Sunday Snog #149: A F/F Kiss from Exposure

I've been working all day on my lesbian witch story - it started as a short but it's up to nearly 10K words and I still have at least two more scenes to write. I don't know where this is coming from, but it's fun.

Anyway, since my mind has been dwelling on the charms of the female sex, I thought I'd share another F/F kiss from Exposure.

After you've finished her, click back to Sunday Snog Central for lots more delicious kisses.

I’m prepared this time, when her mouth meets mine. Somehow, I expected this, from the moment I heard her voice on the phone. She probes almost tentatively at the joining of my still-closed lips. I open and suck her tongue into my mouth, tasting lemon and butter this time, I will not be taken. I will not be passive and vulnerable.

I grab her shoulders and pull her against me. My mouth is rough on hers, mashing her lips against her teeth. My tongue probes rudely.

She likes my forcefulness. I can feel her melt beneath me as I push her back against the cushions. She sighs when I pull my mouth from hers and nip at the flawless skin of her neck. I let my hands wander shamelessly over her body, its curves and hollows hardly hidden by the light crepe of her clothing.

isn’t wearing a bra. Her breasts are compact against my palms, the nipples poking smartly through the cloth. I give them symmetrical squeezes and she moans, squirming and rubbing herself against me. Guess I’m her type, too.

like that. I don’t trust Francesca but her lustful behavior is so at odds with her proper exterior, I can’t help feel some affection. Not to mention answering lust. My silk panties grow wetter every time she whimpers at my touch. She is slumped against the wrought iron back of the bench, her thighs splayed open in a most unladylike way, her ankle-length black skirt bunched up to her knees.

Bending closer to her, I take one of those pert nipples in my teeth and at the same time slide one finger through the cleft between those thighs, under the skirt. I find no panties, only bare, shaved skin, slick and soaked. My cunt swells and seeps with matching desire. Her pelvis jerks forward at my first touch. I stroke her, lightly, but she grabs my hand and tries to push it into her. Liquid gushes around my fingers. A musky perfume rises from her, mingling with the floral scents around us.

It all floods back, what I learned from Layla during our brief, incandescent affair. My fingers know exactly what to do. Francesca is desperate, twisting and writhing, reaching for release. I rake the tip of a fingernail across the rigidness of her clit and her back arches in response. 

Almost, almost there. “Stella...” she moans. “Please, Stella.”

She seems to have no connection to the prim, well-coifed widow who wrung that orgasm from me two days ago. As for me, I’m enjoying having power over her. At this point, I bet she’d do anything I asked, sexually. I could make her kneel in front of me and I could force my hairy pussy into her face, and she’d lick me till I told her to stop. The image creates delicious spasms in my cunt, but I don’t follow through with the notion. I don’t want to give myself up to her, not again, not this time.

Sunday Snog #125: Exposure

Wow, is it really Sunday again? I've been so busy (mostly with the E.D.J.) that I hardly noticed. Time to offer you another sexy snog from my back list.

Here's a brand new excerpt from my erotic noir thriller Exposure.  When exotic dancer Stella Xanathakeos accepts an outside commission, she gets more than she bargained for.

After you've enjoyed my snog, click back over to Victoria's Blisse Kiss Central for lots more delicious kisses.

The first bars of the music free me from any anxiety. I fix my eyes on him and begin to move. Graceful. Sensual. I’m extremely turned on, but I want this performance to be classy, not raunchy the way I sometimes am.

 

The shoes go first. Now I unfasten my jacket, lingering over each button. Building the suspense. I’m wearing regular lingerie, flimsy and feminine, instead of one of my costumes. My breasts are like melons, encased in black lace. No padding or wires on this bra; my nipples are clearly visible, pushing the fabric into sweet little peaks.

 

I do the classic strip, turning my back and inching the skirt zipper down. Shimmying the garment over my hips to my ankles. I feel his eyes on my rump. When I turn back to face him, I try out the stare on him. The results are mixed.

 

He’s not closed off like his friend. I can see deep into his soul. I see passion, hunger, clean and healthy. Not twisted and painful like some of the guys at the lounge.

 

At the same time, though, I feel like he sees into me. It’s like he’s touching me inside, probing, trying to discover what I want. It’s strange and very intimate. His eyes make my clit harden and my juices flow.

 

But my eyes are doing the same to him. I can see the bulge in his tailored trousers. His breath is coming a bit more quickly, too.

 

I unfasten the bra in front. Instead of tossing it at him, which is my first idea, I let it drift to the floor. I caress my breasts, as much for my own pleasure as for his. I love their heaviness in my hands. I love the way the skin shades to rich darkness at their tips. And the nipples themselves, round and firm like the best Kalamata olives. I roll them between my fingers, my breath starting to become ragged.

 

Finally, there are just my bikini panties between me and nakedness. I hold off as long as I can, letting the music build to its climax. At the crescendo, I undo the ribbons at each hip, so the thing just falls away from my body. For a moment I stand there proudly, my curly black pubic hair glistening with my own moisture. Tony’s eyes devour me. Then the music dies away. I sink to the carpet in a curtsy, strangely exhausted.

 

I came here to dance. Just a job. But now I want more. And so does Tony.

 

He lifts me up. He embraces me. Neither of us speaks. We communicate only through the kiss. His mouth feels gentler than it looks. He tastes like his expensive scotch. I let myself relax, feel the stiffness of his starched shirt against my bare skin. There’s more stiffness below. He rubs his erection against my damp bush, making me damper still, while his tongue plays with mine. His fingers lock on to my nipples, pinching them until I squirm with pleasure.

 

This is certainly a nice bonus. He strips off his shirt, pants, and briefs. He leaves his socks on, and for once, I don’t mind. I usually think naked guys in socks look ridiculous, but nothing so simple could spoil Tony Pinelli. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulls out a condom. Of course he’s prepared.

 

We’re both so hot from my dance, we don’t bother with much foreplay. He sits back down on the sofa and I straddle him. His latex-sheathed cock juts up, lovely and stiff, between my thighs. With one smooth motion, I sink down onto his hardness. I grip him with my thighs and we begin to ride.

 

We climb quickly. In this position, every thrust diddles my clit. He grabs me by the hips and works me up and down on his rod. Then I take control for a while, setting a fierce pace, building up to a grand finale.

 

His eyes are closed now. But I think I still feel the touch of his mind, a gentle contrast to our ferocious fucking. I close my eyes, too, concentrating on the delicious sensations in my cunt, in my whole body.

 

My thoughts are hazy with lust, but something catches my attention. Some faint sound, some sense that the air has moved. Then all hell breaks loose.

Back List Blast: Bangkok Noir

Bangkok Noir by Lisabet Sarai

BDSM erotic suspense

Dark desires flourish in the glittering City of Angels...

Diana Fanning, aka the Professor, runs The Academy, the only genuine BDSM bar in Bangkok. She's the first person police colonel Apichat Weeranwongsakul consults when a bar girl turns up brutally murdered, tightly bound, with clamped nipples and every orifice stuffed with sex toys. The colonel figures the killer might be one of her customers. But he has his own secrets. He needs Diana to satisfy his shameful dreams of being beaten and abused. Meanwhile, a mysterious American named Sam stalks Nok, the lovely natural dominant who is the Professor's star performer. Nok is used to being the one in charge. She can't understand why she craves the discipline Sam administers.

As more women are slaughtered, always in kinky circumstances, the Professor finds herself in an exclusive world catering to the perversions of Bangkok's wealthy and well-connected. Simultaneously looking for evidence and satisfying her own lusts, she doesn't realize until too late that the power she's used to wielding won't save her from becoming the serial murderer's next victim. 

 

Excerpt 

I picked up the little whip that Ajarn gave me to use in my act and swirled the thongs lazily around above my head. Then I stuck it between my thighs and rubbed it back and forth. Mmm. I could smell myself, as I got more and more wet.

I checked my audience. Everyone was watching me. I chose first one man, then another. I stared at each one until he was too embarrassed and lowered his head. I didn 't smile, just stared. Letting them know with my eyes that I was in charge. The boss lady.

At the end of the row of benches, I noticed somebody new. A handsome farang with hair the color of straw, wearing business clothes that looked expensive. He smiled at me, a strange smile that made me feel like I was naked.

Of course, my costume doesn't hide very much. Normally, that gives me a feeling of power. Maybe I will allow them to see the hidden parts. Maybe not.

With this man, it didn't matter what I was wearing. I felt like he could see right through my clothing. Like he could see every bit of me, even if I wore street clothes. My nipples started to ache, and my G-string got more slippery than ever.

For the first time since I started working for Ajarn, I was nervous. I stumbled on my spiky heels. I almost lost my balance. Luckily, I was able to turn the mistake into a sexy dip that showed off my bare rear. Most of the customers didn't notice.

The blond man was not fooled.

My heart was beating so hard that it hurt. When I finished my dancing time, I ran into the toilet and splashed some water on my face. I crouched down, my back against the wall, listening to the chatter of the other girls. My eyes closed, I tried to follow my breathing, the way the monks taught me. All I could see was the farang looking at me, with that X-ray stare of his, like something from a science fiction movie.

I stayed in the bathroom for as long as I could. I knew Ajarn would notice if I was gone too long. Finally, I had to go back out. I peeked out from behind the curtains, trying to see if he was still there. When I saw that his seat was empty, I sighed with relief.

I headed toward the bar to get a Coke. My throat was tight and dry. Then I felt a hand on my arm. It was him. His skin was so cool, it made me shiver.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked. His voice was kind, and made me think of music. Still, I felt something like terror. He stared at me without blinking. Now it was me who had to look away.

Ajarn was on the other side of the room, watching us. I couldn't refuse.

"Thank you, sir. Just a moment. I go get a Coke, come back right away."

"Let me go with you," he said smoothly. He took my arm and walked me to the bar. After we got our drinks, he guided me to a table in the corner.

"Sit," he ordered. I didn't want to, not really. But what could I do? I clicked my glass against his. "Chok dee," I said. "Good luck to you."

His smile made me feel like I had eaten a meal of live butterflies. "Same to you. What's your name?"

"My name Nok. What your name?"

"You can call me Sam," he said. "Nok is bird, right?"

I nodded. He brushed my long hair off my shoulders and down my back. Then he took my chin in his hand. He raised my eyes to meet his again. I felt like I was captured. Trapped.

"Very appropriate. You're as delicate and airy as a sparrow."

I thought of those caged birds they sell at the temples. You set the birds free to make merit, but they always return to their masters.

Without warning, he kissed me. His lips were as soft as his voice, at least at first. I thought I should stop him, though. I tried to pull away. His right hand held my mouth against his. His left arm wrapped around my waist. I couldn't move.

So I gave up. I let him slide his tongue into my mouth and suck the breath from me. The funny thing was, as soon as I gave in to him, I began to like it. He smelled like soap and expensive cologne. He tasted like his whiskey. I could feel that he was strong, much stronger than he looked, with his slim body and fancy clothes.
He kissed me harder, biting my lip. I felt like I was melting. He let go of my chin and played with my breasts through the stretchy mesh. My sex was on fire against the hot, sticky leather.

Suddenly, he pinched one of my nipples, digging in his fingernails. His mouth smothered my cry of surprise and pain. After the pain, though, I felt amazing pleasure, shooting up my spine like lightning.

"You like that, Nok." My English is only so-so, but I could tell he wasn't asking a question. He was telling me. And he was right.

I was terribly embarrassed. I wanted him to do it again.

He bent me backwards. My hair nearly brushed the floor. He put his mouth on the other nipple and sucked. I felt like his mouth was between my legs, sucking me there. It was heaven. I reached up, wanting to stroke him, but he pushed my hands away.

Then, when I was not expecting it, he sank his teeth into my flesh. Everything went dark for an instant. Then pain exploded in me, brilliant as the sun. I was burning up, but I wanted to burn.

When I opened my eyes, he was watching me. That strange smile was on his face, but he also looked worried. "That's enough for tonight, Nok," he murmured. "I have an appointment elsewhere. But I will come back for you, soon."

I was too dazed to say anything. He stuffed a thousand baht note into the cup with the bill, to cover two one hundred baht drinks, and stood to leave. I grabbed his shirt. Not thinking, but not wanting him to go.

"Please, sir..."

He flicked his thumb across one of my aching nipples. Delicious echoes of pain rippled through me. "Be patient, Nok. Be patient and wait. Now is not your time."

Before I could say or do anything more, he was gone. I sat on the stool, confused. Ashamed. Frustrated. Sticky and dirty and smelling like a whorehouse. I buried my face in my hands, almost ready to cry.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder. "Your turn to dance again," said Lin. I nodded and stood up. I was still shaking.

"Who was that guy?" she asked. She knew that something was wrong with me.

"Just a guy," I said. I made myself sound uninterested. "Just a customer."

I paid my respects to the shrine in the corner, then climbed back onto the pedestal. I began to dance, showing off my whip to customers. Trying to look like I was in control. 

Get your hands on this dark, sexy novella today!

The Perils of Writing Contemporary Fiction

Last week I had B.J. Scott as my guest here at the blog. In response to a question I asked her, she provided a fabulous post on the perils of writing historical romance and historical fiction (which she clearly distinguished - something I hadn't ever thought about).

Anyway, recently, I discovered there are pitfalls lying in wait when you write contemporary fiction as well. Technology and society move so fast these days that a book can become dated in just a few years, especially if its characters tend to be the sort of people who would be early adopters of new trends.

The stimulus for this realization was editing my erotic thriller Exposure for reprinting by Books We Love, Limited. This novel is contemporary suspense - actually erotic noir - set in the gritty city of Pittsburgh. The main character, Stella Xanathakeos, is an exotic dancer. Strong and independent, she takes care of herself, guards her heart, and is beholden to no one. She works as a stripper because she enjoys it - and she's good at what she does. Through no fault of her own, Stella witnesses a double murder involving a local politician with possible mob connections. Soon she's a target herself. As she tries to unravel the mystery behind the murders, she comes to realize that there's no one she can trust, not even the man with whom she might be in love. 

Exposure started life as a short story in 2002. I expanded it into a novel in 2003 and started shopping for a publisher, but although I had some nibbles from New York, I couldn't seem to find a home for it. Finally, I sold it to Phaze Books, and it came out in 2009, already six years after the book's completion.

When I began re-editing the book two weeks ago, I immediately realized there was a big problem. Nobody in the book uses mobile phones. And I was rather surprised to note that practically every chapter included a phone call - that this was a major device I used to move the plot forward. In the original book, every call comes in on Stella's land line.

I knew that I had to adjust this. Stella's income is modest, but in today's society she would definitely have a mobile phone, even if she didn't have a computer or a tablet, and like most of us, she'd take it with her everywhere.

A trivial change, right? Not as trivial as one might assume. For instance, there's one scene where Stella is coming back from grocery shopping. Her arms are full of bags and in the original, she hears the phone ringing inside as she's juggling her keys. In the new version, she hears her phone inside her purse, and totally different physical actions are required.

Then there's the fact that mobile phones do not necessarily ring. They chirp, beep, buzz, sing songs, crow like roosters. They certainly don't make the kind of jangling clamor associated with an old-fashioned land line.

Anyway, you'd be surprised at how many modifications were required just to bring the book up to the minimum level of believability from a technological perspective. I decided I didn't need to go too far. Pittsburgh is in some ways a rather traditional place, with lots of working class people, and many immigrants. It's not New York or San Francisco, or even Boston, where twenty-somethings are hungry for the latest gadgets. Besides, technology is not at all the focus in Exposure. Stella gets involved in good old-fashioned detective work, complete with disguises.

To make a long story short - Exposure is now available, in a newly edited, updated version and with a sensational new cover by Michelle Lee. I've included an excerpt below.

Buy your own copy at:

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00BGTQS14

Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/286144

All Romance Ebooks:  https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-exposure-1061647-144.html

Or - if you're feeling lucky - leave a comment below with your email. Next Monday I'll do a drawing and give away a copy to one person who comments!

Excerpt (R)

A screaming siren wakens me at four-thirty. The sound fades off into the distance, but my heart continues to pound against my ribs. Somebody else bleeding, maybe dying. Another victim.

I try to argue myself out of these dark thoughts and back to sleep, but it’s no use. The rectangle of gray that is my uncurtained window gradually brightens: first to charcoal, then to ash, finally to pearl. I turn my thoughts to Jimmy Ostermann, but they keep sliding away to Tony Pinelli.

Finally, around six, I give up and head downstairs for a cup of coffee. Throwing open the back door, I take a deep breath of the early morning. The air is cool and smells of earth and growth. It’s drizzling, the sticky warmth of the previous day only a memory.

My work means late nights. I don’t usually get out of bed before noon. I hardly know what to do with myself at this time of day. Munching on a piece of toast, I consider the question.

Rainy weather. Good for paperwork: paying bills, filing receipts and so on. Maybe I’ll spend some time looking through those Adriatic cruise brochures I got last week.

And Tony? Some other part of me interrupts my planning session. You need to figure out what’s going on with this situation, she says. If only to protect yourself. How did Tony’s widow know who you are, or how to find you? Why did she come by, and why did she seduce you? And why did you tell her that Mr. Clean—Andy—intended to shoot you in the hotel room? What’s going on, Stella? You’re a smart lady; figure it out.

This other voice is giving me a headache. Okay, I’ll spend some time on these questions. But bills first, and then a bit of a workout. After that, I’ll sit down and do some serious thinking.

Telephone, electric, gas, dry cleaning account. (My costumes need special care.) Department store charge. (They had a big sale last month, and I do like to dress well.) Maintenance fee for my dad’s cemetery plot. With a sigh, I update the balance and slide my checkbook back into the desk drawer. I can take care of myself, but it feels as though I have been doing it for an awfully long time.

Some stretching will pull me out of this funk. I change into leggings and a jog bra, then carefully unwrap my ankle. It’s still swollen, but a lot less discolored. Definitely better. When I put full weight on it, though, fiery pain shoots up my leg. Okay, so I’ll go easy for today and just do floor work and my weights.

A Supremes CD in my compact stereo, I begin with some leg lifts and sit ups. It doesn’t take long before I’m shimmying my shoulders in time with the beat, singing along with Diana. “Stop, in the name of love,” I moan as I alternate bicep curls with pec presses. “Before you break my heart, think it over.” Old as it is, this music never fails to cheer me up. Three quarters of an hour, and I feel like myself again: Stella Xanathakeos, queen of the strippers, one tough cookie.

I throw on a sweatshirt and sit back down at my desk with a legal pad, ready to attack the puzzle of Tony Pinelli’s murder. The chirp of my mobile phone interrupts me before I can start.

“Hello?”

“Stella? It’s Jimmy Ostermann.”

Warmth floods through my body at the sound of his voice, warmth with a definite component of wetness.

“Hi, Jimmy. How are you?”

“Fine, fine. How are you doing?” There is real concern in his tone. I continue to liquefy.

“Well, my ankle’s a bit better, and I guess I’m a little less shaken up than I was yesterday.” I recall our embrace in his office. I know he’s thinking about that, too.

“That’s good news.” Jimmy pauses. I can imagine him blushing.

“Any developments in the Pinelli case?” I ask, suddenly wondering if he had anything to do with Francesca’s appearance at my door.

“Nothing yet. Forensics is working on the firearms. Pinelli’s funeral has been set for the day after tomorrow. We’ll have people there to watch for anything suspicious.”

“Well, I should probably tell you that I had an interesting visitor yesterday afternoon. Anthony Pinelli’s widow.”

“Mrs. Pinelli? What did she want? How did she know who you were and how to find you, anyway?” I hear a thoughtful scowl in Jimmy’s tone now.

“That’s exactly what I wondered. So you didn’t tell her about me?”

“Of course not. We agreed I’d keep what you told me confidential as long as I could.”

“Thanks, Jimmy, I appreciate it. Anyway, she somehow knew I was with Tony when he died. She wanted to hear my story of what happened.”

“Hmm. Strange. I suppose that someone else in the department might have seen you, and shared the information with her. I’ll ask around.”

“Let me know what you find out, okay?”

“Sure, Stella.” There is another one of those heavy pauses. My nipples tighten in anticipation. “Anyway, I didn’t actually call to discuss the case.”

“Oh?” I let my voice rise, teasing him a bit. “So what can I do for you, Jimmy?”

I actually hear him swallowing nervously on the other end of the line. “I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me tonight. If you don’t have other plans...”

Images from yesterday’s fantasy flood my mind. I realize that the crotch of my leggings is soaked through. I catch sight of myself in the mirror on the opposite wall. I am wearing a silly grin.

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A Visit to Lido Key

By Tim Smith (Guest Blogger)

I’m pleased to announce the release of my new romantic mystery, Lido Key, from eXtasy Books. This is the second in the Vic Fallon series I started a year ago with The Bundle, but it isn’t a sequel or follow-up. This is a stand alone entry in the series, and it evokes the pulp fiction style of Chandler, Spillane and Westlake. All of the elements are here – tough romantic hero, sexy heroine who’s hard as brass on the outside but soft in the middle, vivid atmosphere, a supporting cast of shady characters and liberal doses of hot sex.

Vic Fallon has worked on some strange cases since he left the police force to become a Private Investigator, but when a former lover asks him to look into a bizarre blackmail demand, it’s one for his memoirs. Vic hasn’t spoken to Ariel Weston since his last trip to Siesta Key, Florida three years earlier. The end of their affair wasn’t amicable, and Vic swore that the next time he saw Ariel he’d drown her with the nearest Pina Colada. When Ariel gets caught up in a potentially embarrassing sex scandal, she appeals to him for help. Vic reluctantly agrees but finds himself in a real quandary when he realizes they still have feelings for each other.

The case pulls Vic out of his northern Ohio comfort zone to the Sunshine State, where he crosses paths with a corrupt local cop, a famous writer with a taste for booze and women, and a sleazy strip club owner who knows more than he’s letting on. Throw in one very cute Latina who develops a crush on him, and the puzzle gets more complex. Can Vic solve Ariel’s problem before the blackmailer ruins her life? Will Ariel succeed in convincing Vic to give their failed relationship another chance?

To prepare for this I watched a lot of film noir crime capers from the forties and fifties. Quirky characters, moody atmosphere and witty dialogue laden with double entendres are part of the charm and I wanted to recreate that in a modern setting. Here’s an example, where Vic has a flashback of meeting Ariel for the first time:

Their initial meeting had happened on his first night in town, at a place called The Daiquiri Deck in Siesta Key Village. Vic hadn’t been actively looking for a hook-up when he went there after a day of beachcombing, but when he locked eyes with Ariel Weston from across the bar there was no escape. 

* * * *

Vic moved to the stool next to hers, drawn in like a marlin hooked by a determined fisherman. “Excuse me, Miss, but I’m new in town. Could you please direct me to your house?”

She began with a chuckle that escalated into full-blown laughter, then she playfully smacked Vic’s forearm. “That’s so lame, it’s cute!”

“Thank you.”

Her eyes scanned him up and down. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before, have I?” she asked in a low, smoky voice.

“No. Do I need a reservation to sit here?”

She laughed again. “A smart-ass. I like that quality in a man. Where are you from, smart-ass?”

“A whole other world. Would you like me to provide references before we go any further?”

She placed her hand on his on top of the bar and drilled his eyes with hers. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary, but since we’re going to be friends I think I should call you something more formal than smart-ass.”

“Are we going to be friends?”

“Unless you think you already have enough of them.”

“You can never have enough friends. Why don’t you call me Blake?”

“Is that your real name?”

“No, my real name is Vic. I just use Blake to fool people. What should I call you besides totally hot?”

“I like that, but let’s go with Ariel.”

“Pretty name.”

“Thank you. I’m rather attached to it.” She massaged his hand. “I should tell you something, Vic. I’m married to a rich older man, we don’t have any kids and we’ve always had separate bedrooms. He doesn’t really notice if I’m not home, since he’s only there long enough to change clothes before he meets his latest girlfriend. He doesn’t ask me any questions and I don’t grill him about where he drops his pants. Does that bother you?”

“One man’s ignorance is another man’s bliss.”

“Ooh, a clever smart-ass. That’s another quality I like.”

“And we’re just getting started.”

* * * * 

Naturally, since this is an erotic romance there has to be some steamy sex:

* * * *

Ariel cupped his face and kissed him, probing his mouth with her tongue. Vic inhaled her scent, which triggered memories of their previous encounters. He devoured her mouth and ran his palm along her smooth back. Ariel pressed closer and moved her hips against his.

She stood back, reached around to unfasten her top and shrugged it off, then wiggled out of her bikini bottom. “You don’t want to go for a swim fully dressed, do you?”

Vic quickly stripped off his clothes. He gazed lustily at Ariel’s still perfect body. Her 36C breasts were firm, her stomach was flat and there were no tan lines gracing her trim physique. The bikini wax she’d gotten earlier left her pubic patch in the shape of a heart, and trimmed close. Ariel placed her palms on her chest and slowly moved them down her body, pausing to squeeze her nipples. She continued until one hand rested on her stomach and two fingers of her other hand snaked in between her legs. She ran her middle finger along her slit while closing her eyes and purring softly.

“You still remember your moves, don’t you?” Vic asked.

“Mm-hmm. I know this always made you hot. Does it still make you hot?”

“Oh, yeah.”

She moved closer, dropped to her knees then took his cock into her mouth. She stroked him with her hand while her skilled, seductive lips worked over him. Vic closed his eyes and enjoyed what she was doing to him. Ariel’s mouth moved further along his hard cock, taking more of him until his swollen head rested at the top of her throat. She snaked her other hand in between his legs and lightly tickled his balls, which had tightened in anticipation. When she felt Vic begin to swell in her mouth she stopped sucking and stood.

“Not so fast,” she whispered.

She took his hand and led him down the steps into the pool. They stood in the shallow end and embraced. Vic kissed her while his hard-on poked her midsection. Ariel’s hands went to his shoulders, rubbing his flesh while she moved her hips against him again. Vic was getting more into her heat as a dozen lusty scenarios crowded his mind.

Ariel took a step back, grabbed his hand then led him further into the warm water. When they were several feet in she began a leisurely backstroke to the other end, then rested against the deck. Vic swam to meet her and held on to the tile. Ariel kissed him again while lightly fondling him under the water.

Vic pulled his face back and placed his free hand on her neck. “Ever kill anyone?”

“No. Why?”

“Because you’re teasing me to death.”

Ariel chuckled. “I like to make you wait for it, tease you until you can’t take it anymore, until you just have to have me.”

“I’m already there.”

* * * *

If you’re in the mood for a blast from the past with a contemporary twist, pour yourself a glass of Scotch, prop your feet on the desk, tip back your fedora and enjoy Lido Key.

It’s the stuff dreams are made of.

Bio:

Tim Smith is an award-winning, bestselling author whose books range from romantic mystery/thriller to contemporary erotic romance. He is also a freelance photographer. When he isn’t pursuing those two passions he can often be found in The Florida Keys, doing research in between parasailing and seeking out the perfect Mojito. His website is http://www.timsmithauthor.com.