Sunday, 27 December 2015

merry christmas, gentlemen...

Her skin shone in the flickering candlelight as she lay back on the white tablecloth. I longed to touch her, to trace my fingers over the line from just beneath her breast, over her ribs, around the slender dip of her waist - to touch my lips to hers, to lay on her, our skin together, our bodies one -
She closed her eyes. Our perfumes merged, and with a small smile on her lips, she brought her arms up, over her head, letting her hands fall into the space at the end of the table. She arched her back. She was perfect – she was everything I’d ever imagined.
I picked up the jug. Ice cold double cream. I added a pinch of edible silver glitter, stirred it with my finger.
I went to the head of the table.
“Are you sure?” I asked her. “You don’t have to, you know.”
She opened her eyes and stared into mine. Then she reached, not for the double cream, but for me. She pulled me closer, slid a hand underneath my short uniform. Somewhere behind us, the sound of conversation grew closer, but she kept my gaze as she moved my panties to one side.
“You want this as much as I do,” she whispered.
“No, I –”
“You should stay,” she said, softly.
The door rattled.
“I can’t,” I said. “I’m not meant to.”
“Let us in!” Someone laughed. “Come on!”
she slid her finger between my lips, searching for my clit. I knew should go – they’d be there any second, but –
oh God, she found me.
as the door opened, the men came striding into the room, but she didn’t stop – and somehow, I didn’t move.
I heard their calls, their whistles, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from hers. I opened my legs a little further and she pressed harder, and inside me, deep inside, I felt the rush begin.
“Gentlemen,” she said, taking the jug from me with her other hand. “Merry Christmas.”
As the waves broke inside me, she poured the cream over her chest, over her beautiful breasts, and the men stepped closer.

Wednesday, 23 December 2015

something a little festive, this sunday.
double cream, anyone?
Ivy x

Sunday, 20 December 2015

picture perfect

here it is folks, a sunday morning tease...

He took my phone, and I frowned.
“Look at you,” he said. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and yet you don’t believe it.”
“Come off it!” I reached for the phone, trying to snatch it out of his hands, but he held it further away, laughing. With one hand firmly on my chest he stepped closer, pushing me back.
“Fuck you!” I yelled.
“I very much hope so,” he said, in that clean cut English accent of his that I adored.
Still holding me away, he touched my phone with his other hand, rolling his thumb over the screen. I struggled to get to it, but a flash surprised my eyes and I blinked.
He laughed, again. “See?” he said. He showed me the picture. A wild haired me was pushing myself forward, and the angle of the camera had been looking right down my top. The loose white cotton of my t-shirt had fallen away and the camera flash had caught the dark nub of my nipple behind my white lace bra.
“Give me the phone,” I said, reaching for it.
He stepped back, and took another picture.
“Take off your jeans,” he said.
“No!” I started to turn around, but he leant toward me.
“Please,” he said. “It’s your phone. You can delete the pictures after. Just look at them, first.”
“But –”
“Or you can send them to me, when I’m in the middle of an important meeting.” He raised one eyebrow. “Or send them to me, when we’re at dinner, somewhere nice. Or when I’m alone, when I’m waiting for you.”
He was rock hard, his swollen cock pushing against the expensive fabric of his suit trousers.  As I watched, he put a hand over his crotch and gripped himself, but he never took his eyes from mine.
“I could look at you forever,” he said.
He moved the phone, pointing it at me. I hesitated, but my fingers were already on my zip. Without looking up, I kicked off my shoes and slid the tight denim down my legs. The flash burst into life, twice, then three times, and as I started to straighten up again, he let out a soft moan.
I moved my shoulder, well aware, this time, of the view down my open top. His breathing quickened and I looked up, into the lens. As the light flashed, I licked my lips, and slowly brought my hands over my hips.
I stood up straight.
“Take off your shirt,” he said.
I took hold of the thin cotton, but I didn’t pull it over my head. Instead, I wrapped it around my wrist, pulling the fabric tight over my breast, knowing how it caught on my nipples, how they pushed out, under the thin fabric.
I held the t-shirt wrapped tightly around my body and with my other hand, I started to mold my breast with my fingers. I squeezed my nipples, and I watched as he took photo after photo of them. Then I turned. I slipped my feet back into my high heels and I pulled the thin t shirt up and over my head.
I looked back.
He turned the phone to show me, but I shook my head.
“No, look,” he said.  “See what I see.”
“I don’t want –” I started to say, but he pushed the camera right up to me.
I looked good.
Sure, my hair was a bit messy but I looked… I searched for the word.
Yeah, I looked real sexy.
The thin cotton caught every inch of my curves and as I gazed at the photo, I wanted to pull back the slip of lace that covered me. I wanted more.
I looked into his eyes.
“Take it again,” I said.
I turned for him and spun, slowly, letting my fingers stroke my body.
I ran my hands over my hips, over my waist, cupping my breasts, pinching my nipples –
I put my hands in my hair. I spread my legs wide. Leaning down, down, following my legs, gripping my ankles, I looked back.
I beckoned him closer, moving my ass.
I beckoned him closer still, and with one finger in the edge of my panties I began to draw them down.
I didn’t need to see the picture; I knew I was glistening wet. With my panties half way down, I reached back, tracing that one finger around my cunt.
In a quick spin I stood and turned on my heels, stepping out of my panties. I undid my bra and leaned back, knowing the arch of my waist would complement my full breasts, knowing my skin looked amazing under the flash light – knowing that as I dipped my finger inside my cunt then drew it over my thigh, over my belly, that I left a trail of honey, a tell tale show that yeah, I was there. I was so, so there.
I leaned back against the couch and crooked my finger toward him. Slowly, moving inch by inch, I opened my legs.

Ivy xx

Monday, 14 December 2015

I've found myself a little... tied up, recently. Deciding I need to introduce more discipline in my life, I've made up my mind to post a new tease every Sunday.

Join me, if you will, for something a little bit naughty, this Sunday...

Friday, 27 November 2015

the wall

With one hard push, he slammed me up against the wall. His hand drew mine up, over my head. Our fingers interlocked and our breath came together.
With his other hand, he slid his fingers under my dress, pulling it up, up, over my stocking tops, sliding his finger over my suspender. 
He gripped my arse.
His mouth at my ear, he whispered my name, just once.
My nipples were so hard, they were numb to the cold wall. He brushed his lips over my neck, and - oh god - I leaned my head back, inviting him in.
He didn’t need another word.
Tugging the rest of my dress up, over my hips, he pulled aside my knickers and touched me.
He chuckled.
“You’re so wet,” he whispered.
“Shh,” I said. “They’ll hear us!” 

Sunday, 1 November 2015

stranger on the sand

The wind kissed the top of the grasses, playing with them, ruffling through them. The sand was warm underneath her and her skin shone with the sun’s caress. It wasn’t late, not much past dinnertime, really. The day had hours left in it yet, but morning or evening, she’d never seen anyone else up there at the top of the sand dunes. It was a perfect spot, an unseen platform above the beach, looking down, with all the warmth of the day and the protection of the long grass.
She turned, rolling onto her back, and let her book slip away from her fingers. Her eyes closed and she let out a long, happy sigh. 
Suddenly, a shadow cast over her. She opened her eyes, wide, but the figure was in front of the sun, a tall block silhouette against the bright light behind him.
“Hey,” he said.
He had a low growling voice, matching his wide shoulders and bulky physique.
She froze.
“I said, Hey,” he said, again, the Russian clear in his intonation. “Don’t you remember me?”
She blinked, then shook her head. She was certain she’d never seen him in her life. She’d surely remember someone who looked like that, never mind the voice that rippled over her, its deep, throaty resonance sinking right to her groin. No, she'd definitely never met him.
Again, she shook her head.
“No?” without warning he dropped down, over her. He grabbed her and spun her over so she faced the sand, then pressed himself on top of her. “You think no?”
She pushed out her hands but he was too strong – he grabbed her skirt and yanked it up, then took hold of her white cotton panties and in one crazy pull he ripped them away – then he stopped, froze.
“Maria?” he said. “Oh, God, you’re not Maria, are you?”
She lay still, her face pressed into the sand, her backside on display, naked. The breeze tickled her skin, and again, she shook her head.
“Oh my god,” he said. “Miss, I’m so sorry, I’m –”
She lifted her head. He was incredible. Whoever this Maria was, she could only imagine what they’d planned.
Looking down, his hand was next to hers. His fingers were long and wide, and rough. They were hands that knew how to take hold of something, hands that knew how to touch.
She wasn’t Maria, but – but what if she were?
She looked up at him.
“You have no tattoo,” he said, gesturing to her bottom. “I thought… I can only apologize, Miss. Really, I had no…”
Her eyes burned into his, and he stopped. Slowly, she ran her tongue over her lips, and swallowed.
“You’re not the woman I thought you were,” he said. “I had arranged, I had…”
She nodded, letting her eyes travel down his body. His shirt was open to mid chest and even with the sun behind him, she could see the outline of muscles – muscles on his arms, muscles on his body and down, below his belt –
Holy Mary, Mother of God! She brought her eyes right back up to his face.
You’re not Maria,” he said. “And yet, you do not move, when I put you there.”
She nodded.
“You do not speak?” he said.
No, she thought, not trusting herself to try.
“You do not cover yourself, when I… expose you,” he said.
Moving slowly, he let his finger travel up the back of her leg, up, up. She shivered, took a sharp breath, but the finger kept on going, up and over her bottom, and around and around on her plump cheek.
“Here,” he said. “Here, Maria has a little tattoo. I did not see her face, but I saw here.”
Around and around, he smoothed the skin, then he stopped. Watching her face, he brought back his hand and spanked her, hard.
He chuckled.
“So you do speak,” he teased her. "Interesting."
He leant over her and she tried to turn back to see him to watch what he was doing, and as he lowered himself down beside her, he tipped her head to look into her face.
“You like that, little stranger?” he said.
Again, his hand moved to her bottom. Where he’d spanked her, the skin tingled and spiked.
She went to shake her head, she went to stop, to speak, but –
He moved his hand down, between her legs, and she couldn’t lie.
Was she really doing this? She looked around, peering between the grasses – her heart raced in her chest, her mouth was dry but –
He was there. Whoever this stranger was, whoever Maria was, she didn’t know. All she knew was his hand, his touch - the sun on her skin, the sounds of the sea, the whistle of the wind - and the space, where he stopped touching her. With his other hand, he touched her chin, again, raising her eyes to his. He’d stopped, he’d pulled back, and she knew – her body knew – she could feel him readying.
This time he spanked her twice, both on the same place, one then the next, the slap reverberating around the dunes. Pulling away, she breathing in, she –
Oh God, she moaned.
The pain receded and from underneath, came the burn.
She shook her head. She’d promised herself she wasn’t going to play these kind of games any more – she was done with that stuff, she was done with men, she was –
She was absolutely soaking wet.
His hands stroked her, again, up and over her bottom, around her waist, his fingers rough against her soft skin, his hold complete.
“What’s your name, little stranger?” he said.
She shook her head. She couldn’t have spoken if her life depended on it.
“So fine, I don’t give you mine,” he said. “Just tell me – tell me, what do you want?”
She looked back at the strong silhouette, and opened her mouth.

Thursday, 15 October 2015

love is...

He gripped her ankle and swung it to one side, pinning it to the bed while he searched underneath the wooden bed base.
“You bastard!” Fiona struggled to get away, pushing him, but he was too big. It was like trying to move a really determined wardrobe.
John winked, and with a final tug, drew out the long bar from under the bed.
“You’re so beautiful when you’re angry,” he said.
“Fuck you!” with one giant shove to his shoulder, Fiona freed her ankle and darted off the bed, but John was too quick for her. Scooping her around the waist with one arm, he chuckled as he dragged her, kicking and yelling, back to the bed.
“Let me go, you fucker – let me fucking go!” she yelled, still working her feet, slamming his fists into his broad back.
John chuckled as he undid the thick Velcro bands on one end of the pole. As she leant in to slap the back of his head, he rolled her over onto her back and leaned across her legs. With one hand on her chest, he looked into her eyes. He waited until she stopped fighting.
“You will stop this,” he said.
“I fucking won’t –”
“You will stop this, and lie here like a good girl.”
“I’m not a fucking child!” Fiona screamed at him.
He laughed, throwing back his head, but he didn’t let go of her. He knew her too well. Instead, he moved his knee to hold her down to the bed, and with one hand, he bound the first end of the pole around her left ankle.
“Go on, fight me,” he teased her. “I dare you.”
Her bright green eyes flashed, but she bit back her words. Instead, she waited, and as he leaned down to get the other end, she whipped around her hand and grabbed the pillow from under her, slamming it onto the back of his head.
John didn’t look around.
“You didn’t want to do that,” he said, with his voice, low.
“It should have been a fucking brick, you mean,” she spat.
With a sigh, he twisted around on top of her, grabbing both her hands. She screamed as he yanked her arms up, above her head, but he was done hearing her. With one hand on her wrists, he drew another strap from behind the bed head, a thick band of Velcro attached to the wall. Wrapping it around her wrists he didn’t stop to check if she could move. He didn’t stop to listen as she screamed obscenities, biting and cussing. He grabbed a roll of duct tape from the top of the bedside cupboard, ripped off a strip, and with one hand holding her head still, he stuck the tape over her mouth.
Fiona froze. Her big eyes looked up in fear and her breath came quickly through her nose.
He touched the tape with his thumb, then ran his fingers down, over her jaw.
“You didn’t want to do that,” he said, again.
She moaned, a little fear mixed in with the heat, and he shook his head as he ran his hands over her body, never grabbing, never hurting, just slowly up and down, over her breasts and her stomach, over her hip, back up to her breasts, feeling her contours with his fingers.
Slowly, the fear eased from her eyes.
He reaching for the other end of the bar, but this time he opened the strap slowly, enjoying the promise of the thick velcro.
“Open your legs,” he said.
He watched her clench her thigh muscles as she tried to glue her knees together.
“Open them,” he said again, running his palm over her stomach.
Fiona quivered, her body rippling under his touch, but she shook her head, her eyes pleading.
His hands traveled up, over her stomach, over her chest, to her neck.
“Open your legs, darling,” he said, as he caressed the sweet spot at her throat, as he stroked with his fingers. She breathed in fast, but he smiled, and opened his fingers to grip. It was a second, just the quickest tightening. With a strangled cry, she pulled herself as far away from him as she could get. Her face flushed red, her eyes blinking on horror, and her whole body shook as she pushed herself further into the bed –
And then, trembling, she opened her legs.
John smiled. He licked his lips and bent to kiss her mound, resting his lips on her. He reached down, took the end of the bar. Using both hands, he wound the strap around her right ankle, and then stood up from the bed.

She forced herself to breathe slowly, not to snort air. His cock was harder than she’d ever seen it and the first drips of pre cum wept from it. She knew how much he liked to see her there, helpless, but this time he’d pushed her. This time, as he promised, he wanted more.
She wriggled her middle. Her feet were pinned but he hadn’t tied the bar to the bed so she could still move. Her shoulders ached but her hands were tight to the wall, taking her choice away.
But as uncomfortable as she was, inside she burned. She watched him looking down at her, she saw herself in his eyes, displayed – tied – and the fire raged in her core. With his eyes on hers, he put his hand to her cunt and opened her lips, and he let his finger travel around and around her clit, never touching long enough, never quite where she wanted it. Oh God, she needed him to fuck her – she needed to be pounded, to be thrown – she needed him to slam into her - but she’d made him angry and now it was his turn to play.
He walked around the bed and over to the wardrobe. Opening it, he slid his hand under a pile of clothes. He drew out two bags.
“I would ask you which one,” he said. “But then, you couldn’t answer, so what would be the point?”
He opened one bag, and she strained to see what was in it, but he shook his head.
“I think this is for me to know,” he said. “And you to find out. Wouldn’t you agree?”
She scowled as hard as she could, her eyes burning daggers into him. He raised one eyebrow, and she knew he was getting off on her anger – she knew his body as well as he knew hers.
“Fuck, you’re sexy,” he said. “Stay right there.”
He laughed as he went to the door, leaving it open as he walked around in the other room. He hummed to himself, a tune she vaguely recognized from years ago. She couldn’t place it, but then he sung a few lines and it was there in her mind – the dark, sordid little club in the city, the sounds of skin on leather, of cane on skin, the sound of her own voice reaching out and crying as she came and came.  Her chest pumped as the music filled her ears, as her body craved to remember how it felt, but when he came back, he held his camera.
The first flash surprised her and she tried to cry out, uneasy, but the tape held her voice, made a fool of it. Again and again, he took her photo, standing back then moving forward – her face, her breasts, her cunt - and then the whole of her, tied to the bed, her legs spread, her nipples standing to attention like two tiny rocks. She edged away as far as she could go but he simply reached down, took the bar in his hand and slid her back to the middle of the bed.
“God, I love you,” he whispered.
She let out two short bursts of noise behind the tape and he laughed. He leant forward, one hand on the camera, and dipped his finger into her. She jerked back, unready, but there was nothing she could do to stop him. Again, he played her, just enough touch to drive her crazy, just enough to tease, but as she clenched around him, as her muscles begged for his cock to fill her, he stopped. Her cunt flamed with need. She was wet, wetter than she’d ever known she could be, and as he pulled his hand away, he photographed how the thick juice of her need covered his finger.
He set the camera on the floor and his eyes burned into her as he slowly licked his finger, sucking it, down to the bottom. Gripping his cock, he moved to her side. He nudged her breasts with his cock, stroking it over her nipples, icing her skin until she bucked her hips and stared up at him, showing him everything she had, everything she wanted.
“When I’m done,” he said. “I’m going to leave you here forever, keep you right here, like this, so I can use you any time I like.”
He bent down and kissed her neck and she let out a smothered moan. He ran his hands over her breasts, over her body and down, but as she moaned, as she pushed her hips up to meet him, again, he stood back, reached down and lifted the bar, pulling up her legs. She let out a muffled cry in surprise, but he didn’t stop.  In one smooth curve, he lifted the bar, pulling her legs up and up.
“If I had a hook in the ceiling, I could pin you here,” he said.
With one hand holding up her legs, he let the other hand travel down the inside of her thigh, to find her clit. He jolted the bar, bringing her eyes up to his, and then slowly began to circle her clit again, around and around. She was so wet, she could feel her juices sticky all around her cunt, but again, he only stopped to dip in one finger, very quickly, before circling again, around and around. She sucked in her stomach, feeling the stretch in the back of her legs, feeling his finger, feeling the naked, empty space inside her where she needed him -
His cock strained, but he wasn’t done with her yet.
“So, how’s the yoga going?” he said, jolting the bar again.
She looked up, questioning, but then in one quick movement, he swung the bar up and over her head, pulling her feet to the wall. Her body rolled, her cunt lifted high, her butt off the bed – exposed, displayed. He reached for the Velcro strap around the middle of the bar and wound it around the other strap, holding her hands and feet to the wall.
Doubled in two, Fiona drew her breath too quickly. The tape was too much – unable to move, unable to speak, she could only watch as he stood up and picked up the camera, again. She tried to shake her head, but he didn’t listen – he took picture after picture, from every angle. Her heart crashed in her chest, bang-bang, bang-bang, like it was too loud, like surely he’d hear it from where he stood over her. She sucked in air from her nose, but she could no longer hear the sounds of the camera, no longer see the bright flash that went off all around her. Her legs shook - her body shook - she was helpless in his power -
And then he ripped the tape off her mouth. She gasped in air, sucking and panting, but before she could speak, he had starting prodding at her mouth with something, something black and hard. He prized her lips open with one hand and steadily fed the thick dildo into her mouth, in and out.
“Suck me,” he said.
He gripped his cock, but it was the thick black dildo in her mouth, not him. She tried to pull away, but he pushed harder, deeper. She gagged. Bound up so tightly it was impossible to take in the breath she needed, impossible to think, to focus, to do anything except feel.
She opened her throat and let herself take in the dildo, let it caress the back of her mouth. Her eyes watered, she cried out, but then he took away the toy, leaned forward, and softly, gently, kissed her. He let her breathe, pulling back between his kisses, but his eyes burned wild.
Moving like a cat, like some kind of wild lion, he crept onto the bed. Kneeling in front of her, he blew on her skin, his hands playing on her legs, on her butt, until he leant forward, on top of her. He gently pressed her legs even further into her body as he crushed her with his weight. She whispered his name, but still his kisses were slow and steady. His tongue played over hers as if they had all the time in the world, as if they were the only two people in the universe, and their moment, their time, was paradise. He closed his eyes as he ground his cock over her mound, pressing himself onto her.
He moved his mouth to her neck, tracing her jaw with his finger as he kissed her.
“You hanging in there?” he said.
Despite herself, she laughed.
“You can call time out,” he reminded her. “Any time.”
“Not even close,” she whispered.
With a wicked grin, he reached down for the other bag. “I’m so pleased you said that,” he said.

…to be continued…

Monday, 12 October 2015

in the dark

It was dark. The only streetlight flickered, casting a rhythmic lick of light over the alleyway, like an old-fashioned movie.
Julianne pushed her hands deep into her pockets and glanced back toward the main road. She wasn’t that late, only a few minutes. He’d told her to wait but she wasn’t going to stand there like some target in the night, ready to get mugged. She was hardly dressed for running away.
She shifted her feet, feeling the pinch from her sky-high heels. A little shiver danced up and down her spine. She looked good, underneath her light silk coat, and there was something exciting about being hidden there, waiting for him. She leant back against the wall, feeling the cold brickwork hold her safe. Strange, how reassuring the night could be, how tender the darkness felt against her skin.
He’d said wait there, and she’d wait. He’d said that she would see him.
The broken light played over the cobbles. She found herself watching for the jump, the brief pattern as the light bounced on and off the alley walls. The flicker of the light played with the flicker inside her, the knowledge that he’d be with her, again. It was like her body could already feel him, inside her. Her nipples hardened and ripples of excitement ran over her stomach, and with each faint picture of light, she needed him more, but as she watched the patterns on the cobbles, she became aware of another light, a window in the basement of a building a little further down the alley, away from the streetlight.
Curious, Julianne moved a closer, unseen in the night. There was no sign, no house number, and the railings along the top of the steps looked old, like the ones in the tall Victorian houses.
She stumbled, her heel catching one of the cobbles. With her heart in her mouth she grabbed for the wall as the sound of her movement seemed to scream up and down the alley. With both hands on the wall, she found her balance, but under the heat, under the knowing excitement in her body, there was something new.
What if he wasn’t coming? What if someone saw her?
She hesitated, but he had said to wait. He’d told her to be there. As the hammering in her chest calmed down, she peered through the dark to the little basement window and realised there was someone there, behind the glass. Moving almost silently, careful of her feet, she stepped a little closer.
The window was naked, without curtains to soften the line. Inside, the room was bare, just wooden boards and plain walls, with a low red couch and a high backed chair, and in the middle of the room, a woman danced. She wore a red halter neck dress and her thick hair fell in unruly curls around her face. Moving forward, forgetting her fear, Julianne could hear the soft beat of the music, a low New Orleans blues. The woman moved with her hips, catching the beat with her whole body, and there was someone else there, too, a little away from the window. His body was hidden in the darkness but Julianne could see the outline of his legs, the edge of his hand. He cradled a glass. Ice moved in the amber liquid, catching the play of the light.
The woman turned, a slow smile on her lips, and as he watched, so did Julianne.
The woman ran her hands over her hips and the thin fabric of her red dress pulled up over her thigh. Julianne breathed in sharply as she saw the pretty lace of the woman’s stocking tops but the woman moved as if she knew how good she looked, as if she knew the power she had in her soft curves, her tiny waist, and her plump, round breasts.
She brought her hands up to her hair and turned to the music. Julianne edged closer, pulled forward by the woman’s dance, and as the woman ran her hands up over her body, teasing, touching, Julianne felt the touch on her own skin.
The woman laughed. She beckoned the man to come a little closer but he stayed where he was, and as she danced, her fingers went to the ribbons that held her dress around the back of her neck. She turned to the window and it was almost as if she was looking right at Julianne as she slowly pulled the ribbons, but then she closed her eyes and let the dress fall.
She was naked. She was perfect. She kicked away the dress and danced on in her stockings and shoes. She let her hands travel over her stomach, up, tracing the lines of her beautiful breasts. She pinched one nipple and then opened her eyes wide and laughed, again, and Julianne felt the heat burning through her own body. Her mouth was dry and she ran her tongue over her lips. The man lifted his drink and she could almost taste the bitter twist of the whiskey over the cold ice. Without knowing what she was doing, Julianne took hold of the railings. The woman turned, a perfect slow spin. Her nipples were darker than Julianne’s, her breasts fuller, her waist a little tighter, and she had kept a neat triangle of hair at her centre, and with every sway and turn of her dance she was touching herself, letting her fingers dance with her body, displaying herself to them. Her mouth was wide, her lips slick with deep red lipstick, and she smiled the slow, sleepy smile of a cat that knew what she wanted.
She lifted one arm, stretching out to the window, and beckoned.
Julianne gasped. She looked behind her, all around her, but there was no one else there in the dark, only her – then the man stepped out from the shadows, and even before she saw his face, she recognized the sharp outline of his chest, his broad shoulders, and the single tattoo on the top of his arm.
He moved into the light, beside the woman, and looked up at Julianne, and he nodded.

Thursday, 8 October 2015



She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes but the darkness in the stairwell did nothing to cool the flame inside her.
He’d looked at her.
She put her hand to her throat and traced the line of heat, down, over her chest, to the low dip of her shirt.
He’d looked straight at her. It was a second – no, it was a hundred seconds, she thought. It was forever, as his soul burned into hers, as she felt herself give everything she had.
It was a hundred thousand seconds.
Alone in the stairwell, she slid her fingers under her shirt, felt the button pop undone.
Had he known?
She wet her lips with her tongue and let her head turn to the cool of the wall, but she didn’t see the pale cream white of the walls around her or the dated iron railings, she saw the clean cut shape of his shoulders under his suit, the bright white of his shirt, the long grey tie. She breathed in, smelling the rich spice of his aftershave.
She gathered her skirt in her other hand, fisting the light fabric. There was no one there to see her, no one to know how he burned inside her, how she needed the touch, how desperate she was to feel him fill her.
She caught her fingers against the top of her stocking, the place just above the lacy trim, where her skin was at its softest. She stroked her leg, under the suspender, and up, searching for what she knew she had to have.
He would know how to take her, she thought. He wouldn’t hang back, unsure. He’d rip away her clothes and push up her skirt.
Her breathing came quicker and the sweet scent of her honey drifted up, teasing her, but just as she slid her fingers inside, as she sighed with her need, there was a noise on the floor below. She froze, her heart crashing in her chest. She whipped her hand away from her body.
“Don’t stop,” he said.