Friday, June 28, 2013

Creatures in the woods...

Growing up in the country, I found adventure around every corner of the backwoods. I had a decent childhood. I’d wake up bright and early every morning. I’d jump on my pink Barbie bike and ride like the wind down our narrow road. We lived in the area of a state park and my friends and I could ride forever along the quiet paths.

Not a day would go by that we didn’t have a picnic in the pasture. My friend had horses—beautiful, huge, brown and black horses. I’d grab fresh tomatoes from my mom’s garden (and of course the salt shaker), pickles (because what would a picnic be without the pickles?) and Tonya would bring the sweetest, yummiest tea her mother made. We’d spread a blanket and chow down.

One time (of many, I'm sure), I got mad at my mom because she wouldn’t let me do something that I HAD to do; life or death (probably wasn’t allowed visiting a friend).  So, I puckered my bottom lip and said, “I’m running away.” And by golly, I meant what I said. I grabbed a backpack, dumped out my toys, and stuffed it with a bottle of Pepsi, two cookies and a brush. I took off on my bike and rode for about five minutes when apprehension settled in. I pulled over, popped the lid to the pop and ate in peace. At eight years old, I guess I had a lot to think about.  What kid doesn’t? As evening shadowed the surroundings, I began to hear noises—the noises that only came out at darkness. Every crack and creak seemed to echo for miles. Howling in the distance made my skin crawl. I was a stubborn child. I cuddled against a tree and tucked my legs close.

Pepsi gone…cookies demolished…all I had left was my brush. That didn’t come of much use. I didn’t brush my hair but once a day back then, any more and it was too much work.  Tired and hungry, I stared into the sky as big puffy clouds passed. Eventually, I drifted to sleep.

I’m not sure how long I slept, but the loud snap of wood woke me. I jumped to alert and darted a glance around the woods. I was alone…at least I thought I was.

Still to this day, I can’t be sure what I saw  along the bank of the creek bed, but I’ll never forget that moment when I noticed the shadow moving through the maze of trees, light footsteps cracking twigs and the rustling of leaves. Some kids would scream, and others would run. But I sat as quiet and still as a rock. Maybe I’d hoped “it” wouldn’t see me. Or maybe I’d hoped it’d be my imagination.  Neither of those hopes came true.

The silhouette stopped, partially camouflaged by the thick foliage. I couldn’t see a face, yet I could hear the shallow breaths of this creature. I pressed against the bark of the tree, wanting to crawl inside the wood, as the shadow seemed to watch me. Scared, I closed my eyes and crossed my fingers. I knew it was drawing closer; I could hear my heart racing…or was it the creature’s? The need to pee came on strong, but I hadn’t peed my pants since I was about five and I refused the urge. I swallowed back a scream, because I didn’t want to open my mouth. I’d seen a scary movie where an apparition entered a woman’s body through her mouth. I wouldn’t let that happen. The steps grew closer and I was doomed…

“Hey, dummy.”

My mind looped. How did the monster get my brother’s voice?

“Hey! Open your eyes!” I did as requested. Standing above me was my brother, looking at me with an annoyed glare. “If you don’t come now, you’re going to miss dinner.”

I didn’t bother looking around to see if the “creature” still lurked in the shadows. I jumped on my bike, and that time, I beat my brother home.

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Second Ride Cowboy


DUKE EYED HIS neatly folded clothes at the bottom of the bed. He was at a cross of emotions. He was happy to get the hell out of the hospital, but anger dulled the shine some. He’d been teetering somewhere between pissed and relief since Dr. Scott came in and gave him the news that he’d be discharged in a few days. The smile had barely settled on his lips before she’d told him he’d need someone to help care for him until he was stronger.
Being forced into something didn’t settle well with him, and when he was told he’d have a grown up version of a babysitter, his ego thinned to the width of a piece of paper.
On the other hand, staying in a hospital where he was the only one awake besides the nurses didn’t do much for him either. He hated having nurses coming and going all day checking his stats.
There came a time when a man found himself backed against a wall and with no ego remaining to protect, he admitted his ass was in a sling.
It took him a full minute to think over the Dr. Scott’s offer of breaking out of the sanitary jail and told her to print off his discharge papers. Hell, she’d even agreed to set up his nurse. Once he got to the Swift Wind, where he planned to stay until the McAllister was ready, the sitter would run from the spitting, crude bunch of men who lived in the residential hand quarters. The thought brought vengeance in his gut.
He checked out his clothes and smiled. Damn, he was glad to get out of the open-backed gown and thin pajama bottoms. He needed real clothes—manly clothes. He guessed anything would butter up his bruised ego. He’d have to thank Chance for dropping them off, especially for remembering his old, scuffed boots.
Dressing in the new, red-checkered flannel and dark jeans, he was pulling on his last boot when he heard someone behind him. “I see the clothes are a little big.” It was Lila.
His stomach twisted like someone wringing a wet dishtowel. What was she doing here? He glanced across the worn floor to sandals that showed off red painted toenails, up her long, bare legs, skirt, along her slender waist, stopping to admire the shape of her full breasts, until he reached her face. Oh hell, she cocked her hidden lasers and burned a hole straight through him. What was she up to?
He straightened, but didn’t get up. His legs were still weak, and with the blood draining from his head and rushing into his groin, he was bound to fall flat on his face. “If the clothes are big that’s only because Chance thinks everyone is two-hundred pounds.”
As she reduced the distance between them in the already-too-small room, beads of sweat formed on his upper lip. Damn betrayal of his body.
“Chance had nothing to do with it. I brought them from home, the shirt I bought new.”
He swallowed the scratchiness in his throat. “You brought the clothes?” And what did she mean by “from home.” They’d never lived together.
“Yes, don’t sound so shocked. I made the best choice with what I thought would fit you. You’ve lost weight.”
“They’re fine. I’ll eat some of Thelma’s home cooking and I’ll have my gut back in no time. A man’s first meal after a coma should never be fed to him through an IV.” He patted his stomach as his mouth watered, already tasting Thelma’s fried chicken, mashed potatoes and homemade rolls. Lila moved and his thoughts of food disappeared and her scent took its place. A hint of blackberry blended with vanilla. He’d never forget that smell.
“I’m glad you have your appetite,” she said, “but—”
“Thanks. Now you can leave.” No good ever came from someone adding “but” at the end of a sentence. He was getting a feeling deep inside his chest and he didn’t like it one bit.
“Thelma has a broken leg and is staying with her family during healing. And leaving? I’m actually waiting.” She turned her chin up as if she dared him to challenge her.
Duke felt every muscle in his body quiver. “Waiting? For hell to freeze over?”
A crafty smile slithered its way across the perfect shape of her lips. “Well, not quite.”
He bit back a smile. “You’re not here just to drop my clothes off, are you?” With a shake of her head, and a shrug of one shoulder, she laughed. It was the laugh of a woman who had him by the balls.
“No, afraid not. Looks like you and I are going to be spending a lot of time together.”
Duke felt a sting as the hand of reality slapped him. He’d been tricked. Anger shot through him. “You’re kidding me. You? My nurse? Not going to happen.”
“Duke,” she sighed. “Can we do this the easy way?”
“Not the easy way, not the hard way, just no way at all.”
“Well, then, you could stay here.”
The mere words made him cringe. “Hell no!” He scrubbed his jaw. A man could go insane stuck in a room. No, he couldn’t stay. “I hope you packed up your boots, old jeans and a chastity belt.”
“And why is that?” She didn’t appear the least bit bothered. Her eyes beckoned him and he thought he’d drown in them if he stared too long.
“Because the boys at the Swift Wind won’t know how to control themselves with a pretty woman sleeping in the workers quarters.” Happy with himself, he straightened his back. He guessed she’d last all of one night, considering she wasn’t much into roughing it. That’d take care of his problem.
“Oh, we’re not heading to the Swift Wind. Didn’t Chance tell you the good news? He told you everything else.”
His heart skipped a beat. He could hear the air sizzle around him as his blood heated. “Tell me what?”

          “We’re going home…”

Sunday, June 23, 2013

Cowboys do it best!

There's more to a cowboy than nice fitting jeans, hat, worn boots and a look of bad-ass in his eye. When we think of the American Wild West, most produce an image of guns, horses, cattle and gunfights--and mostly cowboys wandering along the rugged, dangerous countryside. Has the image of a cowboy changed over time? Probably so...

These days, we may not find our cowboy hero strolling horseback along the frontier, but one thing we maintain is the integrity and tough quality of a gentleman who'd not only fight for his land and life, but those he loves.  Writing a cowboy hero isn't always easy, but it can be fun. And they have their shirts off quite often.

My specialty is writing men who love to get their hands dirty: firefighters, policemen, ghosthunters, farmers, military and you guessed it...cowboys.

My first cowboy book, Second Chance Cowboy, was a story of lost love. Chance had lost the most important things in life and buried himself neck-deep in ranching,along the way becoming distant and crude . Sometimes, it takes a helluva woman to find a man's good qualities...and a case of amnesia. Second chances come when one least expects it, and when Chance sees his opportunity for a new life with an old love, he saddles his horse for the rodeo. Chance was a tough and rough cowboy, honest and straightforward, sexy and stealth. What more could a reader want from a hero?

Not only did a love story grow, but secondary characters stole the hearts of readers. I received message after message asking me if there would be a second book to Second Chance Cowboy. Not just any story, they wanted Duke and Lila's story. So, what does a writer do with a readers' needs? They give them what they want. And Second Ride Cowboy was born. The beginning will tease readers, maybe even break their heart a little, but in the end, everyone should be left with a smile and desire to see Leslie's story. Yes, there is a third book in the making.

For those who haven't read Second Chance Cowboy, now is the time. And Second Ride Cowboy will be released at the end of this month in eBook and Print. The third book is due out later this year.

Second Chance Cowboy is available at Amazon. 

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Wandering Eyes.

Men stare at other women, right? We learn to expect it from them and instead of asking them to stop, we learn to accept. Is that always a solution? Maybe not!

If you're with a man and he's always ogling other women and it doesn't matter to you, congratulations! You're probably one of the few. But for most women, I think it's an issue. I hear women talking about men and their wandering eyes frequently.

I guess there are two ways to look at this issue. Ask yourself how involved you are with your man. Are you two serious? If not, then hang out with him and have fun. Who cares if he visually devours every attractive woman, and some not so attractive, that walks by? You have eyes too, use them. There comes a point though where two people decide they're in it for the long run. This would be a good time to discuss issues that could later cause bigger problems.

A few days ago, a friend and her husband were celebrating their ninth wedding anniversary. They'd planned an evening with dinner over candlelight. She was excited, because with four kids, she doesn't get out much. The next day, she tells me, "I spent two hours fixing my hair, putting on my makeup and climbing into a sexy, short black dress. We get to the restaurant and the first thing he (her husband) does is breaks his neck checking out a large-breasted woman walking by our table." Although she forgave him, did she really let "it" go? Probably not, which means it'll eventually boil up inside of her.

It's natural  to see something attractive--flowers, paintings, houses, purses, shoes, food, animals, clothes and name it--and do a double take, but when this "normal" second-look becomes an obvious neck-breaker, it could become an issue.

So, my friend and I started shuffling through the question...has it become a big problem in her marriage or is it not? She realized it wasn't going on her reasons-to-divorce list, but it hurt her enough that she needed to speak to him. Sometimes a good talk is all it takes.

It's important to know the real-deal before you accuse your man of ogling. Ask yourself, is he staring or glimpsing? There's a difference--a huge one!  When a man stares, it's obnoxious and shameless. Something like stopping in his tracks and watching "her" until she disappears. And looking is just that, looking. The intention behind his ogling could be the biggest issue. Do you fear he is cheating, or looking for someone else? And there are always red flags that we should never overlook. If you're out with a girlfriend and your man is staring at her, or sizing her up, he belongs in the trash bin. If you get all dressed up and he fails to acknowledge your effort, but is quick to mention another woman's looks, that's a sign that he should walk on.

After you tell him how you feel, and he continues "ogling," you either have to accept his issue or move on.But keep in mind, his wandering eye has nothing to do with the flaws that you think you have. Keep it in perspective when you make your point. 

Monday, June 17, 2013

How big do you like your...uhh...cucumber? What?!?

If you were a fly on the wall during my conversations with my friends, you'd certainly be astonished...or offended...But what are friends for? It's not as if we talk about sex each time we hang out, but I can't deny it is a topic on the table many times.

Have you ever heard a story that you must retell? Well, I have a juicy one...but I can't tell you which friend told me and made me almost pee my panst because I laughed so hard. For the sake of privacy, I'll call her "Darcy."

Darcy and her husband were into their tenth year of marriage and things had started becoming a bit bland in the bedroom. So, she decided to read an array of erotic romances. She loved them. She bought more. One evening, while reading a sexy book that contained a scene with sex toys, she became hot. She also wanted to explore possibilities. She didn't own a toy, but she had an idea. In her clever moment, she seduced her husband into role-play. It was the best night they'd had in years.

The next day, Darcy had family over. They were all hanging out in the kitchen and laughing and talking. Darcy tells her husband, "Honey, would you mind running down to the store and grabbing a cucumber for the salad?" Before Mr. Darcy could respond, Darcy Jr. yells that her dad didn't have to go to the store. Darcy wasn't sure what her daughter meant. Darcy Jr. left the room and came back a few seconds later, bringing back a cucumber. Mother-in-law asks, "Darcy Jr., where were you keeping that?" Darcy suddenly realizes where her daughter had found it. She grabs for the cucumber just as Darcy Jr. says, "It's not mine. I found it in mom and dad's bed."

A bit of advice from Darcy: Be sure to dispose of any evidence.

Saturday, June 15, 2013

A Father's Love

One of the first memories I have of my dad, I was around two (yes, that early) and he was throwing me up into the air and dropped me on the ground. I forgave him. And no, I don't have any permanent damage.

My dad was always doing something wild and crazy, that was his character...bubbly, charming and rowdy. I don't think he met many people who didn't find him appealing, because when you look like a movie star and have a rock star personality to boot, you have lots of friends. I'm sure there were some uptight folks he left clenching their teeth.

From the time I was a wee one to about eight, I believed that my dad was Superman, literally. He looked a lot like the man I saw on all of the comic books...coal-black hair, olive skin, bright smile and brawny shoulders. The only difference that I could tell, my dad had a hairy chest. I would sit on his lap and ask, "Daddy, how do you get changed from your suit to clothes so fast?" He'd laugh and say, "I'm just that good."

It wasn't until I was a teenager when I'd disappointed my dad. I'd started getting into trouble (not bad trouble, just teenage mischief) and I'd make him upset. I'd tell him, "Dad, what do you expect, it runs in the blood." He'd only frown. I was a smart-ass, I guess. I know now that he'd wanted the best for me, but he wasn't the greatest at communication. In fact, he was pretty tough and when he was bothered he'd distance himself.

Dad had never been much of a spanker, at least not on me. My brother and sister got the wrath a few times, but I think when one sibling got a spanking, everyone felt the tremor. He'd grown up with a father who was iron-fisted (from what I've heard) and discipline was firm. I think we can all remember our first 'spanking.' Mine was a harsh one and it caused a wall to build up between my father and I. I'll be the first to say, I inherited his stubborn character and I was mad at him...for years. I barely spoke to him. I later found out that he'd gone to my mom after he'd picked me up from school one evening and said, "I don't think she likes me. She wouldn't even tell me that she'd won an award at school." Even now it brings a tear to my eye...

Years pass and we grow up. I started appreciating my dad again. He'd worry about me, I know, but he never said much. During my pregnancy with my second child, I became very ill. I had to be transported to another hospital more equipped with sick mothers and premature deliveries. My dad was there the entire time. In fact, he followed the ambulance, driving in excessive speed, an hour away. He arrived before anyone and as he stood over top my bed I saw worry, like I'd never seen before, in his pale blue eyes. He told me, "It'll be okay Rhonda Lou (that was his nickname for me)." But I knew he was only saying that for my benefit, because in that moment, I could see the fear a parent has of losing their child.

Like I said, my dad wasn't the best communicator. So when he told me a few years back, "I don't say it much, but I'm proud of you and your writing. You keep writing no matter what anyone else says," I knew that he was moved, and so was I. I never got to see my dad as much as I'd like to, but I made sure that I spoke to him every chance I got. The older he got, the more he liked to talk. In fact, he'd talk my ear off and I'd listen.

Dad's health started failing him and he knew his time was near. He became a different man, so to speak.  He seemed to relax, in a way hard to his walls vanished and he held a love for life and family. Dad and I would talk about dying and what he wanted. He didn't seem afraid of dying, only curious.

I remember the last few moments I had with my dad. I planted lots of kisses on his forehead, held his hand and said, "I love, love, love you Daddy." He looked up at me with an age-old gaze and said, "I love you too, baby." And that was the last time I saw my daddy...

I know you have wings, Dad. They are helping you fly to all of the places you loved to visit, and some you didn't get a chance to see. I wish you a Happy Father's Day from my place here to your place high in the sky. And I hope you understand now, that you'll forever hold a place inside my heart. *KISSES*

Friday, June 14, 2013

Ball ironing...

When George Clooney said he'd never had his face done, but spent his money on his balls...having them ironed to remove the wrinkles...I bet most people who heard that statement laughed but wonder if he's telling the truth. Believe it or not, there is such a procedure as "scrotum lift."  Is this something similar to a breast lift in women? Hmm...aren't a man's testicles supposed to be wrinkled? I mean, I've heard that men get darker down "there" as they age, but I didn't know the wrinkles were an issue.

The largest known testical weighed in at 100 pounds, belonging to a 48 year old man from Las Vegas. The man said he had to urinate on himself and wear hoodies as underwear. That brings a whole new meaning to blue balls.

When it comes to it, pain in the testicles are never a laughing matter. Men should perform monthly self-exams and always tell a doctor if he's in pain.

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Welcome Jess Hunter


You all know I am from Texas, and there is a lot of weight and importance to that. But one of the important parts of my person is not just that I am from Texas; it is that I am from a small town. 

There are great things about being from a small town, and there are great things about being in a city. I have spent a great deal of time in both, enough I think to garner the benefit of the culture of each. But let me give you an example of the feeling that makes small-town living a treasure.

I was working at my other job today. I am a contractor for furniture manufacturers. I get paid too much money to drive to a customer's house and fix whatever issue they may have. There are some pretty awesome things about it: I get to meet and talk to new people every day, I get to use power tools, hammers, pliers and wear a tool belt, basically just swimming through manliness, and each job is different, unique and challenging. 

There are, to the contrary, some pretty frustrating things about it. It can be hot, people can be bitches, and (important to this anecdote) I do A LOT of driving. I easily drive 3-400 miles a day sometimes going all over central-southern Texas fixing furniture, from Galveston up to Waco. 

But today I was driving between two moderately sized towns and I was jamming to the Man Of Steel soundtrack I had just downloaded, planning my book, and checking the map intermittently to prevent getting lost. One thing that unfortunately slipped my mind was my gas level. It wasn't the first time. Ask me about my gas story where I ran out near Marquez, Texas, there was an explosive chemical reaction, a twelve pack of beer, and a penis machine. Good times.

Anyway, I saw that my meter was BELOW E and I didn't want another interesting story like the other; you can't always bank on good, dumb luck. I immediately checked my GPS and it said there was a service station in a tiny little town four miles down the road. I prayed to the Lord that I could make that four miles and I coasted on down the road.

The GPS told me to turn off the highway down this one caution line street that ended at a dead-end near a church. According to the GPS, the gas station was on the left before that. 

Damn liar.

I could hear gears and cranks rumble in the truck as it decompressed from thirst, so I stopped in the church, right near a tiny town bank and I knocked desperately on the office door. I asked them if there was a gas station nearby. To my chagrin, I was directed back to the highway and was told it was still another two miles away. I would have passed it had I just ignored the GPS and continued on my way.

I thanked them, growled unchurch-like things under my breath, prayed again and apologized for what I growled and tried to make my fumes take me that two miles.

Finally, I arrived at the gas station. I hopped out of the truck and the sign on the door had only more bad news for me. "Cash Only." Yes, it was THAT kind of small town.

Knowing I only had a debit card, big-city boy that I am now, I walked inside and inquired about the nearest ATM, in hopes that the proprietor knew what an ATM was. She cheerily told me that it was at the bank, the one across the street from the church I had visited earlier. 

I thanked her, and prayed again. This time, the Lord giggled at me. My truck wouldn't start.

This, my friends, is why a small-town has the kind of people you want to get to know. I went to the woman. I asked her if I could borrow five dollars of gas to get to the bank, pull money out of my account, come back and fill up.

Now, if I were in ANY big city in the world, she would have laughed at me, said no and called a tow-truck to haul my truck, and my dreams away...

But, I wasn't. I was in a sweet, small, kind, tiny town. She patted me on the shoulder and said, "of course, baby. Go right ahead. We close at six, so be back by then."

She was my angel that God sent down. It was the punchline to his joke he had been telling me all day. It all turned out great and I left with a renewed sense of gratitude and appreciation for small town people like that.

I got a lot of things from living in the city. There is less ignorance in the city, and less of that ignorance is willful. There is less drama and gossip in the city. There is more education, progression, culture and stimulation in the city. I find myself yearning for it when my energy is high.

But, as I was reminded of today, there is no trust like in a small town. There is no compassion like in a small town. There is no love, magnanimity, etiquette, and diffidence like in a small town. 

David in "For A Hero" has that quality. I wanted him to bring a small-town compassion to a big city life. I want him to have the best of both cultures and therefore be a special find in the cold city. There is purity in him, and he hopes powerfully. When Jenna sees it in him, she was never the same.

Here’s the buy link:

Please come visit me at my author page

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Please email me anytime.

Here’s an excerpt from FOR A HERO

Jenna held her effects tightly. The bus system in Austin was very nice, relatively, and convenient for a girl in a new city all by her lonesome. The first day in the new office was as nice as she expected it to be. She would eventually make friends with the people there, in fact, a girl offered to take her out for drinks tonight to welcome her to the town. No matter how nice it was, she still suffered over her promotion. Maybe she would be happy one day, but dang-it, she had earned the right to bitch about it for a little while.
She reached into her purse and pulled out the letter she received in the mail that morning. Maggie sent her a Hallmark card. Wow, she was so sweet. She pulled it from the envelope for the twentieth time today. The front of the card read “You’re on my mind so I decided to send you a hunk.” She opened it to reveal a very muscular, very naked fireman wearing nothing but his red hat. “Sex on Fire” by the Kings of Leon began to play and the caption read, “a hunk-a, hunk-a burning love!” Underneath the fire hose was a personal message to Jenna written in pen. “Hey Girl, miss you already! Scoop you up a hot one! The good ones are worth waiting for, I promise! With love, Maggie.”
The sentiment touched Jenna. Margaret had not given up on her. She gazed at the man. He was built, but there was no use getting excited about it. He wasn’t real. Real men don’t look like that. The only men who look like that are gay or criminals. Still, it would be nice. To be touched and held by a man with strong arms. To feel protected and safe, cherished by someone who could slay dragons for you if need be, something bigger than yourself. Her biting of her own lip snapped her back to reality. She folded the card and put it back into her purse.
Jenna looked up and out the windows. The city screeched by. She didn’t know it yet. She wouldn’t be sure she was close to home until she could see the tall building her apartment was in. It wasn’t quite dark yet, but the city was settling down. Austin came alive at night, she was told. Art, culture, and politics all had their place in the heart of the Lone Star State. Many people refuse to leave Austin once they visit and fall in love with it. Perhaps, one day, Jenna would feel the same way.
At that thought, a bustle of people shook the bus about as it slowed to a stop. Many strangers entered and among them, a man. It took Jenna a few seconds to realize what she was looking at. He was a REAL man. He must be 6’4” with shoulders as broad as a barn. A red t-shirt stretched across pecs and abs so perfectly defined that she had the urge to draw them. His jaw was herculean. His eyes were small, but wide and loving and a beautiful blue that could light up a darkened heart. She could see joy and love in them, as well as power and security. But there was something amiss about him. He looked angry. Jenna followed his gaze and found the source of his contempt. A slender little business man sat in the back of the bus talking on the phone. He was reclined and his possessions were so spread out that he was taking up three seats. There were women standing all around him, including one elderly lady. Wonder Boy there couldn’t be mad about not having a seat, could he? Was he angry that the other guy was not letting the women sit down?
Jenna shook her head and glanced at her hands folded in her lap. Probably not, that would be too good to be true. There were no men like that. Her excuse for a friend, Ben, was nice, but he would never become offended over the mistreatment of women, he was kind of a little bitch himself. Mr. McBride actually seemed like the kind of guy who would sit on the bus and take a lady’s spot. She must be mistaken. She must be reading the situation all wrong. The heroic looking man glaring at the little dweeb couldn’t be gorgeous AND sweet, could he?
Just then, a man behind Wonder Boy got up and moved toward the front of the bus. The handsome stranger tapped the elderly lady on the shoulder, stretched his arm toward the open seat and smiled. He guided her to the chair and eased her descent. After a pat, he returned to standing sentry over the asshole on the phone. Jenna wondered if he intended to say something when he hung up. She imagined his mom had taught him all of the manners.
Jenna watched him standing there with his arms crossed, and she realized something. She was attracted to him.  It was a feeling she had never felt before. Curiosity. About a man. She wanted to know more about him; she was drawn to him. Butterflies fluttered around inside her belly. She felt like a school girl. Is this what she had been missing out on? Stealing glances at him, Jenna felt sick with attraction, and giddy with emotion.
The bus slowed again and the doors folded open. People filed off onto the street. Asshole stood up, still talking on the phone. He tried to get by Wonder Boy but Gorgeous didn’t budge. He wouldn’t even allow him an inch. Jenna smiled to herself. Justice.
Unable to get off at the stop, the man realized that he had missed his destination. The bus continued its long journey south on Lamar.
“What the fuck was that about, Buddy?” The asshole sounded obstinate. The spoiled kind of rich kid. He was probably a legacy in a fraternity and his dad gave him everything he ever wanted. “You made me miss my fucking stop! I’m going to be late because of your dumb ass!”
“Sorry, Sir.” The sultry voice of her Wonder Boy filled the bus. “I didn’t see you there. If I had known you were there, surely I would have let you pass, but unfortunately, I was distracted by all the poor ladies on the bus that couldn’t sit down. You see, there was this asshole on the phone taking up 3 seats in the back.” A low level of applause and validation began to grow in the air around them.
“Why, you Son-of-a-Bitch.” The asshole leaned back and threw a hard right hook at the nose of Wonder Boy. Jenna watched the events unfold and could not believe what she saw. Her angel was five inches taller than the other guy, seventy pounds heavier, he could destroy him, but instead, he stepped to the side.
The punch skimmed harmlessly to the left of Wonder Boy’s face. He instantly curled his arm toward the flying fist, wrapping his fingers around the little man’s elbow. Within a second, he pulled, causing the speed and momentum of the asshole’s attack to bring his face down, introducing it quickly, and painfully, to the rubber floor of the bus. Blood erupted from his nostrils and cheers and laughter filled the vehicle.
The bus driver clicked on his intercom and said, “Hey Rocky, get up here. What the hell are you doing? Fighting on a bus? Shit.” Jenna’s heart was beating a mile a minute as her angel walked by her to the cockpit of the vehicle.
‘Funny,’ she thought. ‘He doesn’t look very remorseful. Wow, his ass fills those jeans nicely.’
The driver had Wonder Boy stand by the door, like he was in time-out, until he pulled in at the next bus stop. As the bus came to a complete stop and the doors opened, several of the people shambled outside. The bus began to empty and Jenna looked down. She didn’t want her angel to know she had been staring at him, and with nobody else on the bus, it would be hard for her to blend in. However, the few other passengers made it easier. As they stepped off the bus, they stopped by Wonder Boy, shook his hand, patted his back and said nice things like “thank you.”
After the last passenger had departed, the driver turned to the angel with the most disappointed glare. As his eyes settled on him, his solemn expression broke into a laugh. “Chief!! It’s you! Of course you did something like that, you big softie.”
“You haven’t been talking to Blaine again, have you?” The ‘Chief’ answered with a smile.
“No, that hyena only gets on the bus when he rides with you. He’s too important for us normal folk, you know.” ‘Chief’ patted the bus driver on the back.
“Yeah, I know. It’s good to see you, Charles. I need to get down to the fire station, though. I’ve got a brisket cooking for the boys tonight.”
“Chief, now don’t you know I’ve heard good things about that brisket of yours? You better get gone before I wise up and come with ya!”

“You are always welcome, Charles. Please come by. I’ll save you a slice or two.” And with a handshake, Jenna watched her angel fly away. She thought to herself that maybe she could fall in love with this town after all.

Sunday, June 9, 2013

You may be sex-fearing if...

I'm not sure what it is about me and sex-fearing people these days. Maybe they think it's their duty to "save" me. And at the same time, I'm losing my patience, which may or may not be good for a "fan" base *laughing*  Here's a conversation I had once that I thought you'd find interesting...

A woman asked, "How do you write such stuff?"

Me: "Easy. I have a laptop."

Woman: "No, I mean about sex."

Me: "Oh, you mean romance. You don't read?"

Woman: (she looks around for listeners as if we are planning a crime) "Noooo. It just wouldn't be right for me to read romance. My friends and family would roll their eyes. And God wouldn't like it one bit."

Me: "What do you mean?"

Woman: "Oh, God doesn't like that sex stuff. I don't like it either."

Me: "How many kids do you have?"

Woman: (her eyes shine, showing she enjoys talking about her children) "I have three. One boy, two girls. Two are in college."

Me: "Very nice. And I'd say you're a very talented and special woman."

Woman: (her eyes widen) "Me? Why?"

Me: "Because last I knew, to get pregnant a woman must have sex. You've done it three times, amazingly, without "help.""

Woman: ", I'm a married woman of thirty-years."

Me: "Oh, so you and your husband have had sex?!? That must have been very difficult for you."

Woman: "Of course not! We love each other and have always know..." She looks around again, then leans her head in, "I can't complain."

Me: "So, let me get this straight. God doesn't "like" sex, yet HE's made it possible for two people to love and procreate. You don't like "sex stuff" and yet you think it's okay to have sex, but it should never be spoken of?"

Woman: (her face reddens) "I guess if you put it that way..."

Me: "I suggest you not read romance, or my books. After all, you have the freedom of choice. However, I see in your purse you're reading ____________. I've read his books. What did you think about all of the killing and bloody scenes? I wonder if God agrees?"

Woman: (she hesitates) "I'll take two of your books."

I still speak to this woman on occasion. She has read each of my books and is one of my biggest fans. And...her sex life is better than ever.

I ask, Don't judge me and I won't judge you. 

Saturday, June 8, 2013


As promised, I asked for questions from readers and I got them. I picked out the most delish ten and here they are. Thank you for everyone's participation. The winner has been notified.

1. What is on your bed now? Satin or cotton?

2. What is one piece of advice you'd give to new writers wanting to get published?
Choose your publisher wisely. They can make or break your career.

3. What is your favorite season?
Fall. I love the smells and colors.

4. If you weren't a writer, what would you be?
A race car driver.

5. Are you a city or country girl?
Country, through and through.

6. What is your biggest regret?
I didn't have enough confidence in my writing at first.

7. Would I choose fast food or five-star?
Unfortunately, I hit fast food more often than sit down and enjoy restaurants. However, I'd much rather have a candlelight dinner where I can actually allow my food to digest.

8. Do you have any genre of music that motivates you?
No. I listen to a variety of tunes. I usually like silence while I write.

9. If you won a million dollars, what would be the first thing you'd do?
Take a vacation to a remote island and write a handful of books.

10. Do you have a favorite color?

The winner was Jenny P. Contact me with your email address, please. Thank you.

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Welcome Sable Hunter

I'm always thrilled to have the lovely and talented Sable Hunter visiting. I believe this is my fave cover of hers!!

One lucky winner will receive a copy of I'll See You In My Dreams... Leave a comment to this post by midnight tonight and you're entered. Good luck!

I love storms. A couple of nights ago, we had a fantastic electrical storm. If there was one lightning strike, there was two million. I have never in my life seen anything like it. The light show was to the north. I was in bed when I looked up at my stained glass window and noticed that it was eerily glowing like fifty candles was flickering behind it. I got up, and swear to God – I thought the world was ending. The sky was lit up – literally lit up – with star bursts of lightning from all sides, continuous – one poof of light after another as fast as you could imagine. And it continued in that same full sky - pop – pop – pop – pop for hours. I didn’t know if it was a tornado coming or if we were being invaded by aliens, but it is something I’ll never forget. I don’t think the lightning ever hit the ground, it just danced in the sky – it was mind-boggling. I guess you can tell from this encyclopedic explanation that it impressed the hell out of me.
I’ve always loved storms. I can sleep better when it rains. We have a steel roof so the sound of the downpour is magnified, but the roar just pacifies me, it doesn’t disturb me. Now, Jess is different. He doesn’t like storms and he especially doesn’t like to be out in one. When he was young, he had several different ambitions for his adulthood. At one time, he intended to be a herpetologist and study snakes. I think he desired to pursue that field of study just to irritate me, since all of you know how I feel about snakes. And then he saw TWISTER – the movie and he got it in his head that he was going to be a storm chaser. What you’ve got to understand, is that he would become as obsessed with these things as he is with Superheroes, now. Well, he was obsessed with Superheroes, then also. But Jess can be obsessive on multiple levels – simultaneously – it’s a gift. Ha! When he would focus on one these themes, it would consume our days. He would watch documentaries and read articles and follow me around telling me the different aspects of tornadoes and their velocity – F3’s – F5’s – the Wizard of Oz named measuring devices that he studied – it was all terribly important to him and not so important to me.
A funny thing happened when he was about thirteen or fourteen – I don’t remember the exact date, I’m funny like that – time just blurs for me, I never can remember what happened when. But he was still in his storm chasing mode and I had just purchased my dream car. It was a black S type Jaguar. God, I love that car. I kept it for years, and it always looked new. People would stop me and brag on it, even after it was six or seven years old. I finally gave it to Jess while he was in college, after he wrecked his pick-up – another story. Anyway, I was almost as obsessive about this car as he was about tornadoes. Nana was alive then, (remember Big Dicks in Arkansas and her loving to read my racy books?), she lived to be 94 and at that time, she was in her mid-eighties, I guess. Again, I’m not a good measurer of time. But we had gone on a little trip together – the three of us and a gentleman friend of mine. We had gone to Vicksburg, Mississippi on a ghost hunting trip and a little vacation combined. I love to stay in the Delta and visit plantation homes and ghost hunt at the homes and at the Civil War battlefields, nearby. Yes, my family indulged me, isn’t that sweet.
We were staying in Vicksburg at a nice inn. We had adjoining rooms, Nana and Jess in one and me and my beau in another. It was dusk. The TV was on and Jess was watching it, when he went crazy. Apparently, a tornado warning had been issued and a storm was heading right up the Mississippi and would strike Vicksburg within the hour – no question – this was not a WATCH – it was a WARNING. (I’ve always got those two confused, as to which is the most dire, I think it is Warning, although if some told me to Watch  - the tornado is outside your window – that makes sense, too.) Either way, this was a sure thing. The Tornado was almost on top of us. We were staying right on the river and according to the news report, we would be in the direct path. Well, we all responded differently. Jason was calm. We don’t have time to leave, let’s watch the reports, he would look out the window. “We’ll be fine.”
Nana believed in prayer. So, she started praying. Jess reacted the exact opposite to what we all expected. The storm-chaser had feathers on his legs. He was scared to death. He and Nana sorta teamed up. She grabbed him and they headed to the bathroom where she proceeded to climb in the tub and Jess was hauling mattresses off the bed to protect them in their small containment chamber. They weren’t really concerned about Jason and I – they were in their own little Panic Room. I was amused that the storm chaser now feared for his life, I had expected him to be outside in the rising wind trying to determine the direction and flow of the air currents with his dampened finger in the air.
But I – I guess I acted the strangest of all. I was worried about my car. It was new and the paint job was flawless. I couldn’t decide whether to jump in and try to outrun the storm or to stay and weather it out and try to protect my car. I didn’t want hail dents on my black satin finish. So, I tried to garner some help from my hapless family. I asked Jason and Jess to go lay on top of the car – they could cover most of the surface with their bodies and prevent a lot of real damage to the surface of my Jag. I was serious. It sounded like a plan to me – I even said Nana and I could lay on the top of the car – between the four of us, we could prevent it get too pock-marked.
Just for a minute – imagine the hullabaloo – Nana is praying to the Lord in heaven, Jess is spouting off statistics of death and destruction (from behind a mattress) and I’m unsuccessfully trying to solicit aid for my gorgeous foreign, expensive, sports car. And Jason is being calm and probably wishing he had seen this manic side of our family before he had decided to get involved with me.
Well, the tornado passed and we were unharmed. Nana and Jess survived the big blow and only had to deal with a lot of wailing winds. Jason didn’t disown us and my Jag looked as good the next morning as it had the day before. We had weathered the storm.
I intend to use what I saw in that spectacular electric storm as the first scene in Noah’s book. He awakens from a horrible dream and can’t stay in the house and stakes off bareback on a horse through the storm, straight into Skye’s arms. It’s a pretty good scene.
In I’LL SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS, there was a storm of another kind. Aron’s disappearance. We will find out a lot about that in SKYE BLUE. So, bear with me the storm will grow dark and the rains will blow, but there will be a brighter day for the McCoy clan tomorrow.
But here’s a snippet from I’ll See You In My Dreams – enjoy.
My website:

And I’ll give away a copy of I’ll SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS to a random commenter.

She drew near to him; he could feel her heat before she touched him. Seemingly, without a qualm, she molded her body to his, pressing the pillows of her breasts into his chest. Zane felt his cock jump. Holding his face steady with one hand, she kissed him gently on the lips.
“I need you, Presley,” he groaned.
“I need you, too,” she confessed as she continued to steal kisses from the corners of his lips. For the first time, Presley felt a heady type of feminine power. Zane wanted her and she was allowed to touch and kiss and enjoy his body. Oh, she knew that she was basically unschooled and probably not the kind of woman he was used to, but she had her hands on him now and this chance may not come again.
Sliding her lips down his neck, she kissed a path and started to pull his shirt from his pants with the other.
“Wait,” he stilled her hand.
His one word was like pouring cold water all over her, she stilled, moved her hands and stepped back, never saying a word. Presley had made a practice of never venturing where she wasn’t wanted – it just made things easier. “Sorry,” she said simply.
Zane heard the hurt in her voice. He knew she thought she had overstepped her bounds.  “No, hell no,” he grasped her arms. “I loved what you were doing, but it’s been a long time. I want to pleasure you; I don’t want to cum prematurely like some untried school boy.”
What he said made her feel like she could breathe again. “I don’t think you could do anything wrong with me,” she said softly. “I just love to be close to you.”
“Damn, you make me feel like a fuckin’ king,” he felt for her hand, spun her around and began walking. “Rex, I’m closing the door, Buddy – you’re on your own.”
Presley had to take double steps to keep up with him. “I’m nervous,” she announced, just because she thought he ought to know.
“Why?” He was a little nervous, too, but he had already expressed enough sexual trepidation to have his man-card revoked. What man told a woman that he hadn’t fucked in so long that he had little to no control? Well he hadn’t, in so many words, but he had been damn close.
Presley could tell they were in his bedroom, she could see the shape of a massive king-size bed, but – as usual – it was dark. Now if he could see her, she would opt for the light being off – but since he couldn’t, she wasn’t going to miss the chance to look at his beautiful body, no sirree. “Where’s the light, Zane?”
He veered to the left and stubbed his toe on something – “Ow, here,” and light flooded the room. “Come on to the bathroom,” he flipped that light on too.
With sureness born of familiarity, Zane turned on the water in a huge tiled shower. Presley looked around in awe. “This bathroom looks like a Roman spa, Zane.”
“Does it?” right now he didn’t care if they were in one of those outdoor stalls at a state park – if he didn’t get his hands and mouth on her sweet little body soon he was going to go mad. “Let’s get nekkid,” he quipped as he turned around and made a grab for her.
Presley didn’t try to elude him, she wasn’t stupid.
“Okay,” immediately her hands went to her own clothes. “I’ll undress.”
“Let me,” Zane had gone dead serious. “The only way I can see you is to touch you and I want to see you more than I want to see tomorrow.”
“Just as much as I want to look at you,” Presley couldn’t be quiet. She was determined.
“Okay, okay,” he had to smile. “Let me pull off my stuff and then we can get to the important part.”
“Speak for yourself,” she was grumbling just a bit and helping him undo his shirt all at the same time. “I love your body. You are so damn fine.”
Zane chuckled – he was having such a good time. How long had it been since he had experienced such joy just being with another person, especially a woman. What he had missed out on! It was unbelievable! “I am speaking for myself.” Together they got the buttons undone and he began to shrug it off his shoulders – and Holy God – he could feel feather light little kisses dusting across his chest. “Fuck!” The little vixen giggled.
“Pants, Presley,” was all he could say. She hopped right to it, he couldn’t fault her level of enthusiasm; they did have trouble with the hardware, though. Finally she just swatted his hands away, “Let me!”
“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Patience,” he stood still while she unbuttoned and unzipped. But when it came time to push them down, she relented.
“I guess you better do that, this is outside my area of expertise.”
“No problem.” If he weren’t so damn horny, he might pursue that line of questioning, but he was in too big of a hurry to think. Skimming off his pants, he pushed them aside with his foot and jerked down his shorts and kicked them aside.
“Oh my Lord,” Presley muttered under her breath.
“Do you like what you see?” God, he hoped so. He held his breath and he knew her answer when he felt the slightest brush of her fingertips down his shaft.
Zane’s whole body jerked and Presley was amazed at the response she could draw from this big, sexy guy. “Yes, I think you’re big and beautiful.” With a little more self-confidence, she wrapped her hand around the thick stalk and marveled at how hard and warm it was. As she caressed him softly, she let the fingers of the other hand trail up and down his hard, hair roughened thigh. God, he was all man! Especially the part she held in her hand. And this was supposed to fit inside of her? That might be a problem.
All right, enough. He wasn’t made of steel. “Hell, I can’t wait, Baby. I’ve got to touch you.” He slid his hands up her arms and held her head, kissing her hard. “Damn, I’m trembling.”
“It’s okay – it’s just me, I’m nobody special.”
Zane supposed her humble comment was meant to be comforting, but it just succeeded in making him crazy. “Hell yes, you’re special. Don’t you know what this means to me? You have no idea how lonely I’ve been.” He began mapping her face with kisses as he ran his hands over her shoulders, skimming down over her breasts. “Are there buttons, a zipper or over the head?”
It was hard to formulate words – a man was touching her body. She stifled a giggle, he had found the turquoise bead insets and were rubbing them between his fingers – and then – oh God! “That’s my nipples.”
“I’m blind, Presley Love – but I remember basic anatomy.” It was through her dress and her bra, but he was rubbing the little nubbins and the spark he was igniting between her legs was about to catch ablaze. “Turn around,” she did as he bid. Moving her hair aside, he slowly lowered the zipper. “God, you smell good, fresh and sweet as summer rain.” Zane parted the material and pressed a kiss right at the nape of her neck while he undid her bra. “Can I touch you?”
He was asking permission? Presley thought that was a given. “Yes,” her answer came out sounding like a croaky little frog’s voice.
“Good,” he slid his hands inside her dress, and around to cup her breasts, pushing her bra up and out of the way. “Oh God, yeah – you feel so good.” Her soft, luscious tits were more than a handful; they were round, firm globes that were smooth as silk with big puffy areolas and hard suckable nipples. He spread his legs and widened his stance so his cock could rub against her ass. “Presley – hell, Presley – I want you so much,” he nuzzled her neck as his hips involuntarily bucked forward, his hardness nudging her softness.
“I – uh – I, oh God, Zane – I want,” the last word rose in pitch and intensity, and it said it all – she wanted. Presley wanted Zane. New feelings and intense longings were swamping her senses. She laid her head back on his chest and just luxuriated in the wonder of his hands on her breasts.
Zane was in heaven. Why had he waited so long to experience pleasure such as this? As the sweet woman in his arms pushed back against him and whimpered, he knew why – he needed someone who would accept him just the way he was. And she did. “I need more.” More. He needed more of her. “Hold up your arms,” he directed. She did and he lifted the dress over her head. “Now turn around, Baby – I want to see you.”
She knew what he meant and her whole body quivered at the thought. “I hope you like me. And before the night is over, I want equal time.”
“I’ll give you all the time you want.” He rubbed his palms over the slope of her shoulders. “You are so dainty. Your skin is like silk.”
She eased a little closer to him; there was no way she could stay away. “Thank you, I love your chest.”
Presley leaned over and nipped him and Zane growled his approval as his hands returned to her breasts again, as if he couldn’t stay away. “Perfect. I love your tits.”
“Touch me, please.”
“Where, Presley?” Her desperation just fueled his passion. Being desired and needed was incredibly addictive.
“My breasts,” she whispered.
“I am touching you,” he crooned to her, suspecting what she was really asking.
“With your lips,” she said so softly he almost couldn’t hear. “If you don’t mind – that is.”
Sinking to his knees, he pushed her tits together and molded them in his hands, caressing and shaping them – rubbing his thumbs over the nipples. “You want me, don’t you?”
“Please,” she begged. He didn’t make her wait any longer. Zane wrapped his arms around her waist and took a nipple in his mouth and began to suck. Presley couldn’t help but watch his face, his lips as they worked at her nipple. The sensation was exquisite. She clasped his head and stroked his hair as he nursed at her breast. “That feels so wonderful, Zane,” she praised him.
He switched to the other breast to suck and let his hands explore. Her waist was small, and her hips flared just right. He traced her curves and the image in his mind of her gorgeous body made his lust rise even higher. He opened his mouth wider and drew hard on her breast and exulted in the moan that escaped her lips.
Presley pressed her thighs together, she was so very wet. Hunger for him consumed her. More than anything she wanted to ask him to touch her between the legs but she couldn’t bring herself to ask. What she was receiving from him was more than she had ever expected. He was licking all around her nipple, nipping and nuzzling and his hands were now moving lower, skimming over her thighs and down her legs. Zane was learning her body.
Pulling back, Zane sought for control. “You’re beautiful. Your body is perfect. I can’t believe how fuckin’ perfect you are. Presley Love, you have long, smooth, supple legs that I can’t wait to feel wrapped around my waist, a spankable lush little bottom, a tiny waist and tits that a pin-up girl would die for.”
Zane thought she was beautiful. To Presley, his words were a miracle. Of course, he couldn’t see her face, but right now – that wasn’t important. She caressed his shoulders, loving how his powerful biceps flexed. He was holding back. “What’s wrong?”
“I want you so much,” he ground out the words. Standing up, he took her by the hand. “Let’s get in the shower, I want to kiss you.”
Presley didn’t want to complain, but a kiss was a bit anticlimactic. But she went, simply put – she’d follow him anywhere. The shower was huge, at least eight foot by five foot. And she counted an incredible fourteen sprayer heads. “This is more like a spa. I’ve never seen a shower like this.” The tile was cream colored with ornate accent tiles and a see-through glass door gave the illusion of privacy. She didn’t get any more time to examine her surroundings, because Zane pulled her against him and began kissing her voraciously - deep drugging kisses. Pushing her against the wall, he rubbed his cock back forth against her front, letting her know how aroused he was.
“Are you wet for me?” he fingertips danced over her lower belly, delving between her legs.
“Yes, I’ve been wet for you for days,” she admitted her weakness.
“Good, because you know I’ve been hard for you. Even when you slipped up to the couch to watch me sleep, I got hard for you.”
His revelation made her gasp and squirm. “How did you know?” God, she was embarrassed.
“I could hear you. I heard soft, little footsteps and shallow breaths that caught with excitement.” He trailed his lips over her shoulder and took the cord of her neck in his mouth and bit it gently. “And I could smell you, not only your natural sweet scent and perfume; I could smell your arousal.”
“Oh, God,” Presley wasn’t sure how to feel. Truthfully, she could only feel. He had stolen her ability to think.
 “Oh yeah,” he growled. “You’re wet. And I fuckin’ love the way your pussy feels. I like it that you’re not bare, but you’re soft and downy, trimmed short. I’m gonna love moving my lips back and forth over your treasure.” 
Presley’s womb contracted with need as he made a come hither motion with his fingers, spreading her juices from back to front. Her clit throbbed with anticipation and she was so overwhelmed with arousal that her whole body jerked in response.  
“Lean back, I’m going to pick you up.”
“What?” The next thing she knew, Zane had placed both hands under her bottom and lifted her up – and up.
“Put your legs around my neck.”
“Oh my God!” she grasped the ledge at the very top of the shower and held on for dear life. Her legs were splayed open and her pussy was right in his face. “I’m too heavy, what are . . .” And then he transported her to paradise as he began licking and kissing her slit, his tongue rasping over the tender flesh, singing it with each touch.
“Zane!” Presley cried out as she arched her back and pressed her shoulders against the wall, pushing her pelvis more fully in his face. “I need you, please,” she moaned. This was pure heaven. It was unadulterated ecstasy. “More, more,” she pleaded. What Zane was doing to her was the most pleasurable thing she had ever known in her whole life.                        
Lord help, she tasted good. Zane flicked his tongue around the perfect berry of her clit and reveled in the honey he lapped up with his tongue. Presley wanted him. She wanted him – the blind man. He was pleasing her; he was making her pulse with joy. “Cum for me, Doll. Let me know how much you want me.” He closed his lips over her clit and began to suck and hum and she went wild. Tightening his grip on her waist, he held her steady while she bucked and jerked in his arms.
“God! Yesssss! Zane! Please!” Sweeping, sweet arcs of pleasure whipped through her body as she panted and strained to get closer to him. Even in the dampness of the shower, perspiration beaded up on her body and it was because she was on fire – literally on fire for a man for the first time in her existence. “I don’t think I can stand it,” she whimpered.
Oh, yes she could. He was going to give her everything he had and then he was going to take all she would give him. Zane ached. His very soul hungered to become one with this woman. His cock was so swollen and distended that precum was leaking from the tip. If he didn’t get some relief soon, he would explode involuntarily just from giving this incredible woman sweet pleasure.
Moving one shoulder farther under her, he freed one hand to play with. Flicking his tongue on her clit as he suckled, he pushed two fingers inside her tight little canal and eased them in and out – in and out and when he did she screamed – she literally screamed and it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. Zane Saucier had brought a woman to a raging orgasm and he felt like a fuckin’ king.
Stars exploded and galaxies collided as Presley felt for the first time an orgasm she didn’t give to herself. He held her while she quivered, letting her down slowly, her body sliding against his. “Thank you, Zane. I loved it, thank you so much.” Her adoration and gratitude couldn’t be contained.
“It was my pleasure, Presley,” and that was no lie. Cradling her next to him, he loved how her body molded to his. When her little hands edged between their bodies and found his cock he almost went to his knees. “God, yes,” he groaned.
Presley sank down, unsure of what she was doing, but determined to do it anyway. She held his member and caressed it, rubbing her cheek against it. This was part of him and therefore it was beautiful. She held it upright and licked it from bottom to top. For every little move and touch she gave him, he rewarded her with a moan or gasp. Clearly, Zane was not unmoved by her attention. With a tiny smile, she studied the head of his cock. “Can I taste you?”
“Yea,” he growled, the only word he could manage to say.
Presley was desperate for him; her lips trembled as she licked them. Could she do it? He was big and hard, heavy in her hand, the base so thick that her thumb and second finger wouldn’t meet. The huge mushroom head was dark red and throbbing and she couldn’t resist swiping her tongue across it. The drop of clear liquid at the tip was salty and tangy and she wanted more. Fitting her lips tightly to the top, she slipped them down and over, sucking the end of his cock into her mouth and swirling her tongue around it.
“Ah, damn,” he groaned as he held her head, tangling his fingers in her hair. “That’s so good. Suck me, Baby.”
Ecstasy made Zane’s toes curl. The muscles of his legs became like stone. All of his concentration was on his cock as it was enveloped in the wet, hot haven of Presley’s mouth.
What the hell?
Presley, bless her heart, was so into sucking him that she couldn’t hear whoever was beating down his front door. Hell! God, he was close. This little angel was sipping at his cock like it was the finest wine and if he had to. . . .
“FUCK!” he bellowed and Presley jumped.
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s somebody at the damn door and they’re not going to go away.” Shit! “I’m sorry, Baby.” He stepped out, grabbed a towel and stalked out of the bathroom. “Somebody better goddamn be dying.”
Presley stood up and stepped out of the spacious shower. She took a towel and dried off and slipped back into her clothes. What had happened? She heard voices.
“Who is it?” Zane asked gruffly as he swung the door open. “This better damn well be something important.” He had just walked away from a beautiful woman and a blow-job and he was not happy.
“Zane, God, Zane, we need you. Why didn’t you answer your damn cell phone?”
It was Noah.
“I was busy,” he expected Noah to realize he was standing here in a damn towel and get the idea that he might possibly have feminine company.
But he didn’t. Instead Zane heard him hit the door facing with his fist.
“Get in here. What’s wrong?”
“He’s missing, Zane.”
“Who’s missing?”
“Aron. Aron’s missing.”
“What? How?” Zane felt a horrible feeling in his gut.
“He and Libby went snorkeling and when she came up – he didn’t.”
“God, are you sure?”
Noah’s voice cracked. “Yea, I’m sure. Zane, can you come help, please?”
“Let me get my pants on, we’ll be right behind you.”

Thanks for reading.