I love stumbling across old favorite romance novels that have been packed away somewhere and randomly turn up. We moved to Florida a year and a half ago, and Big C (my husband) just found my paperback copy of The Heartbreaker by Carly Phillips while unpacking a few leftover boxes in his office this morning. Woot! It's book three in her Chandler Brothers series, which is so incredibly fun!While it's not erotica, I enjoyed the series immensely.
Author Kristi Hancock shares the details (some naughty, some not) of her life as she takes romance deeper and harder.
Tuesday, August 29, 2017
Lost and Found
Friday, August 18, 2017
The Winner: A (Very) Short Story
This very short, very hot story is a little gift to my readers -- and a tiny preview of what I write.
Yes, it's itty-bitty. It was originally going to go to a magazine, but now it's all yours!
Enjoy this visit to a bar that's maybe not so far away from you. ;)
His hips bump the back of my ass in my size thirty-four stonewash Levi’s when I bend over the billiards table. I'd called a three to the corner pocket, and he almost makes my experienced hands miss the shot. The pub is crowded but not so much that he had to make contact to pass me. In a straight bar, this can mean only one thing, and it makes my balls tighten.
He stands to my left with the onlookers. His sleek hair appears burnished where the light hits his firm jaw and sensuous mouth and leaves the rest in shadow. He keeps his hand on his beer bottle as it rests on the edge of the table next to the bills my opponent and I staked on the game. His other hand reaches across his muscular chest to scratch his bicep. He's Michelangelo’s "David" in motion.
My eight ball to the side pocket closes the game, and I pass off my pool stick to the next in line. I'm more concerned about losing my handsome prey than I am about collecting my winnings. I need not worry about either. He turns and places the folded bills in my calloused palm that itches to abuse his cock.
"Nice shot." His voice is rusty. He clears his throat, and I imagine it swallowing the head of my dick.
My hormones scream to dominate him. I shove the cash in my front pocket, take his beer from his hand, and down a long swig.
"Yes," he says.
A petite redhead reaches for my arm. "You play so well." Her fingers find their way to my fly.
I grab her wrist, bite her earlobe, and whisper, "Thanks, sweetheart, but not tonight."
I wonder if she knows I'm batting for both teams.
I arch a brow at my new buddy, and he nods. I've never picked up a guy here, but his forest green eyes wipe any doubts from my mind. It's not like I can be the only former frat boy here who was straight until the lights went out.
I cut a path past the crowd at the bar, and it swallows our trail. Past the bathrooms and swinging kitchen door, I push out the exit to a dank alley. It smells of grit and rain and brick.
I free my mental reins and allow my penis to swell in girth and length. I wonder if he knows what he's in for. Most don't.
He's a couple of inches shorter than I am and makes to grab the nape of my neck. He bites my lip. "God, your black hair is hot against your blue eyes."
I fist my hand in his gray V-neck T-shirt and take his mouth without apology. He tastes of beer and smells of expensive cologne.
Our tongues tangle as we fight each other’s belts and flies to access the packages hidden beneath. He's commando, his cock average and uncut. He gasps as he hooks my boxer briefs beneath my balls.
"Fuck. You're huge."
"And you're taking all of it," I say.
I fumble through my wallet for a condom while the stranger pumps his dick.
After an eternity, I have the extra-large latex on me and spin him around to the wall. I spit twice in my hand then rub the barbaric lubrication around his hungry anus.
His legs are braced apart, his fingers clench the mortar, and he tilts his ass at my cock. I hold his cheeks and let my penis guide itself to his hole. I lean in to let the head pop through then slide my shaft down his channel. Jesus, he feels tight. I begin to pump thinking it would be even better if—
The redhead from earlier slips out the door. We freeze. Will she scream? Bust us? Call security?
Instead she smiles. "May I join you?"
My dick is still in his ass as he turns to catch my reaction. When I shrug, his eyebrow goes up again.
"You ever been with a woman?" I ask him.
"Not since I tried to be straight."
"Then pretend she's a guy."
Red pulls a strawberry condom from her purse, lays her jacket beneath her, and kneels before the stranger.
I can't help chuckling to myself. He backs into me on a cringe so I reach around him to hold the base of his throbbing prick for the condom. She puts it on with her mouth so enthusiastically her saliva drowns my fingers and drizzles down his balls. Her soft palm passes over my own pair, and she squeezes.
The tight heat of the man's body. The pleasure of his dick in my hands. The soft warmth of a woman's fingers on my nuts. The threat of discovery. It's too much for my brain to manage, and my body takes over. Furiously I pump into the stranger's ass. The cacophony of sensations batter my soul which screams for release.
I find it in a haze of light behind my tightly shut eyelids. I release the stranger's prick as my come fills the condom. He throws his head back over my shoulder with a groan.
"She bet me she would have sex with me before the night was over." He pants. "I lost."
I laugh. "Nope. Fucked and sucked? I'd say you won."
<<<<< >>>>>
It's All in the Details
I am swamped, buried in technical nomenclature and schematics of guidelines and sample plans of details to be submitted to our new "community association" here at what I fondly refer to as the HGTV Dream Home we paid for (though it's not nearly as fancy or glamourous as those). Cexy and I are slogging through paperwork muck that makes a trek through the marsh across the street seem like a casual stroll. I sit down to write only to discover another document to review, another form to complete, another contract to sign. Buried in minutiae, it feels as though I've barely written a word.
I realize that these are totally First World problems. I now have a handsome young pool boy (and a pool to go with him) on a sizeable chunk of land in a preserve. Our neighbors like to keep to themselves, as do we. It's why we chose to live here. That even extends to inside our home. Our bedroom is on one side of the house while guest rooms are on the other--with an expanse of living room separating the two. Like I said, this is our HGTV Dream Home only we paid for it. So why can't I write?
Because we're still surrounded with boxes from the move? Because we're still giving away furniture to make room for the stuff in the boxes? Because we're planning to retire here in 20 years and only leave if we have to go to a nursing home so I want everything to be perfect? Because we want a fenced area for the dog?
There aren't enough "becauses". I don't believe in writers block. I've just got to get my butt in some chair and my hands on my laptop's keyboard and go. Ready, set...
I realize that these are totally First World problems. I now have a handsome young pool boy (and a pool to go with him) on a sizeable chunk of land in a preserve. Our neighbors like to keep to themselves, as do we. It's why we chose to live here. That even extends to inside our home. Our bedroom is on one side of the house while guest rooms are on the other--with an expanse of living room separating the two. Like I said, this is our HGTV Dream Home only we paid for it. So why can't I write?
Because we're still surrounded with boxes from the move? Because we're still giving away furniture to make room for the stuff in the boxes? Because we're planning to retire here in 20 years and only leave if we have to go to a nursing home so I want everything to be perfect? Because we want a fenced area for the dog?
There aren't enough "becauses". I don't believe in writers block. I've just got to get my butt in some chair and my hands on my laptop's keyboard and go. Ready, set...
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