You’d think, being a minister, I’d wake on Sunday morning wondering what miracle lay in store for me that day. Unfortunately, more often than not I’d have the Saturday night why-did-I say-I’d-preach-on-Sunday blues. My colleagues and I lead our parishioners in choruses like “Victory is Mine” or classic hymns like “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God”, but many of us leave the ministry suffering from compassion fatigue or badly burned by well-intentioned dragons. I could have been one of those casualties but for a faith-reviving miracle.
From 2013-2015, I served as interim pastor to the United Presbyterian Church in Paterson, NJ, where I met an enthusiastic member named Diane Anderson. She wanted to hold an evangelistic service outdoors so members of the community could hear the message. For the benediction, we’d write prayers on index cards, tie them to helium balloons then release them. The Sunday of the service was warm and wonderful. We worshipped in the church parking lot and, at the end of the service, released our balloons as planned. They dotted a blue and cloudless sky.
The following Tuesday on our answering machine was a message from a woman who lived in Massachusetts just outside of Boston. She shared how one of our balloon blessings reached her backyard and was an answer to a prayer.
I called her back and had a wonderful conversation. It seems her father had recently died after a long bout with cancer. She’d gone that Sunday to his graveside and just talked to him, letting him know how much she missed him and didn’t know how she was going to go on without him. On Monday, as she was washing her dishes she glanced out her kitchen window and saw something stuck to a shed in her backyard. She went to retrieve it. It was a balloon with the following message attached: “Jesus, I am asking and believing in your name to continue to bless all those free of cancer and to those suffering that you will comfort them during this time.” She told me she wasn’t a religious person, but she felt sure our balloon was a sign from her dad that all was well with him and all would be well with her. Because our address was on the card she was able to track us down and thank us. She mailed the card back so I could share her thank you with the congregation the following Sunday.
I told Diane first. She had always wanted to do a service like this and thanked me for encouraging her to do it, despite the grumbling from the we’ve-never-done-it-that-way-before naysayers of the congregation. Diane now leads a ministry called Faithworks that feeds 500 people a month.
That balloon traveled 220 miles from our parking lot in Paterson to this woman’s Boston neighborhood. Ever since that call, I greet each morning with this prayer: “Thank you, God, for another day to be used by you for good.”
Coincidence or miracle? I believe the latter. What do you say?
One Breath Away
Sentenced to hang for a crime she didn’t commit, former slave Mary Hamilton was exonerated at literally the last gasp. She returns to Safe Haven, broken and resigned to live alone. She’s never been courted, cuddled or spooned, and now no man could want her, not when sexual satisfaction comes only with the thought of asphyxiation. But then the handsome stranger who saved her shows up, stealing her breath from across the room and promising so much more.
Wealthy, freeborn-Black, Eban Thurman followed Mary to Safe Haven, believing the mysteriously exotic woman was foretold by the stars. He must marry her to reclaim his family farm. But first he must help her heal, and to do that means revealing his own predilection for edgier sex. Hope ignites along with lust until the past threatens to keep them one breath away from love…
Excerpt from One Breath Away
She circled around him as if he were an open bear trap. “What if touching you in those ways doesn’t give me pleasure?”
Her words sliced across his throat. He pressed a fist against his heart then sucked air through his mouth to recapture his breath. “Then I’m wrong…but I honestly don’t believe I am.”
She frowned. “I told you I’ve no experience when it comes to relations between men and women.”
“You’re a fast learner, remember?”
She looked down. Interest burned in the gaze that traveled to his crotch. His cock twitched under her scrutiny. She returned her attention to his face, stared into his eyes, searched a minute.
Eban held his breath.
Come on stars. Be right.
She tilted her head. “You’ll show me what you want? Guide me? Instruct me?”
“If you’re willing.”
She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Fine. Show me.”
He unbuttoned his fly, let his pants slip slowly down his legs, and blew out a breath as her gaze followed his movements. He discarded his underwear, swallowed hard as he exposed his member to her. Her eyes widened.
“Your first impression?”
Still clutching her shoe, she approached him, reached for his cock, let her hand hover indecisively.
“Touch it anyway you like.”
She knelt on the mattress, laid her shoe aside and took his genitalia in her hands. He closed his eyes, melted in the immediate warmth of her fingers cupping his balls. A drop of semen pearled from the head’s slit.
“What is this?”
He opened his eyes, observed then relaxed at the curiosity in her gaze.
“Sperm.”
She thumbed the substance onto her fingers, examined it, sniffed it.
“Planted in your womb it becomes a baby.”
She spread the precious seed along his cock slit. He stifled a moan as a delicious thrill tripped up his shaft. She stopped. He looked down into eyes filled with concern.
“Have I done something wrong?”
He shuddered, shook his head. “No. You’ve done something very right. Please, continue.”
Since I’m here on the first day of Spring, I thought I should write about it. But not your usual stuff. You know cute fuzzy bunnies named fluff butt. Or how many bags of jelly beans that are needed to make infused vodka. Or the recipe for whip cream vodka cupcakes.
I wanted something different…something romantic. After all, spring is the season of romance and this is a romance blog. So, I went to the internet (what did we do before the internet? My 8-year-old wants to know something the 1st thing he does is say – google it – sorry, I got distracted) and looked up “Spring” things. Most involved cute bunnies and how to dye eggs (kool-aide works the best!)….And if you do romantic spring things make sure small kids aren’t in the room with you. Those were all a bit more steamy than I wanted to discuss on a guest blog 😉
Then I stumbled on an article about the Roman’s celebration of the spring equinox. They used the day to celebrate Cybele (Great Mother) and mourn Attis (her lover). It has everything needed for a great romance. A kick-butt heroine – a goddess named Cybele. Now Cybele wasn’t your average run of the mill goddess, oh no, she was definitely a step above. Sure, she rode in a chariot but no horses for her, nope, she had three lions pulling it. Let’s be real for a minute, now while lions might not be able to pull you as fast, it’s definitely would be way cooler!
When she wasn’t being pulled around in her lion drawn chariot, she was hanging out with her lover Attis. Did you pick up on the fact the day was spent celebrating AND mourning?
What’s a romance story without a little anguish between the hero and heroine??? You know where the hero wonders if the heroine really loves him… or is she having sex with the God three stars over?
Well, it turns out that there was more than a little anguish between Cybele and Attis. It seems that Cybele provoked such an amount of jealously in Attis that he castrated himself – and died!
And that is the story of Cybele and Attis. Sorry, no happy ever after.
My latest release doesn’t have lions in it, nor does the hero die (or castrate himself). It doesn’t have fluffy bunnies or cupcakes. But it does have a kick-butt heroine (even though she isn’t pulled around by lions) and hero. And a happy ever after.
Taking a Risk
If Leigh Ronaldson is one thing, it’s predictable. What’s wrong with having a routine? Apparently, it makes her boring or so her ex-boyfriend claimed as he dumped her. And her best friend agrees.
She decides to prove them wrong and books an extreme adventure in Ecuador. The hiking, kayaking, and camping she signed up for. She didn’t plan on the hot guide who by just looking at her made her squirm with desire and definitely not the drug cartel who wants them dead.
Nick Greco golden rule is never to touch a client. NEVER. But rules can’t be broken.
Once the local drug cartel starts hunting them, he knows it will take all his skill to get out of the Amazon jungle alive. And if your life is hanging in the balance even golden rules can be broken…
Thanks for having me! And if you would like to come and hang out with me…we will talk doughnuts, vodka (I’ll share how many jelly beans it takes to infuse the vodka), and planners…
Last summer, the owner of the first publishing house I joined, Liquid Silver Publishing, died. I hated hearing the news because she was a wonderful person to work with. With Liquid Silver, I’d sold, gosh, maybe twelve books and several novellas/short stories in anthologies. It was a good company to work for because they were fair, honest, and they paid on time. With her death came the problem of what to do with the books they still had on the docket. I recently received rights back for all of them. I also received rights back for the one non-erotic book I’ve written, Burning Bridges, written as Anne Krist. What to do, what to do…
I’ve only recently explored the adventure of self-publishing. It’s exciting and scary all at once. Exciting, because I am more in control of my own fate—responsible for quality and timeliness and marketing. Scary, because I am more in control of my own fate—responsible for quality and timeliness and marketing. It seems everything is a double-edged sword. What if I take charge of my own destiny (fun) and screw everything up (scary)?
With Burning Bridges, the book of my heart, I was happy to take the risk because I love the book so much. Reading through to edit and make necessary changes was actually a pleasure. Hubby designed a new cover that I (surprisingly, because I loved the first cover) like better than the first. Uploading the book went off without a hitch. So far, so good.
But when it came to marketing, I was kind of stuck. Do I market the book as new or revised? Should I even mention that it was out before? Anyone looking at the website—or even Amazon, since they can’t/won’t tell their marketplace vendors to remove images and offerings of older versions—will recognize the difference in cover art. And the book already has reviews. Do I use the old reviews in marketing the updated book? None of these questions had I considered before jumping into republishing. (To answer, I decided to use the old reviews in marketing, I noted that the book is republished on the copyright page of the book but don’t make a big deal of it in ads, and I use only the new graphic in messages and marketing.)
Since Burning Bridges, I’ve republished two other books, both written as Dee, and both paranormal: PassionateDestiny and Your Desire. They also have new covers (I think hubby outdid himself!) and have been updated slightly with re-reading/editing. I have about seven or eight more to go if I am to match the books I had on Liquid Silver’s site. It’s a daunting task! As I am repubbing, I’m putting books on Kindle Unlimited. If you are member of KU, I hope you will check them out.
So, is republishing books a PITA or fun? It’s a mix. If I had gone to one of my other publishers—assuming one of them would have accepted the books—it would have been so much easier. They would have taken care of cover art and editing, and I would have had help in marketing. But so far, I kind of like the idea of taking the reins of control for my work. I have found formatting for paperback is a bit of a pain but nothing that can’t be dealt with. The fun comes from reading my own work again. I don’t usually read a book of mine once it’s published. After reading Burning Bridges, Passionate Destiny and Your Desire, I kinda sit and say, “Did I really write that? It’s pretty darn good.” That’s the most fun part! I hope folks will take notice of my marketing and agree!
Burning Bridges: mybook.to/BurningBridges
Letters delivered decades late send shock waves through Sara Richards’s world. Nothing is the same, especially her memories of Paul, a man to whom she’d given her heart years before. Now, sharing her secrets and mending her mistakes of the past means putting her life back together while crossing burning bridges. It will be the hardest thing Sara’s ever done.
Passionate Destiny: https://tinyurl.com/sxy5sfh
When Margaret Amis-Hollings inherits an old house in Virginia, she never suspects she’d be sharing it with a very loving ghost. Or that her interest would be divided between her spirit lover and the very live man who’s renovating the place. Suddenly her life is intertwined with a soldier from a previous century and with his descendant, Aaron, who has a secret concerning her home. Is it coincidence or the power of a past love that makes Aaron want to share her life, as well as her destiny?
Your Desire: https://tinyurl.com/whkqtjf
Your Desire. A mysterious shop appears in town for one reason: to bring the spice of passion and the thrill of love to one special person. Magic is in more than the item purchased—it’s in the heart of the buyer, often hidden, usually surprising. And after enchantment takes hold? The store fades from sight and memory, only to reappear somewhere else. Maybe in your town….
About Dee S. Knight
A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.
After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! Once a month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.
A question I’m frequently asked is how do I keep my characters, storylines, etc. organized? The first answer that always lingers on the tip of my tongue is that I don’t. However, that isn’t true. It merely seems that way at the time. Let me explain.
First, according to results on the Myers-Briggs Personality Type Indicator (MBTI), I’m what is known as an ENTP. For those unfamiliar with the MBTI, it is a self-report personality questionnaire developed by Isabel Myer and Katherine Briggs that identifies a person’s personality attributes and preferences based on theories of personality archetypes formulated by the Swiss psychiatrist, Carl Jung. Now, I’m not going to diving into Jung’s theory. (Been there; done that in grad school. His writings aren’t exactly light reading.) Fortunately, one doesn’t have to be familiar with Jung’s work to understand the MBTI, as the creators already did the work.
The MBTI divides personality archetypes into four categories.
1. Extroversion – Introversion
2. Intuition – Sensing
3. Thinking – Feeling
4. Judging – Perceiving.
These four categories in combination form sixteen personality types. I won’t be discussing the ins and outs of the MBTI. Readers interested in learning more or taking the MBTI for themselves are encouraged to visit the Myers & Briggs Foundation website.
As previously mentioned, my personality type is ENTP (Extroverted, Intuitive, Thinking, Perceiving). The N is what denotes my creativity; however, it is the P that causes me issues in organization. I generally like to substitute the P to mean procrastination instead of perceiving. Oof! However, I have an organized type of procrastination going on. For other Ps that probably made a lot of sense while all the Js are likely scratching their heads. See, I’m aware of deadlines and schedules and am mindful of how long it will take me to perform tasks. From the moment I’m first aware of a task, I begin mentally preparing a plan. Granted, this may not be a good or solid plan, but it’s a start. Don’t come for me. It is the P in me that has me, um…should we say lacking in organization? Which brings me to my second point.
I’m a panster. Yep, card-carrying. I know most of my fellow writers who are plotters have just come unwound. It’s okay. We’re all different. Look, I tried doing the outline and was about to cast myself into the Pontchartrain, but these waters have gators. When I write, I don’t need a bunch of Post-Its telling me what comes next. I write the scene as I’m feeling it. If it doesn’t belong in the final draft, I cut it.
I’ve heard the argument that creating an outline prevents plot holes and allows one to write faster. Uh huh. It does only if your mind is designed that way. Outlining slows me. I get caught and hung up in details and forget what I want to say. My work comes across as being contrived and forced. This isn’t a criticism of being a plotter. It’s just not a process that has worked for me.
According to the MBTI, women are more likely to be Fs than Ts. My T score is much lower than all my other scores. In fact, my scores on all the other scales are towards the falling off extreme end, while my T score is in the single digits. Instead of going on emotions, I really analyze matters. If one asks my friends, I analyze too much. This over-analyzation is the N in me trying to find a deeper meaning. Typical Ts make judgments that are based on logic. I must see and identify the problem before I am able to formulate solutions. If I tried to outline that, I’d extinguish an entire ecosystem with the number of index cards. As they say here, “Naw, sis, that ain’t happening.”
But make no mistake, there is organization. I do jot down ideas. I have two notebooks that I use to track ideas as well as things that I’ve learned in the past. For example, when I receive constructive criticism, I make a note of it. These notebooks are also where I write all of my notes. Now, why don’t I write them electronically? Two reasons. First, I’ve had computers to crash and suffer premature death, losing all of my work. I do back up, but I’ve had flash drives to be corrupted and cyber storage (e.g., Cloud) to be wiped out and vanish. Now, if this isn’t this next example isn’t the dumbest thing to happen to me, I don’t know what is. I was using my laptop while in bed. I sat it on the mattress to go to another room. As I was leaving, I tripped over the cord, and the computer slid onto a bench at the foot of the bed. The flash drive splintered.
Second, it’s easy for me to have my notebook beside me as I write and easily flip through it instead of bumbling through multiple screens. It’s an easy reference for me, especially when I’m editing. A lot of what I write in the notebook, I don’t keep long term. For example, I often use editing checklists. As I edit, I scratch items off or make notes. Since I make multiple self-edits, use the list several times. Often, my checklists are specific to the story I’m writing.
There’s also a third reason that I didn’t want to mention but guess I should if I’m being completely transparent. I really just like pretty notebooks and doodling in the margins.
As far as keeping my storylines and characters organized, I don’t find that difficult since I give them each a distinctive personality and image. If I find myself unable to remember my characters, that’s a problem, and that character either needs a major overhaul or the guillotine. One thing about me is that I’m not afraid to slash into my story to bring readers the best story possible.
I think a huge element in my organization is that much of my story is written in my head prior to my sitting down at the computer. I know most of the key elements, and I need to get them on paper before they evaporate. Once I get the large chunks down, I can add the sprinkles. It’s the life of a panster. Don’t hate.
And that’s how I keep organized.
For more of how I write, my stories, and my shenanigans, giveaways, and more, check out my blog, Creole Bayou, www.genevivechambleeconnect.wordpress.com. New posts are made on Wednesdays, and everything is raw and unscathed. Climb on in a pirogue and join me on the bayou. If you have any questions or suggestions about this post or any others, feel free to comment below or tweet me at @dolynesaidso. You also can follow me on Instagram at genevivechambleeauthor or search me on Goodreads or Amazon Authors.
And also, don’t forget to check out my new steamy, sports romance, Ice Gladiators, guaranteed to melt the ice. It’s the third book in my Locker Room Love series.
Taz has problems: a stalled career, a coach threatening to destroy him, a meddling matchmaking roommate, and a thing for his other roommate’s boyfriend. The first three are manageable, but the last… well, that’s complicated. Because as much as Taz is attempting not to notice Liam, Liam is noticing him.
Missed the two books in my sports romance series? No frets. Out of the Penalty Box, where it’s one minute in the box or a lifetime, out is available at https://amzn.to/2Bhnngw. It also can be ordered on iTunes, Nook, or Kobo. Visit www.books2read.com/penalty. Defending the Net can be ordered at www.books2read.com/defending. Crossing the line could cost the game.
Happy Almost Spring from North Texas! I’m Liberty Ireland – Book Wrangler, Aspiring Author, and Super Mom and Wife. I’m so grateful Delilah gave me the reins for the day and I’m glad to meet y’all!
I find that whether we are a reader, reviewer or author, one thing binds us all together – our great love of reading books. I can remember my parents reading to me at bedtime, my Mom always taking us to the library for their Summer Reading fun and choosing a family book to read on road trips. As a teen, I’d leave my door open while doing homework so I could hear my Mom read Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing to my brother. I excelled in English throughout my schooling because of my reading and fell madly in love with Rhett Butler, Shakespeare, Atticus Finch and the like. Right about then I discovered Romances and Fabio but somewhere along the way of becoming an adult, reading became less and less of an escape and priority for me.
Eventually, along came Stephanie Meyer and Edward and Becca Fitzpatrick and Patch to whom I will be forever grateful for reinstilling in me that passion for reading. Now I read almost exclusively Romance with many favorite subgenres ranging from Historical to Western to Romantic Suspense to Dark and Twisty. I have hundreds of favorite authors and have learned that I have several favorite tropes as well. I have even rediscovered my desire to be an author.
What about you, Dear Reader? How did you become a reader and/or what are some of your favorites?
Leave an answer below, and on March 21st I’ll choose a random winner of a $10 Amazon or B&N gift card (US only)
From the unedited Prologue of my WIP:
…Jake took a deep breath and knew he had to follow through on what he’d planned. Coming over here today was for the last time. He knew how hurt she’d be when she discovered his deceit and that he wasn’t coming back but it was for the best. Her heart would heal in time and she would find someone who could give her all the things she deserved – a stable home life, a man that worshipped the ground she walked on and a bunch of kids just as beautiful as her.
She stirred as he leaned over and kissed her. He tenderly watched her as she relaxed again into a deeper slumber then he eased up off the quilt she’d
put down for them. As he put his shirt and boots back on, he knew he was doing the right thing. It just sucked that he had to hurt her in order to do it.
He trudged through the rain to his truck and started it up. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and hit redial.
“Mr. Sanders? Jake Peterson. I wanted to let you know that if your offer is still open, I’d love to join the PBR tour. Yes sir, I can leave right after I grab my trailer and put my horse in it. Yes, I know where that is. Okay, I’ll see you there.”
Jake hung up and put the truck in gear. He looked up to where his Panda was sleeping. “Go on and live your life Sugar, the way it is meant to be lived.”
He kissed his fingers and blew it in her direction then he slowly pulled out.
A. Catherine Noon here, author and textile artist. Thank you so much to Delilah for hosting me today! I’m glad to be back.
I don’t know about you, but the pace of life seems much faster than it ever has before. And I’m definitely struggling with burnout.
This beautiful boy above is a golden eagle, who lives at the Northwest Trek wildlife preserve in Washington State. He’s got a problem with his wings, but he’s fierce and beautiful.
One of the suggestions for recovering from burnout is rest. I’m not sure I have any suggestions for how to rest, but the zoo is one of my experiments. I left my ringer off for the visit, though I did use my camera on the phone for a few shots. For the most part, though, I tried playing with my digital SLR camera, a Nikon CoolPix.
My next experiment is to take a course on Bluprint in Digital Photography, so I can get better at using the camera.
For most of the day yesterday, I didn’t think about anything besides wandering around the wildlife preserve with my husband. I didn’t worry about politics, work, or any of the stressors that plague daily life.
If you are reading this and have suffered any kind of trauma or major stressors, know this: you are not alone. Resting is not a weakness, and getting help is not stupid. Mental health is health, and we need to end the stigma. And writers are as prone as anyone to having challenges with mental health. The frustrating thing for me is that I’m at the point now where my personal issues are not reached by words, by writing. They’re deeper, pre-verbal. Image-based.
And so, I play with my camera and fiddle around with collage. I remember Delilah talking about her doodling, and I’ve watched that avidly. It seems like a fun way to engage some of the same parts of the brain.
What about you, Dear Reader? What are some of your favorite ways to de-stress?
“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.”
– E.E. Cummings
It’s release day!! Yes, my story, Brian released yesterday—but not because I was trying to get out ahead of everybody else. I was simply calendar-challenged when I selected my date. I thought I’d chosen a Tuesday. Which is really kind of stupid, because KDP gives you a little calendar to look at when you choose your date, but I had the 24th in my brain, so the 24th it would be.
Anyways, lots of great books to celebrate today: Mine (ahem, Brian), my sister Elle Jame’s (SEAL’s Vow), and the one I’m featuring here today, written by my friend and fab author, Reina Torres!
From Fab Friend & Author Reina Torres
Part of the challenge of setting a Romance in the early 1970s was giving it a different feel from the modern-day. The book didn’t qualify as a “historical” in the book sense, but since I was setting it back almost fifty years in the past, there were certain things that brought me back into the early 70s: Clothes and Music.
Clothes were fun: terrycloth, corduroy, denims—and all the fun that went along with those fabrics.
Music was a little more of a challenge…
I was born in 1973, and my mother has often told me that I sang before I spoke. I’m guessing she means in complete phrases or sentences, but she just repeats the same stories over and over. My mom and dad both worked for the United States Postal Service, so I think you can safely say that I’m a Postal Child. 🙂
My dad worked the day shift, and my mom worked the graveyard shift. So when my dad headed off in the morning to go to work, he’d put me in the passenger seat (remember, it’s the 70s), laid back and wrapped up in my favorite blanket. He’d put the radio on for the drive into downtown Honolulu, heading straight to the post office where my mother worked. She’d get in the driver’s seat, and my dad would climb in the back, and we’d drop him off at work before my mom turned toward home.
I’d doze the way there and back, singing to the radio the entire time to songs like this one…
When I started writing Jesse, I did a little brainstorming on the earliest songs I could remember, and then came the reality check while going through the songs and checking to see which ones were in the right time period and which came after 1973-1974. With a couple of “oops” choices, I actually managed to put together a list of songs that helped take me back in time.
Much like Richard Collier in the movie Somewhere in Time, surrounding myself with the music of the era helped take me back in time for the book. So, I hope you’ll enjoy a little trip back in time to see how Jesse Sutton and Etta Bradford met and fell in love.
The rest of the series will be the stories of their children as they continue The Suttons – An American Legacy.
The instant he said it, he tensed, expecting to feel her hand across his cheek.
When she didn’t, he gave her a curious look, doubling down on his stupidity, and a moment later he wished that she had cracked him across his jaw. It would have been better than the way her expression crumbled as she took a step back, breaking the hold he had on her hand, and her shoulders sagged.
He was an ass. That was clear.
What he needed to do was apologize.
Quickly.
But all the words he needed to say were stuck somewhere in the back of his mind along with the sense that should have helped him keep his mouth shut in the first place.
“I’ve been kissed before!”
What?
That wasn’t what he asked.
Not by a long shot.
But, then again, her answer was just as telling.
He wasn’t just an ass. He let his mouth get way ahead of his brain. A fucking stampede ahead of the stage.
“I’m not talking about the playground, Etta. I’m talking about a kiss.” His voice had dipped dangerously low, vibrating through him like a tuning fork and making him just as hard.
He took a step closer.
Etta countered by taking a step back. They danced that way across the sidewalk until he knew he had her exactly where he wanted her.
Against the wall.
She knew it too. Her palms flattened against the wall at her sides and her shoulders pushed back. She raised her gaze up to meet his as if she was trying to tell him that she wasn’t nervous, but he saw the way her breathing shallowed, her skin flushed, and her lips parted as he moved even closer.
And he continued until the toes of his boots were almost nudging the tips of her shoes. He raked his gaze up over her feet, the hem of her dress, over the tantalizing rise and fall of her breasts and back up along the flushed skin of her chest, neck, and face.
He lifted a hand and gently touched her cheek. “First,” he smiled at her, “one, or both people, have to move their nose out of the way. So, we’ll go with both here.” He put the tiniest bit of pressure on her cheek and tilted her head a little bit. “Next, we’ll keep teeth out of it, unless you want to bite a lip… that could be fun.”
She swallowed and he swore he could hear the soft sound echoing off the thick concrete walls. “Is that all?”
“All?”
Etta nodded, but he didn’t see the motion, he could only feel it against his fingertips. “The rules?”
The corner of his mouth lifted and he leaned in closer, bracing his free hand on the wall just above her shoulder. “Those aren’t rules, Etta. Just a few things to make it easier.”
“Easier?” She echoed the word with a tight, breathy voice. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t,” he sighed and trailed the hand against her cheek into her hair, enjoying the feeling of it against his skin, “but I’m going to show you.”
She blinked up at him. “Okay.”
If she didn’t stop looking at him like a sacrificial lamb, he was going to lose his mind.
“There’s a time and place for hard kisses, sweetheart.”
Etta nodded as if she was making a note in her head. So beautiful and if he was any judge, innocent in so many ways.
“But tonight,” he moved closer until his lips were close enough to hers to feel the heat of her skin, “we’re going to start with gentle.”
“Gentle…” her lips were so damn close and he could hear the curious plea in her tone, “okay.”
He couldn’t wait another moment. He touched his lips to hers and felt her tense. He waited until her body eased into the sensation before he moved away.
Her eyes fluttered open. And she looked into his eyes as her brow pinched ever so slightly.
He smiled at the curious question he saw in her eyes. “What is it, Etta?”
She swayed closer. “Was that… all?”
“You want more?”
She opened her lips to answer and he swept in to kiss her again. Press in closer until he could feel the way her lips pressed back against his. Plump. Plush. Made for this. Made for him.
Contest
Pick your favorite song from my list above, and I’ll select a random person to win a download of Jesse!
Burning Bridges: 
Passionate Destiny: 
Your Desire: 
