Available now for free download through Smashwords.
Available now for free download through Smashwords.
*** As a woman I feel it’s my sworn duty to say one thing and then change my mind…and this is the case with BLIND DESIRE. I’ve decided to publish this story as a free Novella on Smashwords. I will post the link up as soon as it goes live. Until then, please enjoy this following excerpt. *** ;-)
He inhales noisily and grabbing my hair he pulls my face down to his and attacks my mouth with a wild abandon that wasn’t there before. It’s hot, rough and needy. A feral meeting of hungry lips, tangling tongues and a clash of teeth. It’s almost like he’s thrown caution to the wind and decided to show me his wilder side.
I’m so turned on, I’m ready to take whatever he wants to give me.
“I wanna taste every inch of you, before I fuck you so hard you won’t remember your own name,” he groans throatily — I’m struggling to remember that now — before peppering kisses down from my throat to the swell of my heaving breasts.
I moan like a top-dollar whore, as he licks first one side of my chest and then drags his tongue across to lick and suckle at the other side, all the while hooking his pinkies beneath the shoulder straps of my dress and moving his hands down the side of my shoulders, dragging my dress down with them.
My arms fall from around his neck, and I begin to pant noisily with excitement as my dress slides off, baring my breasts to him and pinning my arms to my side.
And just like that, the thinking part of my brain shuts down.
Leaving my arms contained by the shoulder straps, he slowly and sensually moves his hands down my arms and onto the side of my ribs, my rapidly redundant dress bunching up as it moves further towards my waist. His fingers brush the swell of my breasts and I moan.
He pauses, and I hold my breath as he lightly caresses my skin, teasing me. Then, with exquisite leisureliness, he moves his hands across, cupping my breasts in his palms. I arch my back, tiny mewls of pleasure escaping me as I push my breasts into the large heated cradles of his hands.
He rolls and plucks my erect nipples between his thumb and forefingers, his breathing heavy, almost panting. Dropping his forehead against mine, his voice drops several octaves as he growls, “Oh fuck Willow, I can’t wait to strip you completely naked and fill my mouth up with your gorgeous tits.” We both groan out loud at his words. He arches his hips upward, grinding them from side to side, as he seeks the same sort of relief I’m aching for.
(c) Copyright Jennifer Crowfoot 2015
When my daughter-in-law’s birthday was approaching late last month, I decided in a moment of crazy inspiration that I’d write her a short story as a ‘secret and special’ gift, that was just from me.
And, so, BLIND DESIRE was born.
It was only ever intended to be a few pages, and a couple of thousand words. *rolling eyes* Yeah right!
And, just as I knew would happen, I finally typed THE END…. At 23k words and 57 pages later!
I decided that it was much too short to publish on Smashwords, so I thought I’d make up a lovely cover and post it in parts on Wattpad, which I’ve since done. (There are six parts in total to this story.)
♥ ♥ ♥
Jacob groans, his hips rocking upwards. He breaks our kiss to whisper against my lips, “I can smell you. It’s so fucking sexy and if I was less of a gentleman I wouldn’t have any hesitation in fucking you right here on the back seat.” He sucks my bottom lip into his mouth and bites down on it, before soothing the sting with a lazy sweep of his tongue.
Available now from Smashwords:
Or from iBooks:
Two Devastatingly Wrong Choices
All Cassandra Green has wanted since high school was to marry Christopher, the man of her dreams, have his babies and live happily ever after.
But after one terrible night showed Cass the depths of depravity that her new husband had sunk too, and the dark side he’d hidden from her, those dreams were obliterated in an explosion of cruel betrayal, tears and heartache.
For Jeremy, the man who has loved her all of his life and has been unable to get over her, a fateful incident gives him the second chance at happiness that he’s been craving.
But is he able to get out of a situation of his own making to claim his one shot at true happiness?
* * *
DARK ADULT ROMANCE.
*** For mature audiences only: 18+ Contains frequent strong profanity, violence, drug use and sex scenes.
Certain aspects of this story may be upsetting, or offensive to some readers.
Contains scenes of cheating, domestic/verbal abuse.
Story contains Aussie slang/idioms. ***
On sale through Smashwords and iBooks now.
♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫
Raising my finger, I get the barmaid’s attention — again not hard, she’s hovering near me, a scowl on her face as she stares at Halley. I ignore the bitch-vibes, place Halley’s order and then turn back to my girl, my eyes scanning her from head to toe.
Wearing a crisp white sleeveless dress with tiny embroidered red hearts scattered across it and — I lean to the side and glance down and bite down on my bottom lip as I see at the end of her tanned legs, gulp, fuck me — red heels.
“Holy fuck Halley,” I groan, “You’re killing me.”
Her lips part and my eyes drop, staring, my pulse pounding in my ears as I allow myself to be captured by the movement. And then, I nearly have a heart attack as I witness the tip of her wet tongue flick out, moistening that luscious lip that I just wanna suck into my mouth and nibble on.
Moaning low in my throat, I widen my legs and wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her in-between my parted thighs, holding her warm body close to my heaving chest. She sighs at the close contact, and I breathe in the spearmint-scent from the gum she always chews as she melts into me. The crowds around us vanish, as she burrows her head into the join of my neck and shoulder. Resting my cheek on top of her soft hair, I inhale, the sensual scent of her floral body wash and shampoo instantly calming me.
Making me feel more in control….
And, less inclined to do something stupid.
Copyright (c) Jennifer Crowfoot 2015
♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫
I freeze, my body growing taut, my senses on alert, as two warm, feminine arms slide around my waist. Looking down, I relax and slump on my stool as I watch familiar slender fingers interlock just below my navel.
My woman rests her head on the back of my shoulder as she hugs me tight and my mouth waters as a pair of the softest tits God ever put on a woman press into my back. She’s holding me close…so close in fact, that her heartbeats feel like rapid Morse code being written on the back of my ribs.
“Liam, il mio amore,” she murmurs against my back, her tone full of love, her words and hot breaths branding my skin through the fabric of my thin shirt.
I lick my lips, my fingers tingling with the urge to caress her silky skin.
She withdraws one arm from about my waist and my lips part as soft, gentle fingers sweep the hair away from my neck and jaw. She takes in a staggered inhale, and gooseflesh ripples across my skin as her warm minty exhalation fans across the shell of my ear.
“Halley,” I groan. My nostrils flare and closing my eyes I breathe in the sensual heady perfume of Gardenias, while my cock swells as the scent wraps around me, exciting me.
“Hello my handsome cantante…my singer,” purrs that familiar husky voice in my ear …a sexy voice which instantly shoots sparks of sizzling electricity down into my groin. “I couldn’t fool you could I?” With the rush of blood southward bound, my jeans tighten, becoming uncomfortable, and I shift on the stool, widening my legs.
My heart jackhammers against my ribcage as her warm moist breaths tickle my jaw and throat. Opening my eyes, a smile tips my lips up as I place my can down and spin on the stool.
Her smile is dazzling. Honest. Breathtaking.
My breath hitches, and swallowing past the bulging lump in my throat, I stare like a mute- dickhead at her gorgeous face, my eyes greedily devouring the perfect café au lait tint of her lightly made-up skin. She’s like an exotic doll; her Italian-Japanese-Australian heritage, giving her an exquisite, sultry and very beautiful delicacy.
Copyright (c) Jennifer Crowfoot 2015
Beer, Sweat, Lust and Lou.
One week later. The House of Rock Nightclub.
The door to the closet-sized dressing room cracks open. I glance up from where I’m slouched on the worn lounge, semi-naked, my legs spread wide, as our Manager, Damo, pokes his dreadlocked, dirty-blonde head in through the gap. His nose screws up, and his lips twist downward, as a disgusted look passes over his face — almost like he’s just bitten into a shit-filled donut — as he cops an eyeful of how I’m enthusiastically filling in my before-show free time.
He clears his throat, but the sourpuss face stays put as he glares down at my female company. Well, at the back of her bobbing head anyway. “Youse are on in twenty minutes Liam, don’t fucking wipe yourself out,” he barks, his voice rising excessively as his eyes take in the beer I’ve got clutched in my right hand and the handful of hair in the other.
I assume he’s not yelling just so he can be heard over the noise of the crowded Club’s Friday night’s two dollar schooner, schnitzel and free entertainment night. Which would be us by the way; my band Wicked Intent.
He’s letting me know in his own special way, that he’s not cool with what he’s seeing.
I let go of the blonde’s hair and flip him off. “Fuck you cunt,” I drawl, my speech a little slow, but not that impaired that I can’t sing my fucking guts out.
Slamming back my beer, I lob the empty in the general direction of the bin which sits like a guard dog to the side of where he’s now staring at me, his freckled face twisted up in full-on-scowl-mode.
I smile crookedly. I’m definitely buzzing from the combination of getting head, beer and the epic weed I’d scored from one of our roadie’s buddies earlier. I hear the clang of glass hitting the bin’s metal bottom and I laugh as if it’s the friggin’ funniest shit ever.
Glancing away from Damo’s grumpy, ugly mug, I raise my shoulder and drop it. Casual. Uncaring.
Tough shit mate. Like or lump it, I don’t give a rat’s. Shoulda knocked first.
Copyright: Jennifer Crowfoot 2015
I unfold my arms, stretch, and then lacing my fingers behind my head I smirk and give him my attention. A scowl crosses his face as he straightens. Shoving one hand into his front pant pocket, he taps his top lip with the forefinger of his free hand as I demand, “Well you slippery bastard what’s this fuckin’ deal you’re on about?”
Lou’s face lights up as if I’ve just agreed to his deal, promised him the exclusive rights to my soul — contract signed in blood, of course — plus chucked in a life-time membership to Liaisons Brothel in Sydney. I know what you’re thinking, I’m a naïve dickhead, but in my defence I wasn’t thinking clearly at the particular moment when I uttered those words. I mean ‘c’mon, Jesus, what’s a man to do? Huh?
From what I could read of this shitty situation, I had two frigging choices….
Number one: listen to his proposition, or number two: stay the Invisible dead-man for the rest of fuck knows how long.
Nofuckingthankyou. As I had no great desire to go through eternity as an invisible nobody, I decided I had nothing to lose by listening to what he had to say. What was he gonna do if I told him to shove it up his arse and twist sideways?
Fuck me, I’d already done that to myself, I didn’t need any more help in that particular direction.
Clapping his hands with more vigour than I feel the situation warrants, Lou struts around the bed, coming to a halt before me. Placing his palms on my shoulders he tips his head to the side and with narrowing eyes, peers down into mine as if looking for some trick, or a lie. But he ain’t gonna find one. I’m deadly series about my offer to hear him out, no pun intended.
Waves of pulsing heat and prickly static discharge from his hands and down into my skin, scorching a path down into the innards of my dead frame. Fine hairs stand erect over my body as mild shocks zip up and down my now trembling arms and legs via my un-moving bloodstreams, before racing back up and gathering at the epicentre of my being. The tingling sparks teasing but not reviving….
My still heart.
My immobile lungs.
And the motionless synapsis of my brain-cells.
His hands rise, leaving my flesh, and I sag forwards, my hands gripping my jean clad thighs as I seek to recover from whatever shit he’s done to me. Looking up at him through my lashes I spit, “I’m not making any promises dude. I’ll listen to whatever you’ve got to say and that’s all I’m agreeing to.”
You’re a lying cunt Liam, I sneer internally at myself. You’re gonna take it up the arse just like he wants. He’s got you by the balls and there’s not fuck-all you can do ‘bout it, unless you don’t wanna ever breathe again. See Holly again. Have that family you’ve been craving.
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