Excerpt, Faint Heart

field creek 0001When Cara looked up, Morgan’s eyes lingered on her mouth and heat flared to her nipples. They talked about the natural flow of water and spreading it wider for better visual access, and when she caught his lazy glance, she was sure he was talking about something else entirely. Her eyes followed the stroke of his tongue across his lips after he sipped his scotch. She glimpsed the base of his throat where the movement of his swallowing shifted into the ‘v’ of his shirt. Her head spun with the wine and his laugh and the sheer pleasure of sitting with him.

She leapt up to stir the potatoes. A quietly stern voice lectured her from the back of her brain and pointed out that the real reason she invited him was that more than anything, she wanted to be carried away in his strong arms. Again. Only this time, straight to her bed. And now, it seemed things were headed in that direction.

Panicky alarm bells clanged in her head. How could she get out of this? Did she even want to get out? Wasn’t the real plan to go to bed and get all this drama settled?

Oh, shit, she was so confused.

She turned and ran smack against his chest. He took her shoulders in his hands and pulled her up toward him as his mouth lowered to hers. Blindly, she lifted her mouth and pressed it against his, sinking immediately into a blissful chorus of white noise. His lips brushed and teased, crushed and pushed, and then the tip of his tongue slid against her lips. Fire shot through her stomach.

Oh god in heaven, she wanted him. Her mouth opened against his lips as a quiet sigh formed in her chest. Her hands swept past his warm shoulders and splayed across his muscled back. His hands slid down her arms then released the tie in her hair. His fingers plunged deep into its thickness.

She felt him questioning, pausing. He pulled back, his intense blue eyes half closed.

“Cara,” he whispered, “I dream about you.”

Buy link: Amazon

New Release — FAINT HEART, a sexy romance

faint2 ebook copy redCara Carson only wants one thing, and it isn’t a man. Since the tragic death of her husband, she has focused on creating a business she could give herself to, a ‘marriage’ that will never leave her stunned in grief. Her recipes are perfected and the old house remodel is underway. But on this raw March morning, the contractor isn’t returning her calls, there’s a bulldozer mired in mud on the side lot, and the man operating it has managed to destroy the huge old willow tree she wanted saved. Furious, she charges across the mire to demand answers and finds her feet stuck and then her heart flailing after the bulldozer operator has to come carry her out.

Morgan Woods never believed in love. Until now, it’s been easy to take and leave women. This woman shouldn’t be any different, except something about her pouty pink lips and her blazing hazel eyes sails past all his defenses. His business-partner dad is sick and his businesses are struggling, but he never wants to let this woman out of his arms.

Can two broken people find a way to trust again? Or will their mistakes only add more layers to the scars already shrouding their hearts?

 

No Girls, Please

skinny girl copyBrowsing Pinterest for images to pin to my Men and Women boards, I’ve become absorbed in an analysis of the differences in how men and women are presented. Full disclosure—I write erotic romance. So I’m looking for images that stir the blood.

Admittedly, as a female, I expect to experience a different visceral response to men than I would expect toward women, although—I’ll go ahead and admit this—I am bisexual. I’ve enjoyed encounters with women, but most of my sexual experience has been with men. And, as long as you’re hearing my secrets, you can throw it in the hopper that my longest lasting, most heartfelt relationship was with a bisexual man.

Whatever. The point is, I’m looking through all these photos of hunky men and delicious women, and I’m getting frustrated because while there’s a seemingly endless supply of men in all age groups, the overpowering majority of women are young. Young as in thin-hipped, bony waifs.

Now I’m certain there must be just as many sexy older* women out there as there are sexy older men, but these women aren’t popping up on my searches. Which brings us to the obvious conclusion that the appreciation of older men is known and accepted while any potential appreciation of older women is ignored. (*Define older? Above twenty-five, hopefully up to and including sixty—or more. After all, the guys have Sean Connery on their side.)

I can’t burden the shoulders of modern culture with full responsibility for this state of affairs. Biology dictates that the most powerful male will breed with the most promising female. “Powerful” in this context means not only muscular but also confident, socially adept, and in possession of a certain je ne sais quoi, all features of a male older than nineteen. “Most promising” for the female, however, means young enough to be virginal, thereby assuring the offspring carries the male’s DNA. And no matter how sophisticated things might have become in the modern sexual arena, biology isn’t budging.

So women are by nature preordained to look for older men while men are programmed to look for younger women. Accordingly, images of men are produced with women viewers in mind while images of women are produced for male viewers. I acknowledge that it’s possible that the majority of males prefer to see thin waifs, although such a conclusion on my part comes with a truly painful urge to yell “Say it ain’t so, Joe!”

Biologically speaking, aren’t men better served by women instead of girls, by a female with enough maturity not to overdraw the household bank account or leave the baby in its carseat on the car roof as she drives away from the mall? Is it too much to ask that men reward the educated, self-aware, slightly older female with their attentions instead of ogling semi-teens with their buttocks hanging out the ass-ends of their cutoffs?

Probably. I’ve yet to meet a man whose intellect decided when his cock got hard.

Another troubling discovery in my analysis is that while men pose in fairly normal positions, women pose in contortions that would qualify them for a circus sideshow. Men are caught in the act of normal male activity, like smirking, bucking hay, or climbing out of a pool with water dripping off their rippling muscle. Women, on the other hand, cock their heads coquettishly, mince along in crippling high heels, and lean toward the camera with their cleavage crushed between their biceps. What the hell is sexy about that?

Aside from the increasingly popular use of kilts, men stick to regular clothes—or lack thereof—for their hot shots. Women, mostly not. High fashion for men is that stunning look of a nicely tailored suit. High fashion for women is duct tape, plastic wrap, or pieces of metal. Gee whiz, really?

Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating slightly. But only slightly. Men’s attire complements his manly pursuits to be strong, athletic, in command. Women’s attire serves to render its wearers helpless. What woman can function seriously in six-inch heels with hair obscuring her vision and a neckline that directs all attention to her cleavage?

Can we please see more women who are women and not pubescent girls? Or images meant to look like pubescent girls? Or images that look like pubescent girls except for the under-skin bowling balls implanted on their chests? Do we really have to depend on the increasingly exploited stock of 1940s era pinups to get a gander at what real women look like?

Can’t someone please make some different choices here? Break away from the herd, photographers. Give us some women with some chops, some life experiences etched on their features, some sag in those real breasts. Give us a few strands of gray in her curling tresses and a direct look that says she knows where your buttons are and she’s willing to press a few—if you’re man enough.

Ah, the penis

ID-10027420Ah the penis, exquisite flower of manhood—it blossoms from the tenderest bud wrapped in gentle folds and delicate softness. Come forth! Rising to its mighty potency, the flesh stretches smooth as fresh pea skin, firm and sweet as the peach fruit that sends its juices out through a texture both rigid and pliable wherein its mysteries lie.

An object of magical construction, to grow so swiftly from boyhood to its full masculine promise, cords of silken vein and steely muscle shielded by thin parchment armor. Its heat rewards the mouth which laves it, velvet to the tongue its kindred member. Headed round and earnest, there is no disguising its desire or intention. A dew drop eager for its intended home springs up, sparkle of promise that here waits its gift, its eternal purpose to drive the spark to ignition in the endless loop of creation.

There it stands between us, erect in response to my ministrations, my prize, my penis. It is the handle by which I try to own you, or at least bend you to my need. There is an empty place carved out for it deep inside me, a place made ready by its mere presence, a home that longs for its warm appearance at its fiery hearth. It is, still in its rising, a penis of beauty—long and of respectable girth, a carving of ivory tusk in the voluptuous arched form of Shiva with her breasts exposed, a fruit of sweet musk ripening at my lips.

I could stay here forever, my head at your belly where your skin stretches smooth across your lean hips and there is the power of your thighs within the reach of my hand. Here in the nest of your groin, wooly with wire hair and the hidden hardening knots of your scrotum, my attention turns wholly to my task, me the thousandth generation of hetarie forever reborn to this exact instant when the sweet foreskin stiffens with astonishing speed and pleasure spears burn through us both. Your breath quickens, urging me to greater skill and enthusiasm, so that my tongue and my lips and yes, the broad worn surfaces of my back teeth and even the rough rasp of my upper mouth and the restrictions of my throat entry ply themselves in unity to this great purpose, this moment of conquest, when the entire existence of you is concentrated in this one fragile organ, this mighty creature, your cock.

The Interview

The InterviewRachel let the job applicant, Rob W–, pour her a drink. She’d already gulped one martini in an effort to put the tiring day behind her. Sheer craziness to go into this tired. But the appointment had been made ten days earlier, and men eager for this particular job weren’t exactly thick on the ground.

Well, that wasn’t quite it. More like, men capable of meeting the job requirements weren’t easy to find. Plenty of men applied. Few were chosen. This one had all the credentials—gorgeous, tall, muscled, self-assured, and a hint of provocateur lurking at the corner of his sensual mouth.

She had taken her time dressing, trying to get in the mood with a fitted white spandex blouse and a straight gray skirt that fell from a wide waistband to just above her knees. Her breasts pressed against the spandex and crowded the low V-cut neckline. Underneath, she wore panties made in the new loose-leg style.

Somewhere midway through her therapeutic martini, she had examined herself in the mirror, infuriated that when she leaned close to see her skin, everything was out of focus. She had roamed around for a few minutes trying to find her reading glasses. Her dark auburn hair curled in an attractive jumbled mass around her head, but she thought her green eyes looked tired. She had jerked off the glasses and tossed them onto the bathroom counter. How would she know? She couldn’t see her eyes with the glasses over them, and couldn’t see up close without them. And then he’d knocked.

Why the hell was she nervous?

“Thanks,” she said as he handed her the glass. Anyway, it didn’t matter how she looked. His job was to make even the most unattractive woman feel supremely fabulous. He interested her only in a clinical way, which made things more difficult for him. His future clients, assuming he passed her test, would be eager to have him.

“Tough job?”

“Yes, in a way,” she mused, sipping the martini. “But it’s our careful preparation that allows us to offer such an exquisite selection to our clients.”  Her breath hitched slightly as he leaned toward her. Points for that.

She hurried on. “As I’m sure you know, when you meet with a client, the situation is entirely in your hands. You have to consider her special requests, of course, if she has any. Many women don’t. You have to put her at ease and pursue your seduction. She has to see you want her.” She ran her hand through her hair, feeling suddenly embarrassed.

He settled next to her on the couch and turned his body to face her. “Yes, I know, it’s a delicate situation,” he said smoothly, looking at her with dark blue eyes that crinkled at the corners. He leaned forward, set her glass aside, and brushed his lips over her mouth.

His mouth felt firm and yet sensitive, and she let herself respond. His hands came to her shoulders, tugging her slightly toward him. Then he slid his touch over the front of her blouse, pressing against her breasts in a motion that showed her he knew what a woman liked. Her nipples hardened, and he let his palms linger over the knotted peaks for a moment with his hands slowly circling.

The tip of his tongue tickled against her upper lip, and she inhaled at the sensation as her mouth opened slightly. He had a scent of cut grass, clean and sweet. The vodka asserted its gentle relaxation, and she felt moisture gathering between her thighs as he continued to stroke her breasts.

Moments later, he stood up and pulled her up in front of him. His smile said he knew he would please her. More points. She let him back her up to the wall while he kissed her again, until he pressed her between his muscled chest and the cool wall and she could feel his bulge against her belly.

His mouth trailed down her throat and into the valley between her breasts. One by one, he released the tight buttons and followed the trail with his lips, until her blouse and bra hung open and his mouth seized first one breast, then the other in an erotic play of tongue and teeth.

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

Christ. Her sex pulsed with a surge of moisture. She felt his hand at her knee, sliding up her thigh, and then he encountered the loose panty legs.

“Um, I love these,” he murmured against her breast. His hand slid inside the panties and found her wet secret, and his fingers immediately began stroking.

“Oh,” she breathed. “Um.” Okay, maybe not so clinical now.

His fingers teased and probed until her knees became wobbly. He crouched then, shoving her skirt up to her waist and sliding the loose panties to her ankles before bringing his mouth and hands to her center. His fingers pulled her swollen lips apart and she felt his tongue licking at her stiff bud.

“Oh, yes.” Her head fell back against the wall. With her lower body on fire, her breasts full and tingling, she honestly didn’t know how much longer she could stand up. His hands swooped around her buttocks, massaging and tugging while his face buried between her thighs. A finger penetrated and her knees gave.

With a quiet chuckle, he stood up, wiping his mouth on his sleeve before starting to unbutton his shirt. His chest came into view, far more incredible than the application photos had led her to believe. Muscled shoulders, lean ripples down his abdomen, a dusting of dark body hair over the chest that narrowed to a thin line at his belt—she licked her lips and leaned to graze his flat nipples with her mouth.

He pulled the belt open and unbuttoned his pants, but didn’t go further. He kissed her again, stroking his tongue along her lips and plunging deep into her mouth. His hands worked at her skirt fastening until he had dropped it to her feet and only her blouse and bra remained hanging from her shoulders. He half carried, half walked her to the bedroom while his mouth again sucked at her nipples. She longed for him now, her entire body throbbing with need.

Random thoughts raced through her mind. What was it about men that made their lovemaking so intense? Size, for one thing—bigger, stronger in every dimension. Scent, for another, musky and sharp, probably a hundred pheromones she couldn’t consciously identify but which nevertheless called to her in some mysterious primal language.

Spread back on the bed, she closed her eyes as he sucked and toyed between her legs. Blissfully erotic, his teasing brought her to the brink and held her there. She wanted to scream.

Finally plunging inside with fingers and his mouth clamped on her hard bud, he sent her over the edge. Her body writhed and bucked, captured in his strong hands, at the mercy of his tongue. Heat seared through her in the long aching climax.

His voice whispered close to her ear as his face brushed through her hair.

“Do you want me?” he challenged her.

“Yes,” she whispered back. “Yes.”

He leaned back to a kneeling position between her legs, and made a deliberate play of unzipping. He let the slacks fall down his thighs to expose the stunning manhood peeking out from his shirt tails. No briefs, her brain registered. A fresh wave of heat rolled down her belly.

He ripped his clothes off and then lowered his body over hers, spearing her with his thick cock and sliding all the way in.

“Oh, Christ,” she groaned.

He felt huge inside her. Her hips spread to accommodate him. He moved after a few seconds, sliding out a small distance before ramming back up to the hilt. Oh, shit. She twisted underneath him, deliciously caught between pleasure and pain and suddenly desperate to have more.

He slid out slightly further, then rammed all the way in again. Distantly, her rational brain analyzed his method and gave him a ten out of ten for everything. But more to the point, he was fucking her real nice, thick cock sliding in and out, his mouth reaching down to capture her nipples or forcing her mouth open for an invasion of his tongue.

Damn. Gooseflesh broke over her body as his cock kept driving at her, out almost the whole way, in as far as he could go, now slightly faster, and her pussy clenched repeatedly in orgasmic surges as he shook her body with his plunges. Her hands streamed over his chest, his biceps, his broad shoulders straining in his exertion as his body filmed in sweat.

“Do you want me to come?” he breathed.

“Oh, yes,” she begged as her hips thrust up against him. “Please.”

He shifted to a faster, harder movement then, scooting her slightly up the bed as he drove into her. His hands seized her shoulders, forcing her down against his assaulting hips. His cock filled her belly.

His chest hair brushed her nipples and his pubic bone repeatedly crushed against her throbbing bud until the hard knot exploded in waves of orgasmic frenzy.  Pleasure shuddered over her as his hips bucked and pushed. She felt his semen burst into her in fast hot jabs and she grabbed his buttocks, wanting him never to stop.

Dimly, she acknowledged the session had ended. He kept his arms around her shoulders as he eased onto one elbow, then lay beside her for a few minutes. When his breathing slowed, he kissed her again and caressed her breasts, bringing a fresh wave of arousal over her. She turned toward him and traced his jawline with her finger.

“You are good,” she smiled, “and hired.”

“That’s good to hear,” he said in a husky voice. His eyes lingered on her face for a moment before examining her body. “Not difficult. Do they all look as great as you do?”

“Spoken like a true gigilo You flatter now. But no, not to be vain, but you surely realize lots of the women you see will not be greatly attractive or young. Can you handle that?”

“I think I can.” He heaved himself up from the bed and tossed her the panties. “Just wear those, no blouse or skirt allowed,” he joked as she sat up.

She felt warm and happy, just how all their clients should feel at the end of a session. When she had pulled the panties up her legs and reached for the blouse, he came up behind her and grabbed her breasts. He pulled her back against his hips, and she was incredulous to feel his cock already hardening against her buttocks.

“You are our kind of guy, Rob,” she muttered as her nipples tightened under his hands. Maybe, in this case, a bit more interview time would be required…