Sorry I’ve been absent for a while. I wasn’t well, but am now becoming better with each day. I’ve written an erotic romance, which has been accepted by Blushing Books, and I hope it will be published in the near future. I don’t have a cover picture yet, so I have used the rather saucy picture above. The new book is likely to be called Remembering Roxy, (although there’s always a small chance it will be changed before publication date) and here is the blurb and a couple of snippets from the book. (Warning: This is a BDSM book, between a loving couple, and contains references to spanking as well as some explicit language.)
Roxy is a modern, independent, kick-ass woman, who hides a secret desire—she likes to be spanked. Will she ever meet a man who can satisfy her desires, without expecting her full submission?
Oliver is a man who loves some kink in his life, but doesn’t want to be tied down by a possessive woman. He also has a secret life that doesn’t bode well for a long-term relationship.
When they meet the attraction between them is immediate and electrifying. But Oliver’s secret other life stops their relationship in its tracks. Can they find each other again? Or will their relationship be doomed to failure?
He fastened a silk scarf around my eyes, before spinning me so I was disorientated. I heard his voice from behind me. “Take everything off—except the heels. Leave those on,” he growled. Soon my clothes littered the floor. “Now dance,” he commanded.
The music was a slow jazz number, very mellow. I ground my hips to the sound of a sensual sax, bending and swaying to the gentle rhythm. I had a slight smile on my lips as I anticipated what was to come. I delighted in winding him up very slowly.
I couldn’t see him, but I knew he would be sitting in the leather chair, probably sipping on a glass of whisky. He liked these little displays of mine. He liked choreographing them and controlling my movements. He liked his power over me and I handed it to him voluntarily.
“Move that sexy little arse of yours. Show me what you can do. Be my private dancer. Make me want to fuck you without mercy.” I swayed and undulated my hips, running my hands up and down my body, knowing his excitement would be mounting until he could resist me no longer. How I loved to torment him. And how he made me pay, deliciously, for it.
“Enough.” I stopped immediately. He reached out and ran his palm down the curve of my back and over my bottom. “Bend over.” I did as he asked and was rewarded by his hand slipping between my thighs and stroking my pussy. “You’re so wet already. So sexy. You’re my little slut, aren’t you?” From him that was a term of endearment. The more I was his slut the more he loved it. His touch made me groan with need. He grabbed me by the arm and pulled me down, over his lap. As my feet left the floor the shoes fell off with a clatter and lay at his feet. They wouldn’t be needed further tonight. My behind would be lathered and then I would be fucked – hard – just as I loved it.
As I walked along the corridor to my desk in the open part of the office, I received a couple of strange smiles and looks from co-workers, as I smiled and said good morning. Then I saw my desk. In the middle was a basket of white roses—about thirty blooms in all. It was enormous. I stopped dead and the men who occupied cubicles on either side of mine stood and applauded.
“Well you must have impressed someone over the weekend,” said Ben Short.
I coloured up and looked on the basket for a card. There was nothing.
“You mean you don’t know who sent them?” That was from Graham Jones on my other side.
I decided to play it cool. “Well it could be one of many of my admirers. I really couldn’t say.”
There was no way I could work with my desk almost entirely covered in flowers, so I retrieved a small vase from my bottom drawer, cut off a few blooms to place on my desk, and put the basket containing the rest on the floor, in the corner of the cubicle, out of the way, so they wouldn’t trip me up each time I got up.
Pretty soon the office filled up, meetings went ahead, and documents were studied. The novelty of my flowers dropped from the discussion topics. Of course they must have been from Oliver. Who else could they be from? But why no message with them? Obviously he wanted to keep our date a secret, which didn’t bother me in the slightest. But he could have put an enigmatic message that wouldn’t have identified himself to anyone but me. Still, message or no message, it was a very sweet, if slightly over the top gesture.
I passed the morning with the delicious perfume of the roses in my nostrils. Engrossed in checking a contract, I almost missed a text flashing on my mobile, sitting on top of my desk in silent mode. When I glanced over I saw Oliver’s name on the screen. I picked it up immediately.
Oliver: Hope the roses arrived this morning.
Me: Oh, they were from you? There was no note.
Oliver: So who did you think they were from?
Me: I made up a short-list of about three.
Oliver: And was I at the top of that list?
Me: Well you were pretty near the top.
Oliver: I see. Perhaps I didn’t tan that hide of yours enough on Friday?
Me: I’m sitting quite comfortably this morning, so perhaps not.
Oliver: I’m wearing a rather nice black leather belt with my suit today. Do
I need to come down at lunchtime and remind you a little more
severely, and ensure you have to stand up all afternoon?
Me: On reflection, you are definitely at the top of the list. In fact, you
were the only one on the list for last weekend. So I guess I should
thank you for the roses. Did you buy up the shop’s entire stock?
Oliver: You’re welcome, and no. But I do like to make grand gestures.
Me: Of course the whole legal department is agog and wants to know
which director I’m fucking. They know no one on this
floor could afford such an extravagant gesture.
Oliver: And did you satisfy their curiosity?
Me: No. I don’t kiss and tell.
Oliver: Good girl. Well I have work to do in order to pay for those roses.
Me: Me too. Thanks again.
Oliver: Bye then.
I will post more details when publication date is known. In the meantime, Issue Number Two of my magazine-style newsletter, Rachel’s Retreat, is now available. Lots of interesting snippets to read, plus some humour and a decadent recipe. Don’t miss it. Simply send your email address to firstname.lastname@example.org. I only bring them out quarterly, so your Inbox won’t be swamped.