Tuesday, November 13, 2007

New publication - BEST WOMEN'S EROTICA '08

I'm into the last couple of days of working on my current big project, really entrenched. You'll hear a big sigh of relief when that's out of the way! :) Meanwhile, I have publication news and some excerpts!

BEST WOMEN'S EROTICA '08, edited by Violet Blue, is now available! I'm extremely proud that a story of mine, WINTER HEAT, is featured in this collection. I will be having a contest for my newsletter group for a copy of this one, (and a copy NAUGHTY OR NICE? which I see is also available) in my next newsletter.

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I'll give an excerpt from my story in NAUGHTY OR NICE? tomorrow.
Meanwhile, here's a teaser from WINTER HEAT:

I look out into the drifting snow, and I think about how it stays with you — the good sex. Like echoes of the orgasm, the physical memory haunts the body. The snow today has brought with it the physical memory of the first time a man touched me, the first time a man made me come. Even now, all these years later, the memory grows tangible inside me, proving that the pleasure lasted so much longer than the moment. I sense myself growing damp as I remember every deviant thrill — every tantalizing moment and breathless discovery — as if it were yesterday.

The snow swirled around my legs as I left work that night. I was eighteen, and the icy air cut through my too-thin coat, freezing my stockings to my legs as I made my way out of the warehouse to the bus stop. My knee-length boots were coated in snow by the time I turned the corner onto the street. When I took a deep breath, the sharp cold air traveled into my lungs, quickening my senses. My heart sank when I realized I’d missed the bus.

I was stamping my feet to keep them warm when I saw a figure emerging from one of the factories further along the road. The man made a stark, dramatic outline against the white snow, smoking a cigarette as he made his way toward the bus stop. I watched him with curiosity. The way he looked attracted me instantly. He wore a leather biker’s jacket — collar up against the elements — his hair pushed back over his head. Under the jacket, a white shirt and a narrow tie looked out of place on him. When he stopped alongside me, I realized I hadn’t seen him around there before. He was built large but lean, his face characterized by prominent cheekbones, and wily, searching eyes.

He flicked his cigarette stub into the snow and smiled when he caught my stare. I couldn’t help myself. His bad-boy looks grabbed my imagination in a flash. At night, alone in my single bed in the dark, images of men like him filled my mind while I touched and stroked myself to climax. I dreamed of being taken roughly, being dirty and passionate with a man who knew how to play my body, and did it with no shame.

Watching him from under lowered eyelids, I fast forgot the cold. Forgot everything, except the lure of his bad-boy looks on that cold night. I smiled over at him. “We missed the bus,” I remember saying, hoping that he would talk.

He nodded, one finger latched over the knot in his tie as he loosened it, the smile lingering on his face as his eyes roved my body. “You’re cold.”

It was a statement more than a question, but I answered him, wanting him to talk to me some more. “Yes, aren’t you?”

He shrugged. The hard man. His hair shone blue black in the streetlight, and I wanted to touch it. I found myself turning toward him, flirting even. “Do you work around here? I haven’t seen you before.”

“I came for an interview at Philpotts.” He nodded back at the building he’d come from. His accent was South London. It made me smile. It made me feel warm inside.

Then he surprised me. He reached over to my face and stroked a clinging snowflake from my cheek. His touch sent a shiver through me, but this one was no cold shiver. He seemed to be aware of it and a sizzle passed between us, as real as a charge of electricity.

“How long until the next bus?”

“About half an hour,” I said, rubbing my gloved hands together.

He lifted my hands in his; tugging off the gloves my mother had knitted, tucking them into my pockets before warming my hands inside his larger ones. The act was so strangely intimate, like something a lover would do. No man had ever touched me that way, especially not a stranger. Inside, something essentially female and desirous blossomed, and then quickly turned to liquid heat.

He put his head on one side, looking at me quizzically. “Do you want to go somewhere, to get warm?”

My heart thudded in response to the suggestion. I knew I probably shouldn’t go anywhere with him, but curiosity and desire had a strong a grip on me.

He nodded again at Philpotts. “I know a place.”

Between my thighs the most intimate part of me clenched. I rubbed my thighs together in response, but then pulled my hands away from his instinctively, unsure.

Conflicting emotion ran in my blood. My fingers moved over the buttons on my coat, the same way that my hand closed over my pussy in my bed at night, dreaming of being taken in a man’s arms, dreaming of having a man’s hand right where mine strayed.

“It’s good,” he added. “You’ll like it.”

I nodded.

He took my hand, leading me. Curiosity, fear and arousal assaulted my nerves as I lurched after him through the snow. His hand was large and solid, uncompromising as it enclosed mine. As we walked, I noticed how the falling snow muted the street lamps, making the place seem hushed. It felt as if we were entirely alone. What was I doing? The only thing I knew for sure was that I wanted to follow where he lead and have him make me warm.

He went as far as the Philpott building and then turned down the side of it. A security light on the corner of the building cast a wedge of light in either direction. Beyond that fall of light, where he was headed, it was gloomy and the snow drifted up against the wall. I paused, drawing him to a halt, too, my hand pulling free of his.

“It’s all right,” he said, eyes twinkling when the light caught them. “There’s a warm place here.”

“I don’t see it,” I replied, still unsure.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you trust me?” He gave a wry smile, like he knew what I was thinking, but beckoned anyway.

Cautiously, I followed at a distance, until I saw him point over at the wall of the building. A large chimneystack jutted out from the brick wall, and the snow was melting away around the area, both on the nearby ground, and on the wall itself.

He moved over to the wall and put one hand against it. “You can warm yourself here. The furnace is inside, at the back of this wall.”

Looking up, I saw smoke curling up from the stack, like steam in the sky. Further along the wall, snow still clung. Not there, not where the bricks were warm. He’d been serious, there really was somewhere warm here.

He hadn’t meant…

I gave a soft chuckle when I stepped over and joined him against the wall. “Oh, that's good,” I whispered when I felt the subtle warmth against the back of my frozen calf muscles. “I thought you meant something else,” I added, before I thought through what I was saying.

His mouth lifted and he cocked his head on one side. “Something else?” He put one elbow up against the wall and shuffled closer, until our bodies pressed alongside each other. “You thought I meant come down here for something else?”

His smile was wickedly suggestive, and I gave an embarrassed laugh, realizing what I’d revealed. But then he moved closer, growing serious, his hand stroking along my jaw to lift my face with one finger under my chin. “What something else where you thinking of, Missy?”

My feet shuffled nervously in the snow, my back shifting up against the wall. I glanced away from his stare — then back, compelled to look at him, even though I couldn’t bring myself to reply to his question.

He gave a dark chuckle, eyes on my lips, strong hand still holding my jaw. He bent and brushed his mouth over mine, barely, tantalizingly, making my lips hum with sensation. Breathless, I stared at him.

“I think maybe you meant this kind of getting warm,” he breathed, the back of his hand sliding down the surface of my throat.

A moan escaped me. Raw need roved my body, my nerve endings on high alert. When I didn’t resist, his hand stole inside my coat, until it rested around the curve of my breast within my soft, knitted sweater.

Part of me wanted to run, and yet part of me wanted to clutch at his coat and pull him nearer. My hands went flat against the rough bricks to stop myself snatching at him. My lust was like a caged creature, unsure about the open door being offered, and yet longing to find its freedom. But he was older, braver, and he knew what I wanted — what I needed, what I dreamed of alone in my bed at night.

His thumb stroked over the outline of my nipple through my sweater and bra. “Oh yes, this is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

In his eyes, an accusing stare.

I nodded, my breast aching for more contact.

“Say it,” he insisted.

I wriggled against the wall, pushing my breast into his hand. “Yes,” I blurted.

His hand explored me, sure and firm, squeezing the whole of my breast in his palm before moving down the outline of my waist and hip, until his fingertips reached the hem of my skirt. “You wanted a quick tumble to get your blood pumping, you bad girl.”

The way he said “bad girl” made my stomach flip. Yes, I was being bad; I was being bad with him. I gasped aloud, inhaling deeply. He smelt of cheap cologne and cigarettes. He likely did this all the time, a quickie with a girl out back, but this time it was me, and I was fiercely glad of it....

Out now!


BEST WOMEN'S EROTICA at Amazon.co.uk


ZaZa said...

Wow! That was hot AND beautiful. You just keep getting better. Really. Huges (((hugs))).

Saskia Walker said...

Thanks so much, Zaza! That means such a lot to me, especially after the year I've had.
Huges hugs back!! :)