UPDATE: The winner of the gift card is…ButtonsMom2003!

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How does a girl choose between the bad boy who needs her and the boy next door she’s always loved? Dani Standifer arrives home at her West Texas family ranch a day early, ready to pick up where she left off with Rowe Ayers, her high school sweetheart. However, when she opens the door to their line-shack trysting place, it’s clear she waited a day too long. Rowe’s with someone else—another man. And not just any other man—it’s Justin Cruz, the bad boy with whom she shared one wild encounter, years ago. Justin’s waited a long time for this moment. He knows his reputation, but since he seduced Rowe, he’s been a one-man cowboy—waiting for Dani to return and become the delicious fulfillment of his and Rowe’s needs—if she’s up to the challenge. To her own surprise, Dani finds she’s more than ready to have both men in her life—as soon as she and Rowe teach Justin a lesson or two about love. Their small town may not be ready for their kind brand of loving. And Dani’s brother Cutter’s mile-deep grudge against Justin throws in a complication that could break the foundation the three of them hope to build… Get your copy here! ~~~~~~~

I’m Hunter. It’s the name I was born with, and the name my SEAL buddies let me keep, due to my uncanny instinct for finding enemy combatants. I’m not an easy guy to know. Most women might give me a look, but there’s something in my eyes I’ve been told, that makes them wary about coming closer. A hint of violence that only freaks find sexy. Freaks—and Sara, my little sister. Stepsister, that is. Get your copy here! ~~~~~~~

One lonely cowboy’s revenge was never so sweet! Cutter Standifer is a man with a rigid personal code, who’s having trouble “acclimating” to the fact his little sister is marrying one cowboy and shacking up with a second. That the man she’s marrying is the same one who shattered his world a year ago isn’t something he can get past. Forgive and forget? Like hell. Not when he lost the only woman he ever loved. It’s been a year since Katie Grissom shared the same air as Cutter, but she can tell he’s still simmering with anger over her betrayal. However, she’s been praying for a chance to make it up to him, so when Cutter offers her a no-strings affair, she jumps at the chance, hoping to either break through the rigid wall he has built around his heart or get him out of her system for good. When Mother Nature complicates their arrangement, she’s scared he’ll do the right thing for all the wrong reasons. Now, she may never know whether she’s truly forgiven or whether he’ll ever learn to love her again. Get your copy here! ~~~~~~~

When a lonely shut-in’s online query is answered for a sexy rendezvous, she’s stunned when her handsome “escort” proves more adept and familiar than she’d dreamed… Get your copy here! ~~~~~~~

Jane wants Bruno…Bruno wants Cord…Cord wants Jane…but can everyone get what they really want? Jane, fresh from a breakup, decides to seduce Bruno, one of the firemen next door, to restore her shattered confidence. But the trap she sets is sprung instead by his best friend, Cord. After she flees in embarrassment, Bruno makes a proposition too wicked for any good girl to consider, but how can she refuse the chance at not one, but two strapping firemen? Bruno’s shared women with Cord before, but decides to use Cord’s attraction to Jane to break down his friend’s defenses for the ultimate threesome. Cord thinks he knows how this little tryst will go down, but he’s seduced into allowing Bruno intimacies this hetero guy has never before considered. Get your copy here!

Contest

For a chance to win a small Amazon gift card, tell me your summer plans!

UPDATE: The winner is…Annie Chanse!

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I like to write and read about strong women.  Probably all of us do, from time to time, but even if I start out trying to write a more submissive character, by the end she’ll be as strong-willed as any hero. In my very first long ago erotic short story (eventually published in Dream Lover, an anthology edited by Kristina Wright for Cleis Press,) the central character is a prostitute dominated and brutalized by her pimp, a woman who has given up on herself and drifts through life. By the end, though, she has saved a demon imprisoned in a huge gargoyle outside her penthouse window, and become a powerful demonic angel herself. Yes, I also love fantasy stories.

I love to write historical fiction, too, but I don’t even bother any more to try giving my heroines a softer edge. In “Flight of the Falcon” (in Delilah’s anthology Hot Highlanders and Wild Warriors) the Armenian Lady of Aragatsotn is every bit a match for the Mongol General from Ghengis Khan’s Golden Horde. In the other relatively few straight erotica stories I’ve written, I have heroines like a hot-air balloon pilot in 1800s San Francisco, a WWII Russian bomber pilot in the factual all-women Night Witches squad, and a semi-witch who saves the supposed “ogre” in the Puss in Boots tale. All strong women letting you share in their fun, and their sex.

With my preference for strong women, it’s not surprising that most of my work in recent years has been centered on lesbian characters, where I can have two (or more) strong women to play with. When I was invited several months ago to write a lesbian superhero novella, I wavered for a while—I’ve never actually been into superheroes, and I’ve never written anything longer than a short story. But I had a hint of an idea, and it seemed like a good time to take the plunge into a somewhat longer form than a short story, so I signed a contract, did great amounts of research, and actually got my piece done by the deadline. Whew. But—let me rephrase that. BUT! I was then told that I’d squeezed so much plot into the novella that I had to expand it into novel length. Which I’m trying to do, but there’s more difference between short stories and novels than just the word count. The pacing is different, and so is the way the characters are developed, and my editorial inclination to say the most in as few words as possible (I edit short stories for anthologies) makes it hard to adjust to the novel form. In short, this project is really kicking my butt. I love my characters, and I’ll finish the book, but it may well not be any good. It certainly won’t be what superhero fans expect, but it WILL be about very strong women. The title, probably, will be The Shadow Hand, from Ylva Books in 2018

I am now officially in awe of people who can write novels.

Back on the short story anthology front, I’ve been trying for years to get my main publisher to let me take on a fairy tale theme that would center on strong women and tweak the traditional expectations.  Finally, success! My newest anthology, Witches, Princesses and Women at Arms: Erotic Lesbian Fairy Tales, is written for those who have had to settle for envisioning “he” as “she” when they’re reading fairy tales. I know similar books like this have been done every now and then, but I got such great stories from excellent writers that the stories themselves are worth reading as stories, regardless of the orientation of the characters—or of the readers.

Most of you probably don’t do this private re-gendering of characters in stories you read, and you may not like to read fairytales at all. Or if you do reimagine the characters, more likely you try now and then to envision “she” as a second “he”, which is fine. I’ve dabbled in m/m fantasy myself. Any variety is good exercise for the imagination (and the senses.) All else being equal, though, I take a story where it needs to go, with the characters who can best get it there. More often than not, these characters turn out to be lesbians, and this new anthology is a prime example. I know there are many readers who have longed for flights of imagination that could sweep them up into worlds of magic and sensual delights—if only all those heroes winning the day (and, of course, the girl) didn’t get in the way. Why can’t we have heroines who win each other?

As it turns out, we can. I asked writers for erotic romance, magic, and wild adventure, with women who use their wits, special powers, and/or weapons, and come together in a blaze of passion. The writers didn’t fail me. Some adapted traditional tales, and some updated old stories to contemporary times, in every case not merely changing the gender of a character but making the female aspect essential. Some created original plots with a fairy tale sensibility, while some wrote with merely a subtle aura of fantasy.

Their heroines are witches, princesses, brave, resourceful women of all walks of life, and even a troll and a dryad. There is laughter, sly wit, and an occasional tear; curses and spells, battles and intrigue, elements of magic and explorations of universal themes; and, yes, sex, sensuality and true love, all bound together into complex and many-layered stories. Whether a character is royalty or a miller’s daughter, a woman warrior passing as a man, a sorceress in flowing robes, or even a window inspector dangling in harness on a modern high-rise building—who better to rescue a long-haired captive in a tower?—all the relationships are passionate, intense, sometimes quick to ignite, sometimes all the hotter for restraint that flares at last into a fierce blaze.

If this just isn’t your thing, though, that’s okay. Maybe you could imagine that one of the “shes” is a “he”, although the fact of the characters being female is essential to most of the plots. But you might well discover that these stories of strong women in fantasy settings are well worth reading just as they are.

The Library Journal Review says of the book, “There is one creative hit after another…An excellent series of Sapphic fantasies. Highly recommended.”

Here’s a very non-representative excerpt from my own story in the book, but really, the stories are so varied that it would be hard to cite one as being representative. I went for humor in this one, but with more than humor at its core.

Trollwise by Sacchi Green

Trip, trop, trip, trop. Hjørdis stood back in disgust as Princess Tutti pranced across the bridge, hips swaying, the false tail strapped to the seat of her gown twitching. A coy toss of Tutti’s head knocked the goat horns on her headdress slightly askew. “Oh, Mr. Troll,” she piped in a falsetto voice, “are you there today? Don’t you want to eat us up? Look, this time there is a meatier prey than just we little goats!” She cast a mocking glance back toward Hjørdis. “A buxom brood mare!”

Hjørdis would have swatted the silly girl’s rump if there had been enough of it to be worth the trouble. Or, more truthfully, if she herself had not been bound by oath to abide peaceably among these puny southerners. For now. As it was, she took a threatening stride onto the wooden planks. Tutti ran off giggling toward the meadow, from which sounds of pipes and laughter and occasional playful shrieks rose above the lazy burbling of the stream.

Princess Vesla, also adorned with horns and tail, came up timidly beside Hjørdis. “There truly was a troll under the bridge a week ago,” she said in a tremulous voice. “When Tutti called out, I heard its voice, like the rumbling of stones. She thinks it was Werther, the dancing master, trying to frighten us, but I’m sure it wasn’t!”

“Oh? What did he say?” Hjørdis made some small effort to tolerate Vesla, who was not so spiteful as her sister Tutti. She felt also a slight sympathy for the girl, who had formed a hopeless passion for Hordis’s captive brother Harald. At least accompanying them on their outing, however nasty it promised to be, was an excuse to leave the castle.

“It said, ‘Scrawny bones not fit to pick my teeth! Get you gone!’” Vesla shivered. “But we haven’t heard anything since.”

Hjørdis knew a great deal more about trolls than these little twits ever could. More than anyone could who had not known Styggri. That sounded all too much like what Styggri would say, in a humorous mood. But Styggri had crossed into another world from which there was no return.

Hjørdis looked more closely at the bridge. Its sides and the pillars beneath were stone, with wooden planking wide enough for two carriages to pass side by side over its double arch. And wide enough for a troll to lurk beneath, although why one should wish to, or venture this far south at all, was beyond her. Still… She gazed far upstream to where water surged out from a cleft in a rocky hillside. Nothing to compare with the jagged mountains and plummeting rivers of her home, but still part of a long arm of hills and ridges reaching out from those same mountains.

“You go on to your frolicking.” She gave Vesla as gentle a shove as she could manage. Gods, these pampered southern girls were brittle, twiggy things! And their brother the prince—her husband under duress—was no better. “I’ll sit a while here in the shade of the birches. This heat annoys me.”

“Oh! Are you, then…already…”

“No! And if I were, it would be too soon to know. Go along now!”

Vesla went, trying to keep the gilded wooden heels of her shoes from making as much noise on the bridge as Tutti’s had done. Once safely across she looked back over her shoulder. “Give Werther a few stomps from me,” Hjordis called. The foolish dancing master deserved whatever he got, with his tales of ancient times in foreign lands where satyrs danced on goat hooves and bands of women ran wild under the spell of a wine god.

Get your copy here!

Giveaway

Comment about strong women, fairy tales, or short stories versus novels, and be entered for a drawing to win a paperback copy (in North America) or an ebook (elsewhere) of Witches, Princesses, and Women at Arms.

About the Author

Sacchi Green is an award-winning writer and editor of erotica and other stimulating genres. Her stories have appeared in scores of publications, including eight volumes of Best Lesbian Erotica, four of Best Women’s Erotica, and three of Best Lesbian Romance. In recent years she’s taken to wielding the editorial whip, editing thirteen lesbian erotica anthologies, including Lesbian Cowboys (winner of a Lambda Literary Award,) Girl Crazy, Lesbian Lust, Women with Handcuffs, Girl Fever, Wild Girls, Wild Nights (also a Lambda Award Winner,) Me and My Boi, and Best Lesbian Erotica of the Year 20^th Anniversary Edition, all from Cleis Press, as well as Through the Hourglass: Lesbian Historical Romance and Thunder of War, Lightning of Desire (Lethe Press.) Sacchi lives in the Five College area of western Massachusetts, gets away to her NH mountain retreat as often as possible, and makes the occasional foray into the real world to do readings in New York and other exotic locales. She can be found online at www.sacchi-green.blogspot.com and on Facebook..

UPDATE: The winners are…Shirley Long, Patricia Stanley, and Kate Kelly

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UPDATE: Part 4 is out!
Get your copy here!

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Did you love the first three installments of my short story series, With His SEAL Team, Parts 1-3? Yeah, they were short, but sizzling hot, right? Well, I’ve wrapped up Part 4. This time, we get to see the story from Hunter’s point of view! If you haven’t read the first three, click on the covers to check them out!

I don’t think Part 4 will be the last, but it depends on you. As always, if you love the story, and want more of my sexy SEALs, all you have to do is let me know! Part 4 should be live later tonight or tomorrow. I’ll be sure to update this post with the link when it does! Be looking for it!

Contest

Let me know in the comments whether you’ve read any of Sara’s and Hunter’s stories. I’ll choose three winners to gift a copy of their choices of one of the first three installments.

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Read an excerpt from Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His SEAL Team, Part 4…

I’m Hunter. It’s the name I was born with, and the name my SEAL buddies let me keep, due to my uncanny instinct for finding enemy combatants. I’m not an easy guy to know. Most women might give me a look, but there’s something in my eyes I’ve been told, that makes them wary about coming closer. A hint of violence that only freaks find sexy. Freaks—and Sara, my little sister. Stepsister, that is. Sara never seems to notice I’m a badass.

From day one, when our parents introduced us, she treated me as though I didn’t have a single hard edge and like my silences were invitations for her to speak. She was so chatty and flirty that first day, my dad had laughed his ass off, because he knew I had a certain reputation already, and she was oblivious to the danger. Blissfully so, because she couldn’t help hugging my arm and leaning into me, so happy to have a brother, she’d said, and “I can’t wait to do things with you, Hunt.”

“Hunter,” I’d ground out, not knowing how to shake off the pretty, blonde princess who wore pink from head to toe and had sparkles on her eyelids.

My dad had cleared his throat and given me a warning glare to play nice, but Sara hadn’t noticed how uncomfortable I was. Or, so I’d thought. I just hadn’t figured out how smart she really was, and how much my frowning resistance challenged her.

No, even during that first meet I’d felt a sense of doom weighing on my shoulders as she’d blinked her pink-sparkled lids and given me her wide-eyed stare. Her blue eyes had captured me, and I’d felt like I was falling. Right then, I’d felt my first stirring of arousal for the one girl who should have been completely off-limits.

However, Sara didn’t “do” boundaries. More than once, she’d flounced into my room in her undies to ask to borrow something—a pencil or a hairbrush—then root around my room, turning and bending, making sure I noticed her cute ass or how nicely her tits filled her bra.

Once, she’d even picked the bathroom lock to walk in on me while I’d jacked off. She’d paused in the doorway, then hurried inside, closing the door behind her, while I’d reached for a towel to hide my erection. She’d plopped onto the closed toilet seat and proceeded to tell me I had to let her watch or she’d tell my dad I’d “borrowed” his porn.

Sure she’d lose her nerve, I’d given her a steady glare and continued, all the way until I’d pumped come into the towel. I’d been angry, but also entranced, because while her cheeks had reddened, her nipples had poked against her T-shirt and her breaths had come faster. After that day, I stopped being shocked when she barged in to catch me nude in the shower or in my bed.

Fucking her had been inevitable. And sweeter than anything I’d ever experienced. And although I’d paraded other women in front of her, trying to do the right thing by ending her attraction—even after I’d joined the Navy and become a SEAL, with my own apartment, my separate life—I’d continued to allow her to invade my space. She’d show up at my place, smile at my girlfriends, then wait around for them to leave before doing her best to show me that she was the only girl for me.

When she couldn’t afford her apartment, I’d told her she could stay with me—until she got back on her feet. But she’s never left, and I’ve never asked her to.

Fact is, I need her. She’s my sunshine. When I come back from a mission feeling ready to shred something with my fists, she banishes the darkness. Only she can provide me sweet release from the ghosts that haunt me. She taunts me with lust and bad behavior. Teases me by flirting and fucking my friends.

She knows I like to watch her fuck. What she doesn’t know is that I don’t see them at all. Her face, her ever-changing expressions, fascinate me. Her body, to me, is perfection—supple, light gold skin stretched over tits that make me salivate and an ass that makes me hard when it twitches. Every undulating motion, every quiver and bounce, draws me deeper and deeper into lust for her. That my friends love her, too, is something I’m getting used to.

The way I see it—Sara will never be alone. If, someday, I catch a bullet or stomp on a mine, I know she’ll be devastated, but there will be three men ready to console her, look after her, and love her.

In the meantime, she’s ours to share. An arrangement that naturally progressed from me giving Sara a thrill by allowing my friends to catch glimpses of her naked, to letting them watch her being fucked by me. When I’d invited them to her bed, I’d had reservations, worried that my bond with Sara would be strained, until I’d noted the way she looked at me when she was with them, like this was our foreplay. I love my brothers, but I made it clear from the start that whatever happened was strictly for her pleasure. They were free to play, to enjoy her company, but she’d never be theirs.

Marco, Payton, and now Harley, are all respectful of my claim. They engineer “alone time” for the two of us. Like this morning. At dawn, the three tapped on my door to tell me they were headed to the gym, and then told me which bed Sara occupied.

Marco gave a waggle of eyebrows. “She’s sleeping.”

Which meant she wasn’t, and the game was on.

As I entered Harley’s bedroom, Sara was playing ’possum, pretending she still slept, although she knew that I knew she was faking it.

Now, I wore the smile I knew made her shiver—if she were able to turn and see it. But “little sis” wasn’t in any position to turn, or move in any direction for that matter. I’d found her nude on Harley’s mattress. Not even a sheet covering her body. She lay on her belly, her legs spread, her arms at her sides, and her face turned from the door.

Harley had left the door open, likely at her request. A tease for me. She liked setting up little seductive scenarios. Loved being caught doing something nasty. When Marco, Payton, and I were around, she went to great lengths to give us peeks of her body sure to incite us into acting.

This morning, she and I were alone in the house. So this little scene was meant for me. And I’d taken full advantage, hustling back to my bedroom to dig through my closet for the small duffel filled with items I’d collected for her pleasure.

While she “slept”, I fastened Velcro bonds around her ankles and attached them to rugged canvas bands I hooked to the bedrails, and then slowly tightened them to ease her legs farther apart. I did the same with her wrists, trying not to laugh as she’d muttered and snored, keeping up the act, although I could tell by her shortening breaths and the glaze on her pussy that she was getting very excited.

I’d had a week to hunt for just the right hardware to play out this fantasy while she’d been on a trip I’d paid for her—accompanying Harley on a special cruise for disabled vets. Although I’d urged her to go, every day she’d been gone had been an agony.

I doubted Sara knew how much I’d missed her. How I’d ached for her. No matter how many times I “cleaned my rifle”, I was left wanting. When they’d both returned, looking tanned and wearing lazy smiles, I’d ground my teeth, knowing Marco and Payton wanted a turn with her, too. I’d let them have her—even though it about killed me—because I’d seen the catlike curve of her mouth as she’d mounted Payton while he sat on the couch. I’d tensed the moment Marco came behind her, pushing away her hair to nibble on her shoulder while he’d slowly fed his cock into her ass.

When both men had begun to stroke her, Sara’s gaze had locked with mine, challenge gleaming in her baby-blue gaze. She’d driven me out of my mind—breasts bouncing, her bottom lip swelling as she bit it over and over, her back bowing as she’d come.

Yeah, I liked to watch her having sex with my best friends, but there always came a time where I had to have her to myself, to remind her who she belonged to—heart and sweet, hot pussy.

A couple of years ago, I was looking forward to the most wonderful summer. At the start of it, my first novel was due out; two months later, my second; and two months after that, my third. A whole trilogy in one year! I was over the moon. One small thing—I also faced an operation. Nothing major but still scary, and guess what? My first ever launch date was the very same day as my op.

Stuff happens.

But the coincidence preyed on my mind. Weird or what? I have to admit it skewed things. Everybody close to me knew about the op, but I kept my launch date quiet, a secret treat for a tricky day.

Luckily all went well, but it set me thinking. Suppose I’d faced something really bad? And it came at around the same time as a life-changing upheaval of some kind, like a break-up or a death in the family?

And supposing I’d once been famous—a musician, maybe, or a sportswoman, and for some reason I faced another, more personal loss at the same time, that I was too ashamed to admit to anybody because of seeming vain—the loss of all that was left of my skills or my talent?

How big a treat would I need then?

If I had a little cash put by, maybe I’d splash out on some serious pampering—a luxury spa with extras. And if a gorgeous hunk on the staff happened to flirt with me, then hang it, for once I’d flirt right back. I’d take everything on offer, no holds barred. I’d be paying, right?

And my hero? Would he be the usual dark, brooding romantic type, twitching with issues and playing hard to catch? Let’s say he’s blond for a change, a calm professional, paid to please, deft and discreet as a skilled waiter or footman. I’m not dumb. I know he’s paid to be nice to me. But hey, I’m doing the paying, so he better be pretty damn good at it. When I splash my cash I make every penny count.  So what he’s a sex object? We all know the score, and for once I’ll let rip and enjoy myself, even if deep down I know that the way I’m treating him makes me and my situation all the more pathetic…

So here comes “The Masseur”, a gentleman and a professional, good at what he does and worth every cent, and my heroine’s extra special treat before she faces something hard in her life. In my story, precisely what she faces is left unsaid—we don’t need to know the detail. We only need to see its effect on her to taste the full sweetness of her final discovery.

I do hope you enjoy it!

From “THE MASSEUR” by Flora Dain appearing in Sex Objects…

Gunder Olsen was tall and blond—well built, well honed and good-looking. When he was around the sun seemed to shine, the ship seemed to steady. He had fair Viking hair that gleamed gold in the sun and blue Viking eyes that darkened to charcoal when he got excited—which wasn’t too often, being on the cool side of Nordic. But when he touched you…

He drew the women like flies. Lily suspected he brought Landales a lot of customers. As a newcomer here she was more than willing to take everything on offer, including all the hidden extras. And if massage came in the form of Viking divinity, so much the better.

“You can turn over now.”

She lingered on his arm as he half lifted, half shifted her onto her back and stood looking down at her, solemn and perfect.

“You’re still very tense. You have a beautiful body.”

Whoa. Did masseurs say that? Her eyes widened. He was smiling as he watched for her response.

“It’s true. You work out?”

“Never.” She wanted to giggle.

“I could put you on a program. Just to tone the muscles here and here.”

She moaned as he touched her lower abdomen, running his fingers over her soft skin, making her tingle. He was watching her intently now, Thor brewing the storm.

His voice deepened. “You permit?”

She nodded and held her breath as his hand moved lower, scooping away her modest towel and searching deep into her groin.

“This arouses you?”

“You think?”

He knew it did. They’d performed this ritual every day since she’d got here. First her arms and hands, then her legs, back and breasts, and now her pussy. It was like he knew how much she wanted it, how much she needed his magic touch to grant her release.

To start with she’d been embarrassed. He’d leaned over her and explained in his rich dark voice and his light foreign accent that she needed to relax and he could smell her, he knew she was aroused. It was nothing to be ashamed of and in his professional opinion she needed relief badly.

She still blushed at the memory.

Now he paused, his fingers already inside her, his eyes dark as graphite. She felt a trickle of juice down the inside of one thigh.

“Is this okay?”

Should she let him do this? Was it allowed? Did it cost extra? She held his gaze, his eyes dark as night now. Was he aroused too?

“It’s wonderful. But—” She broke off, a little pink. She’d thought about this.

His lips flexed like she’d said something funny. “But—what?”

“Only if you want to.”

He grinned. “Know what? That’s the best offer I’ve had all day. Lie still, Lily. Part your legs for me.”

She closed her eyes. She was close already and getting closer, her climax building under his expert touch. She was about to burst into bloom like a cactus in the desert…. With a sob she arched under his hand and gave herself up to his fingers and their glorious gift of release…. “Yes.” She shrieked out loud at the intensity of it and lay entranced, buffeted by its aftershocks, letting rapture lap over her in waves of heat that ebbed away leaving her glowing and content.

She opened her eyes and felt a tear trickle into her hair. “Forgive me, I’m so sorry. It’s just—it’s been so long….”

“Hey. Don’t apologize.” In seconds he’d hoisted her upright and put his arm round her. He folded his other hand around her breast and squeezed gently. It was startling, hot and yet somehow comforting. He laid his cheek against hers and she caught a whiff of his cologne, citrus mingled with something darker, feral.

“I know. I can tell. Don’t cry. If it feels good we do it, okay? If it makes you relax we do it. Whatever it takes. That’s why you’re here.”

She nestled against him, relishing his embrace. Their hour was almost over. Soon another woman would be lying here, moaning for more under his magic touch…. Lily suppressed the thought. Who was she to argue when a Viking god ordered her to come? Why spit in the wind?

* * * * *

Curious for more? Then do read the rest of my story in Sex Objects: Erotic Romance for Women, Delilah’s brilliant new story collection for Cleis Press.

If you enjoyed this, you might like to try some of my other books.

The Wolfe Trilogy is an intriguing mix of thriller, ménage and light BDSM. A  teacher-cum-poet forms an intense but tricky relationship with a wealthy, handcuff-fixated CEO whose business is being challenged by her ex.

Suiting Saffina is a trilogy set in Regency times. A willful heiress meets her match when her rakish guardian returns from abroad to take her in hand and find her a suitor. His tastes and his methods are strict and unusual, but her choice of lovers defies all his plans.

Kinky Week, my latest novel, is a light BDSM ménage comedy. A ditzy young sub, eager to please her strict older partner, risks harming his distinguished legal career.

* Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Flora-Dain-720798664632939
* Good Reads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6950358.Flora_Dain
* Amazon author page: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Flora-Dain/e/B01N9AB0HY
* Twitter: @Flora Dain
Email: floradain@aol.com

UPDATE: The winners are Jen B, DebraG, and Shirley Long!

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Happy Saturday! I hope you’re not working today, or that you’ve got a huge list of errands to run. As for me, I’ll have my BITHOK (Butt in Chair, Hands on Keys), trying to get closer to The End of my current project. So, not much time to chat, y’all! But I would like to know if you’ve read one of my short stories before, and if so, which one was your favorite?

Comment for a chance to win your choice of
one of these stories! I’ll choose
three winners!

And if you haven’t read my shorties, check out the full list here!

Tailgating at the Cedar Inn

Two construction workers come to the aid of one woman looking for a last taste of freedom…

Breathing became something I had to think about doing. I swept my upper lip with my tongue, opening my mouth to say something, but he bent toward me. Slowly. His narrowed eyes daring me to draw away.

I didn’t. The beer was plucked from my lifeless fingers, and I gripped the edge of the tailgate, wrapping them around it to brace myself for a kiss.

His mouth was tentative, teasing, sliding over mine and rubbing in a circular movement that pulled me with it, until I was moving with him, following to make sure I didn’t lose the seductive heat.

When he drew back, he smiled. “You know, sweetheart, you don’t have to be alone tonight.”

I blinked and glanced to the side at Owen.

“Package deal,” Chris said, drawing my attention back.

Package deal. Two packages. Mine to enjoy.

I opened my mouth and drew a quick breath, suddenly nervous. “I don’t…” I cleared my throat. “I’ve never…”

“We have,” he said quickly, cupping my chin and sliding a thumb over my still moist lower lip. “Nothin’ to be worried about. Cedar Inn’s quiet. Clean. You’ve got the single room, right? Come to ours, and we’ll shove the mattresses together. Plenty of room.”

Moisture seeped to soak the crotch of my shorts. My clit throbbed and hardened. I could end it now and go back to my bed, slide my fingers over the knot and come in an instant, but their scent and heat surrounded me. I imagined being sandwiched between them both—slick, hot skin sliding against mine, front and back. I squeezed my thighs because they were beginning to quiver. Suddenly, I had options. One safe. One not so much—but wickedly enticing.

“No pressure,” Owen said, dropping a slow kiss on the corner of my shoulder. “You call the shots. Whatever you want.”

What I wanted was for them to make a move. Make up my mind for me, because I didn’t think I was capable of speaking.

Chris laid his palms on the tops of my bare thighs and slid his thumbs between them, then slowly opened me, stepping closer, forcing me wider again until his crotch was flush with mine.

His erection was impossible to ignore. A thick, insistent bulge. “Maybe you don’t want a bed?” he murmured. “Maybe you want it here?”

His crudeness excited me. Challenged me in a way I’d never have accepted in my former life. I tossed my head. “But someone will see.”

“Maybe. Might only be Bobby, but he won’t mind. Will you?”

Owen slipped a hand behind me and rucked up my shirt until the fabric bunched under my arms. My belly bare, the warm night air blew across my skin, feeling like a caress. My stomach tightened.

I glanced between them, noted the tension riding both their jaws. They wouldn’t make a move without my consent, but they’d pounce the second I did. I let the moment stretch.

Then I leaned forward and raised my arms, keeping my gaze locked with Chris’s as Owen pulled the garment all the way off.

Both men breathed deeply as they stared at my breasts. Chris cupped one, hefted it in his palm then squeezed. Owen wet a finger and circled the other nipple, pausing to scratch a nail across the tip. It hardened.

“You’re pretty,” Chris muttered.

“Doesn’t sound like you’re happy about that.”

“Don’t pay any mind to what he says,” Owen said. “He’s hard. He doesn’t think straight when he gets that way. Take it as a compliment.”

Chris plucked my nipple and released it, watching it bounce back. His gaze darted to mine again, and then he slipped his fingers inside the waist of my shorts and rubbed the top of my mound. “Can I take these off, too?”

I didn’t mind his blunt tone this time. The air between us felt charged with a current that pricked my nipples and caused my pussy to contract.

I was already shirtless, already committed. So hot I was panting. I nodded, then gasped when Owen eased me back at an angle and Chris went to work unsnapping my shorts and dragging them off my legs.

Then Owen pushed me forward and slid behind me, urging me to rest against his naked chest. Chris opened his jeans and pushed them off his hips, freeing his cock. He leaned over me, pressing me harder against Owen who chuckled as Chris hooked his elbows beneath my thighs and lifted my bottom.

“A condom?” I gasped, one last shred of sanity remaining before my mind completely filled with the sight of him. He was thick, long, a straight cudgel of a cock. Twice the girth of the last man I’d had.

“Pocket,” he ground out.

I reached for the scrunched-up top of his jeans and pulled out his wallet. My hands shook, but I found the trifold of foil packets and tore one off. He watched as I clumsily cloaked him in the latex sheath. Then he was there, pushing inside me.

The moment he entered me, my mind clicked. Fuck, I was really doing this. Really taking on a stranger while his friend held me, his hands cupping my breasts and his cock grinding against my backside through his jeans.

And I wanted him nude as well. Wanted them both rutting, both sinking deep.

I wriggled inside Owen’s embrace.

Chris shook his head, his nostrils flared. “Want me to stop?” he bit out.

“Fuck no. But what about Owen?”

Owen laughed. The sound edgy, taut.

Chris urged my legs around his back and stood, lifting me from the truck bed. Behind me, I heard the rustle of clothing, the snap of latex. I didn’t look back and instead nuzzled into Chris’s shoulder to hide my face. I should be ashamed. But instead, I was grinning, and then nipping his skin, causing him to groan and thrust.

I didn’t know how they would manage it, but trusted that they knew a way.

“Ready.”

Chris nodded, then turned and sat on the tailgate, leaning back and bringing me with him. Behind me, hands cupped my ass, pulled my cheeks apart. I moaned in protest, and Owen’s thumbs slipped farther down, tucking into my pussy, sliding along Chris’s dick, then stretching upward to make a space.

“No way,” I muttered.

“There’s room. I promise,” Owen said a trace of humor in his strained voice. Then he was pushing inside me, forcing his way atop Chris’s thick cock.

I’m late posting today, but I was waiting for Amazon to release my latest book—Stepbrothers Stepping Out: Ultimate Collection!

I decided that since I had so many smutty stepbrother stories written, I should make it easy (and cheaper) for readers to collect them all in one place, so the first nine stories make up this 60,000 word book! Everything except the last two SEAL stories is here, which I’m delivering at a price of $3.99—a nearly $5.00 savings if you were to purchase them all individually. And, I plan to put this volume into print, hopefully by the end of the month, for those of you who still love to hold paper books in your hands. So, be looking for that news. This volume will be exclusive to Amazon for three months to allow any Kindle Unlimited readers to take advantage, but then it’s going wide to Kobo, B&N—all the usual places!

I hope you take advantage of this offer, because I may not leave it out there long…

Stepbrothers Stepping Out: Ultimate Collection

From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, Delilah Devlin, comes a collection of her most delicious stories—taboo tales of stepbrotherly love, served with a sexy side of ménage! Two taboo themes sure to provide you nighttime reading pleasure!

Find out what happens when a Dominant brings his submissive stepsister for an intimate exam in “With His Doctor.” In “With His SEAL Team,” a phone sex operator knows just how to bring her sexy SEAL stepbrother back from the edge of darkness. When a secretive couple faces the dissolution of their parents’ marriage, they share one last weekend in the family’s lake house in “With His Friends.” A social media celebutante worries she won’t reconnect with her rock star stepbrother in “With His Rock Band.” And more steplover adventures await your pleasure inside the Ultimate Collection!

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