Latest update on my short story: PRIVATE ROOM NUMBER THREE

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I’ve published PRIVATE ROOM NUMBER THREE as a Novellette through Smashwords  for anyone who prefers to read this short story presented in the more convenient eBook form.

It’s free to download and came in at just over 12k words.

Oh, and as you can see, I’ve also given it a pretty new cover.

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Sexy woman with a red lingerie and blindfolded



Part Two

Untying the belt of my baby-blue wraparound dress, I curl my fingers around both sides of the bodice and inch it open. As my elbows bend and extend backwards, my chest juts forward, the underwire in my bra squeaking with the stretch.

Levi’s breathing grows heavy as my breasts are exposed to him by the gaping material and a flush of heat races across my chest, up my throat, and settles in my cheeks, with the knowledge that I’m affecting him.

Quivers of excitement fizz in my stomach as he touches the tips of his fingers to the hollow of my throat and hums appreciatively. “Your skin’s so beautiful with that warm blush colouring it,” he whispers, his tone raspy.

Stroking the backs of his index and middle fingers down my chest and into my cleavage, he skims his fingertip along the tops of my breasts, softly tracing the edges of the cups before sliding his finger beneath, his cool skin brushing my nipple.

I sigh in pleasure, and gooseflesh peppers my skin beneath the path of his soft touch.

His finger pulls away, and I have the childish urge to pout as I immediately mourn the loss of his heated touch.

He swallows noisily. “Continue.”

He’s going to be disgusted when he sees you, you know that don’t you? No man likes a woman who has more curves than a Monaco road. Why do you think your ex didn’t want to touch you?

Fat, unattractive bitch, my mind screams at me.

I blink, my eyes and nose stinging at the memory of countless insults.

Can’t back out now. I want this.

I need this.

With stiff fingers, I pause, take in a deep breath, exhale and then push the dress up and over my shoulders. It falls down my back and over the curve of my buttocks, before dropping in a soft cloud of material around my feet.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs.

Oh yes, you’re worth every penny, I think, smiling at his compliment, even though I know it’s the end result of the hefty fee he charges.

Breathing heavily, I ignore the knowledge of what I know to be true, and instead allow myself to pretend he’s as in to this as I am, as I reach around behind my back, grasping either side of the bras’ clasp.

My fingers are clumsy, trembling with lust and anticipation, and it takes me a couple of attempts to unsnap the usually easy-to-undo hooks and eyes. I almost sigh in relief as it releases and the pressure of the cups eases, allowing my full breasts to fall free of the stifling material.

Sliding the straps down my shoulders, arms, wrist and hands, I drop the bra at my feet and bow my head, resisting the ingrained and powerful urge to fold my arms over my chest, hiding myself.

Instead, I force my arms to hang loosely by my sides.

I feel the searing weight of Levi’s heavy gaze on me as I stand bared before him. Excitement makes my heart thump in my chest, and I sneak a peek up through my lashes at the man standing quietly before me. I squeeze my thighs together as I greedily eye fuck him.

My chest rises and falls heavily as I note the inked muscles of his biceps and how they bulge deliciously when he crosses his arms loosely, his fists pushing against them.

He licks his lips and clears his throat with a short sharp grunt. “Panties as well,” he orders, his tone low, raspy and clearly used to being obeyed.

I raise my head and suck back a sharp breath, biting down on my bottom lip and nearly combusting on the spot at the flashes of heat I see reflected in his eyes.

Eyes that are now glittering like shards of Jade, as they drop to my hands, watching me hook my thumbs in the lacy material stretched over my hips, before slowly dragging it down my legs to my knees.

Bending to the side, I lift a foot, and with shaky fingers I quickly unhook the flimsy material from first one ankle and then, swapping legs, repeating the process on the other side.

My panties join my pile of discarded clothing.

He makes a low grunt of approval. “Fuckin’ nice. Now lose the heels.”

My body flushes with wave upon wave of pulsating heat and I don’t quite understand why he’s looking at me with such lust. He should be quite blasé about women’s’ bodies by now.

I’m sure he’s seen more naked women than I’ve had hot dinners.

After all, this is what he does for a living…he entertains women like me.

Women who need something a little left of field that they can’t get manage to find in an ordinary, civilised world.

Or in what’s classed as an accepted normal sexual relationship.

But I can’t deny the pulsating sparks of electricity that snap and sizzle between us. The vibes I’m sensing, seem to suggest this may be affecting him as much as it is me.

I frown. No way. I must be imagining it.

Once we’re done here, I know that I’ll walk out that door behind me and never see him again. This can never be more than what it is…a business transaction. Strangely enough, my heart sinks as that thought depresses me.

Holding my head high, and despite the rush of crazy sensations leaping in my stomach and chest, I manage to make my way over to the bed without tripping over my own feet. Turning, I sit on the edge, the sheets cool and the mattress firm beneath my bare arse. Crossing my legs at the knee, I unbuckle the strap of one heel, letting it fall to the floor with a ‘clatter’ before doing the same on my other leg.

Keeping my legs crossed at the knee, I look up at him, waiting for his next instruction, my cheeks flaring with heat.

The muscles of his torso twitch and jump as he stares at me. “Lay down.”

Uncrossing my legs, I twist at the waist and place my hands behind me on the mattress as I go to scoot up the bed.

“No, right where you are will do just fine.”

I frown.

Oh. Okay.

I lay back, my knees bent, lower legs dangling over the side of the bed, hair spread in a blonde pool around my head. Not knowing what to do with my arms, I at first fling them out to the side, before deciding to tuck them down by my side, shoving my hands beneath my thighs.

He waggles his index finger at me, his face stern. “Arms above your head, palms pressed together, fingers laced,” he demands, his voice dropping down an octave.

Holy shit. Oh. My. God.

“Bring your legs up and bend them, heels against that gorgeous arse, soles flat on the mattress.” My sex throbs as his deep, molten voice caresses me and my arms shoot up so fast, my elbows crack.

I draw my legs up allowing them to fall apart a hand’s width.

I feel so exposed.

So wanton.

So turned on.

He inhales, the sound harsh. Primal.

I glance down my body at him standing tall and proud like a Greek god. His chest moves up and down with his heavy breaths, a slight sheen of sweat shimmering on his finely honed six pack. Oh my sweet God.

My sex clenches, the sharp pain of my arousal causing me to moan.

His mossy green eyes dart to my face before returning to that slick wet place where my legs are joined. My thigh muscles are trembling, my legs beginning to wobble with the effort of holding them slightly parted.

For just a moment I wonder how I look to him, all splayed out on the bed. A hard lump settles in the centre of my chest, and I resist the urge to rub at it. Shit. Shit. Shit. Do I look fat? Are my little love-handles on show? Have my tits slipped sideways into my armpits?

He bites down on his bottom lip as his eyes greedily trace over my nakedness. I see with a rush of relief that his face doesn’t seem to be showing any signs of disgust. His eyes are dark, the lashes falling as his gaze drops and hones in on the gap in-between my quivering thighs.

My heart-rate bumps up a notch and the ache of insecurity burning a hole in my chest vanishes.

“Good, very nice,” he says, the weight of his smouldering gaze scorching my flesh as he comes to stand before my legs. He bumps my knee with his hand. “Open those fucking sexy legs,” he grunts, “wide. I wanna see that sweet pink pussy. Are you wet for me Lucy?”

I moan, my knees dropping apart at his words.

“Fucking wider. I can’t see.”

I stretch my legs open to their limit, the insides of my upper thighs protesting as I make them do something that not even Gumby’s rubbery legs could easily manage.

He bends and reaches down, grabbing my right nipple in-between his thumb and forefinger, his gaze flicking between the bare flesh between my legs, and my breasts. “You’ve got fuckin’ hot tits. Good size. Real. Nice big nipples. I like ‘em.”

And just to show me how much, he squeezes and then twists his wrist.

Gasping, forgetting the pain in my upper legs, and hips, my back arches upwards into his grip. A low groan of pleasure escapes my parted lips as the sweet burn races down from my breast and straight into the centre of my core. Hot liquid gushes from me, trickling down between the seam of my arse and onto the cool sheet as my arousal ramps up a thousandfold.

His grip tightens, and he’s now got a hold of my other nipple. My breasts pull up and tighten, the ache deep inside them increasing as he viciously twists and tugs at my nipples. Mewling, my body buzzes and hums with sparks of intense pleasure and I squirm.

I’m having trouble keeping my fingers laced together. They’re tingling to reach down and get myself off.

I’m so turned on, I can’t think straight.

“Lay fucking still,” he barks. “Lucy, I asked you a fucking question. Answer me.”

“Unnh…what? I don’t r-remember.” I’m struggling to answer him. My brain’s shut-down as the endorphins flood my body in response to the intense pleasure he’s inflicting on my tits.

“Are. You. Wet for me?” He releases one breast and his hand trails down, his palm hot as it smooths a path down my ribs, over the soft bulge of my belly and down over my mound.

“Y-yesss,” I stammer.

My eyes roll back as his fingers slip and slide through my wet folds before plunging one, and then two, deep inside me. They’re long and deliciously thick. I have a sense of fullness, but it’s not enough.

I need more.

“More beautiful,” he whispers.

Is he reading my thoughts? Or maybe I just said it aloud.

I don’t know.

I don’t know anything at the moment. I’m floating in a haze of pleasure.

His breath fans across my face, and then — oh, fuck me. Sweet baby Jesus — I feel a slight burn and stretch as he inserts another finger and pushes them in until I feel his palm pressed against my swollen, aching sex.

“Oh god. Oh god. Yes. Please, please,” I croon, my hips swaying and bucking up, desperately trying to increase the depth of his fingers inside me.

But I’m left wanting. He has no more to give me.

“Look at me,” he demands, his fingers stopping.

No, no don’t stop.

My heart leaps in my chest and my eyes snap open, looking up at him. He’s leaning over me, his eyes burning orbs of emerald, his toned chest rising and falling heavily with his breathing.

“I like it when you beg, it makes my cock hard as fucking stone. What do you want, more of this?” He smiles wickedly, his fingers once again plunging in and out of my soaking channel. “Or perhaps you need something a little dirtier.” His fingers retreat with a wet sound and I feel a fingertip rimming my arse. “Shall I fuck you here Lucy?” His finger pushes and I sigh, relaxing my muscles as his fingertip pushes past the tight rim of muscle and slides into me.

My mouth opens in a silent cry as pulses of pleasure ripple through my body. I stiffen as he inserts two fingers back into my channel, moving all three in a plunging motion. My fingers clench so tightly, my fingernails dig into the back of my hands.

I’m aching for him, the rhythm he’s setting is threatening to send me over the edge.

“Good girl. You’re so wet, you like this don’t you?” He keeps up the punishing tune he’s playing on my body. Nipple twist. Fingers plunging into me deeply.

I pant as my walls begin to ripple around him.

Withdrawing his fingers, he straightens and steps back.

I whimper in protest.

“Quiet,” he growls.

Walking around the bed, he passes by the top of my head and stops. I crane my head backwards, and to the side, watching as he squats and opens up a small cabinet before reaching in.

Closing the doors, he stands, and I see something dangling from his hand. One dark brow arches as he spies me looking. “Turn your head around. I didn’t tell you to move,” he says, in a sex-soaked raspy voice.

My head straightens, and I lay there, my naked skin in sensory overload and so sensitive I can almost feel the individual cotton threads in the sheet beneath me. Over the sounds of our breathing, and my pounding heartbeat, I hear the steady hum of the air-con and then random footsteps as someone walks past the room.

But otherwise, it’s quiet.

“Head up,” he demands. I raise my head off of the mattress, and the next instant the room darkens as a silky blindfold is placed over my eyes, kept in place with an elastic strap which he slips over my hair to press snug against the back of my head.

He gently lowers my head back down, his hands cradling my jaw, his thumbs stroking up and down on my cheeks. I feel his hot breath fan against my mouth just before his lips press against mine.

I moan. His lips are soft, warm and wet. His tongue dips out, stroking and caressing along the seam of my mouth. Without hesitation, I open up to him.

Instantly his tongue shoots in, tangling and smoothing over mine. Sweeping around my teeth, licking every corner. He groans into my mouth and I arch up towards him. My hands and fingers are desperate to touch him, stroke his skin.

I want to kiss his body.

Run my tongue all over him.

Feel his weight on me.

His dick in me.

His large hands cup my breasts as he continues his assault on my lips. He squeezes and massages, and I greedily swallow his low grunts of pleasure as they pour into my mouth.

It’s so hard to lay still like he’s asked of me.

His lips move across from my mouth, peppering soft kisses along my jaw and up to my ear. “Time to play,” he grunts. His hands leave me and with my eyes covered I strain my ears to hear what he’s doing.

I hear the soft click of the cupboard opening and closing and then he’s back. I hear his heavy breaths at my head and I inhale, drawing in his scent. I smell citrus and a spicy scent which I recognise as a popular men’s deodorant. But it’s the other smell that’s driving me nuts; it’s the musky pure masculine scent of his arousal and I moan as it wraps around me.

He grabs both of my hands in one of his, his palm effortlessly encircling my joined hands. Lifting them, he instructs me to hold still. The puny muscles in my arms tremble as I hold them four inches or so, above the mattress.

“Don’t move.”

I can’t help it though, I jerk when I feel something cool, soft and wide, wrap around my wrists, before being cinched up tight.

“Not to tight,” he demands, before pushing gently on my hands, indicating me to place them back down.

I wriggle my hands and shake my head no.

“Don’t shake your fucking head Lucy. Answer me when I ask you a question. And don’t delay either. I’m not a man well-known for my patience, and if I ask you something, by fuck, I expect you to answer me immediately.” He curls his hand in my hair as he stresses the word ‘immediately’ and tightening his fingers, he tugs. “Do. You. Understand?” He asks in a dangerous, silky tone.

Holy fuck. He’s so good at this. Where has this man been all my adult life?

More fluid leaks from me at the timbre of his voice and his powerful words. Even though I know he won’t hurt me — this is after all a very reputable establishment, and I doubt they hire Psychotic Morons to dominate the clients — the implied threat and sheer alpha maleness of him is nearly enough to send me over the edge.

I follow his footsteps as he walks back around the bed, to come stand in-between my spread thighs.

“Fuck, Levi, just touch me. For God’s sake, touch me,” I beg, my pelvis bucking and grinding down onto the mattress, seeking the relief I know is coming so very soon.

He chuckles, and I sigh, as I feel his hands grip my knees and trace a path down my inner thighs.

“Yesss, oh God yesss,” I croon, wriggling and squirming beneath his touch.

I feel his gaze on my aching folds.

He places his hands on my outer thighs, pushes them together and before I can draw a breath he’s grabbing my hips, lifting and flipping me to land face down on the bed. My knees slip, causing my legs to straighten a little. Still holding onto my hips he pulls my lower half up, before placing his hand on the centre of my back and pushing down.

“Head down. I wanna see that gorgeous arse in the air, beautiful.” He plants his palms on the inside of my thighs and splays his fingers out.

They’re cool in comparison to my heated flesh and I shiver.

My clit throbs with the close proximity of his fingers, and my sex weeps, my arousal trickling down my inner legs and over his hands as he pushes my legs outwards. “Spread. Wide as you can.”

I open my mouth, panting as I open my legs, displaying my aching drenched sex to his scorching eyes.

“Fucking wider, c’mon, you won’t break,” he demands.

His hands leave my legs and I hear the snap of a button and the distinctive metallic zrreeep of a zipper being drawn down. He rustles behind me and I moan as his hands clasp my hips. Strong fingers dig into my flesh, holding me steady as the flat of his tongue runs the length of my aching sex.

Releasing one hip, he reaches his arm around the front of my thigh and dipping his fingers into my wetness, he strokes and teases my swollen clit.

Closing my eyes, I pant and babble nonsense as I shamelessly grind myself down onto his face and fingers.

“Unnn, oh God, oh God…oh, oh, oh. Yesss, Levi, like that. Right there. Oooh, harder,” I moan.

“You taste so sweet,” he croons against my flesh and the vibrations of his deep voice ripple all the way up into my core.

My inner walls clench and release, the emptiness threatening to make me scream.

Too soon he stops, his hands leave my hips and I hear a distinct ripping sound before the large broad head of his dick is pressed against my folds. He drags it up and down, over my clit and dipping into my entrance before pulling out and continuing to tease us both. He slides over my sex effortless, the thin rubber sheathing his erection well lubricated and slick with my arousal.

“Can’t wait,” he moans as he pushes into me. Inch by inch. “Ahhhh fuck.” His hands once again grab at my hips, holding me in place as he inserts himself. His pelvis moves in a tiny swivelling motion and the feeling of him inside my body is divine.

“Feels so…you feel so fucking good,” he hisses, pushing his hips forward. His pauses, his breathing staggered and heavy. “So tight, so wet. I don’t wanna leave here,” he grunts and thrusting his pelvis forward, he shouts as he fully seats himself inside me.

He’s so thick, so broad in girth; the sensation of fullness is mindblowing. I see stars behind my eyelids as he rocks into me and pivots his hips from side to side. I push back against his forward strokes, impaling myself onto that spectacular cock.

I pant, my mouth is so dry and I swallow, once, twice, trying to build up some moisture.

His speed has picked up and he’s thrusting into me like a machine. One hand leaves my hip and I have no warning before it crashes down on my arse cheek with a cracking sound.

“Ohhh,” I groan out, the resultant sweet sting making me gush around him.

“You…like…that…don’t…you?” He grunts out, his breaths uneven. Heavy. Loud. “Fucking answer,” he yells.

“YES!” I scream. “Yes, I fucking love your hand reddening my arse.”

“Good, that’s what I wanted to….” His voice trails off as he moans and I feel his free hand snake around my thigh and stroke my swollen bud.

I tense, my body stiffening as I hold my breath as the pressure builds up in my womb.

“Yes, yes, yes,” I pant, my hips swaying, matching the rhythm of his fingers on my clit. “So close, oh Levi, I’m so close. Don’t stop, don’t s-stop,” I mumble into the sheet which is damp from my open mouthed breathing.

So that’s where all of my saliva’s got to.

“Don’t intend to,” he groans, his other hand leaving my hip. “I want in this arse,” he hisses, “But I’m not fuckin’ stopping now just so I can stick my cock in it.” Dipping his thumb in the slippery juices of my arousal he presses it against the tight rosette of my arse and pushes. “Oh fuck. Fuck me Lucy. So tight.”

I’m so full. It feels so good. He continues to pump his thumb in and out of me, mimicking his cock, and I hold my breath as the first tremors of my orgasm ripple out from my core to each and every cell in my body. Throwing my head back, my mouth drops open and I shake as screams of pleasure echo around the room.

“OHMIGOD. Levi. Oh God, oh God…yes, yes, yesss.” My voice trails off as my mind fills with dazzling exploding fireworks. My ears pound with the flow of my rushing blood and my limbs stiffen as the waves of my climax wash over me, one after the other, filling me with a pleasure so extreme, it borders on painful.

Faintly, from somewhere far away, I feel Levi stiffen behind me, before a string of yelled obscenities fills my ears.

FAAAARK,” he bellows as my inner walls clench around him, milking him, feeling his dick pulse as it releases stream after stream of hot seed into the end of the condom.

He collapses onto me, his arms falling free by my side, his heaving sweaty chest resting on my back. We catch our breaths for a couple of minutes, before I croak, “Heavy. Can’t breathe.”

“Shit, sorry.” He pulls out of me with a grunt, and flops down heavily onto his back, at my side.

I roll over and he removes the blindfold before tenderly bringing my arms to lay on my heaving chest and removing the wrist restraint.

I glance down as he releases it, surprised to see it was a short length of leather. Softened and darkened with age. He pushes off the bed and rolling onto my side, I rest my head on my raised fist as I watch him remove the condom, tie it off with a neat knot before pivoting and walking towards the twin doors.

Opening the door on the left, he flicks on a light and I see that it’s a bathroom, before he shuts the door behind him, closing off the view.

I hear the faint sound of water flushing, before the door opens and he walks back out and over to the bed. Bending, he scoops his jeans up from off of the floor, steps into them and pulls them up. Leaving them unzipped he smiles and points towards the open doorway.

“Feel free to use the bathroom to clean up.”

I sit up and he extends his hand. Frowning, I take it and he pulls me up. Wrapping his arms around me, his eyes search mine for a second before he slants his mouth over mine and kisses me. Our heads move and twist as the kiss deepens and I finally get to touch. Running my hands up his hard chest, I lace my fingers behind his neck and close my eyes as he continues to kiss and massage my tongue with my own.

All too soon, he pulls away, and with one last peck on my lips my heart drops.

Those springtime eyes trace my face, as if committing it to memory, before finally coming to rest on mine. His eyes seem to shine with a warm verdant glow. “Thank you Lucy for the most amazing fuck I’ve ever had. You’re a beautiful woman and it’s been my pleasure to have met you, and enjoyed the pleasure of your gorgeous body.”

Turning around, he pads across the room and exits through the door he’d entered earlier. Sighing, I use the sparkling bathroom and after cleaning myself up, I dress and leave through the solid wooden door I’d entered a lifetime ago, but which in reality, was only an hour ago.

My heart aches knowing that I’ll never meet another man like Levi….He’s a one in a million.

But I feel incredibly lucky to have had his undivided attentions for the hour that I did.

A tiny twinge of jealousy twists my stomach as I think of the fortunate woman who gets to enjoy Levi every night. Because I’m certain that a God like that’s not single.

I never look back as I start my car and drive off….


~ * O * ~

Racing downstairs when I realise that the echoing chime I can hear is my mobile ringing, my heart stops, and then leaps into my throat, when my foot slips off of the edge of the step. Tumbling to my knees, I find myself going down the stairs in a fashion I’ve never considered before.

Rolling… head over arse.

With each rotation, my hands grab wildly at the bannister, the wall, the air; anything to stop my descent.

Unfortunately, all I do is tear a nail loose, bend my middle finger backwards and gather speed.

A rolling stone and all that shit.




Kerboonk. Kerboonk. Kerboonk.

Crying out, I close my eyes and pray that I don’t break my neck as my body jostles, bounces and rolls down the staircase like an overinflated basketball.

I whimper with every rotation of my body as my ribs, elbows and head impact with an awful smacking sound, on what should feel like soft carpet, but instead feels like chiselled rock.

By the time I finally hit and bounce off of the last step, my right knee has had enough. In protest at my unorthodox method of descent, it twists as it hits the edge.

Blazing white fireworks explode in my brain as I hear and feel something crack deep inside it. I scream, clutching at it with both hands as I skid across the tiled floor like an ice cube on glass.

The solid antique table that I use to keep mail, a flower vase and spare keys on top of, halts my slide — before the front door gets a look in — and as the side of my head smacks into one of the solid legs, the vase topples and crashes to the floor. The delicate porcelain explodes on contact, sending sharp shards and smelly flower-water spraying all over my face, while to add insult to injury, slimy stems slap me on the forehead.

Curling up, I lay on my side in a rapidly spreading puddle of reeking flower water. Half wailing and half panting through the pain, I sniffle as hot tears trickle across the bridge of my nose, over my cheek and into my hair and ear, all while bolts of white-hot agony continue to shoot up my leg.

Fighting back the urge to vomit, I grit my teeth and prop myself up on my elbow, looking down. Other than some pretty epic swelling, my knee looks fine. But judging by the atomic throbbing going on beneath my patella, it’s not nearly as fine as it appears.

On top of everything, my nose is running like a tap. Oh Jesus. Why me? More tears overflow, joining my streaming nose. In a technicolour haze of pain, annoyed and really, really hating today, I sniffle back hard, my nostrils flaring with the force.

It doesn’t help.

The frigging thing’s still dripping. Feeling like a total slob, but so not caring — I mean, who the fuck’s going to see me? I live on my own. No boyfriend. No pets. No nosy neighbours — I lift up my top, bow my head and wipe at my eyes, before blowing my streaming nose.

Eyeing the cause of all of my current misery, the stairs from Hell, I decide that they are also going to be my only way of getting back on my feet. With this shonky knee, I can’t stand on my own steam, and I wouldn’t be able to pull myself up using the wall. I’m not that strong.

And my hand hurts.

Shit. Fuck. Bastardsonofabitch.

Taking in a deep breath, I exhale and using a pull slash push method — a little like a caterpillar — I inch my way over the smooth tiles towards the stairs.

Crying, as I bump my bent finger and wounded knee on the floor, I raise my upper body, and bracing my weight on the first step with my good hand and arm, I push down, grunting as I use my leg to push at the same time. Unfortunately, my sole is slick with pain induced sweat and I whimper in panic as it slips and slides on the smooth tiles.

I sob at the fact that I must look like a one-legged beetle trapped in a jar…limb scrabbling uselessly in an effort to climb out.

Or, in my case, stand up.

Clenching my jaws, I squint in concentration as I pull out the last trick in my bag. Employing the massive surge of adrenalin that’s pumping through my body, I manage to hop, push, pull, grunt a little more, and, finally struggle into an upright position.

Utilising a weird hopping and tip-toeing gait, I hobble into the kitchen and swipe my phone off of the bench as I make my way to the small dining table. Pulling out a chair, I sink down into it, wincing as I bend my knee.

Dialling Jane — the only one of my friends from my married days, who’d sided with and stuck by me after the divorce — and in-between more sniffles, I explain my situation; all the while trying to ignore the hot bursts of pain which seem to radiate from random spots on my body, but with the definite epicentre being in my knee. Wiping away tears with my palm, I attempt to keep up a coherent conversation on my end, when all I want to do is sag forward over the table and cry myself into a coma.

After assuring me that she’s already on her way, Jane then asks if I need chocolate, a bottle of wine, or a feed of Chinese food.

I bend my elbow on the table and drop my forehead into my open hand. I could be wrong here, but, somehow, I don’t think she’s taking my injuries with the correct amount of concern that they warrant.

Swallowing back a sob, I croak out, “No, Jane. Shit, I don’t want comfort food. I just need to see a —” I try to tell her, before she cuts me off, talking over the top of me as she orders me to, “blah, blah, blah…wait for me, you clumsy bitch.”

Where the shitting Christ am I going to go with a fucking broken knee? I think, before she blows me a kiss and hangs up.

I toss my phone onto the table and slump forward, laying my forehead on my folded arms.

~ * O * ~

Jane parks and races inside after telling me again to sit and don’t move. I study my swollen, crooked finger and bleeding fingertip — the nail torn down to the nail bed — as I wait for her to return.

I’m floundering in a sea of pain.

My knee’s throbbing like a bastard, my torn fingertip feels like it’s going to blow off, and by the persistent ache, I think the finger I bent backwards is permanently deformed. Wiping away hot tears, I lay my head back and close my eyes.

I don’t hear Jane return, until the car door springs open and her nasally foghorn voice booms in my ear, “Your ride’s here lovey. C’mon, let’s go.”

My eyes spring open and I look at what she’s hanging onto. If I didn’t feel so shitty I’d have scoffed, as it is I can barely raise a puff of air out of my nose.

“A wheelchair? Really Jane? I’m not an invalid. I can wal —”

She hummphs. “Yeah right. That knee’s as big as one of my arse cheeks. Look Candice, just cut out the whining bullshit, and get in.” She leans down and pushes the brake on. “C’mon bitch, I’m gettin’ old here.” I wriggle my arse on the car seat and shift towards the wheelchair. Eyeing it with distaste, I place my good leg down onto the asphalt and with Jane’s arm around my waist to balance me, I grip the door sill and roof, turn my body in a half circle and flop down into the sagging plastic seat.

Her face softens as she sees mine screw up. “I know it’s embarrassing lovey, but it’s just to help get you inside. It’s a madhouse in there and I couldn’t get any sexy male nurses to come help. And there’s no way you could hippity-hop all the way across the carpark. You’d never make it.”

I choke out a soggy laugh, pointedly ignoring her lack of faith in my hopping abilities. Tipping my head back, I look up at her. “Sexy male nurse? Shit. Is there even such a thing? I’m pretty sure they’re out riding Unicorns with the Pixies, Fairies, Goblins and Leprechauns.” I look away, mumbling, “You watch too much television.”

“Ha ha. I heard that,” she retorts and bending over she releases the brake before spinning me around, “Hey, careful,” I cry. She laughs, and continues pushing at a speed which I’m sure is breaking the five kilometres an hour rule as she heads towards the glass doors of the Emergency Room.

The doors close silently behind us as we enter the waiting room, and a thousand eyes spin our way. I now see why no one could come to help. The seating is almost all taken. It’s an ocean of coughing, moaning, and sneezing people. I groan and drop my head.

At my groan, Jane’s head swings around into my line of vision. “Yeah I know, it’s gonna be a bit of a wait,” she says, stating the obvious, a look of apology in her eyes as she awkwardly manoeuvrers me around the sick and injured and into a tiny space in the corner next to the water bubbler, and one of only a few spare seats left.

Sitting, she smiles at the harried mother seated on her other side. A horrible banshee cry emanates from her direction and I stare. Her arms are locked around the back of a red-faced screaming toddler who’s seated on her lap and bent over backwards, her cap of long curls flowing down the woman’s shins. As she notices my wide-eyed stare she flashes me a weak smile before turning away, pleading with her child to stop screaming.

My eyes dart to the tiny contortionist on her lap, who’s still squealing and looks to me as if she doesn’t give two shits about the yummy bowl of chocolate ice-cream that’s waiting for her at home.

Finally, it’s my turn. Jane pushes me into the cubicle that the weary looking nurse indicates. “The Doctor will be with you in a moment,” she says, as she takes my temp, blood pressure and asks me how I’ve hurt myself. As she scribbles on a sheet of paper, she adds, “It’s been a crazy night. The poor man’s been run off his feet. ” Placing the paper down on the file covered desk, she walks towards the door and pulling it open, she throws over her shoulder, “Doctor Davis will be with you shortly, he just finishing off some sutures.” And with that she walks out, the door closing behind her with a soft hiss.

Jane touches me on the shoulder. “I’m just going to find the toilets. I’m bursting.”

I nod. “Okay. I’ll be fine.”

She smiles and bending, she kisses the top of my head. “I’ll wait outside and come back and get you after the Doc’s seen you, okay?”

“Yeah, I’m a big girl sweetie, go. Go to the toilet before you pop.” I wave her off, my fingers screaming blue-bloody murder as I waggle them.

I turn away, my eyes scanning the room, when the door opens and footsteps sound behind me. I glance sideways, noting the tall, dark-haired man walk over to the desk, and reach forward, retrieving the piece of paper with my information on it.

Dark swirls of ink peek out from beneath his sleeve and continue down his arm, stopping neatly at his wrist. My eyes widen. Are Doctors allowed to be tattooed like that?

I swallow, my pains forgotten momentarily as I continue to stare at him, eating him up with my eyes. Holy Hell, those blue scrubs he’s wearing so, so finely do nothing to distract from the fact that he’s built like a Greek statue.

Jesus Christ, who knew Doctors were so sexy? I’d get sick every day if I’d known that Thor worked here. I wonder if he’s got a girlfriend. Wife. Of course he would, someone with a body like this is bound to be taken or bats for the other team.

I sigh, and continue with my surreptitious observations.

Wide solid shoulders easily fill out the crinkled blue shirt he’s wearing, while loose pants sit low on his hips, which are narrow and completely huggable. Despite my injuries, my mouth waters up and desire flares up in the pit of my stomach.

So help me God, I try — okay, I’m lying through my teeth, I really don’t try at all — that gorgeous arse is right there in front of me, and hot-damn, I’m going to look.

My eyes drop.

My mouth falls open as I study the firm apple shape of his muscular arse through the soft-looking material of his pants. He moves, and I can’t fail to notice how long and muscular his legs are, before my eyes are drawn back to that derrière and I’m lost, hypnotised, as I watch those muscular cheeks flex and soften, calling to me.

Jesus on a unicycle, I want to grab a handful and squeeze. It’s been over a month since I last had sex with a man; intimate dates for one, in the shower with the hand held nozzle don’t count for shit. No matter how much I imagine it’s Levi touching me.

I stare, my head tilting as I wonder how that arse would feel beneath my hands as he pounded into me.

Snap out of it you desperate sex-starved bitch. He’s a Doctor, not some random, horny, drunk prick you’ve picked-up at the Club.

I wipe my hand over my mouth, just in case I’m drooling. Not that he’d probably even notice, not with the threads of green flower slime in my ratty hair, dried tears and snot on my blouse, and what I’m sure are two spectacular raccoon eyes.

Fuck my life.

Why didn’t I brush my hair and change my clothes before coming here? At least I could’ve picked the flowery shit out of my hair and finger combed it in the car on the way over.

Oh no, I’ve got to finally meet the second most sexy man I’ve ever seen in my life, looking like something that’s lived like a wild thing in the scrub all her life and has just staggered into civilisation for the first time.

I groan at my predicament, my knee throbbing fiercely in sympathy. A tear squeezes out, slowly trickling down my cheek and I wipe it away with my index and middle fingers.

Shifting his weight onto one foot, he hums softly, his head swivelling from side to side as he scans the Nurse’s scribble. He releases a heavy sigh. The sound telegraphing a weariness so profound, I yawn in response to it. “Okay, so Ms Humphries. It says here that you took a tumble down some stairs. How in the world…?”

He pivots, and I blink, my heart pounding against my ribs as we stare at each other.

“Levi?” I gasp, recognising his gorgeous face instantly. It’s never left my mind since that night.

Freezing on the spot, his head tilts to the side, his brows draw close and I see a questioning look flash across his face as he tries to place me. That delicious kissable mouth opens and closes, like he’s going to say something before deciding better, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows.

My hands clench in my lap, and ignoring the pain in my fingers, my heart pounds as I watch his face morph before my eyes from caring, exhausted Doctor, to domineering Sex-Lord, the exact moment he remembers me….

Those gorgeous springtime eyes darken with desire and he bites down on his plump bottom lip. “Lucy? It is Lucy isn’t it?” He growls.

And, now, my panties are wet.

I nod. Speechless.

He clears his throat.

I watch the battle between professional Doctor and professional Fuck-Artist jostle for supremacy on his face, and, in his body language. The corner of his lip cocks up and rubbing the back of his neck, he looks down at the paper in his hands, before returning his scorching emerald gaze to me.

“It says here your name’s Candice…that’s a beautiful name. But, I liked Lucy as well, it’s sexy as fuck…” he winks and smiles crookedly, and I see a hint of the dominant alpha male peeking out at me, as he adds in a low, sultry voice; one I’ve never heard a Doctor use before, “…just like you.”

I find my voice. “Ah, so…um, so you’re a Doctor then?” IDIOT! I yell at myself. I’m such a Miss State-the-Obvious at times. I giggle nervously and my knee begins to throb harder as if reminding me why I’m here in the first place.

I wince and go to clutch at it, bumping my injured fingers on the armrest of the wheelchair. Clutching my hand to my chest, I whimper.

The caring Doctor-face appears, creasing with concern as he makes his way towards me. Strong, long legs cover the distance in half a second, and before I can blink twice, he’s pulling up a rolling chair, sitting and bending forward, gently placing his hands around my knee.

“I’ll need to order an X-ray to be sure, but judging by the swelling and heat…”

The fingers that tenderly probe and inspect my knee, are so different from the ones belonging to the man who blindfolded me, tied me up, spanked me and then fucked me into the next world. “…I’d say it’s just wrenched. You were very lucky. But I’ll know more after I get a look at the X-ray.” He smiles warmly at me, his thumbs stroking lazy circles on the sides of my knee. “Show me those fingers now,” he asks gently.

I extend my hand and he carefully cradles it in his large one, his head tilting from side to side as he inspects the bloodied and torn fingernail — which he pronounces is in no way life-threatening, and will grow back within a couple of weeks with no ill effects.

Gently running his thumb and index fingers the length of my middle finger, he shoots me an, I’m sorry look, before applying a little pressure to the knuckle of my middle finger.

I hiss, and have the sudden urge to leap out of the chair and skyrocket up through the ceiling, as darts of sizzling pain pulse up and down my finger.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers before placing my hand carefully on my lap. Sagging backwards in his chair, he tucks his feet up on the metal struts, his legs splaying in that typical male way of sitting. Crossing his arms loosely across his chest, his stunning grass-green eyes twinkle as he informs me, “You’re in luck, it’s not broken, just badly sprained.” He cocks his head, smiling boyishly and I melt inside. “I’ll strap it so it’s supported. But I’m afraid there’s not a lot I can do otherwise.”

He leans forward and I drag a sharp breath back as his cool fingers carefully lift up my stiffened flower-slime hair, exposing the bump on my head. He runs his fingertips across it and I swallow nervously waiting for the explosion of pain.

But, to my relief, it doesn’t come. Instead I’m lost in the cool green of his eyes. Holy shit, they’re so beautiful.

He blinks and I lick my lips.

Ebony pupils — which dilate as I watch — are rimmed with a shade of green so vivid, I’m reminded of rainforests and Lucerne fields. They take my breath away.

“Hey, where’d you go?” He asks tenderly, tearing me out of my daydreams as he tucks my hair behind my ear, his touch gentle, sweet, caring, and, definitely not Doctorish.

I smile tightly before glancing over my shoulder to the closed door, my heart racing, as I wait for our bubble to pop when a Nurse or someone bursts in on us, demanding to know what’s going on.

I chew on the inside of my cheek, my stomach roiling. I don’t want him to lose his job, or get in any form of trouble because he can’t keep his touch professional, but it’s like we’re joined by some invisible thread. I can almost feel the snap and tug as the sparks sizzle back and forwards between us.

His eyes look over my head to the door behind me before scooting back to my face. “No one will come in, if that’s what you’re worried about.” His face turns serious as he slips his Doctor mask back into place.

Jesus. I’m getting dizzy with his see-sawing personality. One minute, he’s all caring, sensitive Doctor, then the next, he’s playing the dirty mouthed flirt, with his searing gazes and I’m-gonna-fuck-you-silly body language.

“Shit, you’ve really done a job on yourself haven’t you? I’ll just have a quick look in your eyes…Candice.” Right, okay, we’re back in caring Doctor mode.

Unfortunately, my body can’t tell the difference between the two.

That molten sex-voice caresses my name and my sex clenches with the greedy need to feel him in me again. I remember with a shiver of pleasure that it took my girly bits nearly a week to recover from the ever-loving pounding he’d given me.

And, as it’s been well over a month since our sizzling, unforgettable encounter at the Club, and I’d never expected to ever see him again; to say I’m excited, lost for words and — yes, I’m not ashamed to admit it, turned on — would be the understatement of the century.

Putting one foot on the floor he pushes sideways, the chair rolling smoothly over to a silver wheeled chest of draws placed to my left. Reaching out, he grabs something from the tray on top before wheeling his way back to me. “Hold still,” he orders softly, one hand cupping the side of my face, while the other holds a small torch up to my eyes. Clicking it on, he shines the skinny beam into one eye and then the other.

Humming in the back of his throat he clicks it off, places it in his shirt pocket, like a spare pen and then proceeds to ask me a bunch of questions, before finally declaring me free of concussion. Rising from the chair, he places his hand on the top and casually rolls it to the side before pivoting on his heel and making his way — very sexily mind you — over to the desk.

I sigh heavily as he disappears around it and sits down, those talented hands and fingers reaching for the keyboard.

He looks down and starts tapping away, telling me as he types, “I’m going to write you a prescription for some Pain relief and if you,” he peers up at me from behind his desk, all tapping for the moment ceasing.

I hear a whir and he leans back and to the side, grabbing the sheet which has just been spat out from the printer, before pushing back from the desk and walking over to me, “…if you have any blurred vision, unusual tiredness, vomiting or any symptoms out of the norm,” he leans down and placing his hands on the armrests, the paper in his hand crinkles as he cages me in and growls, “I want you to come back and see me.”

Oh swoon. I’d love to.

His hot breath fans across my face as he leans in, his plump lips brushing the end of my nose in a sweet, but too short kiss. I want to tilt my head up and capture his lips with mine, but I refrain. Again something about being here in this very public situation has me on edge. His eyes scan my face before he smiles and kisses my lips.

Definite swoon.

My skin flushes with heat and I’m so glad I’m sitting down, because I’m sure my legs wouldn’t be able to hold me up at the moment.

“I’ve written my mobile number down on a separate piece of paper. It’s there with your script,” he whispers before he kisses me again, sighs and pulls his hands back, straightening up to his full height.

At this position, his crotch is level with my eyes and I lick my lips as I stare at it. Although, if he steps any closer that huge bulge will be in danger of being attacked…public examination room be damned.

A moan bubbles out of my throat as I imagine his hot shaft in my hand, and my eyes reluctantly leave the dreamy sight of his erection and dart up to his face.

He’s smirking, his eyes dark and smoky with lust his chest rising and falling with his strained breaths. Damn if the sexy bastard doesn’t know exactly what I’m thinking.

My mouth waters up. My breath catches.

I don’t give a flying monkey’s arse.


The man’s so goddamn sexy.


He steps back and I find my breath and sanity again.

After dressing my finger, he walks past me, adjusting the stethoscope about his neck and the front of his scrub pants.

I swivel in the chair my eyes greedily following his impressive body. His hand touches the door handle and without pulling it open, he turns to me. His voice drops and roughens, and molten desire floods my body as the man who turned my world on its axis reappears, “My shift finishes in two hours. I’ll be expecting your call.” His darkened eyes sizzle as they hold mine, and his hand drops to his groin, his fingers closing over the front of his pants. “Don’t keep me waiting Candice. I’m not a patient man.”

My mouth waters up at the hidden promises I hear in his silky black tone. I nod my head mutely and blink as he pulls the door open, flashes me a wicked smile and disappears, the door closing shut behind him.

~ * O * ~

I look down at my bulging belly, and shift on the chair, my hand going to my side, gently pushing as I encourage the tiny body nestling within to shift over. The diamond on my left hand catches the beam of sun which spears into the room from a gap in the blinds and I smile as I watch it spark and appear to burst into flames, throwing out colourful prisms which dance around the walls like a merry-go-round made of light.

Levi and I’ve been together now for five years, and married for three of those.

Of course being such a dominant man, he’s more than once raised my hackles. I’m not ashamed to say we clash at time. We’ve certainly had our fair share of ups and downs.

But for the most part, it’s been a crazy, sexy five years.

He’s no longer working at the Club. Hasn’t for five years. I didn’t ask him to quit, he up and did it on his own. But I don’t mind telling you, that the relief I felt at knowing he wasn’t servicing a thousand other strange women was immense.

He’s never explained why he was moonlighting there, and I’ve never asked.

I don’t want to know.

I’m just happy that he’s all mine.

I shift again as my back begins to ache. Placing my hands on either side of my belly, I smile softly as I cradle our unborn child. “Soon my baby, only one month until we meet you,” I croon. My heart swells with love… I can’t wait to see Levi cradle his son in his arms.

*** THE END ***

Copyright (c) Jennifer Crowfoot 2015

Private Room Number Three

PRIVATE ROOM NUMBER THREE: A short story. 🌟Part One🌟


Butterflies flit about in the pit of my stomach, as I pause in front of the oak door the helpful, smiling hostess at the front desk downstairs had directed me to. Unsure, I look down the softly lit hallway on either side of me, double-checking before turning my attentions to the wooden barrier before me.

Yes, this is definitely the correct place, third door on my right, PRIVATE ROOM 3 engraved in elegant gold script on a matte black plaque. Just as she’d said.

Dragging my lip through my teeth, I taste the slightly waxy sweetness of my expensive lipstick as I wipe my sweating palms down the front of my dress….

A dress that I’d specifically brought for tonight.

Swipe once.

Swipe twice.

With my stomach tying itself in knots, I bow my head, my forehead resting against the smooth wooden door. Bringing a trembling hand up to the base of my throat, I feel the pulse nestled beneath the slick heat of my flesh tick wildly beneath my tingling fingertips.

“Oh shit, please God, don’t let me faint,” I whisper, my head buzzing and my lips tingling with the enormity of the situation I’ve found myself in. “Why I ever thought this was a good idea, I’ll never know. Maybe if I turn around and creep out now, no one will ever know I didn’t go through with it? I didn’t give them my real name or credit card details, so they can’t trace me.” Slipping my fingernail between my lips, I gnaw on it as I continue my solitary conversation, “They can just keep the money, it’s not like I’m short of cash after the divorce.”

Coward, my inner bitch snipes at me.

Taking in a deep breath I exhale, and, swallowing past the lump stuck in my throat, I mentally pull up my big-girl panties, straighten and holding my chin high, tentatively touch my right hand to the door knob, my numb fingers curling tightly around the solid orb.

I shiver, gooseflesh sweeping across my flesh at the contrast of the chill radiating from off of the brass handle, to the heat pouring out of my palm.

Despite the gentle swirl of cool air from the ducted air conditioning vent placed directly overhead, sweat beads across my forehead, my top lip and down in-between my breasts.

Taking in another deep shuddering breath, I knock and when no sound comes from within, I release my held-in breath on a heavy sigh, and turn the handle. The door opens on well-oiled hinges as I push against it and step inside, my heels clacking on the hard floor as I close the door gently behind me, the latch clicking shut with a discreet ‘snick’.

After the brighter illumination of the hallway and downstairs, the lighting in here is dim — cosy, I suppose you’d call it — and I blink a couple of times in an attempt to adjust to this new low level of light which I now see is emanating from within recessed wall nooks.

“How am I supposed to see anything in here, it’s too dark,” I murmur as I take two more steps into the room, before pausing.

I’m not entirely sure on the etiquette.

Should I go back out and knock again?

Or should I just stand here and wait?

From what the Club’s Hostess downstairs had explained in my private introductory meeting, I’d been expecting someone to greet me upon arrival, and finding myself alone has thrown me for a loop.

Contrary to my initial reaction, and as my eyes slowly adjust, I’m pleased to note the lights do give off enough illumination to see the room clearly. Deciding to take this moment by myself to investigate, I walk into the centre of the room, stop and look around. To my left is situated a plush lounge suite, and to my right, a — molten waves of heat flood my core at the sight — large four-poster bed, made up with crisp white sheets, pillows stacked in front of an intricate wrought iron bedhead.

Two closed doors are situated directly ahead and as I stare, wondering what lays beyond them, the one on the right swings open. My heart stops as the most stunning man I’ve ever seen, steps through.

The most stunning, half-naked man, I’ve ever set eyes upon.

My mouth floods and squeezing my thighs together beneath my dress, I swallow noisily.

He closes the door quietly behind him, at the same time catching sight of me standing frozen in the middle of the room, the fingers of one hand worrying the material of my dress, the other gripping my bag’s strap so tightly, I’m sure my knuckles have turned white.

Releasing the door handle, he cants his head, and slowly stroking his chin, his eyes drop…down, down, down, to my feet and then climb in reverse, slowly moving back up, his searing gaze unashamedly undressing me.

Feeling like a cornered deer beneath the hungry eyes of a starving wolf, I watch those same eyes darken as they linger on my heaving breasts. My knees weaken, and pools of molten desire pop and bubble in the pit of my belly as I feel the full brunt of his lust wash over me.

If you asked me right then and there what colour his eyes are, I couldn’t have told you, ‘cause by the time he smiles — a genuine panty-melter of a smile — I’m a total goner. My overwrought hormones and neglected body are both screaming, ‘Halle-fucking-lujah’ at the top of the vocal range as he bedazzles me with a look that’s half, pure-sex, and the rest all dark, sensual sin.

He walks towards me, his steps sure and steady, his bare feet slapping against the wooden floor. I gasp. Is this man for real? I’ve never seen any man that looks like this. His Adonis-like physique is a perfect example of what a sculpture would look like — if magically given the gift of life.

My mouth waters up as I stare.

My heart jumps into my throat.

My inner walls rhythmically clench around emptiness, the needy ache deep within my neglected core has me squirming on the spot with need, my fingers tingling with the desire to reach down, lift my skirt and reach beneath my panties and touch and stroke….

Soothe that throbbing ache away while he watches.

Holy shit, I’m a dirty, dirty, bad bitch.

I lick my lips, my breathing quickening at the thought of dropping to my knees, lifting my skirt and roughly pulling my panties to the side, before slowly stroking myself to orgasm, all while his eyes watch my every movement.

As if reading my thoughts on my face, he reacts instantly. Sucking back a sharp inhale, his eyes grow hooded as they dip down again to my heaving chest, my twitching fingers and back up to my face. His blazing eyes linger for a heartbeat on my parted lips, before sliding upwards and pinning me to the spot as he gazes deeply into mine.

I whimper in the back of my throat, my sex throbbing and paining with a greedy need, while inside my expensive Victoria’s Secret bra, my breasts grow heavy. Achy. My nipples peak into hardened buds, straining against the stiff lace of the pretty demi cup, the pointed fleshy tips tingling with the urgent need to be touched… caressed… suckled.




Moaning in the back of my throat, my head tips up, my eyes rolling back, as I imagine all the things this man can, and will, do to my body. I’ve paid a lot of money, to assure that he will.

Warm leather slips down my arm and over my hand, and from a place somewhere far away, comes a dull thud as my bag hits the floor. But I don’t care, I desperately need this man’s hands, tongue, and cock on me….

Jesus Christ, I want it in me.


Hard. Rough and dirty.

I squirm and wriggle my legs, rubbing my thighs together, feeling the familiar clenching and pulsing of an approaching orgasm.

He hasn’t even touched me yet and I’m gonna climax.

Fuck. Oh fuck me.

I’m panting and my inner dirty girl’s salivating at the promise of sweet release. I swallow down the excess moisture pooling in my mouth, and breathe in through my nose and out my mouth, trying to get myself back under control

Christ, how long has it been since a man has taken me with such lust blazing in his eyes?

My ex-husband stopped caring long ago, and with so many younger models lured by the sniff and promise of money, the dirty bastard’d stopped making love to me not long into our ten year marriage; preferring to get his rocks off inside barely legal flesh.

So, I’d been forced to seek my comfort elsewhere, but those bland encounters hadn’t satisfied the dark craving which lingered deep inside my psyche, a craving for something harder, rougher. Kinkier.


Something that drifted on the fringes of darkness.

Mr Insanely Hot hisses, the wickedly sensual sound pulling me back from the labyrinth of unhappy, unfulfilled memories which fill my head to overfull. At the vocalisation of his lust, I place my hand low on my belly, and drop my head down so I can look up at him from beneath the cover of my lashes as I run it up…up over my ribs and onto my throbbing breast. Squeezing my aching flesh, I move my hand up to my throat. Placing my fingers firmly around the hot skin at the base, I stroke up and down the column of my throat, imagining it’s his dick in my hand and I’m giving him a hand job.

Licking my lips, I watch him pause and shift his weight from one foot to the other. His Adam’s apple bobs wildly up and down in his throat as he swallows, and my chest clenches with excitement as I see his hand shift to his groin, those long fingers closing over his zipper and squeezing. My eyes drop, following the movement and a small gasp escapes my lips as I see the bulge straining against the front of his jeans, his large hand no way managing to disguise the size of his hard-on.

I moan again, imagining how he’d feel in my hand. The silky molten heat of his length, blood pumping beneath the skin, making him jump and twitch in my palm.

Against my closed fingers.

Releasing my throat, I drop my hand, my arms hanging loosely by my side as I raise my eyes and study him as his long legged stride closes the last few feet of distance between us.

Standing at least six foot, or a bit better, he wears his dark hair cut close to his head. The closer he gets allows me to see that his eyes are the colour of springtime — as in the most vibrant shade of mossy-green I’ve ever seen. These beautiful orbs are surrounded by lashes so thick, so long and coloured a black so deep, I’d class them as lethal weapons.

Those babies are designed to knock a woman flat on her arse, utterly enchanted and totally under his spell.

A strong jawline has just the right amount of shadowy scruff on it to make me wriggle my legs as I imagine the feel of those whiskers rubbing on my inner thighs.

Turned on, and utterly mesmerised by his pure masculine beauty, my lips part and I stand there, breathing heavily and totally helpless as I stare and stare and stare some more, at his gorgeous, god-like face.

He grins, not caring at all that I’m eyeing him off like he’s my next feed and I nibble my top lip as I watch those supernaturally luscious lashes fan up and down as he blinks.

Shirtless, his skin’s tanned a healthy golden brown, and mostly unmarked, bar for the deep ebony tribal art which adorns both arms down to his wrists, the swirling intricate ink continuing down onto both sides of his upper chest.

Holy shit, surely this man isn’t real?

I blink, expecting to find myself back downstairs, slumped over the bar, cocktail clutched in my lax fingers, drool running down my chin and into my hair, as I mumble gibberish at the barman.

But, Jesus, no! I’m still here.

Still watching Mr Impossibly Gorgeous striding the last few steps towards me.

The deeply carved muscles of his washboard-like torso ripple with every steady footstep and I forget how to breathe as my wide eyes trace the line of black hair snaking down from his navel, and dipping beneath the low hanging waistband of a pair of a very well loved and firmly fitting jeans.

My heart is pounding double-time as he draws within arm length and stops, spreading his legs and sticking his hands deep into the front pockets of his jeans, pushing the waistband down. I nearly choke on my tongue, when I spy the thick thatch of dark hair peeking out at me.

My eyes widen.

Is he commando?

Oh holy Christ, he’s gotta be, ‘cause I can’t see any underwear down there.

I groan.

“Lucy?” He asks, ripping me out of my fantasy where I’d been running my tongue and fingers down those impressive abs, at the same time as I slid my hand into the front of those soft as an Angel’s feather jeans.

“Yes,” I whisper, moaning like a whore at the mental image of what I’ve been imagining doing to him.

“My name’s Levi and I’ll be your….” I don’t mean to, but I tune out and closing my eyes, I let his sensual tone wash over me, caress every inch of me and set my core aflame with a lust that will surely destroy me if the flames aren’t quenched very soon.

He laughs, the sound deep. Raspy. Wicked. “You didn’t hear a fucking thing I said did you, Lucy?”

My eyes flick open, and my heart hammers wildly in my chest as he steps in front of me, tips his head to the side and gazes down on me. “So, Lucy, why would a beautiful lady like you, seek the services of a bad bastard like me? Eh?” His fingers reach out, the tips lightly caressing my jawline. Oh holy shit, I want to drop to my knees and rub against his legs, purring happily. I take a deep breath in, he smells so goddamn fine.

Hints of citrus, with added notes of pure masculine male, and promises of hot, steamy sex.

It’s potent and I feel my arousal flood my lacy black underwear. The scent of my musky perfume floods the super-charged air which sizzles and crackles between us and he inhales deeply, a smug smile cocking his lips up as he scents me. His tongue dips, tracing a slow, lazy path across his bottom lip, before darting back into his mouth and out of my sight.

Disappointment aches in my chest, and core, and I sigh.

I wanted that tongue on me.

In me.

His other hand snakes around my neck and strong fingers splay out against my nape. Curling up into my hair, he grabs a handful, holding me close to him. He tugs, the movement pulling my head back…just a fraction. At the slight sting on my scalp and his show of dominance I feel the skimpy scrap of lace between the apex of my thighs reach saturation point and my arousal trickles down my inner thighs.

His fingers tighten in my hair and he smiles darkly, his Lucerne coloured eyes glittering wickedly. “Don’t get me wrong beautiful Lucy…”

I want to shout that my name’s not Lucy, it’s Candice. But of course, I don’t. No real names used here. My head rocks backwards as he yanks on my hair and — Oh yeesss. God yeeess — I stifle the moan of pleasure rising in my throat at his dominating display of sexy alpha male.

This is what I’ve paid good money for. To be dominated…. In every way.

Tug. Tug. “…I’m glad you’re here and I’m gonna rock your fuckin’ world for the next hour,” he continues, unaware of my inner dialogue. “But I gotta admit, I’m fucking intrigued, you don’t look or act like my usual type.”

He bends forward, his hot breath fanning against my face as his lips brush the end of my nose, the corners of my lips, before leaving a scorching trail up along my jaw and to my ear. Sucking the lobe in his mouth, he bites down and then soothes the sweet sting with a hot sweep of his tongue.

His breaths are heavy, but even in my ear as he growls, “Strip. Now. And then get on the bed. Face up.”

Desire, lust and excitement flash through my bloodstream at his words and I wobble slightly on my heels at the anticipation of what’s to come.


Copyright (c) Jennifer Crowfoot 2015

Private Room Number Three

***Author’s note: this short story came about as a fun exercise in taking a picture and listening to what story — if any — it had to tell me. I think the end result has turned out okay. Thank you for reading. Part # 2: the conclusion will be posted very soon.***

♪ ♫ ♪ Special (extra long) extract from WICKED GOOD ♪ ♫ ♪


   ♫             ♫     

Those impossibly blue eyes burn into me, riffling through my mind, my chest.

It’s unnerving as all fuck.

“Belcebu, please get our guests a drink,” he orders without taking his piercing eyes from off of me. “I think a dram of Glenfiddich all round… no ice please… will help to relax our distinguished guests quite nicely.” Breaking eye contact, he turns slightly side-on to me and smiles; his attentions now firmly fixed on Halley. He studies her for a heartbeat before adding, “And a glass of red for the beautiful lady.”

Extending his hand, he waits patiently for her to offer her own. My eyes drop, following the movement and my heart skips a beat as I notice his fingernails.

Fuuuuck! They’re like stilettos.

And, once again, familiar in a way I can’t possibly explain.

I shiver, gooseflesh creeping like a tsunami across my skin as my blood turns to icy slush.

With a nervous lick of her lips, Halley drops her necklace and after a slight pause, finally places her tiny hand in his. His fingers close, completely encapsulating her hand in his.

Those brilliant blue eyes flash and darken, and a barely audible sigh of pure delight escapes his lips. Bending, he brings her hand to his mouth, and, very gently places a lingering kiss on the back of her satiny olive skin.

He shifts closer to her, his long fair hair brushing her face.

Uneasiness fading, I growl and clench my jaw and fist so I don’t give him a verbal spray before slamming my fist into his pretty-boy jaw.

He chuckles, his head swivelling to look at me. Winking, he looks away, his attention riveted on Halley, completing ignoring the fact that her boyfriend — me — is standing there.

“Ms Brown…” he leans in and his voice drops as he murmurs, “…or, may I have the deep honour of addressing you as…Sakura? That is the name anata no Okaasan gave you at birth is it not?”

What the fuck language is he gibbering in? Where’s he getting this shit from?

“You wouldn’t think me too forward would you?” He presses, practically purring as he straightens, her hand still captured between his.

Halley inhales sharply and blinks, her lush ebony lashes sweeping up and down over pinked cheeks. “No. Not at all. You speak Japanese very well Signore, and yes, that’s my birth name. But no one’s called me that since I was a small child. I just go by plain old Halley now, have done for years. I found that there was less teasing as a teen when I took a more Australian name.” She blushes harder and bites out a nervous laugh before sucking her plump bottom lip into her mouth and gnawing on it. Her head cocks and a tiny crease forms in-between her brows as she frowns. “But how did you know…?”

He lightly touches the end of one freaky fingernail to her nose and runs it upwards, the talon stroking the freckles dotted there. At his touch, her words trail off as she gazes up at him, her brow smoothing and a secret smile tipping up the corners of her lips as they seem to silently communicate. And, the bastard’s still holding her hand.

Well fuck, this shit’s not gonna fly. My arm tightens around her shoulder and I step backwards, forcing him to release her hand.

“Halley? What the fuck? ” I growl, my chest and gut constricting with pangs of jealousy. My eyes narrow as they flick between the pair of them. “Do you know each other? And how come you never told me that Halley wasn’t your real name?”

He smiles slyly at me, his eyes holding a secret I couldn’t possibly interpret, he looks like a con-artist who’s about to rip off my last dollar.

Halley’s head tilts to look up at me, long ebony strands of her hair tumbling forward, sending clouds of sweet gardenia into the air between us. Her freckled nose crinkles as she smiles at me. “No silly, we’ve only just met. Are you jealous Liam?” The frown returns and deepens. Her warm hand comes to rest on my chest, over my heart and I relax.

A fraction.

“Don’t be jealous. It just took me by surprise to hear Mama’s native tongue spoken. It’s been many years since I’ve last heard it spoken so fluently. And I never told you, because it never came up in conversation. You know me by the name I choose to call myself.”

Standing on tip-toes she brushes her lips softly over mine, her body heat making her perfume rise up from her bodice. Pulling back, she tucks herself beneath my arm, her head snuggling into the crease of my shoulder and chest, her arm snaking around my waist.

I watch blue eyes’ nostrils flare as he inhales, before exhaling with a shudder.

Shoving his hands down into his pants pockets, he once again addresses Halley. “If I may be so bold, I simply must tell you that you’re the most stunning woman I’ve seen in many a long year.” His eyes shift to me and I watch as the irises flash red before returning to their normal rich blue shade. Shit, I’m going nuts. “You’re a very lucky man, Mr Donahue.”

I frown, my jaw clamping tightly together, not liking his flagrant flirting.

Or her reaction to his obvious — to me — phoniness.

What a load of fucking shit. Flashy bullshit artist, I think.

My arm tightens, her silky hair brushing over my forearm as I pull her even closer to me; my fingers curling around her shoulder.




A sudden thought pops into my head, teasing me.

How does he know so much about Halley? I didn’t even know half of the shit he was babbling on about and I’m her lover. Of course, I know her mum’s Japanese and her dad’s Australian slash Italian, but that other shit? Her real name and shit? I hadn’t had the foggiest.

Another flash of guilt rushes through me at the knowledge that I’m a pathetic, selfish prick of a boyfriend. I really don’t deserve her.

His head tips to the side and one brow shoots up before he straightens and claps me on the shoulder with those fucking bear claws as if we’re the best of buds. Bending his head, he places his lips near to my ear and rasps, “Oh, I disagree Liam, you and Halley are a match made in Hell. And to answer your question, I know everything about all of you, Liam. I make it my business to research very thoroughly.”

Jesus Christ. I must’ve been thinking out loud like a stupid old man.

He chuckles, the low sound smooth and sensual as his Edward Scissor-hand-fingers indicate the table. In a lilting tone he says, “Come my friends, sit to the table, we’ve much to discuss and I’m sure you’re all dying of curiosity to find out the reason I’ve summoned you here?”

You’re a bit of an arrogant cunt as well as a bullshitting woman stealer.

He smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, they’re cold, storms brewing in their depths as I take Halley’s hand and lead her over to the table. Pulling out a chair, I wait until she’s seated before pushing it in and snagging the chair next to her.

            ♪  ♫ ♪  

Copyright (c) Jennifer Crowfoot 2015

***Author’s note. These extracts are all first drafts and may not appear in final published work.***


♪ ♫ ♪ Extract from WICKED GOOD: Liam and Halley. ♪ ♫ ♪

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


♪ ♫ ♪ Extract: WICKED GOOD ♪ ♫ ♪

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.


She’s here.

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