Showing posts with label Mischief Books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mischief Books. Show all posts

Monday, 12 August 2013

Sexy Nurses!!



 What is it about nurses that men find so sexy? Is it because they cross into personal space as part of their daily routine, performing intimate procedures? Maybe it's the hat, or the possibility of lace-topped stockings beneath their uniforms. It could be guys just want a bed bath!



Image from LoveHoney 

Whatever the reasons Mr Harlem had to cope with the real thing for years. Before I picked up a pen, or rather opened a laptop and started writing, I worked as a trauma nurse in London, England.



University College Hospital

The work was adrenaline-inducing, the long shifts exhausting and the never ending stream of patients have proven to be an endless well of characters for me to draw on in recent years. And that includes my latest release Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse, out now at Mischief, Harper Collins. 





Blurb


When scalpels are set down, the ward lights turned off and the patients asleep, there is always time for mischief …

I guess you could call me a jack-of-all-trades nurse. I find work satisfaction in whichever department the hospital needs me most, as long as it’s through the darkest hours. Needless to say I’ve seen it all over the years, been there and done that, what’s left to shock me isn’t worth knowing. But it’s so often the quieter nighttime where the real high jinx abound.

Yes, the nocturnal life is the one for me. With a weakness for sexy guys wearing white coats and dangling stethoscopes, my fantasies are often realised and I’m adept at finding relief from the hospital grind in shadowy corners and cozy linen cupboards.

Of course my dedication to patient comfort is paramount. What kind of nurse would I be if it wasn’t? But when one act of extreme, albeit highly inappropriate, kindness forced me to become the hospital director’s snitch, the length I went to in order to keep my job satisfied my desires and found me the love that had always evaded me. A love that made me push even my not-so-professional boundaries to the extreme.
* * * * *



I have to say this book was enormous fun to write and I realised, as I wrote, how much I missed my nursing days - not that I'm about to jump back into it, I don't miss it that much! But what really tugged my heartstrings was realising how much I missed being part of a team - working and playing with a group of women (mainly) who all know each other well, have a Carpe Diem attitude (you get that in trauma) and a terribly wicked sense of humour! 

Nurses have this wonderful way of supporting each other and it's very rare to come across a lazy nurse (well it was in a London A&E anyway) and that was what gelled everyone. When the going got tough the tough got going, if you couldn't cope, then you didn't hang around. Things could get pretty high octane, the pace was fast, things happened most people never witness or are part of, again that cements a team, the shared experience of the highs and the lows. The hospital social club was were debriefs happened over a few alcoholic beverages!

Naturally there are always a whole pile of real-life love stories going on, between doctors and nurses (obviously) nurses and patients, patients and doctors, cleaners and consultants - I kid you not - radiographers and secretaries, porters (the biggest players in my opinion - lol) and well, anyone!! Whatever combination works seemed to occur, and in fact I met Mr Harlem at work!

The night duties could be gruelling and not my favourite shifts at all - my body just doesn't cope without sleep - but when I sat down to write Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse, it was this blanket of night, the privacy from the prying eyes of the day that meant I could really let Sharon run riot. She doesn't mean too, well maybe a little bit, but things just seem to happen to her  and before she knows it she's in deeper than she thought, not just with the studly Javier but also sweet Carl and the witch they call Iceberg!

Sharon has a higher libido than most, she also has a history of a broken heart, and when a patient - a gorgeous fireman with burnt hands needs a hand with er, something, she can't resist helping him out, it's her caring nature you see, even if it is above and beyond her job description! Oh, yes, this book was fun, some of the things in it are drawn from real experiences but most are made up. Mmm, I suppose you want me to tell you which are real, well you'll just have to read it and see if you can guess :-)


Here is a sexy snippet from Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse

‘Are you ready for the last one?’ he asked, leaning forward and slotting his rigid cock into the cleft of her buttocks.
‘Yes, oh, yes.’
‘And have you learnt your lesson?’
‘I have, Sir, oh, I have. Please.’
‘Please what?’
‘Please, my last one, my last spank.’
He reared up, pulled his fingers from her and positioned the head of his cock at her entrance. He thrust into her and as he maxed out, balls deep, he struck her soundly across both buttocks.
Emily arched her back, her spine as tight as a bowstring. She opened her mouth but no sound came out. She clutched the table, trying, it seemed, to stop herself from being shunted completely off it.
I licked my lips, teeth and gums — my mouth was dry. Oh, she was getting it good. Who would have thought old Hartley had it in him to bang so enthusiastically and with such an adorable sprinkle of kink?
My nipples were tingling, my breaths coming faster. I was aware of my hips flexing ever so slightly as Hartley pumped into her, over and over. His white coat was flicking and flacking with his lurching movements. He’d gritted his teeth and was grasping Emily’s hips, pulling her onto himself at the same time as he pounded into her.
‘Oh, God, oh, oh…’ Emily squirmed, her feet rising off the floor, her body a slave to his powerful lunges.
‘Yes, yes, call me God,’ he snapped.
‘God, oh please, Sir.’
‘God.’
‘God, oh, I’m coming now, please, can I, God?’
‘Yes, yes come, now.’ He reached for her hair, a high ponytail on her crown, and tugged.
Her whole body rose. Her breasts juddered within the confines of the tiny nurse outfit, her back became a deep curve, and then she came.
The sounds of her gasping and panting through her orgasm made my knickers wet and a knot of need tightened in my stomach. Oh, she was coming good and hard. Just what I needed after the last few hours. An off-the-scale, mind-altering climax would do quite nicely to make me forget everything for a few moments.
‘Ah, yes, you naughty, naughty nurse,’ Hartley shouted then flung back his head and groaned through his final strokes to satisfaction.
I shifted my feet and realised I was holding my breath and my hands were clenched into sweaty fists. Damn, I was horny for it. I wanted what they’d just had, not necessarily with the flouncy outfit and the red arse, but a damn good shagging.
I reached for Carl, curled my fingers with his, and noticed that his palm was damp, like mine.
He looked at me and gave a lopsided grin. There was a slight sheen of sweat over his top lip.
I jerked my head towards the door. It was definitely time to get the hell out, before we were either discovered or my rampant, libidinous side let loose and I hurled myself at the nearest available male.
Carl!
After a last glance into the theatre, the object of my desire nodded and we sneaked back through the anaesthetic room, out into the corridor and into the dark cupboard we’d come through.
I stopped.
So did Carl. 
‘Oh my God,’ I whispered when the door shut, enveloping us in darkness. ‘How the bloody Nora did you know they were in there, doing that?’
There was a small click and a bare bulb overhead gave out a pale light. We were surrounded by brown cardboard boxes full of bags of intravenous fluid.
Carl released the light pull and it bounced towards the wall. He shoved his hand through his hair and puffed out his flushed cheeks. ‘I had to come down here last week, in the middle of the night, to get some Gelo for Eyre Ward. I was on my own, didn’t bother to turn any lights on, and went out of the wrong door, ended up in theatres.’
‘It wasn’t locked?’
‘No, I suppose someone forgot, keeps forgetting. Anyway, you can imagine my surprise when I heard a bang and a grunt from theatre three, went to investigate and saw old Hartley with his junk out and about to diddle his scrub nurse.’
‘Jesus.’ I let out a low whistle of disbelief. ‘You’d think they’d go somewhere private and play, wouldn’t you?’
He shrugged and ran his finger around the collar of his shirt. ‘I’m guessing it gives them a kick, doing it in there.’
‘You think so?’
‘Yes, absolutely, catching each other’s eye the next day over a patient. A theatre full of staff and only them knowing they were fucking like a couple of horny teenagers on that very table the night before.’
I shook my head. ‘Yeah, I guess you’re right. Must be quite a turn-on pretending there’s nothing between them and waiting for the place to clear out.’
Carl looked cute as a button. His slightly unkempt, unshaven style, with his tired, bespectacled eyes and his easy smile had definite appeal. 
‘You’d think they’d worry, though,’ I said, stepping up close and touching the askew name badge on his white coat.
‘About what?’
‘That someone might see them at it.’
‘At it?’ There was a definite sparkle in his work-weary eyes.
‘Yeah, at it, screwing. They should have picked a nice, dark cupboard.’ I slipped my hands over his shoulders, drew my mouth close to his. ‘One with no windows, no prying eyes or nosy colleagues.’
‘Like this one?’
‘Yeah, just like this one,’ I whispered.
‘Mmm.’
I pressed my lips to his and was pleasantly surprised by the soft willingness of his mouth and his small intake of breath.
He held my face, his big hands gentle on my cheeks and his fingers just slotting into my hair, over my ears.
The kiss deepened, our tongues tangled and I leaned my chest to his. He slanted his head and explored my mouth with a sense of passion and reverence.  He tasted fresh, of water and mint. That lovely lemony scent of his that made me think of Mediterranean holidays swirled around me. A whimper of approval rumbled up from my chest and I ached for some action. I reckoned Carl was the perfect man for the job. If just his kiss had me throbbing, imagine how I’d feel when I actually got him inside me, pumping and grinding.
I slid my hands down his chest, over his pale blue shirt to the buckle of his trousers.
‘Sharon,’ he murmured through our kiss.
‘Carl?’ I whispered, exploring lower, over his groin. I found what I was hunting for — a lovely, long hardness straining against his zipper.
‘Please,’ he said, releasing my cheeks.
‘Please what?’ I squeezed him again then gave a firm stroke, base to tip. Wonderful, he was swollen and full and I could even make out the flare of his glans through the material. How fast could we get naked?
He groaned and reached for my wrists, held them tight as I worked his erection through the material.
‘Bloody hell,’ he gasped, his hips rocking towards me and then away.
‘You want me to suck you?’ I asked, speaking against his lips.
‘Fuck. No.’
I hesitated. It wasn’t often a guy refused a blowjob. ‘You just want to shag then?’
‘No, yes, I mean…’
‘What do you mean?’ I kissed over his cheek, found his ear and touched my tongue to the fleshy lobe. Cupped his balls with one hand and at the same time hunted for the zipper of his trousers and began to pull it down.
‘I mean I don’t, I don’t want to…’ He yanked my hands upwards, so they were captured between our faces. ‘I don’t want to do anything.’ His voice was harsh, firm.
I jolted, surprised by his sudden movement and shocked by his statement.
He was staring at me intently, his eyes wild and his lips wet from our kiss. 
‘Oh,’ I said, shock and confusion muddling in my mind. Didn’t he fancy me? Was he gay? No, I didn’t think either was the case. The hardness in his pants told an entirely different story. ‘But I thought…you’ve got a…’
He swallowed, the sound noisy in the small room, and then blinked, long and slow, and sucked in a deep breath.
‘But you’ve got a—’ I said.
‘Tell me about it.’ His mouth twisted, as though he was in pain, and he gazed intently at me.
‘And you don’t want to do something about it?’ I licked my lips and smiled my sweetest smile. ‘I’m happy to oblige. We’ve been putting this off for months now. You and me, naked, it’s inevitable.’
‘I know.’
‘And?’
‘And yes, I would like to do something about it, with you. Soon.’
That was more like it. I tried to step in close again but he kept me at a distance with outstretched hands. Like I was some kind of sex monster about to rape him. 
‘Carl?’ Now he was hurting my feelings.
‘I’m sorry, it’s just…’
I tugged at my wrists and he released them. My body was humming. I was hot for it but it seemed I wasn’t going to be getting any. ‘What. It’s just what?’ I snapped.
‘I like you,’ he said, reaching out and touching my cheek. ‘I mean I really like you.’
‘So what’s the problem?’ I couldn’t help my pout. 
He shook his head and looked down at his feet.
‘Tell me, damn it. You drag me here to watch a damn sex show that gets me all horny for it, and then bring me in a dark cupboard, kiss me —’






Buy Links

Amazon UK 
Mischief  - find links to major retailers here.






Monday, 28 January 2013

First review just in...

I was thrilled to find a great review on Goodreads for Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse just days after it's release. What's more, the review is written by a nurse...



It (Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse) centers around Sharon, a night shift nurse in a hospital somewhere in England. If she lived in the U.S., she’d be called a float pool nurse because she can work almost anywhere in the hospital. You follow her sexscapades over the course of a few days/weeks and see how much trouble she gets into as well as how many people get between her legs. She’s naughty, remember?

This book had the potential for utter ridiculousness. As a nurse, I take my profession pretty seriously and I didn’t know if this book would make nurses look like trollops. It didn’t though. It felt real! The author’s grasp of medical lingo as well as the possible happenings in a hospital all felt right. I swear she mentioned Maslow and I guffawed. It appealed to the nurse and the instructor in me. The sex was good, but not overdone and I enjoyed the characters.


And my gosh, the book actually had a plot and a decent one at that. Plus, I was rooting for her to end up with the sexy doctor. Well done, Lily Harlem. You definitely won me over.


Thursday, 24 January 2013

Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse Out Today!

Now available from Mischief at Harper Collins.



I'm thrilled that Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse has hit the shelves today. Before turning my hand at writing I worked for many years as a nurse in a busy NHS hospital in England so this book has been enormous fun to write and took me on a memory-laden journey through my past. I hope readers enjoy the sassyness of Staff Nurse Sharon Roane, the various hunks that she encounters in dark corners as well as spending time in a wintery Yorkshire hospital.


Blurb

When scalpels are set down, the ward lights turned off and the patients asleep, there is always time for mischief …


I guess you could call me a jack-of-all-trades nurse. I find work satisfaction in whichever department the hospital needs me most, as long as it’s through the darkest hours. Needless to say I’ve seen it all over the years, been there and done that, what’s left to shock me isn’t worth knowing. But it’s so often the quieter nighttime where the real high jinx abound.



Yes, the nocturnal life is the one for me. With a weakness for sexy guys wearing white coats and dangling stethoscopes, my fantasies are often realised and I’m adept at finding relief from the hospital grind in shadowy corners and cozy linen cupboards.



Of course my dedication to patient comfort is paramount. What kind of nurse would I be if it wasn’t? But when one act of extreme, albeit highly inappropriate, kindness forced me to become the hospital director’s snitch, the length I went to in order to keep my job, satisfied my desires and found me the love that had always evaded me. A love that made me push even my not-so-professional boundaries to the extreme.






Here is a sexy snippet from Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse taken from chapter one...


I didn’t mention the dove to Annie or Tinkard. I just called for a porter to help me transfer to Rose Cottage and tugged on my coat. I checked my iPhone again. Another message from Tom.
You coming?
I typed back quickly.
Yes, so will you soon!
The porter appeared. He was new, a young guy, wide and stocky with hair so short you could see his scalp through it. He had the word love tattooed over the knuckles on his right hand
‘You got one for Rose Cottage,’ he grunted, tugging the closed, coffin-style trolley along behind him.
‘Yes, sideward six.’
Luckily Mr Parslow’s skinny body was light, and within a few minutes we were heading out of the ward with him safely ensconced in the metal trolley.
‘Hey, Sharon,’ Tinkard called. ‘You may as well go for your break after you’ve done that, it’s just gone midnight.’
‘Right you are.’
The ward door shut with a heavy click and I put some muscle into pushing the trolley along the deserted corridor. As the pace picked up I stared at the lumpy back of the porter’s head and wondered if he was the one who’d found Javier and Iceberg.
If only I could see into his mind.
I pondered on whether I should question him. Just come straight out and ask if he’d seen the hottest medical SHO since Pompeii’s hospital had got showered in ash, shagging the Wicked Witch of the West where the sun doesn’t shine.
I thought better of it. Me alone asking could become gossip, and I was keen to avoid gossip that included myself. There were too many skeletons in my cupboard, and, for that matter, in clinical rooms, sluices, linen rooms, and in that handy, unused office at the back of the pharmacy. No, I would keep quiet and do my own investigating.
Stepping out into the night, I was whipped in the face by my hair, the band holding it in a low ponytail no match for the ferocity of the gale. I hunched my shoulders and stooped, trying to shelter my face from the needle-points of rain blasting my cheeks. The sound of the torrent of drips hitting the metal trolley was almost as loud as the wind creaking the row of oaks leading to Rose Cottage. Their bows strained and moaned, their leaves hissing in great waves of noise.
The porter sped up behind the back of the canteen and put considerable energy into pulling. By the time we went past the incinerator and turned the final corner, I found myself jogging along the uneven path.
Luckily Tom was waiting with the door to Rose Cottage held open.
We rushed in, the trolley banging over the door-bar and a scurry of leaves whirling around our feet.
‘Fucking hell,’ the porter said. ‘It’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey out there.’
Tom shut the door, winked at me, then took hold of my end of the trolley and wheeled it into the bay of body drawers. I trailed along behind, tucking my wind-wild hair back into it’s ponytail.
‘Yeah, good job the VIP in here doesn’t care about shitty weather,’ Tom said, stopping at twenty-six C and then opening the trolley’s lid to reveal Mr Parslow’s covered body.
‘Bloody hate this part of the job, me,’ the porter said, staring at the shroud-covered lump and shuddering. ‘Don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.’
‘You go if you want,’ I said, ‘I’ll help here.’
He widened his eyes and took a step backwards. ‘Really?’
‘Sure, I’ve done it a million times. Doesn’t bother me.’
‘Bloody hell, thanks…’ He nibbled on his bottom lip and scanned my coat, as though searching for my name badge.
‘Sharon,’ I said. ‘Go, we’ve got this covered and I bet you’ve lots to do.’
‘Yeah, I have actually.’ He yanked his sleeves over his hands and strode back to the door.
Tom followed and I heard him lock it shut, as was standard procedure at Rose Cottage. The NHS couldn’t risk body-snatching, that’s why Tom was employed as night security here.
‘Poor sod,’ Tom said, wandering back in. ‘Looked white as a sheet, didn’t he?’
‘They all do to start with.’
Tom pulled open the drawer and together we slid Mr Parslow onto the metal; his body, although light, was a dense weight. Tom then pushed the drawer shut and closed the door with a resounding slam.
He wrote Mr Parslow’s name on a piece of card and slipped it into a slot beneath.
‘So how long have you got?’ he asked, a naughty smile tugging his lips and his smoky blue eyes twinkling.
I raised my eyebrows. ‘No time at all. Change of plan, I have to get straight back, sorry.’
‘Ah, Sharon,’ he said, frowning. ‘Why do you go and tease me like that? You know how much I look forward to your visits. They’re the only thing that keeps me going in this lifeless place.’
‘Sorry.’ I glanced down his body. Through his uniform — dark navy trousers and shirt — Tom’s well-defined muscles could be made out, as could a fantastically long wedge of flesh behind his fly.
My pussy clenched as I remembered last week when I’d paid him a visit. He’d bent me over the desk and rammed himself into me for nearly an hour. It had been so damn hard to walk back onto the orthopeadic ward I’d actually considered nicking a pair of crutches.
I hitched in a breath, knowing I wouldn’t be able to keep up my pretense for more than another few seconds. Tom’s big dick and his skillful use of it was too damn irresistible. ‘The ward is crazy busy.’
He reached for me but I stepped away. ‘Just a kiss and a quick grope then, to keep me going.’
Quickly I moved even further away, towards the autopsy room. ‘Ha, ha,’ I said gleefully. ‘Just kidding, I’m on my break now.’
He flattened his lips into a tight line, as if holding back a broad smile, though at the same time narrowing his eyes as though furious with me. ‘You little minx,’ he said. ‘You’ll pay for that.’
‘Only if you can catch me.’ I darted into the autopsy room, dark except for a couple of low lights over a set of huge scales. The air was cool and laced with disinfectant.
I glanced around. There was a big, steel surgical table in the centre, a row of cupboards, several filing cabinets and a desk holding an ancient computer monitor.
‘Sharon,’ Tom called, the door shutting behind him with a soft whoosh. ‘You can’t escape.’
‘No, please, no,’ I said on a giggle and ran towards the far side of the room.
He chased but I dodged at the last minute, went to run for the door. He cut me off and I swivelled, found myself barging into the bolted-down table in the middle.
I gasped as the air flew from my lungs, but recovered quickly and, with my hands flat on the cool surface, scooted to the end.
Tom was facing me now, his face strewn with shadows, but I could see the thrill of the chase had flushed his cheeks and caused him to pant.
‘Come here,’ he said, edging closer.
‘No.’ I moved away from him in a circle around the table.
But it was futile, he was tall, fast and strong. Suddenly I was grabbed and tugged to the end, my body pulled up against his.
He pressed his lips down hard on mine and instantly the game was over. Now it was all about carnal satisfaction. With Tom I was always guaranteed a spectacular orgasm and I couldn’t wait to start riding towards it.
‘Ah, yeah, baby, I’ve got you,’ he said, shoving my coat off and flicking it out of the way. ‘You gonna take it good again? Like you did last week?’
‘Yes,’ I panted, tearing at the buttons on his shirt. ‘Yes, that was so hot, I could hardly bloody walk the next day.’
He chuckled, low, deep and sexy, then kissed me again, the stubble on his chin scraping my skin and his breaths blowing hot and hard on my cheek.
He had my uniform up around my waist now and was forcing me to lay back on the ice-cold table. He stepped between my legs and leaned over me, pressing his groin into the gusset of my knickers.
‘Really, on here?’ I said, slotting my fingers into his hair and drawing my knees up so they pressed either side of his hips. ‘Where they chop up dead people? Isn’t that a bit freaky?’
‘The French for orgasm is petite mort so it’s kind of fitting.’ He was fiddling with the elastic of my underwear, at the juncture of my thighs.
‘Yeah, I suppose, but, oh…’ My words were cut off and turned into a delighted moan. He’d plunged two fingers high up inside me and found my clit with his thumb.
‘Oh, you’re such a dirty nurse,’ he murmured, kissing and licking over my cheek. ‘I bet you’ve been getting wetter and wetter ever since that poor old sod croaked, haven’t you?’
‘I…’ Words wouldn’t come. My brain could only concentrate on his touch.
He pulled out a little, shoved back in and set up a steady rhythm. Small squelching noises echoed around the room, mixing with my panting breaths and the sound of my pulse raging in my ears.
‘I love it when you get so wet for me,’ he said, gripping the back of my neck with his free hand and nibbling the side of my throat. ‘I’m going to really miss your cream, Sharon.’
‘Ah, yes, Tom, please, I want you in me.’ 
His hand was good, but a hand was a hand. Tom’s equipment was sensational, the sort of specimen that should be pickled in a jar when he died and saved in a museum as a perfect example of the human penis.
‘Coming right up, baby,’ he said, withdrawing and fumbling with his flies.
I shoved at my knickers, gasped briefly at the chill on my buttocks, then kicked the material away. I tried not to think of the bodies that had lain lifeless where I was about to be screwed senseless. Perhaps it would re-balance the karma for this table — if furniture held karma, that was.
Tom was rolling a condom on with astonishing efficiency. ‘You’re the only one that ever takes all of me,’ he said, looking me in the eye. ‘And it feels amazing.’
‘Tell me about it.’ I reached for him and kissed him hungrily as he pressed me back onto the hardness of the metal. He tasted of coffee, chocolate and perhaps a hint of tobacco. He tasted of Tom, which to me meant sex and pleasure and orgasms of the super-intense variety.
He was nudging into me. I locked my ankles in the small of his back and gripped the sleeves of his shirt. This part always required a good amount of concentration on my behalf if it was to be erotic pain and not ow-that-hurts pain.
‘Yeah, that’s it,’ he said into my mouth and gaining the first inch of entry.
I held my breath, waiting for more, desperate for more, all of it, all of him.
‘Damn, you feel so hot,’ he said, pressing his chin against my temple.
His stubble would leave a telltale red rash, but I didn’t care, to hell with any consequences. Right now I just wanted more of him inside me.
I rocked my hips up to meet him and he pushed in — much faster than usual.
‘Oh, yes,’ I cried out as red flashes filled my vision. ‘So good.’
‘Only good?’ He stilled.
‘Fantastic, and you know it.’ I half-heartedly thumped his arm. ‘Just give it to me.’
He hesitated for a second, then shunted in completely.
I cried out, so did he.
The brutal entry and the swirling pleasure-pain had my entire body tensing.
‘Ah, yeah,’ he groaned, lifting his head and staring at the wall behind me. ‘Fuck yeah.’
I felt like I would burst. That at any moment the tip of his cock would come right out of my throat. How was it possible for my little body to take such a monster? I didn’t know, but it did, and it felt bloody incredible.
Tom began to move. Keeping himself lodged high, he churned his hips in a circular movement, catching my clit just right.
Groaning, I arched my back, lifted off the table and clung to him. Already the first blissful sparks of orgasm were there. It wouldn’t take long.
‘Ah, yeah, this isn’t going to be a marathon session like last week,’ he said. ‘You’ve got me too damn hot for you. I’m near already.’
‘Me too.’ I smoothed my hands over his shoulders. ‘Me too.’
He pulled halfway out, sliding easily, then rode back in. We both grunted and I harnessed the growing pressure.
‘Yeah,’ he said, repeating the process. ‘Oh, yeah.’
‘Faster, harder,’ I said, catching his fleshy earlobe in my mouth and sucking.
‘Your wish is my command.’
Suddenly our mating cranked up a notch. If it had been desperate before, now it was frantic, wild and utterly animalistic. Breathing no longer mattered, nor did the rest of the universe. Tom inside me and the explosion about to detonate was all that existed.
‘Ah, I’m coming,’ I shouted, biting down on his earlobe.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ he groaned, shifting his head but not escaping my teeth.
He was rod-hard, as hard as he ever got. And I was being impaled; he was ramming me down as much as he was forging into me.
It was there. I was spinning through ecstasy, my body not my own for a few sweeter-than-sweet seconds, but belonging to a glorious state of heavenly pleasure.
And then came the best bit, my pussy contracting and spasming around Tom’s cock. My internal muscles rejoicing at the incredible length and girth they had to grip and shudder against.
Tom was coming too, at the perfect moment. He was groaning and moaning like a dying man. I released his ear, found his mouth and kissed him. He kissed back, hungrily.
‘Oh, yeah, that was so good,’ he said, breathless and finally slowing his thrusting hips.
‘Tell me about it.’ I was trembling, my flesh prickly and sweat-coated.
‘You’re incredible,’ he said.
‘Kind of you to say so.’ I brushed his hair back from his face where it was hanging like dark fingers around his forehead. ‘How are the wedding plans going?’
‘Not bad, Cheryl is stressed but her mum’s helping her.’
‘It must be a nightmare planning such a big event for so many people.’
‘Yeah, well, it’s what she wants.’
He touched his nose to mine, rubbed it in an Eskimo kiss. ‘Are you sure we can’t still do this once I’ve tied the knot?’
‘We’ve had this conversation before.’ I stroked his earlobe — it was wet and slightly swollen from my exuberant kisses and bites.
‘I know, but bloody hell, Sharon, we’re so damn good together.’ As if to prove the point he ground into me, extracting another delicious tremor. I couldn’t hold in a satisfied groan.
‘I have some morals, you know,’ I said when I’d recovered, ‘and screwing married men is definitely on my list of no-no’s.’
‘But how is this different? I’m engaged to be married right now.’
‘You haven’t promised to forsake all others yet, though, have you?’
‘No, I suppose not.’ He kissed me gently. ‘I will miss this. You. Us.’
‘Me too. But Cheryl makes you happy and will do for the rest of your life.’
‘Yep, she’s great.’ He pulled out and straightened.
I became aware of the cold, unyielding surface I was lying on and the dampness between my legs.
‘I’ve got cheese sandwiches and a porkpie in my tuckbox if you want to share,’ he said, tugging off the condom and slipping his still semi-erect cock away.
‘Sounds great.’ I jumped off the slab of metal, pulled on my knickers and straightened my uniform.
I would miss my time with Tom and his talented dick, but that was just the way it was. Cheryl would have to learn to cope with him and I’d have to find myself another well-hung pastime.
Perhaps an Italian one was in order.




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Thursday, 20 December 2012

ANYTHING FOR HIM - OUT NOW!

Today I'm thrilled to be celebrating the release of ANYTHING FOR HIM with my awesome co-author Natalie Dae. This dark and gritty novel, set in London, explores the power of obsession, the pursuit of seedy desires and lands the heroine in more trouble than she ever bargained for!

ANYTHING FOR HIM is also our first title with Mischief at Harper Collins.




Blurb

Just how far will one woman go to fulfil her fantasies?

I prefer to chase the news, not be the news. But when the delectable Liuz, with his uncannily accurate perception of my secret desires weaved its way into my life, it wasn’t long before I was in way too deep, submerged and intoxicated with a passion I was afraid was more than I could handle.

Or was it? Because although my heart was overwhelmed with feelings I had no resistance against, and while my deceitful body was consumed by a burning passion, I still had a plan. A plan I prayed would keep me afloat as I was pushed to the very edge of my limits, while the journey got tougher than even my wildest flights of fantasy could have imagined.

I claimed him and I felt that he was rightfully mine. My heart simply couldn’t beat without a permanent connection between our hearts, minds and bodies. Losing was not an option, not when my sanity depended on winning him.

Because I would, quite literally, do anything for him.




 Chapter One


   I stared at the photograph he’d emailed me. He’d promised he would and, finally, it had arrived.
  It wasn’t what I’d expected; not that I thought for a minute he’d send me a copy of his passport photo; but this, this had really taken me by surprise. The odd angle of the camera lens and the overwhelming suggestiveness shocked me. It was deeply personal, completely voyeuristic and undoubtedly the most erotic image I had ever laid eyes on.
  But it gave nothing away of the face I longed to see; yet, it told me so much about the man I’d been obsessing about for weeks. I reached over and clicked the printer to life. As it clanked through the setting-up motions, I leaned closer to my computer screen and allowed him to fill my vision.
  His long, pale, black-hair-coated shin was in the forefront of the picture. The knee flopped wantonly towards the camera, making the patella the largest thing in the frame. His foot was out of shot. Beyond his leg, I could make out the right side of his torso – just – a small amount of lean waist, a hint at a taut set of ribs and a balled shoulder leading to what looked like a busy hand. I say busy, because he appeared to be jerking off, but of course, that could just be my filthy imagination.
  His head was thrown back, his chin jutted upwards, his prominent Adam’s apple in profile against the bottle-green wall behind him. Other than his chin, not one facial feature could be identified, but what I saw of his chin, chiselled and dented at the centre, led me to believe the rest of his face would be angular and long.
  Seedy shadows doused the whole image, the covers on the bed dusky green, almost brown, and the lighting, maybe shining through a cheap drawn curtain, was dim.
  He seemed completely uninhibited despite the camera, which I guessed was on a timer. I gulped down a bite of bile as a sudden wave of regret at the photo I’d sent him rolled through me. I’d thought I was being sassy, original, beating him at his own game. But it was clear now that I played with someone who knew how to think out of the box, stay a step ahead, out-manoeuvre me without even needing to try.
  The printer creaked to readiness and I hit the print button. I had to have his image in my hands, laser scanned, details ripe for scrutiny. As it whirred and heaved and slowly spat out the paper, I paced my office-cum-artist studio, frantically scratching the tops of my arms with my nails.
  Damn that picture of my right areola. Not that it was a bad areola or a bad picture, it wasn’t. I was perfectly pert and the pixel count excellent. I had even rubbed an ice cube around my tight nub, before pulling it to a painful point, then, as a final creative flair, shined a spotlight on it. The dark room and bright light had made my wet skin golden, my nipple a rosy pink. The round-tipped point was blood-filled, the flesh leading to it wrinkled in an ordered, twisted way, as it strained to seek out more stimulation.
  Damn that picture. His wasn’t exactly classy, but it was artistic, unique, risqué. Mine was just a token rude shot, though at least I’d resisted a shot of my newly shaved pussy. I would be in cringing hell right now if I’d followed through with that plan.
  The next question was, of course, would we meet? We’d had a deal – if we liked the look of one another we would make arrangements for a date, a face-to-face encounter. Although, judging by the dirty routes our conversations had taken lately, I reckoned there would be considerably more than just our faces meeting. At least that was what I hoped.
  So, my answer to ‘should we meet’ was a happy-dancing ‘yes’, my panties wet just from the sight of that bony shin and jauntily jutted head. The image of him alone, masturbating, thinking of me, possibly, had me so turned on my clit bobbed and my nipples were as tight as when they’d been treated to that ice cube.
  But what about him? Would he think me unimaginative, boring, dull? The trouble was with Liuz, he was so articulate, so self-assured, and despite his first language being Polish, his mastery of English was excellent. Not that mine isn’t too. I’m a journalist, studied at Canterbury, and I’m also an artist, but somehow he always seemed to second guess what I was saying, or going to say, in my emails.
  I held the newly printed-out photo in the air, the paper warm on my fingertips. I enjoyed having it A4 size, and peered closely.
  I could make out the dark shafts of his leg hairs winding out of his skin, the creases on the sheet below his body wrinkled like ripples in water. Perhaps, also, I could make out a burn of black-fuzzed hair coming down in front of his ear, but I couldn’t be sure. It could be more of the stubble that coated his neck.
  After retrieving a couple of drawing pins from a purple, sparkly pot on my desk, I hung Liuz’s image on my pin board, right in front of my desk. Where I could gorge on it; for when I looked at him, a fraction of the need, the burning want inside me, was sated.
  Taking a deep breath, I did what I had to do next – check my in-box. We’re in the same time zone now that I’m back from my business trip to the United States, so he could have possibly seen it already. Plus, as a general rule he was at his computer. I wasn’t sure exactly what he did, but he worked from home. Marketing he’d said, something about buying and selling stock.
  In-box. One new message.
  From him.
  I sucked in a breath and opened it. Those few seconds it took to process were absolute agony.
  ‘Your picture arrived.’
  A rippling tightness in my guts had my belly tensing. Did he like it? Did he think I’d cheated by sending him so little to go on when he’d offered up so much? Given me such an honest picture that showed him vulnerable, a label I never would have given Liuz.
  Quickly, I typed a response. Typical me, I avoided the pressing point. ‘So did yours.’
  ‘And what did you think?’
  ‘I think you look like you are enjoying yourself.’
  ‘Mmm, enjoying or just taking care of an urge? A necessary task, if you like.’
  ‘So which was it?’
  ‘Which would you rather it was?’
  I hesitated for a moment, then decided to risk a knock-back. ‘I hope you were enjoying yourself. I hope you were thinking of me, imagining you were fucking me.’ I hit send and waited for a response.
  Nothing.
  One minute stretched into two.
  I stood and flung open the window to the autumn morning. Immediately, sounds of the city filtered up. Car horns, bus engines, the shouts of the workmen several buildings down.
  Another message. About bloody time.
  ‘I was thinking of you, but not about fucking you.’
  ‘What then?’
  ‘Ah, that’s for me to know and you to find out, Aniolku.’
  I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth in frustration. He often did this, refused to answer something or turned it around on me. Also, if he knew he was playing coy, or being shifty, he’d nearly always add on ‘Aniolku’ at the end. I’d asked him what it meant a few weeks ago. He’d told me it was ‘angel’ in Polish. I’d laughed and said that surely by now he knew I was no angel. His reply was that was what made it such a perfect endearment for me.
  ‘Is that your bedroom?’ I asked, desperate to know more about the picture, and in turn, learn more about Liuz.
  ‘No, it’s my mate’s bedsit.’
  ‘Really?’
  ‘Yeah, really.’
  ‘Did he take the picture?’
  ‘LOL, no, I was alone there. He just happens to have a nice camera.’
  ‘Wouldn’t he mind you spunking out on his sheets?’
  ‘I’m a big boy, I can control where I come. I’ve also heard of tissues.’
  A rise of heat flushed over my chest, and I squirmed on the seat. Just the image of long, pearly jets of cum, spurting out onto that lean torso and dribbling into dark body hair, turned me on ridiculously. I could only imagine how his groans of pleasure would sound, how ragged his breaths would become, and what his sex-sweat would smell like, taste like.
  I wanted to know all of these things for real. I wanted to know every tiny morsel of information about Liuz more than anything else I’d ever wanted to know.
  There was an extended pause, then he typed, ‘Yours didn’t reveal much.’
  ‘I thought the idea was not to give too much away.’
  ‘You mean you were playing a game with me, and here was I thinking that we were just swapping honest photos of one another.’
  ‘Yours is hardly a mantelpiece portrait.’
  ‘Depends what else is on the mantelpiece.’
  An image of his home came to my mind, created entirely in my imagination. He’d told me nothing other than that he lived in a mate’s bedsit in Brixton. Sharing or not, I wasn’t sure. But now, after seeing the photograph of his friend’s place, I visualised something painted in muted colours; moss green and muddy-puddle brown. Sparsely furnished with daylight penetrating curtains, bare bulbs. I don’t know why, but this image thrilled me so much more than the thought of a living space neat and ordered, pristine and thought-out. Liuz spent his time immersed in his work, head in his computer – well, either his work or indulging in teasing, flirting and sometimes downright rude talk with me – so I imagined his place would be functional rather than decorative.
  ‘OK, I should have given you more to go on,’ I typed back.
  ‘No worries, you have a nice tit. I can tell it would be a good handful and your nipple is perfectly suckable.’
  I read that last line twice, and my areolas tingled deliciously at the thought of his mouth on me. Blood rushed to my entire breast, and my nipples pressed into my thin cotton bra. I circled my right nipple, the one on the photograph, over my clothes and allowed the stiffening sensation to bloom.
  ‘Would you like that?’ he replied before I could respond to his last email.
  ‘Yes.’
  ‘What else would you like, Aniolku?’
  ‘What else would you do?’
  ‘You mean after I curled my tongue around your nipples, stroked my hands over your breasts and fed you deep into my mouth, pulling you in, devouring you, making you moan for more?’
  ‘Yes, what else would you do?’
  I had my hand inside my bra now, plucking and pulling at my nipple. I wished it was his hot mouth, hard and urgent, not gentle – rough and demanding was what I wanted, what I yearned for.
  ‘What would you want me to do?’ he asked.
  Damn him always throwing questions back at me. I closed my eyes. I had to write something. I knew him well enough by now to know he wouldn’t respond until I did.
  Once again an image flooded my mind. It was a lewd, sordid image of me, on my knees. A threadbare carpet beneath me and a bare light bulb above. I was naked, naked and submissive. Before me stood Liuz, tall, lean, golden-skinned, holding his cock towards my face. A beautiful cock, fat and generous in length, the glans engorged and the cleft below the head deep. I could see a drop of pre-cum nestled in the slit, and I could hear him telling me, ‘Lick it off, whore. Lick me, suck me. Do as I say.’
  These images were new to me, sinfully wicked, and generated a well of guilt at what they suggested I really wanted, deep in my soul. But I couldn’t ignore them. Something about Liuz and the way he was with me had drawn rank thoughts and lusty needs to the surface; allowed them out to play, if only in my mind. It seemed they had moved in, for a while at least, and I couldn’t ignore them.
  I settled my fingertips over the keyboard and nibbled on my bottom lip as I wondered what to write. Nothing too crude, but something a little edgy. Eventually I settled on, ‘Next I want you to pretend my mouth is your hand. Do what you did to yourself in the picture.’
  ‘You mean jerk into you hard and fast. I don’t wank like a delicate little flower, you know.’
  ‘I can imagine.’
  ‘I’d back you up against a wall and hold your head tight. Forge in and out without a thought for your breathing. After all, my hand doesn’t need to breathe, does it?’
  My heart raced. ‘What else?’
  ‘I wouldn’t give a shit about whether or not your gag reflex was killing you. I’d ram down your throat, enjoying the wet tightness. And I’d shout at you too.’
  My fingers shook as I typed. ‘What would you shout?’ 
  Lust screeched around my system.
  ‘That you had to suck harder, open wider, then when I was about to come I would shout at you to swallow, to keep swallowing until I told you to stop. I would keep ramming into you until my bollocks were drained and my cock started to soften.’
  I stroked my clit through the gusset of my leggings and gave in to a few deep rotations. I knew I would have to masturbate soon. The need was building, a carnal pressure that would soon require release. One-handedly I replied, ‘OK.’
  There was long pause, which allowed me to fret myself to an ass-clenching state of arousal; then he answered, ‘We should definitely meet.’
  I’d sneaked my devilish fingers into my panties now, and the glossy pea that was my clitoris took a hard and fast beating. Once again, I typed ‘OK’ then, as I hit send, I arched my back, reared my hips off the seat and allowed a sharp climax to take control. I panted through the waves of pleasure. I squeezed my eyes shut and once again visualised Liuz before me, thrusting his dick into my mouth, over and over and over.
  Our meeting couldn’t come soon enough.




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