Erotic Poetry, Poems, Poetry, Writing

Sometimes…sometimes, I want to be your everything.

Sometimes…sometimes, I want thoughts of me to stop you in your tracks.

Sometimes…sometimes, I want you to forget yourself, because you are remembering me and the touch and taste of my skin.

Sometimes…sometimes, I want to be all you can see.

Sometimes…sometimes, I want you to be consumed by me and us and ours.

Just sometimes.

Fifty Shades More?!

BDSM, D/s, Fifty Shades of Grey, Writing

It’s been confirmed! EL James officially has nothing else to write about!

I do get it…the world fell in love with Fifty Shades, with Christian in particular, but really?! Do we really need another version of something that was suspiciously popular in the first place? The three books, combined, outsold Harry Potter! The film smashed box office records…I know! But quit while you’re ahead, people!

You know how you hear that song that you love, and the whole world loves it too, and it gets played on the radio over and over and over, and eventually you want to rip your own eyeballs out whenever you hear it? Yeah…that!

As I’ve said before, I begrudgingly loved the books when they were first released, but this kind of feels like flogging a dead horse (flogging pun absolutely intended!) It’s like the people behind the BDSM Behemoth can’t let go.

Before I go full on Elsa and start belting out my pitch perfect rendition of Let it Go, I’ll move on…(Bet you never thought you’d see a Disney reference in a piece about Fifty Shades…Yeah…I went there!)

EL James clearly has a talent for creating characters that people love. For the most part, she’s a fantastic story teller, and I do believe that she should continue to write other things (and perhaps hirer a damn good editor), but the appeal of Christian Grey is wearing a little thin now, and trying to bleed this money-horse for all it’s worth (which is pretty clearly what is happening) will just end in tears…and not the tears of the submissive being beaten with a riding crop…genuine tears! My tears!

Say what now!? On BDSM Roles and Terminology

BDSM, D/s, Fetish, Fifty Shades of Grey, Kink, Sex, Writing

Thanks to a certain well-known (and no doubt well-thumbed…Pun absolutely intended) book, the whole world has now heard the terms Dominance and Submission with regards to what people get up to in the boudoir.

Women up and down the length and breadth of the globe are now jumping up and down and shouting, “I’m a submissive! Tie me up!” and the cable tie and rope section at your local DIY store has no doubt had an influx of curious customers who may or may not be using said items for their intended purpose.

It was within reason that every sex-specific retail outlet would jump on the bandwagon and start offering themed goodies to cash in on this behemoth of a trend, but even Supermarkets are getting in on the action and offering their own line of (perhaps a little less risqué) ‘accessories’.

Seriously, Fifty Shades of Grey did for grown ups what Frozen did for a generation of children…Perhaps short of people uploading their own recreations on Youtube…cause that could’ve been disturbing/entertaining (delete as appropriate).

BDSM has had an awakening, and in general, the community is pretty happy about the fact that their favourite pastime is a little more prevalent, a little less taboo. But there is an undertone of cynicism, a whispering of discontent, and whole bucket load of exasperation at the general misunderstanding of what BDSM actually is, and what the hell it actually means to be a Submissive…or a Dominant…and wait, I’m about to confuse the fuck out of you even more…

Doms, Subs, Bottoms, Tops, Sadists, and Masochists…to name but a few.

In some circles, these are all completely different. In some circles, these are all one in the same. In many circles, these are all general terms to describe certain aspects of the BDSM dynamic and they are used to help forge an understanding of someone’s particular interest in the bedroom.

Confused yet? You probably should be…

Ok, let’s begin at the beginning and explain just a few of the words that you may come across (no pun intended) if you decide to take a little peek into the actual world of BDSM…

BDSM – Bondage/Dominance/Submission/Sadism/Masochism (I know that should be BDSSM, but it isn’t, just go with it…)

Fetish – A sexual desire linked, with an abnormal degree of interest, to a particular act/object/scenario. (Side note – Rule 36 – If it exists, there is a fetish for it!)

Kink – Sexual practices that go beyond what is considered ‘conventional’. (Side note – Vanilla – Conventional)

D/s – An abbreviation for Dominance and Submission, which is also used as an umbrella term for most types of BDSM relationships.

Primal – Someone that enjoys the raw, animalistic, approach to sexual practice, within any of the following dynamics.

Sadist – Someone who has a Fetish for inflicting pain.

Masochist – Someone who has a Fetish for receiving pain.

Top – Someone who has a Fetish for being in charge in the bedroom.

Bottom – Someone who has a Fetish for not being in charge in the bedroom.

Submissive – (Ugh…this one is tricky…in the simplest terms…) Someone who has a Fetish for relinquishing control in the bedroom (or elsewhere), with regards to physical, emotional, and sexual practice, specifically to a Dominant.

Dominant – (Ugh…just as tricky…again…) Someone who has a Fetish for assuming control in the bedroom (or elsewhere), with regards to physical, emotional, and sexual practice, specifically of a Submissive.

(Responsible Disclaimer at this point – These terms refer to the dynamic between CONSENTING ADULTS; no physical or emotional manipulation plays any part in a proper D/s relationship…Let’s not get all trolly and judgemental about it.)

I know what you’re thinking…Pretty straightforward, not so confusing…So far so good, right?


You can be a Bottom without being a Submissive or a Masochist.

You can be a Masochist without being a Bottom or a Submissive.

You can be a Submissive without being a Masochist (But you would typically be a Bottom)

You can be a Top without being a Dominant or a Sadist.

You can be a Sadist without being a Top or a Dominant.

You can be a Dominant without being a Sadist (But you would typically be a Top)

You can be a Primal without being any of the above.

You can be any combination of any of the above, to any ratio, whatsoever, including, but not restricted to…

Being a Masochistic Submissive with a Primal edge that occasionally enjoys Topping from the Bottom.

Being a Sadistic Top that has no interest in Submission, but loves a good Primal Bottom.

Being a Sadomasochist that enjoys both inflicting and receiving pain but is in no way Dominant or Submissive.

Being a Bottomy Submissive with no Masochistic tendencies, whatsoever.

Being a Toppy Dominant with no Sadistic tendencies, whatsoever.

Being a Primal Toppy Sadist.

Being a Bottomy Submissive Masochist.

Being a Bratty Submissive with Switchy tendencies….Wait!! New terms???…Damnit….

See, it can get confusing.

So, here’s my point; I don’t believe there is any such thing as just a Submissive, or just a Dominant. But I also don’t believe that everyone running around calling themselves these after reading Fifty Shades of Grey is genuinely either.

I did it too….I discovered BDSM and called myself a Submissive for a long time. Then I spent some time researching…reading…writing…experimenting…and I realised just how vast and varied this lifestyle is. Just how complicated it can be, how confusing it can be, how enticing and exciting it can be, and how a thousand different nuances and tastes can be twisted and contorted and evolve into something entirely different to what you might expect.

Me? I’m a Bottomy Masochist with Submissive tendencies that lean toward the Primal.

A few of my favourite things…

Music, Singing, Writing

It’s no secret that I love words. Words. Words. Words. I talk about my love of them here

“The fact that a few otherwise non-consequential words, written in the right order and read at the right moment, can evoke powerful reactions that can last a life time, that, for me, is magic. That’s what real magic looks like.”

But, as a singer, I also love music. My two greatest passions in life; writing and singing. Luckily, I’ve been fortunate enough to make a good living from both and now get to call them both ‘work’. And, of course, the greatest thing in the world for me is to find a song that is lyrically beautiful. It’s like my two favourite things coming together almost orgasmically (well, come on, I’m a erotic writer…there had to be some reference to filth in there somewhere…don’t worry, there will be more).

This is not an exhaustive list…there’s just too many to mention! I could go on and on about all the amazing songs out there, by any number of artists, but off the top of my head, and at 5am when I can’t sleep…these come to mind…

I literally listen to anything and everything. When I’m writing, I favour lyricless pieces, like Ludivico Enaudi or Chopin’s Nocturnes (and Opus 55 in F Minor seriously does things to me!), largely because I can’t think of words and hear them at the same time. Seriously, try and talk to me when I’m writing, I will probably grunt at you or, more likely, ignore you completely. I’m in the zone…don’t throw me off my game.

As a singer, I prefer acoustic, lyrical masterpieces. In my humble opinion, The Goo Goo Dolls, Iris, is utter perfection, for the lyrics, the melody, and the accompaniment. And I get to sing some great stuff…Guns’n’Roses, Patience. The Rolling Stones, Wild Horses. An acoustic, stripped back version of Lady Gaga’s Pokerface (ok, not lyrical perfection, but I get to belt out the second verse, full on Diva style, and I just fucking enjoy it!), and Four Non-Blondes, What’s up (who doesn’t love that song!).

Cheesy music makes me happy. And I do mean cheesy. Ok, don’t judge me for these, they are typically by association…

Meghan Trainor, All About the Base (I’m sorry…), because I spent an amazing weekend with three awesome girlfriends in Spain last year, and we drank sangria by the pool, wearing bikinis, listening to this song…it will forever have a special (albeit somewhat annoying) place in my heart.

Usher, Oh My Gosh….ARGH! I love this song! I don’t care…it’s awesome. You shhh….

Santana, Maria Maria…Come on…it’s Santana, what’s not to love!

And then we come to my favourite sub-category of music…Songs that turn me on; usually because of the lyrics, actually, definitely because of the lyrics.

Jason Derulo, Talk Dirty…Pfft…for obvious reasons.

It pains me to say it, but the Fifty Shades of Grey soundtrack is pretty damn good. Beyonce’s, Crazy Love Remix is pretty hot! As is The Weekend’s, Earned it. Oh, and B’s Haunted…too hot! They turn me on.

Pretty much the whole of the Maroon 5, Songs About Jane album…and just to give you a few examples…

Shiver – “Remember how my body tastes, and feel your heart begin to race” and “I shiver when I hear your name, I think about you but it’s not the same, I won’t be satisfied till I’m under your skin.”

Sunday Morning – “Fingers trace your every outline. Paint a picture with my hands. Back and forth we sway like branches in a storm, change of weather still together when it ends.”

And finally, from that same album, my all time favourite…the song that never fails to turn me on…always has, always will…(Drum roll, please…)

Secret – “Cool these engines, calm these jets. I ask you how hot can it get? And as you wipe of beads of sweat, slowly you say, I’m not there yet. I know I don’t know you, but I want you so bad.” – Seriously…this song!

At His Beck and Call (A little teaser….)

BDSM, D/s, Erotic FIction, Erotica, Sex, Writing

Grabbing her firmly by the arm, he discretely marched her away from her friends and out into the brisk evening air. She was annoyed, but at the same time, the touch of his hand on her skin and the firmness of his grip send a tiny quiver of anticipation through her body. She tried to ignore it and maintain her frosty expression while she snatched her arm away from his grip.

“What?!” She barked. Jesus, he was arrogant.

He glared at her silently for a beat and took her arm again, walking further away from the bar and around an outbuilding at the back of the deserted car park. She could see he was angry. His jaw was clenched, his shoulders were tense, and his eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them. She knew not to argue or fight on this occasion, and the combination of curiosity at what he had to say and magnetism she felt towards him was intoxicating. She couldn’t walk away from this situation if she wanted to.

Coming to a stop in the darkest corner he could find, he spun her around to face the wall of the out building, grabbing both of her wrists and holding them above her head against the cold, damp bricks. He pinned her there with one hand as she attempted to free herself from his grasp without much luck, his grip was too strong. It was a second; a fraction of a second, and his free hand was reaching under her skirt, lifting the fitted fabric and grazing her thighs with the roughness of his hands. She tried to wriggle herself away from him, to shake him off with her hips, but he pressed his body against hers and held her tighter with the weight of his arm while his fingers slipped easily inside her knickers. She wriggled again, tried to move herself away from his touch; the touch she knew so well and had craved for so long. He anticipated her every move, his fingers finding her easily and beginning their almost forceful massage of her most sensitive area.

“Stop it!” She rasped, but she knew her body was already betraying her, succumbing to his expert touch. He leaned in close to her neck, his stubble brushing against her cheek as his hands continued to work down below, making her slick and ready, in spite of herself.

“If you want me to stop, Anna, just say,” he breathed. Even at a whisper his voice was firm, in control.

He was right, she knew if she said it he would stop, and even though her head was telling her to leave well alone and return to her friends inside, she still craved his touch like it was the oxygen she breathed.

“Stop it,” she attempted again, more breathless, less certain.

“Anna?” He dared her, he needed to hear her say it with certainty.

She couldn’t. As his fingers circled her swelling clit and her body gave in to him, her struggling became writhing; she moved against his body and gave in to her overwhelming hunger for him. Her nipples hardened inside her bra and, as he felt her submission, his grip loosened from her wrists, allowing his hand to slide along the length of her arm softly, before placing his fingers gently around her throat. It wasn’t a threat, it never was, she never felt in any danger with him. It was a simple and silent message, a symbol of ownership. His breathing was heavy next to her cheek as his own arousal became more difficult to hide.

“See, Anna,” he whispered as her body gave in to him completely and the waves of pleasure began to build and spread over her body. “You’re mine. You’ll always be mine.”

“You don’t want me,” she managed breathlessly, a slither of lucidity escaping her otherwise clouded mind.

“Oh, I want you. I just can’t have you.”

The admission of his own desire was enough to push her towards the brink. His fingers worked faster, pulling her into him with every upwards stroke. Her knees began to give way beneath her and his body mirrored hers, holding her up and taking the one thing he desired most; her ecstasy at his own hands.

“Come for me, Anna,” he whispered.

Happy Sunday!


So, today was supposed to be my day off…but then I came here, and you’re all such talented fuckers that I got a serious case of writer’s envy (it’s a thing).

This place is so full of inspiration and reading the wonderful, witty, filthy works of others always spurs me on to write.

Today you have inspired my next book (go you!) and I’m a bit bloody excited about it! I’ve made a start already.

Have you ever had an idea you’re so excited about that you can’t wait to get to the finish line? You can’t wait to see where this particular journey will take you and you literally want to disappear with your laptop and a coffee and shut out the world until the pages are full and your head is empty?

That’s me today…

A History Lesson…Pull up a chair…

Sex, Writing

I know what you’re thinking; who invented sex toys and why? Don’t be shy…I used to ask myself this very question all the time.

Well, I used to work for a very large and very well-known company that is in the business of selling sex toys and lingerie to women. So, because I’m such an ardent professional (and not at all because I’m mildly obsessed with sex and everything about it), I took it upon myself to find out as much as I could on the subject of sex toys…because, you know, professionalism.

You could be forgiven for assuming that the humble sex toy is a relatively recent invention, perhaps created within the last couple of centuries.

You might also think that at some point in history, someone (you would assume a woman, right?…For obvious reasons) thought, “Hey, I don’t need a man for his manhood, I can fabricate me some of that!” and they went about making an inanimate, phallic like object that could give them everything they could get from a man…and then later they added a function that could make the whole thing vibrate and they damn near ruined every woman’s idea of amazing penetration, and broke a fair few men’s egos, forever.

Well, for starters, we (as human beings) have seemingly been dirty perverts for a little bit longer than that…a whole lot longer, in fact. The earliest (thought to be) phallic device dates back around 30,000 years. Archaeologists are reluctant to write ‘Dildo’ in the history books, so instead these items are called ‘Batons’, and their use is still painted pretty vaguely, but according to one expert, the sizes, shapes, and ornate, explicit, symbolism speaks for itself.

Skip forward a little to Ancient Greece, and around 500BC our kinky ancestors were using what were called olisbokollikes, which is essentially a dildo-breadstick. Yup…food porn!

So, who decided to make these instruments of pleasure vibrate? By all accounts, it was our sexy Egyptian Queen, Cleopatra, who is rumoured to have instructed a servant to fill a hollow gourd with bees…Buzz buzz.

And what of some of our other favourite sex toys? Jiggle Balls? Kegel Balls? Ben Wa Balls? Whatever you call them, we have Ancient Japan to thank for those! Presumably invented around 500AD, they were originally made of metal and used to rust from overuse….erm….

In case you were wondering where the word ‘Dildo’ came from, which of course, you were, the first recorded use of this now commonplace word came direct from the 16th poet, Mr. Thomas Nash, himself, who wrote a piece about a young boy in a brothel with a glass ‘Dildo’.

In 1734, the Tremoussoir was invented in France, and relied on a wind up mechanism. Why was this invented, you might ask? Probably not for the reasons one might assume…you see, Doctors didn’t believe, during this time, that the female orgasm was at all related to sex, and instead it was used as a treatment for a condition women suffered from…Hysteria.

Terrible condition really…just awful. The only cure was an orgasm that would restore the patient’s sanity. It became surprisingly popular (hmmm…) and when Doctors got tired of having to use their hands to achieve ‘hysterical paroxysm’ (an orgasm), which let’s face it, can be time consuming if you don’t really know what you’re doing, they brought in the professionals and devices like the Tremoussoir were quite common.

Fast forward a little to the 1880s and we can all thank Dr. Joseph Mortimer Granville for his invention of ‘Granville’s Hammer’, an electronically powered device that was originally designed as a fancy massager for muscle tension. It didn’t take long for a few genius’ to realise it could be used for relieving all sorts of tension, and achieve in a much more timely fashion, ‘hysterical paroxysm’.

It took one hundred years for vibrators to become mainstream items, and another decade from that point for the most popular vibrator in the world to make its name, thanks to the girls of Sex and the City in 1998 for bringing ‘The Rabbit’ to everyone’s attention.

Women of the world certainly owe a debt of gratitude to Jaqueline Gold and HBO for that one!

But you see, we’ve been kinky since the dawn of time!

Room 37

Erotic FIction, Erotica, Horror-Porn, Kink, Writing

Room 37. According to the online blogosphere, this was the room where the magic happened. She would have preferred it if the magic happened in the bar and she could’ve set up camp there for the next 12 hours, but who was she to tell visitors from the afterlife where to get their kicks.

She looked around The Grand Duke’s early 90’s, dated attempt at decadence; the garish patterned wallpaper, the off-white, overly washed bed sheets and sun-bleached curtains. Just once it would be nice if a five star hotel and spa resort decided to have a haunting.

The somewhat on-edge concierge had refused to step into the room, choosing to stand at the doorway and pass her her bags pretty swiftly. It wasn’t unusual in her line of work. The staff were always the worst and if the hotel management thought she was stupid enough to think they didn’t instruct all employees to play along and big up the hype, then so be it. Occasionally it even made her stays more interesting.

The Grand Duke was a little different though, she had to admit. So far, not one person had tried to regale her with stories of phantom noises and moving furniture, or that one time, Hilda, the 82 year old cleaner, had felt a ‘presence’. They definitely all knew why she was there, the side glances and slightly longer than necessary eye contact from the few employees she had come across so far made it clear that they were well aware of what she was doing.

Her job was always the same; arrive, set up, spend the night, record everything, occasionally interview staff for interesting stories, and, if the hotel or venue was willing to spring for the fee, take part in a séance with a local medium of at least some credibility. If the night was at all interesting, a few others would return and film the dialogue and presenting the following evening, the events and results were edited together in a bid to make it a ratings winner, which it rarely was, and the whole thing was then aired on a freeview tv chanel that had a lower viewership than the CCTV cameras in her local newsagent.

The rule was always never to speak to the guests. Most hotels didn’t want to scare away customers, but even when they were using their small-time notoriety to increase business, her boss didn’t want members of the public interfering with the ‘process’.

She began her ritual, pacing the room in order to find the ‘sweet spot’, every hotel room had one.

The corner by the dresser. Perfect.

She got straight to work setting up various pieces of recording equipment; some for sound, some for images. One with night vision, one without. She loved this part. She often fantasised that she was setting up for some tasteless, low rent, porn film, and she often thought she’d probably make more money if she did. She pictured various well-endowed men taking her roughly from behind on the bed on which she now centred the focus of one of the cameras. Just the thought made her creative (among other) juices start to flow. She squeezed her thighs together in bid to brush off the low burning sensation that immediately awakened between her legs.

Focus, Elizabeth!

She checked and double checked the equipment; not that it mattered, she rarely caught anything on camera that was going to provide her with her big break.

Sighing and contemplating for about the five hundredth time whether or not this would be her last gig, she picked up her bag and left the room to explore the rest of the hotel.

There was nothing exciting about this hotel. Every room and corridor was as clichéd as the next, and the smell of slightly damp bed linen clung to the walls as she made her way around, getting a feel for the building and trying to find anything her boss might be able to use as what he called a ‘hook’. She gave up pretty quickly and decided to have an early (and decidedly sub-par) dinner in the hotel restaurant before returning to her room to shower and go to bed.

The internet was the program’s main source of income, from its website and webisodes (for those that didn’t make the tv cut), and the forums that had countless people suggesting venue after venue. She checked them regularly, returning this evening to the forum post that had lead her here in the first place. Strange noises in the corridor…blah blah…staff don’t even like to work there…blah blah….building has a violent history….blah blah….Room 37….


She wasn’t sure of the time. She wasn’t even sure if she was awake, but the definite brush of something against her leg made her shift under the covers and stir slightly. When it happened again she barely even noticed. The tiniest sound of contentment escaped her as the brush became a tender stroke that started slowly along the back of her calf. As it reached her thigh it became just slightly firmer, gliding smoothly upwards. She sighed a little, drifting in and out of the deepest sleep, enjoying the dreamlike sensation, and moved her leg aside to allow her imaginary admirer easier access to her.

The most delicate touch crept between her legs and lightly stroked her already silken wetness. She shifted again, her subconscious state enjoying this little episode. Fingertips traced the smooth line of her stomach, circling towards her ribs and barely sweeping her breast, arousing a tender nipple in their path, over her shoulder, gently down her arm, before curling firmly around her wrist. She half-heartedly attempted to release the grip, but her slumbering state left it a futile assignment, and this dream was just beginning to get interesting.

…….continued in Taboo, available now on Amazon Kindle!

My Deviance…


I’ve always been a little deviant when it comes to relationships and attraction. And I don’t just mean in the sense that every girl loves a ‘bad boy’; I am only too familiar with that particular cliche, and while it’s essentially true for most of us throughout our youth, many of us grow out of it and eventually realise that what we really want is for the ‘bad boy’ to become a ‘good guy’, which ultimately means we’re looking to change someone to suit our needs, and that never works.

No…what I mean is, I’ve always been surprised by the social norms and laws of attraction. I never fell in love with Prince Charming when I watched Disney films. He was too wishy washy and squeaky clean for my liking. In fact, I can’t even say that I have ever been particularly fond of Disney films…(don’t shoot me!)

One of my earliest memories as a child (and when I became aware of boys) was watching the Labyrinth and being utterly disgusted by the ending. I genuinely didn’t understand, at the tender age of about seven, when I saw it, why Sarah didn’t want to stay and be the Goblin Queen. David Bowie wasn’t a villain, as such. I would have totally stayed…

My other odd fascination and deviant liking was for Hannibal Lectar…Yes, I realise how truly odd that is, but I can’t help it (and I’m aware that he was ACTUALLY a villain). My earliest sapiosexual experience was watching Silence of the Lambs for the first time and being so utterly captivated by this stunningly intelligent man, whose fixation on Clarice was obsessive, that I watched the film every day for about 3 months straight, and read all the books. This then lead to an Anthony Hopkins obsession, but I digress…

Intelligent, authoritative men are my weakness. Unfortunately, throughout cinema’s history, they are typically painted as the ‘bad guy’, and these qualities portrayed as ego and arrogance, with only a few exceptions to the rule. This not only misleads us deviants into wrongly assuming we love a ‘bad boy’, but also does an injustice to the wonderful, intelligent, authoritative men who do exist and who are gentlemen. The Alpha Male is notoriously ‘one to stay away from’. I call bullshit!

So, there really is no point to this inane rambling, just that I appreciate those men that ARE the ACTUAL definition of Alpha Male, and until Hollywood catches up with the rest of us, I will continue my deviant assault on cinema’s bad guys.

Oh, and going back to Disney films…I did kind of fancy Flynn Ryder…


BDSM, Erotic FIction, Erotica, Writing

The sky is beautiful from up here. Sentimental shades of pink and gold streak across the fading blue and she knows she’s only a few minutes from darkness. Soon the sky will go black, the stars will glitter in their thousands and half the city beneath her will go to sleep while the other half begins to wake; the nocturnal half. The ones that inspire and create, that dance and sing, the ones for whom the daylight holds no interest. The city is always more exciting at night.

She stands here, with the sliding glass doors of the balcony wide open, the cool breeze of the evening air brushing against her skin. She doesn’t care that she’s completely naked; some four stories up she’s quite out of sight, and for the creatures of the night that stir below, she is the least interesting thing they will see this evening. For those few that do notice the svelte, bare skinned figure at the door of the balcony, well, they’re in for a show aren’t they?

He should be here by now. He said 7pm. It’s now 8pm and the sky has turned a magnificent midnight blue colour. Any earlier excitement she was feeling in anticipation of this evening is now turning into annoyance, but she has resisted the urge to text or call, he knows where she was. He knows she is waiting. He is doing it on purpose.

By 8.15pm, the click of the hotel room door opening did nothing to startle her composure. She stands still on that very spot and listens to the sound of footsteps across luxurious carpet, a jacket being removed and laid carefully on the bed, his breath in her ear as he joined her where she stood.

“You’re late.” She doesn’t move.

“I know.” He doesn’t care.

“You’ve been drinking,” she says, smelling the indisputable but subtle aroma of alcohol as he plants gentle kisses from beneath her ear, down her neck, and across her shoulder.

“I’ve had a couple.”

As his lips find their way back to that spot behind her ear that sends charges of electricity throughout her entire body, she tries to maintain her irritation at his lateness, but the almost imperceptible tilt of her head and not so well hidden hitch in her breathing is enough to give her away.

His hands find her waist, sliding slowly down to the curves of her hips. Strong hands on soft skin; her body is already beginning to betray her and her annoyance is fading by the second.

“Close the door,” he says gently, allowing the back of his left hand to move upwards along her spine, reaching under her hair to the nape of her neck.

“Where were you?” She asks, closing her eyes tightly, trying to focus on anything but his touch.

His hand immediately closes around a clump of her hair and he yanks hard, repeating himself with more conviction.

“Close the door.”

She resists the temptation to exhale audibly and instead bites her lip and follows his command, sliding the glass door closed slowly as the sound of laughter, chatter, and bustle on the street below gradually fades to silence with the click of the lock.

Somehow the quietness of the room seems so much louder than the noises she has just shut out. A deafening stillness that is heavy with anticipation. His hands continue their journey over her body, tracing lines he knows so well like he’s discovering them for the first time; gently, carefully.

“Hands on the glass.”

….To be continued…in my new Amazon Kindle title, Taboo!