Monday, August 26, 2019

Out now , delicious #eroticromance #short Read a #teaser @elodieparkes #romance

Delicious, new release erotic short
The Only Way to Dance
Chrissie wins an interview with a prestigious advertising agency. Fate conspires to make the day difficult. The only bright spot is her meeting with gorgeous Dylan Cross, but who is he, and will their steamy attraction to each other prevent her from having the job she covets?

N.B. This story was previously published as part of Executive Assistant, an anthology of erotic romance from Evernight Publishing. 
Available on kindleunlimited

Read a teaser 18+

She looked sexy, pale, a little disheveled, but so pretty.

He kissed her. Chrissie responded with a kiss that sent tingles to his balls and tightened his stomach. Dylan traced the seam of her lips with the tip of his tongue. When she opened her mouth and her tongue met his, the rush of desire that went straight down his body hardened his cock. He explored her mouth and tongue with his. Each touch made his cock jerk and grow until he felt the tip against the waistband of his shorts.

“You know, if this was a movie we’d have sex and the time would fly by, then we’d be saved.” He kissed her between phrases, wondering what she would do if he unzipped her skirt and the shell top she wore so that he could knead her breasts and push his fingertips against her pussy. The thought brought a low groan to his throat and a pearl of moisture leaked from his cock.

“If this was a movie, you’d lift me up to the trap door in the roof of the elevator and I’d climb out and escape.” She smiled at him.

“I’ll lift you up there, you can check if you want, but I have no idea where you might escape to. That’s never been clear in the movies.” He bent and picked her up under the thighs. It was easy. She was slender and small. Dylan experienced a moment of complete lust when he realized he’d brought her pussy against his face. Even clad in her skirt he could feel the shape of her mound against his cheek as he turned his face a little. He nearly stumbled when he took the step to the center of the floor from the raw need she ignited in him. He pictured sucking her clit, licking her pussy, kissing down the insides of her thighs.

Chrissie laughed and vibrations from her ass on his forearms went straight down into his stomach in waves of desire. He closed his eyes as he moved his face and nestled into her. Her skirt rode up. He bent his head to push his face up under her skirt.

She put her hands on his shoulders. “The trap door won’t move. Dylan, let me down.”
Surrounded by the scent of her skin and the feel of her thighs through the pantyhose she wore, Dylan forced himself to put her down.
She slid down the front of his body, her skirt going up around her waist.

He pulled her against his hips, his hands cupping her ass. He kissed her hard as he lifted her to grind his hard cock against her. “Chrissie.” His whisper sounded like a plea, even to his ears.

She surged up against his body, pushing against him, to return his kiss.

“Yes,” she whispered against his lips.

Copyright Elodie Parkes, 2019
BUY the book at .99 cents or read for free with Kindle Unlimited

Sunday, August 25, 2019

Owen has only one wish left. And this time, he wants to ensure it doesn’t come with nightmare side effects like his first two did. @JewelQuinlan #audiobook #release #PNR

Owen has only one wish left. And this time, he wants to ensure it doesn’t come with nightmare side effects like his first two did. Unfortunately, Cleo, the scornful genie granting his desires, isn’t willing help. With the wish deadline fast approaching, Owen must find a way to gain Cleo’s assistance, or he’ll be stuck forever in a tangle of his own making.

Audiobook Details:
Listening Time: 1 hour 18 minutes
Narrated by: Jack Calihan

Listen to a sample:

Where to buy the audiobook:
Want the ebook instead?

Or add it to your shelf on Goodreads

   “…Maybe if you’d executed my first two wishes better I wouldn’t be so strung out.” Wrong thing to say. If I could have punched myself, I would have.
Cleo stiffened, eyes wide. And then they narrowed, and I could almost see the millions of ways she was killing me in her mind right now. I braced myself for a barrage of scorn mixed with profanity. If there was one thing I’d learned about Cleo in the past couple of months, it was that she had an extensive vocabulary of swear words. Not only was her range impressive, it was also interestingly exotic. I was well acquainted with it because it’d been directed at me on the frequent occasions I managed to get her to come out of the pill box. I’d thought I’d heard it all at this point in my life, but she proved me wrong. And somehow, whenever she directed her skill at me, I couldn’t help but feel that every term she used was eminently fitting.
“I’m so sorry you’re dissatisfied with your first two wishes, Master,” she drawled in an uncharacteristically chilly tone that made me shiver. “I shall return to my vessel and spend my time reflecting on how to do better with your third wish.” She turned and moved away from the door.
Fuck. The lack of profanity made me panic. I leapt up the stairs in one bound and grabbed her arm in desperation. If she evaporated back into the box, I’d have a hell of a time getting her to come out again. “Cleo, I’m sorry. Don’t go. I’m an asshole, okay? A dick. I’m—I’m every foul word you’ve called me since we met.”
The skin of her arm was soft beneath my fingers, but the biceps was firm. Did she work out? Would a genie even need to, being able to shapeshift and all? There was a small strange golden tattoo on her arm. I watched, fascinated, as it shifted from a crescent moon, to some intricate round design that reminded me of snowflakes, and then into a symbol of some kind. This close, her scent was warm in my nostrils. It was a mix of jasmine, incense, and something spicy that I had yet to identify. The intoxicating medley had visited me in my dreams more than once.
“Take … your hand … off me.”
The words were spoken slowly and in a deadly acid that had me snatching my hand back as though I’d touched a hot exhaust pipe. She glared up at me and twitched her arm as if to dislodge any germs I’d left on her creamy skin.
“Sorry. So sorry,” I said, my words coming out light and breathy as though I might set off a bomb. I took a half step back from her, lifting my hands in front of me in that universal I’m-not-armed gesture. “Please don’t go,” I pleaded. “I really need your help. Please.”
There were less than three days left for me to make my third wish, and I was desperate not to fuck it up.  I’d made the first two rather quickly, and they hadn’t turned out exactly as I’d hoped. Well, no, I can’t say that. I’d gotten exactly what I’d wished for. I was now ridiculously wealthy and famous. The problem was that both of those things had come with a lot of problems, like fleeing from people who were trying to kill me for reasons I had yet to determine. And I really didn’t want to spend the rest of my life using my new, magically-granted resources running, hiding, and generally having to look over my shoulder for the rest of my days. Of course, I could always wish to undo the first two wishes. But who in their right mind would do that? I ran a hand through my hair, and pleaded with her with my eyes.
Cleo made a scoffing noise and raked a critical gaze from my black biker boots, over my favorite well-worn jeans and grey t-shirt, and finally to my face, which no doubt looked more haggard than ever from worry and an overgrown five o’clock shadow. “And why should I help you? Out of the goodness of my heart?”
I scrambled to think of something to say, but my mind was blank. I was a mere human. And before she’d come into my life, I was only doing a passable job at being that. There was nothing I could give her that she couldn’t give herself, not even freedom.
“I can’t think of anything,” I said, feeling deflated. “But maybe you can.” It was a shot in the dark, but worth it. There was a faint glimmer in her caramel-colored eyes that signaled I was on the right track. Inspired, I pushed forward, desperate. “Is there something?”
She relaxed her stance, making hope soar within me. Then she dropped her gaze to the floor as if—No. Could it be?—as if she was reluctant to say it. I closed the gap between us again, feeling bolder, but I didn’t touch her. “Tell me,” I urged in a low voice, fascinated. “I want to know. No, I have to know. What I could possibly give you that you would want?”

Jewel is giving away 25 Audible Codes for a FREE download of The Third Wish

Enter the Rafflecopter Giveaway from 8/21/19 through 9/21/19

  About the Author: 
 Jewel Quinlan is a bestselling paranormal and contemporary romance author. Since her debut in late 2013, she has published sixteen stories and has many more to come. Restless by nature, she is an avid traveler and has visited sixteen countries so far. Lover of ice cream, dark beer, and red wine, she tries to stay fit when she’s not typing madly on her computer drafting another romance novel. In her spare time, she likes to do yoga, hike, learn German, and play with her spoiled Chihuahua, Penny.
For more information about Jewel Quinlan
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Friday, August 23, 2019

Savor these luscious tales of lust and love from the outrageous imagination of @LisabetSarai. #Free download #anthology of #erotic #romance

New Release!
Crowd Pleaser: Sexy Shorts
By Lisabet Sarai

Erotica and erotic romance anthology
Five flames
33,000 words
Exclusive to Smashwords
Includes a 50% discount coupon for Hot Brides in Vegas: Vegas Babes Book 1


Savor these luscious tales of lust and love from the outrageous imagination of Lisabet Sarai. A Nebraska tornado provides the opportunity for a long-married couple to indulge their kinky tendencies. A workaholic professor learns to pay attention to her carnal desires. Two virile young baristas turn a lawyer’s fantasies into vivid reality. Ten erotic gemspleasure guaranteed!

 Link (Free download)

From “Beefeater”

“You know what I want.” I can barely get the words out between gasps. Phil's got my blouse unbuttoned and is diligently sucking my nipple, with the expected effect. He stops briefly to swirl his tongue in a deft circle around the aching nub, then nips at the tip. I moan as my clit jumps in sympathy.

Encouraged, he fastens his mouth on mine while he sneaks his hand up my thigh. I'm sopping and dying for him to touch me, but I slap his hand away.

“No way! You're not getting into my knickers until you agree.”

“Oh, come on, Moe. You know I can't do it.”

“Of course you can. If you want to. If you want me, want me enough.”

He bends to my breasts for another long, delicious suckle. He's trying to soften me up. I mustn't let him know how much success he's having.

“Really, I can't. It's like—sacrilege.” There's genuine distress on his face, but it might just be the result of frustrated lust. “Those uniforms were designed by Queen Victoria, for Christ's sake.”

I snuggle up to him with a sweet smile. “I know. That's part of what makes it so hot. The centuries of tradition. Don't you think that it would be hot, Phil?” I stroke his swollen cock through his jeans and give him a wet kiss with lots of tongue. It's hardly possible, but I actually feel him become bigger and harder. “It's not like this is just for me. I know you'll enjoy it.”

“Yeah, but if Geoff catches me, I'm finished. A halberd through the heart! You know how he is about the Warders.”

“He won't, I promise. We'll be extra careful. We'll do it when he's on duty.”

“And what about my mum?”

“Doesn't she play bridge a couple of nights a week?”

“On Tuesdays and Thursdays, most weeks.”

“So all you need to do is figure out the next Tuesday or Thursday night that Geoff's on the watch.” I find the bulb of his cock and pinch it through the denim. He yelps. “Should be easy for a smart guy like you.”

About Lisabet

Lisabet Sarai has been addicted to words all her life. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – nearly one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

Youll find information and excerpts from all Lisabets books on her website (, along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (, she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. Shes also on Goodreads and finally, on Twitter.  Sign up for her VIP email list here:

Thursday, August 22, 2019

Being tossed into a dumpster and left to die wasn’t at the top of my list, but Renegade found me. #MCromance #coverreveal @changelingpress @HarleyW_Writer #biker #romance

Publisher: Changeling Press Cover Artist: Bryan Keller Release Date: September 2019

My past taught me family means pain. I don’t want one, other than my club. But fate has other plans.

At fifteen, I thought I knew everything. Having been in foster care all my life, not much scared me. I’d already faced monsters parading around as upstanding citizens. But life hadn’t prepared me for a biker who would lure me in, kidnap me, and abuse me for five years. I got Fawn out of it, my precious girl, and a lot of bad memories. Being tossed into a dumpster and left to die wasn’t at the top of my list, but Renegade found me. I’ve never had a man be kind to me or my daughter before -- especially not a biker -- and I’m not sure what to think. I want to trust him, but I don’t want to give him my heart only to have him turn out like every other man I’ve ever known. It would break me.

I lost my family a long time ago, and I vowed I’d never have another. I still have Nikki, my baby sis, and that’s enough. My club is a family, but that’s different. I trust them, and in my own way I love them, but it’s not the same as having a wife and kids. I’ll never go down that path. Then I found Fawn and her mother, Darby, thrown away like unwanted trash. Yeah, Fate’s laughing her ass off right now. They’re in my home, and slowly worming their way under my skin. Hearing their story is enough to make my blood boil and send rage flooding through me. I’ll exact revenge for all they’ve suffered, and then they’ll truly be free, able to move on without fear of being taken again. Except… I might not want to let them go.

WARNING: This story contains violence, bad language, and really hot sex. While there are abuse themes, nothing is told in great detail.


Coming to Changeling Press on September 6th and online retailers September 13th


International Best Selling Author!
Short. Erotic. Sweet. Harley's other half would probably say those words describe her, but they also describe her books. When Harley is writing, her motto is the hotter the better. Off the charts sex, commanding men, and the women who can't deny them. If you want men who talk dirty, are sexy as hell, and take what they want, then you've come to the right place.
Harley's Website | Find her on Facebook | Follow her on Twitter | Harley on Amazon

Wednesday, August 21, 2019

It was a beautiful night in early August; the sky was an ebony sheet that stretched across the horizon in somber silence. #scifi #mystery #booktour stop

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Science Fiction, mystery, fantasy
Date Published: February 6, 2018
Publisher: Chattercreek

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The mystery that unfolds on a dark, eerie back road in upstate New York sends Nick Dowling on a frantic quest to understand his past. What he discovers about himself slowly drives him toward madness. Where does the truth unfold, in mystery or in the dream? Is truth the illusion he can't embrace? Just who is Nick Dowling?

Read an excerpt

Read an Excerpt
It was a beautiful night in early August; the sky was an ebony sheet that stretched across the horizon in somber silence. The moon was so full it appeared fat―as if it had swallowed every star in heaven and glowed purely from the pleasure of consumption. Nick Dowling gazed up at the sky through the windshield of his new Jeep Cherokee. His wife, Jenna, had just sent him out for a quart of milk. He was pleased to go, happy to be driving out under the stars on the back roads of New Kingston. Except on this particular night, there were no stars―just the moon, contently serene as it trailed his car like a wayward balloon.
Nick tapped his hands on the steering wheel and started singing along with the radio. "Goodbye Miss American Pie" he sang out. The old nostalgic lyrics filled the evening stillness, mingling with the crickets' song, and the hooting of the owls.
Nick was pleased: clear reception was not always a reliable luxury in the Catskill Mountains of Upstate New York. The road ahead was empty. His beams were high and his speed, slow. The last thing he needed was a startled deer to show up in his headlights. The time off was exhilarating: there were so many things he could get to, like fixing the lawn mower and painting the shed. This was the first of several long weekends he and Jenna were able to steal since they bought their second home in the mountains. He often had to work weekends to get his job done, a job he found boring and unsatisfying, not like doing something creative, but an executive's salary was nothing to scoff at. At least his saved-up vacation days provided a perfect opportunity to hit the highway, leaving Manhattan's sweltering concrete behind.
The music changed abruptly, the scratchy sound it made reminded him of an old phonograph needle skipping over a record. Billy Joel's "She's Got A Way About Her" came through the speakers with only a slight static sound, like cackle. This was the first song
Nick heard after waking up in a beat-up hotel room so many years ago, dead broke. All he owned back then was a pair of jeans and a rusty Gillette.
"I don't know what it is," he sang out, just as his headlights illuminated a barely visible road on his left―almost entirely hidden by trees.
"Looks familiar," he said aloud, smiling, as if someone sat beside him who might have agreed.
"I know that road," he whispered. He hunched over the steering wheel and slowed down for a better look. The road was mysteriously beautiful, framed as it was by pine trees that swayed ever so gently in the summer evening air. The impulse hit him like a spray of cold water, and he braked.
"Oh, what the hell," he said as he backed the jeep up. This impulsive action was very unusual for Nick who usually thought things through a thousand times before he did them. But on this particular evening, he barely gave it a thought before he took a sharp left onto the road. Perhaps there was something about the moon that night, close enough to touch, a flirtation he could not refuse.
"Have I lost my mind?" He laughed, looking around, seeing not much of anything that warranted fascination.
The road was narrow and dark, but he had just enough light from the moonlit sky to read the barely visible road sign: Fox Hollow.
Nick switched off the radio; he'd lost the clear station right after he made the turn, and the static was irritating. Slowly, he drove up the bumpy road. The night seemed wrapped in mesh, opaque and colorless. He accelerated his speed just a bit, attempting to see beyond his headlights, but there was nothing before him but the adumbration of trees: it seemed like hundreds of them were standing tall against the sky, bending and tipping their branches into the quiet swirl of the evening wind like visions between this world and the next.
The moon hovered at the end of his sightline like a big mysterious white ball, descending into the Earth, as if being swallowed. But the edges of the night were dull. Everything around him looked like a poorly developed print. Nick rubbed his eyes and watched as night's illusionary mist played havoc with his imagination and shadow monsters came out of the darkness, as tall as giants.
Something flashed through Nick's mind with a fervent intensity. Was there magic on this road? Suddenly, he had a childhood memory. It came out of nowhere: a boy fearing dragons in the night and dreaming of mythical sword fights in mystic forests with a moon as elusive as this one. Was he that boy? His memories of childhood didn't exist; his early life was a void. Yet there it was: a vision of sword fighting with a friend so small and light― Sir Lancelot in dungarees with his mother's pot for a shield.
Nick felt a sudden chill. Leaning in to switch off the air conditioning, a flash of light appeared on his hand, swiftly expanding, trapping his body in its glow, a blaze of cold and paralyzing illumination. His body froze. He held his breath. In moments, the light was everywhere, consuming the darkness as if from a hundred headlights.
"What the hell is going on?" Nick came out of his stupor and looked around frantically. It was getting increasingly colder, as cold as the dead of winter in Upstate New York can get. He started to shiver. But the night air had been warm. What the hell was happening? He could feel his heart pounding; it felt as if he were sitting inside a freezer.
His bones began to rattle as he looked through one eye. The light was still there, ubiquitous, the brightness: blinding. Fear settled on his chest as if he were in the line of unexpected gunfire. He closed his eyes again.
"I am victim to my own vivid imagination," he said, staring once again into the opaque night.
The lights suddenly disappeared, as if they'd been chewed and discarded by the darkness.
"Kids with flashlights, must be...what else?" But the cold? Strange weather condition? Well, the mountains.
Nick sat quietly, even patiently, until his fear passed, until it flowed out of his body, until his heart beat normally once again. When he felt calm enough, he stared back into the shadows and surveyed the space around him. He realized he had bitten his lip: he tasted blood.
He lowered his window halfway to make sure the lights were really gone. He was relieved to see everything appeared normal in the evening's shadow. The air was warm on his skin. Once again, the moon bounced naturally in the sky, throwing a path of light before him, like a megalithic corridor inviting entry.
He accelerated slowly. The moonlight faded back behind the trees, and the night became as dark as black ink. He nervously listened to the rocks and branches crunching beneath the wheels of his jeep wondering if he'd lost the road and was driving further into the woods.
Nick couldn't see anything but his headlights. But then, sudden as lightning's flash, as if he'd willed it, the night was lit by the welcomed sudden reappearance of the moon.
"Where you been hiding?"Needing a sense of direction, he stopped the jeep. The moon was fuller than he had ever seen it, but there were no stars out to guide him, just some shadowy image in the sky.
What the hell am I doing in the middle of nowhere playing tag with the goddamn moon?
There was a threatening hush, a silence too barren to trust. The owls had ceased to hoot, and the crickets were far too silent.
Without warning, the stillness shattered into a million pieces by a sound that shook his body from inside out. "Shit!" Nick cried, feeling his heart pounding against his chest. "What the hell was that?"
Like a drill in concrete, the sound was deafening. It was so intensely shrill it might have been heard on the other side of the globe. But then the intense sound vanished, disappeared as contiguously as a passing thought, back into the night. Had he imagined it? Nick brought his hands up to his face. They were still shaking badly. No, this was not imagination. The suddenness of that awful sound jostled him so badly his heart beats were on overtime, and his favorite t-shirt was soaked in sweat.
He'd been on this road before. He'd seen the road in his nightmares. He dreamed he was here.
Right after Nick and his wife, Jenna, closed on their weekend getaway in New Kingston, their retreat from Manhattan's urgent and colossal perplexities, Nick's nightmares accelerated. It was absurd to have them―monster nightmares belonged to children, not to men in their late forties. "I feel foolish to have so many of my dreams invaded by macabre caricatures," he told Jenna. "An odd thing for a grown man to have―nightmares," he'd said reluctantly.
"Not altogether unusual," Jenna responded as she listened to his tentative explanations. "Maybe something is triggering some old and unresolved issues you have with your mother...or father."
Nick scowled at that, wondering how he'd ever get out of seeing a shrink. It was absurd to think he needed one. Jenna insisted on blaming everything on his parents. But how could he blame anyone he didn't remember?
He accelerated over the stones and the broken branches of trees, hoping all the crap on the road wasn't scratching the paint off the jeep's body, or putting any frigging dents on his car. He felt too uneasy to slow down and check out the damage. Wanting to feel sane once more had become a prerogative. This introduction to Fox Hollow Road antagonized his sense of reality and left him surprisingly disentangled from his perspective on who the hell he was or believed himself to be.
He looked up toward the sky. He felt as if he'd just driven in a circle; the shadowy cloud was still above him and it appeared to cover the entire sky.
He drove forward, afraid that if he didn't he'd wind up in a ditch―lost forever in the goddamn woods. His heart was still getting a workout and his mouth felt like an old hot towel. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to reach civilization and grab a shot of whiskey.
"I've had enough of this nerve-wracking adventure," he said, his eyes riveted ahead.

About the Author

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Olivia Hardy Ray is the pen name for Vera Jane Cook, who is the author of Dancing Backward in Paradise, 2007 winner of the Indie Excellence Award for notable new fiction and an Eric Hoffer Award for publishing excellence, also in 2007. Dancing Backward in Paradise received a 5 Star Review from ForeWord Clarion. The Story of Sassy Sweetwater was a finalist for the ForeWord Clarion Book of the Year Award and the recipient of a five star review from ForeWord Clarion. Where the Wildflowers Grow was her third southern fiction novel and is receiving 5 star reviews from Her latest southern fiction novel just released is Pleasant Day. Her woman’s fiction novel is Lies a River Deep and the soon to be released ‘Kismet’. Under her pen name she is also the author of Annabel Horton, Lost Witch of Salem, and Pharaoh's Star. The sequel to Annabel Horton, Lost Witch of Salem is Annabel Horton and the Black Witch of Pau. That novel will be released this summer. Jane, as she is called by friends and family, writes in the genres she loves: southern fiction, women's fiction, mystery and fantasy paranormal fiction. She lives on the Upper West Side of Manhattan with her spouse, her Basenji/Chihuahua mix, Roxie, her Dachshund, Karly, her Chihuahua, Peanut, and her two pussycats, Sassy and Sweetie Pie.

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Friday, August 16, 2019

Finding Love for #FirstChapterFriday #romance #BDSM #darkromance @elodieparkes Hot Ink Press

First Chapter Friday is from
Finding Love

Jake’s a member of an elite club, the Candy Apple. Years ago, it used to be a gentlemen’s club, but now it caters for other needs. When he first sees Ellie sitting alone at one of the tables near the dance floor, he makes it his business to find out about her.
Jake’s enchanted by Ellie. He wants to give her what she needs.
Ellie takes him up on the offer.
The trouble is, Ellie’s needs will shock Jake and set him on a quest to find her, when after a night of passion and rescue, she slips away into the night.
Finding Love–a contemporary, erotic romance/suspense with a twist of darkness and an HEA.
What would you do to find love?

Incident at the Candy Apple

Chapter One
Jake stepped onto the patio. The day had been crisp and cloud free. As he gazed up into the clear night sky, he could see a sprinkling of stars. He was lucky to see them since the city sent out an aura of light. He’d always loved going out into the country away from the light pollution of the city because at night the sky was full of stars. Jake shivered in his shirtsleeves. If it hadn’t been unseasonably cold, he mightn’t even see the faint twinkling that greeted him as he stared up. Some time ago, on a trip to a less populated coast, he’d seen a shooting star. Jake had made a wish then. It hadn’t come true yet, but he held onto the hope that one day it would.
He closed the big glass doors, and locked them before pulling the pale gray vertical blinds. He was ready to go out into the city. All he needed was his jacket and the usual stuff he stashed in his pocket. The working week had drained him, but he needed to go to the club he frequented. With any luck, the lovely girl he’d noticed there would arrive again.
Jake drove to the Candy Apple and found a park in the lot they provided. There was no valet parking there. The Candy Apple was a semi-secretive place. Once a gentlemen’s club, the building ranged over four floors, though the basement floor wasn’t generally obvious, Jake knew about it. The exterior was verging on vintage, but an incredibly bright awning festooned the entry and extended to the wide first floor window where the coffee bar was situated. Over the top of the awning and around the shallow porch, shocking pink and white neon lights cast their glow onto the sidewalk. The steps leading to the front door shimmered under these lights and when it rained had the appearance of a surreal waterfall. No one entered the club unless they were a member. It seemed that introduction by a current member was the only way to join.
Jake strode along the white paved path leading from the parking lot and that joined the main street sidewalk. He ran up the short stoop of the club building, and met the security on the door. They knew him, but glanced at his membership card anyway.
“Good evening, Sir.”
He grinned at them. “Hi, is the place busy?”
“Not yet. Have a pleasant night.”
He smiled as he took the wide hall that led into the low-lit main room.
Jake sank gratefully onto the couch and stretched out his long legs. He leaned against the sumptuous, leather backrest to wait for midnight. His heartbeat practically matched the low thump of bass in the dance music seeping from the adjacent room. A sudden burst of the melody assailed his ears as the door opened and someone came through. He avoided the glance of the solitary man who passed him and studied the toes of his boots considering Ellie.
For the last five weeks, each Saturday night, Jake had watched her arrive at the club around twelve, sit quietly at one of the tables for an hour, and then leave. Initially, she’d been introduced to the place by a couple who were long-term members of the elite sex club—the Candy Apple. As far as Jake knew she hadn’t hooked up with anyone, and that intrigued him. He’d heard that she was looking for a Dom, but it appeared no one here appealed to her, because he’d seen her decline advances repeatedly. All the same, that rumor had stopped him approaching her so far. Maybe she’s not looking for a Dom at all, which would be good. Maybe she just needs the right guy to approach her...
He thought about her lovely face and the way her long hair caressed her bare shoulders as she sat at the table as if waiting. She always wore such clingy dresses it was easy to see the shape of her body. He’d watched as she walked, savored the gentle curve of her hips, licked his lips at the sight of her peaked nipples in the air-conditioned room. His fingers itched to roll those peaks. He ached to kiss her pretty mouth.
Jake greeted a small group of people who arrived and said hello. He’d been a club member for almost three years and knew most people. Six months ago he’d split with his longtime girlfriend, who’d introduced him to the club. It wasn’t a comfortable split. Nasty things had happened. He wanted to forget it. She had someone new from across town and they didn’t use the Candy Apple. He was happy about that, because he’d proved his integrity and sincerity to the club owners and couldn’t face giving up his membership in favor of haunting dance clubs and singles bars.
Jake hoped to find someone eventually to take care of, to give them what they needed, to cherish. He’d missed out on love, rode the crushing sadness of a broken heart, but deep down he still wanted love, even though he fooled himself with platitudes such as I’ll never fall for anyone again. It will only be sex from now on. He didn’t acknowledge it, but the desire to be loved drove him.
The sight of Ellie each weekend fed these delusions about his needs. He thought of her when he couldn’t sleep, picturing her slender thighs, and how he would pull her legs wide apart, and suck her clit until she orgasmed begging for more. He’d give her more. He’d give her so much she’d crave his touch. Jake wanted her molded against him, asking him to fuck her. He imagined winding the length of her pretty hair around his hand and pulling her face to his kiss. He planned how he’d strip her, cover her in kisses, and make her wait for his fingers in her pussy, so that when he finger fucked her, the pleasure would be exquisite. Jake teased himself with thoughts of having her writhing with pleasure under him until his cock and his stomach ached. He’d masturbate then, coming so hard his cum spurted high up his chest.
He wanted Ellie so much it scared him. He wanted her to need and trust him, to let him give her the sex she must want since she frequented Candy Apple, a sex club. He knew he’d become obsessed with her. It’s because she’s a mystery. Tonight he was going to approach her. He’d waited long enough.
A couple he knew passed him on their way to a private room. Jake nodded in a silent greeting. The aroma of coffee filled his head as the door to the small café in the club swung open—and she was there. The light from behind her displayed the delightful contours of her body beneath the scrap of fabric that was her dress. Her long nut-brown hair shone pale in the glow before the door closed behind her.
She passed him as she went to the small area where a number of tables were arranged.
He savored the sight of her shapely thighs as her dress swished high around them when she walked. He imagined stroking along each thigh to the curve of her ass. He wondered if she liked toys. He could show her how to reach such heights of pleasure with a vibrator buzzing on her lubed clit. What is she waiting for, he asked himself, as he glanced her way and saw her take a seat at a table.
He knew that sometimes she’d watch as other couples used the area to pet, to kiss, to ready each other for fucking. Maybe she’s a voyeur. The sex club accommodated many sexual practices. Swingers and couples simply looking to spice up their relationship used the place as well as those people rigidly following a lifestyle. They accessed the special rooms in the dungeon of the club, a place Jake had never been. He wasn’t a member of the Candy Apple Dungeon.
The club was filling up as Jake waited. One of the owners opened the doors to the dance floor and secured them with metal hooks in the eyelets attached to the wall. A series of still photographs were projected onto the huge white wall on one side of the room. They were pretty and sexy shots of pouting lips, bare asses, stocking tops, with the occasional soft porn pose thrown in to add an element of sexual surprise.
Jake stood and walked to where Ellie sat.
Copyright Elodie Parkes, Hot Ink Press
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