled the tears away, told herself she was tired and her back hurt from the drive. Endless piggybacks for Auntie Bette with Timmy.

2.

The removal van was next door. Katie and Phil had moved back to her parents in Arizona. They had been pleasant but self-obsessed people, and although they tried to be friends, it was awkward and they gave up.

Bette recalled Phil’s hungry eyes when she mowed the front lawn in a bikini top and cut-offs. Katie catching him doing it, how she bent over like she had a slight stomach cramp and a wounded, informed look in her eye which Bette wondered was the motive for the move away.

Bette sucked down the last of the mochachino, which was too thick to do much with beyond sucking it through her teeth. A voodoo logic made her believe the sugar and caffeine would do something for her headache, but all she tasted was the granular bitterness of the coffee grounds and the metallic tang of the pain which had travelled up to do Feng Shui in her head.

‘Hey.’

He walked towards her, hand raised in greeting as he grinned at her. The smile was open, gregarious in a way which made something shift in her chest just as she realised she was meeting him with a headache and teeth stained with mochachino.

Her attention went to the pair of massive dogs walking with him, to heel, a jet black mastiff with a blunt, shark’s muzzle and a lean, lupine Shepherd with its tongue flapping from its mouth but with eyes alert for a challenge. Her head throbbed as she returned her attention to the man.

A wash of grey flooded over her vision as the heat of the day weighed down on her, and judging his black t-shirt clung to his chest and shoulders, it had left its mark on him too. He had wraparound sunglasses on, and a shaved head gleaming with oil. As he came closer, she saw the glitter of close-shaved blonde beard and his Roman nose, red with a tinge of sunburn.

Rose would have run inside and locked the door. Said he looked like a serial killer. Bette would have pointed out most serial killers looked like Phil or Harvey, her husband. She watched the flare of his quads against his dirty jeans and his battered but polished boots.

Bette swept her tongue over her teeth, almost gagged against the bitterness as her head throbbed with pain. She swallowed the mess over spitting in front of him.

And you wonder why you’re still single, she thought, as she gulped it down.

‘Hi,’ she said.

Her voice sounded faint to her ears.

‘Ma’am, thought I should introduce myself, seeing as we will be neighbours. I’m Jack,’ he gestured to the dogs either side of him,’This is Thorne and Rose.’

Bette snickered and got a fresh, disorientating burst of pain which whipped around her skull. The honeyed drawl of his accent intrigued her and when he took off his shades, she peered through the haze of pain, into a pair of piercing grey eyes. His smile flickered with concern.

‘Bette,’ she said.

He repeated her name, testing its pronunciation.

‘Well, it’s good to meet you. Thought I’d get the dogs to say hi. They’re obedient dogs, though, but didn’t want you to worry,’ he said.

She tried to smile, but her head was leaden and tight with pain. A sharp pain started at the nape and she staggered like something had stung her. Another wave of grey washed over her and took everything with it.

3.

A nail is in my forehead, she thought, judging by the pain Bette felt as she came to. The skirting boards needed a good dusting as her vision came into focus.

‘Stay still’ Jack said.

She ran her tongue over her teeth, tasted the granules of coffee and dislodged one was between her front teeth. She sighed and rubbed her face.

‘Would you help me up?’ she said.

He smelled of salt and leather as his hand cupped the back of her head and she put some tentative weight on her left hand to support herself.

‘I’ve got you, just breathe,’ he said.

She sat up by degrees, at a pace which felt glacial, but Jack stayed with her. Sitting upright helped and the pressure in her back and neck had gone. Bette gasped with relief as Ben stood up and looked down at her.

‘Thank you, Jack. I hope this isn’t an omen of our being neighbours,’ she said.

He smiled and shook his head.

‘Nothing to it. Is there anyone I can call?’ he said.

She had slept on a couch at her sisters and the lengthy drive hadn’t helped. Bette went on, despite the pain and exhaustion which had dogged her steps since she left Rose. Jack helped her to her feet and she enjoyed holding onto his thick, vascular forearm. He lifted her with no effort.

She bumped into his chest, but he did not flinch. He chuckled before he stepped backwards. Bette looked into his eyes and fought the uncoiling warmth which started in the seat of her pelvis.

‘Are the dogs here?’

He smiled and shook his head.

‘No, they went back outside.’

He glanced outside, squinting against the late afternoon sun. Bette enjoyed the mingling alleviation of her pain and the tentative stabs of arousal Jack evoked with a gesture. She thanked him and said she would see him later.

‘I look forward to it,’ he said.

Bette watched him walk back to his house, his thick arms swinging by his sides as he strode back.

She ran a bath, hot and caked with Epsom salts. These were the points she enjoyed being alone, but when she closed her eyes, the profile of Jack as he looked outside came to her attention and rose gooseflesh as it insinuated itself into her attentions.

It was dark when she awoke, and the water was lukewarm. She got out of the tub, feeling clean and refreshed. Her stomach growled with hunger and she went with the adolescent impulse to order a pizza.

Bette brushed her teeth, then ordered the pie and made tea. The thought of coffee made her nauseous, and she was appreciating the fragile pleasure of feeling well again.

She was watching television when the doorbell rang.

Jack had changed into a clean t-shirt and jeans. His skin smelled of coal tar soap , masculine and warm.

‘I thought I’d look in on you,’ he said.

Bette flushed and considered the pyjamas and robe she had on.

‘Thank you. More embarrassed than anything serious. I was lucky you were here,’ she said.

He smiled.

‘I’m just glad you’re on your feet,’ he said.

Bette grinned and asked him if the dogs were here. He shook his head but she made a play of peeking past his shoulder.

‘I’ve got pizza coming, it’ll be too much for me to eat alone, so do you want to come in, and erm, have some?’

Jack’s smile widened into a grin which made the muscles in her thighs flutter.

‘Sure, I settled the dogs in for the night,’ he said.

Bette tittered and opened the door, asked him if he wanted a drink. Water was fine, and she remembered how she hadn’t cleaned up since before she left to go to Rose’s house.

‘Sorry about the mess. I don’t have the excuse of saying I’ve moved in,’ she said.

He chuckled as he sat down on the couch.

‘I don’t have a lot of stuff, so it’s easy to keep neat,’ he said.

They chatted as she boiled the kettle for a fresh cup of tea. He came from the Ozarks via a stint in the USMC, a tour of Afghanistan as a dog handler, working with a Belgian Malinois. Bette remembered the mastiff and smiled.

‘She’s your war buddy, that’s beautiful.

‘What about the Shepherd?’’

Jack’s eyes glanced downwards.

‘He was my buddy’s. Stayed in after I did my last tour, got taken out and so I applied to take his dog on,’ he said.

Bette swallowed, touched by the quiet way he shared this part of himself with her. She spoke, but the whistle of the kettle made her get up and make tea.

When she returned, he stood up, looking at her bookshelves. She leaned towards thrillers and true crime, and reference material for work, but he was scanning the spines with open interest.

‘Did you ever hear the John Waters quote?’ Bette said.

Her voice sounded pitched and nervous to her ears, but he smiled and looked at her as he shook his head.

‘If you go home with someone and they don’t have books on their shelves, don’t fuck them,’ she said.

Jack stared at her, hard and unflinching for a moment, which made her throat close before his facade cracked and he chuckled, putting his hand over his mouth as he closed his eyes with delight. Bette’s relief made her join in a moment later as she came towards him.

Hack’s chuckle was rough and deep, as they moved towards one another. Bette set her cup down on the coffee table as she wiped tears of laughter from her eyes.

They stared at one another, and Bette felt every inch of skin poised for something when he moved his face towards her, a hand raising with care to cup her cheek. She whimpered as he brushed them over hers, tentative and sweet as they closed her eyes.

Which was when the doorbell rang.

Jack folded his arms and chuckled as Bette swore under her breath and went to collect the pizza.

She took the box and gave the driver a ten-dollar tip to get him away without offending him. When she went back, Jack stood there with his hands by his sides.

‘I hope it didn’t get weird,’ he said.

She set the pizza box on the table and stood up.

‘I’m in my pyjamas and I’ve already passed out in front of you. Weird was two stops ago,’ she said.

He bought his hand to her cheek again as she gazed at him. A slight whimper escaped her lips as he ran his tongue over his lips. They moved towards one another, giving in to the tension between them.

They bumped noses and chins at first, kissing in orchestral stabs as they found accommodation with one another. Bette put his hands on her breasts through her pyjama top as she guided him to the couch. The silence and song had been wonderful, but an older part of her was in charge here.

It was hungry.

Jack pulled off his t-shirt and Bette sighed at the hard plates of muscle, the golden curls of hair on his chest and stomach and the tattoos on his upper arms. There were some pitted scars across his chest, flecks of white against his honeyed skin.

He took off his shoes and socks, then knelt before her on the couch. Lust made some men clumsy, but Jack descended to her like a wild, primal angel and she welcomed him.

Bette surrendered to his slow hands. He squeezed her ass, her hips and breasts with a firm, hungry and appreciative touch which made her moan against his mouth. She wrapped her lips around his tongue and suckled, which made him groan with pleasure. They wrestled like tide and shore, a muted crash of beautiful violence and all of it made in a spirit of honeyed, wild awareness.

Bette awoke to each caress, a rough magic which fed her hunger for touch even as it expanded to demand more of him.

His mouth kissed down her neck and a need to show him more of her raged through her as she pushed herself against him, stroking him as his washcloth tongue painted the canvas of her skin.

She slipped down the couch as Jack moved back onto his heels, straddling her as he unbuttoned her top and smoothed it from her shoulders. He grinned at her before he resumed exploring her chest with his lips and tongue. She tugged down her pyjama bottoms, grateful for having had a bath as his lips painted mandalas against her breasts. She went to speak, but he took one of her aching nipples in his mouth and suckled on it which made her moan with pleasure.

The suckling ache dived downwards and his mouth moved to suckle her other nipple. She kicked her pyjama bottoms off as he parted her thighs and moved between her quivering thighs, kissing the soft planes of her stomach. Each kiss was electric, making her moan soft vowel sounds into the night air like music.

Jack crouched between her open thighs and smiled, murmuring with appreciation.

Bette touched his face, drunk with appreciation as he dipped downwards, slipping his hands under her buttocks to take a grip as he licked between her labia in one delicious stroke which went all the way to the top of her head. She shuddered, relaxing into the febrile waves of joy his tongue unleashed within her.

His tongue danced against her tender flesh, vertical and horizontal strokes grazing fresh stars into her sky. When he rested the tip of his index finger at her pussy, she felt an insistent flood of arousal.

Bette fell back against the couch as she shuddered with wonder. Jack’s fingers splayed over the cradle of her pelvis as he pressed his tongue against her clit and suckled. She exploded after an eternal, perfect moment.

All she was went upwards and outwards, like a firework before returning to herself, familiar and alien with potential and sensation. Jack came up, his lips shining with her juices and she reached out, undoing his jeans as she reached for his cock. A moment of friction passed and he was inside her, pumping and urgent as she clutched him close and felt him tighten up within her. The raging burst of his release made her come again with him, breathing hard and wrapped around him as she cried out before they collapsed together, a damp tangle of limbs and sighs.

They laid there, waiting until they could speak again. He raised himself on his elbows and stroked her face. She smelled the faint mineral scent of herself on his fingers as she looked at him.

‘Hey neighbour,’ she said.

He smiled and looked towards the pizza box, raising an eyebrow. She grinned and pulled it towards them.

‘God yes, you read my mind,’ she said.

She stopped, realising she wasn’t in any pain. All the aches wiped clean and whatever recent ones , they were the kind which made a life with people in it palatable, even pleasurable.

The evening went on.

As the days passed, they walked his dogs and found quiet accommodation with one another. She still had her mornings with the birds, but she never lacked for company.

Categories
beauty love lust short fiction women

Rain In The Afternoon

She had been squalling all day. A quiet irritation and restlessness had lent an edge to her demeanour. He had noticed it as he put the cup of tea down on the table that it would build and burn her out, then exhaust her. He could ignore it, but he saw how it hurt her and wanted to do something about it.

The responsibility stirred him. She picked up the pencil and continued to sketch. Another issue of their comic book, working from his script but her pencils and inks. Last month, they had gone to the movie premiere and laughed at how surreal it felt to see the late-night conversations come alive on the screen. He loved her work and had finished the script for the next issue, then sat at the kitchen table and watched her work as he rolled another cigarette.

She caught him looking at her.

‘What?’ she said.

Her voice was sharp.

He watched her face as he lit his cigarette and sat back in his chair.

‘You’ve been restless all morning.’ he said.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

‘I’m not looking to define it but just acknowledging it is there.’ he said.

She huffed and returned her attention to the page. He picked up his coffee and drank, then took a puff on his cigarette, which made his head swim with nicotine as he watched her. He could have gone home, which was a gordian knot approach to take, but he enjoyed her. She was a test as much as a celebration. Most of the time, he watched her like the weather and dressed his soul according to what the sky of her predicted.

It looked like rain this afternoon.

He put the cigarette out and went to the sink, washed his hands and dried them as he turned and looked at her.

‘I think you’re being a brat.’ he said.

There was a playfulness to his voice which made her look up and pout. Her eyes narrowed and she set the pencil down.

‘No, I’m not. I just get like this sometimes. It’s not you.’

He walked over to her and shook his head.

‘I know it’s not. But I know it needs addressing.’ he said.

She fought the slight smile which burst on her lips like a sunrise. He tamped down his own pleasure in seeing the unspoken assertion of her playing along. Her depths were something he enjoyed, and no matter what else was going on between them, they played well together.

‘Oh, does it now?’ she said.

He nodded.

‘Yes, it does. Now I have a responsibility to deal with it,’  he said.

She turned her head and pouted. He reached his right hand, palmed her jaw and splayed his fingers across her cheek. He felt her smile vibrate down into his hand as he turned her head towards him. There was no force in it, but there was power, easy and calm as she looked at him, pouting with a playful irritation.

She grunted and tried to turn her head but he held her firm, grimacing as he put his other hand at the back of her head and gripped her hair hard enough to make her draw breath.

‘Stand up.’ he said.

She pushed the chair back and he pulled her hair again, made her gasp before she pouted and tried to pull away.

‘I’ve been good, haven’t I?.’ she said.

He shook his head and squeezed her jaw between his fingers as he stared at her.

‘I decide that.’ he said.

She smiled, breaking character for a moment, and he grinned before returning to an expression of brooding imperiousness. The delicacy of the pleasure he took was in its control. His heart thumped in his chest as he let go of her and took her left arm by the wrist.

He walked her to the living room and let go.

‘I want you to stand in the corner and think about how you’ve behaved.’ he said.

She rewarded his attention with watching the delicious micro-conflict. The missed notes played often enough to become phrases in the symphony of her. She shuddered with delight as she lowered her head.

‘That’s not fair.’ she said.

He sighed and pointed towards the corner.

‘Do as you’re told.’ he said.

She snarled and turned away. He reached out and took her by the wrist and walked her to the corner, then put his hand on the small of her back, underneath her sweater and guided her into the corner.

‘How long for?’ she said.

He leaned over and whispered in her ear.

‘Every time you ask, it gets longer.’ he said.

She giggled and straightened up, put her hands by her side and pouted.

‘OK.’ she said.

He got his coffee and brought through an ashtray and his pouch of tobacco, sat on the couch and rolled a cigarette. The air sung with tension but he absorbed it, letting the incipient vibration gather strength in the pit of his stomach. Looking at her was a pleasure and she moved her hips from side to side, knowing the thrill it gave them both.

‘Don’t fidget.’ he said.

He lit the cigarette and made her wait for the time it took him to smoke it.

‘I’m not.’ she said.

He chuckled and watched her. The burn in his lungs from the cigarette mingled with the slow build of his arousal. She stood in the corner, trembling in silence, and when he crushed the cigarette out in the ashtray, he stood up and walked over to her.

She turned around, but he told her to stay still. His voice was thick, a growl from his belly. They spoke a language of playful restraint and tension, and for all its art, it was a primal state of grace between them.

He walked over to her and brought his arms around her from behind. His right hand rested on her stomach whilst his left hand came up and cupped her chin in his hand. She pressed back against him, found him hard and ready as she pushed her backside into his crotch, revelling in the hot squeeze of his arms around her. His breath was warm against her cheek.

‘Have I been good?’ she said.

He grunted and slipped his right hand under the waistband of her cotton pants and stroked the crotch of her panties. There was a warmth seeping through the cloth and he petted it with his fingertips. She sighed and pushed back again. He grunted and turned her head, brushed his lips against hers which made her give a small moan from the back of her throat.

He plucked her underwear to one side and opened her with his fingers. She sighed as he pressed his index finger into the liquid heat of her, testing the unspoken assertion of her mood with a small circle which made her groan.

Their lips danced and played with one another as he stroked her in small circles. She brought her arm around behind her, urged him closer as though she could push him into her. He bucked back and she softened. He came forward, keeping the rhythm of his fingers constant and focused as her arousal soaked his fingertips. Each stroke expressed delicious, deliberate friction, and they built upon one another. She pulled her mouth away from his, and her eyes were heavy-lidded with pleasure.
‘Can I come?’ she said.

He smiled and shook his head. His fingers found a spot which made her gasp and lean forward, palms to the wall as she squeezed out a plea for permission.

‘No.’ he said.

She shuddered and whimpered as she pulsed over his fingers. She pleaded with him and he denied her, knowing the anticipation was becoming unbearable and revelling in the power of being able to test her through his actions and their consequences.

After her third request, he put his mouth to her ear and made her ask him again. She babbled through it, shaking with the war she was fighting, on the tightrope of an ecstasy which he took as his due. His fingers were a silken magic trick between her thighs and it was all she could do to hold on.

He told her yes, and she cried out as she clutched for him. She pressed herself against him as she hollered through the pulsing spasms of propulsive delight, her skin alive with the crackling wonder of her orgasm. She felt, rather than thought, went into the place within where his hands and body, his words spun her into playful paroxysms of feeling. When the spasms subsided, they held one another in the corner. She kissed him all over his face, gasping and sighing as he enjoyed the febrile waves of heat coming off her. He petted her between her thighs, painting up her navel with her own juices as they kissed and murmured to one another.

‘I feel so much better now.’ she said.

He kissed her on the forehead.

‘Good.’ he said.

She glanced up at him and smiled as she stroked his face.

‘Thank you. I will get those pages finished. You can get the washing in.’ she said.

He grimaced and asked her why. She smiled and kissed him again.

‘It looks like rain.’ she said.

Categories
beauty love lust poetry sex women

A Deep Kiss

oh how

My will

Seeks expression

Through your flesh

My lips

And tongue would

Kiss my intentions

Into the damp, warm

Places of you

Drink each glistening

Drop 

My hands would

Compose hymns

To the divine

With each pinch

Stroke

Sliding them slow

Exploring the 

Throb of your 

Need and calling

It into the air

With my body

And it’s rough

Power

I would gently

Capably

Redraw the boundaries

Of your soul’s

Capacity

For love

To match the beauty

That draws out the

Beast within

And all his

Rapacious poetry

Categories
love lust poetry sex women

to be broken in a perfumed garden

I want

To break you

Not from cruelty

Or weakness

But from a want

Strong as gravity.

Even in passing,

The urge you inspire

Makes my paws heavy

Ready to grasp you close

Pull your hair,

Tease and dishevel you

A rambunctious glorious play.

Belly laughter and bruises,

Red stripes of flesh like tiger markings,

To test and push,

And all of it makes a sense which

Sits quiet and patient,

Alongside the sweep of conversation,

The poetry of silences

Which express the all,

Baby girl,

I appeal not to reason,

But to the storm,

The raging ocean,

The roaring animal

Which lives in the perfumed garden

Of your flesh

Yet I know the joy

Of your smile taking wing

And brightening the air

Around me.

Categories
beauty love poetry women

Held

Held

As you would a flame

Through a windswept night

To be the light in your eyes

To be the reason you sing

To receive the gift of your surrender

Melt beneath my fingers

Swell upon my tongue

To wrap you around me

Wear you as armour

Breathe in the heat of you

Would you weep against my chest

When the world is too much

To bear

What I would give

For that.

Categories
masculinity poetry sex Uncategorized women

In Night’s Bitter Watches

tumblr_oavy5ga0ny1vb35ugo1_500

Do not mistake

My quiet for gentility

My manners are camouflage

To disguise the beast

That lives beneath

This skin

I am capable

Of the sweetest fury

To extend the control, I have

To you.

Pout and tell me how mean

I am, but I see the light in your eyes

How you long for cruel, biting fingers

A rough palm’s velocity

A firm grip of your hair

I compel surrender, not submission

And move you

To my needs

As smooth as tide meets shore

I am not mewling need

But determined want

You must prove yourself to me

I see through words

To actions

And actions to release

You

Will

Feel

Me

In night’s bitter watches