Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Busy busy bee!

So I've been deliciously busy writing smut...should prob be studying, but being naughty is so much more fun! :)

My latest release:
Stairway to Hayden

Hayden Southerland’s mother just hit the road, taking a life full of quoting bible verses and doing what was right with her. All that’s left is Hayden’s taboo desires to screw the h, e, double hockey sticks out of her stepdad. With nothing left to lose, Hayden’s gonna go to hell for giving into her sinful wants…

A little taste to whet your appetite:

I should have been more bothered by the fact that my mother was gone.
She wasn’t having a girl's weekend, taking a break from the hard-knocks life of a housewife, or on an extended spa day. It turned out her mini vacations, every Saturday like clockwork, were really just an excuse to get some alone time with the deacon of our church. In the letter she left, she claimed there was more to life, loosely translated, “I'm riding off into the sunset with my dirty little secret.”
She turned out to be a hypocrite in the end with all her religious, fire-and-brimstone-being-a-good-person mumbo jumbo. I’d tried to be the best person I was supposed to be, trying to make her happy. Trying to make God happy. Colossians 3:20: “Children, obey your parents in everything, for this pleases the Lord.” How many times had it been drilled into my head while all the while, she was getting drilled by someone who was definitely not her husband.
Even though she’s gone and spat on everything she claimed she lived by, I can't bring myself to hate her. She’s my mom after all—a b-word, but my mom nonetheless.
I let out a sigh as I trudged downstairs. Even though my life was falling apart at the seams, I still had to eat something. Put on a brave face for the rest of the world. As soon as I hit the landing, I snapped to a stop. My mouth, and other parts that aren’t right for a good Christian girl to discuss, watered.  My stepdad, Jason Southerland, stood shirtless, his sturdy back taut and ripped as he clutched the counter, gazing out the window.
Even though I hadn’t moved a muscle, there was still the whisper in the back of my head telling me I was going to hell. Why? Because I stood there watching him, taking in every toned inch of him instead of turning away. Because no amount of praying could change the fact that I wanted to have sex with my stepdad.
The floor squeaked beneath my bare feet and he wheeled slowly. He swiped at his face and flashed me an unsteady smile. "H-Hayden!" He cleared his throat and walked to the cabinet. "You want me to make you some breakfast? Some eggs and toast?"
Bless his heart. We both knew he couldn't scramble, fry, or hard boil an egg to save his life. But he didn’t have to know how to cook, because any woman with a lick of sense would be lucky to take care of him. That muscled back and firm behind? It was just the beginning. From the front, one got a gander of what Samson must have looked like.  His body was all golden and hard and I couldn’t help but imagine what running my fingers along his chiseled chest would be like. A body like his belonged in battle, fighting for glory. Not fighting to keep it together after his wife, and my mom, hit the road.
I tossed my strawberry blonde hair over my shoulder and shook my head. "That's okay. I'm not very hungry."
He let out a bitter chuckle. "I don't know where a damn thing in this kitchen is anyway." He snapped his fingers. "Except for the booze."
I furrowed my brow. We didn’t have any alcohol in the house. Mom was always super strict about it, even though as a cop, my stepdad saw things that would drive any rational person to drink.
But sure ‘nough, he dug in the cabinet over the stove and came out with a bottle of wine, wielding it like the devil’s trophy.
He dusted it off a bit. "This was for special occasions." I watched in awe as he wrenched the cork out and threw the bottle back, chugging it. A bead of red coursed down his chin, the knot of his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. I stood there, flabbergasted, and doubly so when he extended the bottle to me. "Want a sip?"
"No!" I said in shock. Even if I was of age, alcohol was a no no. Pastor spoke frequently about the desires of the flesh and the evils of liquor was pretty high on his taboo list.
My baby blue eyes went wide, searching his dark ones. The hurt was there, and confusion. And why shouldn't he be? To the outside world, we were the picture perfect family. My mother was a former beauty queen, a living Barbie with her fair skin and pale blond hair. My stepdad was her Ken, with ebony hair and an athletic body. I rounded out the portrait, the spitting image of my mother except for my baby blue eyes and buxom curves. Apparently it was a gift from my bio dad, as she loved to remind me when she got pissed off about something or another.
But it was all a charade. Our little slice of good, Christian living and she’d been living out her own private Sodom and Gomorrah. Even though I’d been the perfect daughter, doing everything that was expected of me right up to getting into a good college, only God knew if she’d actually even see me off when I moved out in two weeks. I had a feeling that it was the last thing on her selfish mind.
Everything was different now. I saw it in the way my stepdad glanced around the kitchen. Like he noticed how empty it was without her there, bustling around and humming some random song. Like he felt how pointless it all seemed.
He took a step toward me after a moment, need tingeing his voice. "Did she say anything to you, Hayden? Give any indication?"
I shook my head. "No. I'm as surprised as you are."
His eyes darkened. "I doubt that." He wheeled to the table and snatched up a piece of paper. I recognized Mom's dainty cursive. It was her ‘Dear John’ note. It was clearly ruffled and crumbled, like he’d tried to toss it, but changed his mind, digging the knife even deeper. "She didn't leave you. You'll always have your mother. She left me.”
 I took a cautious step forward. "I know that I probably don't get what this means for you. Not really. But she left me too." The loss hit me like a wave and I felt the tears burn the corners of my eyes. "And I-" The words caught in my throat. She'd only been gone twenty four hours and already I felt hollow.
His face changed, guilt and sympathy transforming the anger. He reached out and brought me into his arms. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Of course you get it. I shouldn’t have said that."
I laid my head against his chest and…wait. I was against him, closer than I ever thought I could or should be. Especially since I was becoming more and more aware of my body. My breath was coming in gasps. My heart was beating so fast I thought it would beat out of my chest. My cheeks were burning hot, but it didn't compare to the heat rushing to my groin. The nearness of him was making me feel like I had last summer when Blake Rhodes kissed me after the prayer circle. Back then, under the stars, with the mosquitoes buzzing in my ears and nerves making me twitch, the area at the core of me clenched and unclenched as his lips smothered mine.  If just hugging my stepdad made me feel that way, what would kissing him do?
I stepped back. Lord have mercy. How could I even think such a thing? Yeah, so maybe he wasn't technically my biological father, but still, he was married to my mom. Even though I didn't call him Daddy, he'd gone to the home games to see me cheer, chorus concerts, even the Father-Daughter dance last year.
Yes he was hot. Made me hot. And boy did his body feel nice against mine. But it couldn't happen. It wasn’t right or proper. Heck, I bet he wasn't even interested.
He gave me a wounded look after I put some space between the two of us. When I tightened my robe, he tightened his jaw. "I wasn't trying to, uh, feel you up or-"
"Oh no, of course not," I said quickly. He looked so hurt by the assumption, and then that on top of Mom leaving...I couldn’t leave it like that. I couldn’t let him think I thought he was a letch. “I wasn't trying to say-” I paused and took a breath. “We just shouldn't touch." That sounded worse. "I mean, you're shirtless and-" I stopped, just digging myself deeper. "It makes me feel weird."
He frowned. "I make you feel weird?"
"Yes!" I let out a groan of frustration. "I mean, no." I was just confusing us both. I just decided to say it. If it squicked him out, I could just take it back. "I like you."
He ran a hand through his wavy hair and the dark waves crashed back, framing his handsome face. "You like me?"
I nodded.
He tilted his head in my direction. "Well, I like you too, Hayden." He said it in a genial way, a step above patting me on the head.
My lips trembled. What did I expect? He probably saw me as a kid. As his stepdaughter.
Apparently my expression said it all plain as day because realization drained his face of all color. "Oh. You like me."
I blushed at his tone. I mean it was so obviously wrong. Definitely a sin. But with the way he closed his eyes, shutting them so tight, my stomach knotted all up. Was the concept of me and him that horrifying? It was like it would be a fate worse than death.
"I'm sorry," I spat out, now feeling like a total loser.
“You’re sorry?”
"I mean I was just kidding,” I lied.
"No you weren't."
"Yes I was," I said adamantly, my voice rising and totally proving him right.
"No, you meant what you said," he said softly. "I know because I..." He took a step toward me but paused a few feet away, like he was afraid he'd contaminate me. There went those eyes squeezing shut again. "Lord help me." When he finally opened them, he didn’t have to say another word. Everything I'd felt because of my attraction—jealousy, shame, painful self-control—it was all there in his eyes.
My stepdad liked me too.
I shushed the voice inside my head that told me to dash upstairs. Close my door. Read the Bible. Pray. Pray some more. And then there was the devil on my shoulder. What about Lot? His wife turned into a pillar of salt and he and his daughter had a threesome. Now that I knew it the attraction wasn’t one sided, I couldn’t run. Not when we needed each other. Not when we could have this one thing.
I bridged the space between us, leaning up and pressing my head against his chest. His muscles were tight as a bowstring. His heart raced, just like mine.
His hands were against my shoulders, but he didn’t push me away. "We shouldn't."
My lips caressed the angel wings of his collar bone, gently brushing up and down the firm length. My fingers made impressions of his pecs, tight and firm. I touched the solid groves of his abs. They were the same abs that I'd lusted after during family beach trips, wondering what it would be like to actually feel them outside of my fantasies. Now he was actually here, his body sturdy and pressed against me.
I still wasn’t sure though. It was possible I was reading something into it. Grief made people see things after all.
And then I felt it. His, uh, you know what. Hot, hard, and ready to go. He wanted this. Just as bad as I did.

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