Monday, 15 August 2016

Masturbation Monday

Welcome to Masturbation Monday. This week a snippet from my new release DANGEROUS TO KNOW

*please note, this book was previously published with different cover art*

Back Cover Information

For too many years I’ve hidden a sinful, erotic craving in the darkest corner of my soul. Within this deeply buried sliver, shameful fantasies rule and images—seedy, degrading, filthy images—burn through the dark of night and hold my dreams hostage.

Luckily, the center of my whore obsession is keen to play my slutty game. I know nothing about him, other than his taste, touch and smell, but that’s how I want it, because of one thing I’m certain—this man is dangerous to know. But despite the risks, in the very heart of New York, in open view, I’ll tempt him with my wares, show him my skills and prove I’m up for the job.

Dangerous to know ISN'T romantic, it's pure erotica and downright filthy - you have been warned!

I took up position at the opposite end of the sunny bench he liked to sit on. My brain fuzzed with excited anticipation. Seeing him up close, for real, with no lens between us was momentous, but I had to be careful not to be caught staring. So between glances at other park-goers minding their own business, I sneaked looks at his profile. 
His jaw was big boned and layered with a heavy dose of black stubble. His lips were thin, his nose a little hawklike. Craggy black brows pulled low over what I suspected were brown eyes. As he studied a newspaper, his head hung forward but not his hair; his hair was short, very short and the hint of skull beneath was foreboding and alluring all at the same time. 
He wasn’t handsome in a traditional way; in fact he was hard-looking, roguish. One might have said a little unkempt but I preferred the description rough and ready. Either way—rough, roguish, unkempt—to me he was perfect because I wasn’t a sweet girl. Beneath my bubbles of blonde hair and dimpled smile I was all about the filth. My fantasies, for as long as I could remember, were dirty and degrading, threaded with disrespect and humiliation and should never have been admitted to, let alone sought. 
Ignoring the new public smoking ban, he lit a hand-rolled cigarette, flicking the match to the pavement and sucking on the thin papery end. When he exhaled, the stream of smoke drifted my way. I dragged it deep into my lungs, taking in what had circulated his body and delighting as the woodsy vapors entered me. I fluttered my eyes shut, relishing the moment, and when I opened them again he was staring straight at me. I was right, his eyes were brown—deep, chocolate brown that swirled with delicious, hot sin and a suitable amount of disdain. 
“Hey,” I said, tugging at my glossed bottom lip with my teeth. 
He poked his tongue out of the corner of his mouth and stroked the seam as if capturing an invisible crumb. Turned back to his newspaper. 
A native New Yorker then, typically wary of anyone speaking to him without good cause. That was a bonus, a New Yorker would work for me. In fact, it would suit very well. 
“You live around here?” I asked. 
His gaze slid back to me, traveling up my bare legs, over the obscenely short hem of my skirt, lingering for a moment on my braless chest and my protruding nipples before resting on my face. “What’s it to you?” 
Oh my God, his voice. He was not a New Yorker. His grating, sexy drawl held a hint of musicality—European but not English—Eastern Europe perhaps. I’d so not added that into my musings of him, but it was perfect, sublimely perfect. 
“Just making conversation,” I managed, trying to keep cool even though heat was spreading up my back and chest. 
“I don’t want conversation.” 
“So what do you want?” He was a man. There was one thing men always wanted. 
He huffed and drew on his cigarette. The end burned bright and crackled faintly. “Nothing you could give me.” Smoke trickled from his mouth between his words. 
Glancing over his shoulder, I was relieved to see there was no one on the path. What I was going to do next was for his eyes only. 
Quickly I slid my butt around on the bench and folded my legs the way I used to when I was a little girl, ankles crossed, knees sticking out to the sides. My heart pounded and I was aware of my labia peeling apart and cool air washing around my gaping entrance. The sensation thrilled me utterly, and I pushed out my modest chest, resting one arm along the back of the bench, fingers pointing toward him. For all the world acting composed and calm when inside, a turmoil of excited, filthy lust raged. 
His gaze dropped to my bare pussy, exposed and no doubt shimmering with moisture. He appeared remarkably unfazed by my bold display, his expression lazy and languid. But his casual attention was a heated caress, burning into me, licking me as if with real flames of fire. If just his vaguely bored study could have my clit swelling from its hood, I couldn’t imagine what a touch from him would actually do. 
“You a whore?” he asked. 
Oh, the way he said the word whore was delicious; his wide mouth seemed to pull out the “r” at the end as if savoring it, playing with it. 
“Do you want me to be?” I asked brazenly. 
He shrugged. “Keeps it simple.” 
I twitched the side of my mouth into a half-smile even though I wanted to beam. It seemed I’d just found a man to fulfill my forbidden desires and make all my bad dreams come true. “Then yes, I’ll be your whore.” 
“Just mine?” He pulled on his cigarette, but this time when he blew out, the smoke shot from his mouth in a thin stream. 
I rubbed my hand over my chest, tweaking my hard nipple. His gaze followed my movement then slid over my right shoulder. I heard footsteps. 
Someone was coming. 
He glanced back at me, as if daring me to stay in my exposed position. Always one to rise to a challenge, I kept my legs spread. Willed my knees to stay apart and my pussy bared. I was desperate to clamp my thighs together—as a rule, I was not an exhibitionist and had no desire to flash my cunt to any old Tom, Dick or Harry. But I could and would do this—it was a means to an end. 
In my peripheral vision a woman appeared. She wore a cerise cardigan and walked a pale-brown boxer dog. She didn’t pause as she stepped past us, nor did she look back and notice my bare pussy. Well, why would she? It was broad daylight, this was a park, why would my intimate female flesh be on public display? 
He raised his eyebrows and I had a sudden rush of accomplishment. I’d surprised him—clearly he’d thought I’d tuck myself from view. Good, I liked to be a surprise. Being predictable was not in my nature, well, not in my whore-self’s nature anyway. 
He placed his newspaper on the bench between us and took a last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it under his black boot. “I’m not really one for fucking whore’s pussies, even pretty ones, but…” 
“I’ll pay you to suck my cock.” 
Inside I welled with triumph. The idea of sex as an arrangement, a transaction, was what thrilled me the most. No emotions, no strings. A customer, money and a murky act. That was what appealed to me. Forget candlelit seduction and emotional intimacy, I wanted sleaze, I wanted filth, I wanted to be used as a sexual object by a rough bloke who took what he wanted on a very basic level. 
“Okay. Where?” I asked. 
He glanced left and right, his gaze searching, then nodded straight ahead. “Down there.” 

- to keep reading grab your copy of Dangerous to Know from Amazon. FREE read on Kindle Unlimited.

1 comment:

  1. OMG, dirty, filthy, kinky erotica is perfect and this is HAWT.