Lily Harlem's Blog, page 274

Soccer hottie

Many of you know I am a sucker for a sexy soccer player, after all, I wrote SCORED!


This book was a complete indulgence to write, and the hero, Lewis Tate, one of my favourites to date. But occasionally I have to walk in the real world, which today, brings me happily to a new real-life soccer player who has gotten me all shaken up!
Lance Parker.


Lance is a US soccer player and because of this and my obsession with the British football league I haven't come across him before. So, me being me, I thought I would have a moment of indulgence.







Yummy, I think you will agree! If you want to find out more about Lance and his ball handling skills then HERE is a nice interview with him.
Have a great day
Lily x

When One Is Not Enough

Many of you know I blog regularly over at When One Is Not Enough, the menage blog featuring a host of authors who like to write about two, three or more in a bed.
This week I am talking about 'more' of a different variety - orgasms, yes, as in multiple. Can a man have multiple orgasms? It seems he can. Please stop by and let me know your thoughts.
Lily x

Not Her Type by Kay Jaybee

Erotic Adventures with a Delivery Man- Inspired by Couriers...Delivered by Kay Jaybee


Many thanks to Lily for allowing me to gatecrash her site today with a bit of a taster from my e-novella, Not Her Type: Erotic Adventures with a Delivery Man. 
Blurb

When Jenny’s regular film courier, John, reveals how she has become the center of his sexual dream world, Jenny’s quiet existence is thrown into an arena of desire that she thought she’d long since abandoned.  
One unexpected, head swimming romp later, and Jenny is left wondering if her courier will ever visit her again, and if he does, will he mention the hot sex they had on her living room floor that Tuesday afternoon, or will he pretend that it hadn’t happened?
When the following Tuesday arrives and John reappears on Jenny’s doorstep, the scene is set for a continuation of intensely kinky weekly meetings. There is only one problem. John really really isn’t Jenny’s type...

Kay Jaybee
For the past twelve years I’ve had a part time admin job working from home. Part of my working day involves the arrangement of the delivery and collection of a variety of items from A to B. It seemed natural therefore, when the ultra hot website, www.oystersandchocolate.com asked me to write a novella for their brand new e-print publishing venture, the OCPress, that I should make use of the myriad of kinky (and often rather optimistic) tales my delivery boys have shared with me over the years- whether I wanted to hear them or not!! 

Let’s face it- these guys spend a lot of time alone. When I asked one of them one day a few years ago what he thought about all day as he jumped from house to house, he replied instantly, without pausing to think, “Parcels, the Road, and sex- not necessarily in that order.”  That particular individual then became a constant source of ‘ideas’- for which I am very grateful, and many of which have featured in the chapters of NHT and my short stories, such as Cardboard (Sex at Work, Xcite) and Searching for Her (Sweet Love, Cleis Press).
Most of the delivery guys that knock upon my door have the ability to charm the devil himself, and so I got to thinking- what would happen if one of these jack-the-lads developed a crush on one of his quieter customers? A customer who has a far more interesting past than he could possibly imagine...
Excerpt
“What the hell am I doing? I’m a good girl; I just don’t do things like this.”
A tiny fraction of Jenny’s conscience screamed at her. The remainder of her brain sent her hands on a thorough exploration of the densely haired chest that had unexpectedly appeared from beneath her companion’s polo-shirt. The fact that Jenny had never liked men with hairy chests seemed irrelevant.
Standing in front of her, diving a hand under Jenny’s top, John squeezed her left nipple hard, wonderfully hard, making her squeal with pain-tingling gratification. Removing her shirt at top speed, John freed her breasts from their confinement.
Moving as if on auto-pilot, Jenny’s fingers visited his trousers’ waistband, but in her haste she couldn’t get his belt undone. Rescuing her from her embarrassment with a smile, John mumbled something about it always being difficult to open and undid it himself. Jenny barely heard him as a neat pair of gray boxers appeared, swiftly followed by—Oh My God—the most beautiful dick she had seen in years, perhaps ever. 
As she knelt before him, the voice in Jenny’s head continued its rant, reminding her that she hated giving blowjobs. Since her first experience as a college student, she had neither liked the taste of cock, nor the sensation of being gagged. Now however, working on instincts she never knew she had, Jenny took John deep within her throat. She felt his fingers drag urgently through her knotty, brown hair, raking her scalp as she greedily worked him around her mouth. 
“Hell girl, have you any idea how often I’ve dreamt of you doing this?” John confessed. “Night after night I wank about you, about you holding me in your throat like this.” 
Jenny was consumed with a perverse pride as she listened to John’s words—making her wonder if she should admit to the stolen moments she’d spent alone with a silver vibrator and her own filthy imaginings. Imaginings contrary to her normal fantasies; fantasies that often featured him...
* * * * *
From this unexpected beginning, Jenny and John realise many of their sexual fantasies at approximately 1pm every Tuesday afternoon. Each encounter is more erotic and daring than the next, as John begins to understand exactly how far from Jenny’s usual type he is - for a start, he’s a man...
I must give a huge thanks to Lily for inviting me here today- and to my fleet of boys, be they wears of red and black, brown, green, or blue uniforms- you know who you are - and I am very grateful for those ever inventive minds of yours!
For more information about Not Her Type: Erotic Adventures With A Delivery Man,  visit my website
Buy links can be found here


Thanks so much Kay for stopping by and sharing Not Her Type with us. I have to confess this was a one sitting read for me. I absolutely LOVED it!!
Lily x

Stranded with a Cajun Werewolf by Selena Blake

Please welcome Selena Blake to my blog today. Selena is doing a special tour of British blogs and I am thrilled to have her stopping by, take it away Selena...




Do you believe in Synchronicity?
I do.
There’s usually a point in each of my books where I’m trudging through, trying to make sure all the pieces of the puzzle are fitting, jamming to a song thanks to my trusty ear phones.
And then it hits. A crescendo in a song, a puzzle piece falls, and everything comes together. And it’s a moment of unequalled beauty. Perfect synchronicity. The clue that I’ve been waiting for that will hold the book together and make it soar in readers’ minds.
I’ve found it. I write it. I smile.
This is why I write.
Those joyful little moments where a story comes together after lots of chaos, tears, and much tribulation. Triumph. It’s all there. And at that moment I believe that anything, absolutely anything, is possible. These characters will be together. They, among all the other souls that they could have found or met, are perfect for one another. And all will be right with their world.
Dragons will be slain. Demons with be exorcised. And true love, whether you believe in it or not, will reign.
Happy reading dear friends. Happy reading.
Selena
* * * * *
Selena Blake writes erotic paranormal and contemporary romance. First published in 2008, her series Stormy Weather has been on the best seller lists and nominated for awards.


She's a fan of action movies, Diet Coke, Milky Way bars and thunderstorms, not necessarily in that order. Learn more about her online at her website  or catch her at Facebook  or on Twitter 


Blog Tour - http://site.selena-blake.com/2012/07/the-uk-blog-tour/ 

Co-authoring

Please join me over at Ex Libris today where I am chatting about co-authoring.

Sunday Snog - WIP

I've been away with the delectable Mr H for a week and I've come back refreshed and ready for some writing action. This returns me to my work in progress - BITE MARK - which is the first in a new London based menage series I'm immersed in called ANCIENT ORDER.




While I've been away I've missed my two hot vampires (yes, you read that right, I'm mid way through my first paranormal) Ryle and Aimery and their lucky lady Beatrice, so... I'm going to do something I haven't done before on Sunday Snog and give you a snippet from an as yet, unpublished book. But first, a couple of pics that have helped my muse.

This is a good likeness of Ryle. He's not in this excerpt, but he's the loose cannon of the two heroes, and damn sexy with it!


Brad in An Interview with a Vampire makes me think of Aimery, it's the clothes as much as anything. Read on to meet him...




I took another sip of tea and felt the heat slither down my gullet like a flow of lava. “I don’t even know your name,” I said.“And I don’t know yours.” He tipped his head and his hair stroked his pristine white collar.“Beatrice, or rather Bea, I go by Bea.”He stared at me unblinking. “Nice to meet you, Beatrice, I’m Aimery.”“That’s an unusual name.”“I suppose it is if you haven’t heard it before.”“I haven’t, is it foreign?”“As far as I am aware it is a German name.”“Are your parent’s German?”“No, they were Norman.”“Norman?”“Yes, but enough about me, what about Denny? He is our chief concern, is he not?”I glanced at the flickering fire. Aimery’s dark, heavy gaze was like a weight on me. Not uncomfortable, just intense. “I reported him missing to the police last week, but they didn’t seem interested. Said he was a grown man and if he wanted to go walkabout then that was fine.”“They have more important things to cope with," he said, "than looking for folk who have few friends and family and won’t be missed.”I narrowed my eyes. “How do you know Denny has few friends and family?”He hesitated. “I don’t, it’s just a guess.”I rubbed at an itch on my neck.His gaze followed my fingertips, he pulled in a deep breath and spoke again, “If Denny had a wife, parents, brothers and sisters, you, just a friend, wouldn’t have felt the need to come into a stranger’s home to seek out information on him.” He lowered his voice. “You look like a sensible girl, Beatrice, I can’t imagine that you generally put yourself at risk like this.”I swallowed tightly and looked into his handsome face, wondering if he was being sarcastic or genuine.Did he mean me harm?Normally I was pretty good with my gut instincts. But something about Aimery seemed to send them out of whack. He was devastatingly gorgeous, way out of my league I was sure, and certainly not my normal type. But there was a restrained air about him. He was cool to the point of chilly and polite to the edge of uncomfortable, as though holding back something he wanted to do or say.I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out what it was he wasn’t saying or doing but, at the same time, I had to admit I was utterly intrigued.“Go on,” he said, leaning forward in the chair. Light from the tall window behind him rendered him almost in silhouette, just a few ocher shadows from the fire glancing across his face. “Tell me everything,” he said quietly.I cupped my palms around the warm mug I held on my lap. “Well, last time I saw him was in the market, three weeks ago. It was a rainy Wednesday morning, business was steady. Denny had been shouted at by Tony—”“Who is Tony?”“His boss, a right wanker.” I clasped my hand over my mouth. “Shit, sorry.”He shrugged. “I’ve heard worse, and if that describes him in one word then so be it.”“It does.” I nodded. “And then I was working, preparing a fillet, and I saw you. Then I looked at him, looking at you, and by the time I’d got ten steaks out of the fillet he was gone and I never saw him again.” I shook my head and gripped the mug firmer, took a sip. “He just vanished. Without even saying goodbye.” Tears nipped my eyes. I couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing my best friend again.Aimery folded his arms, sat back and watched me staring into my mug of tea. I was sure he was giving me some time to compose myself and I was grateful, I wasn’t normally a crier; that kind of behavior would render me a laughing stock at the market. “I’m sorry,” I said, blinking rapidly and refusing to let the tears spill.“Was he happy in his life?” Aimery asked softly.“No, not particularly. He wanted more than working in a cold meat market for the rest of his time and he also hoped to…” I hesitated, feeling like I was revealing confidences.“Please, Beatrice, go on. If I am to help you I must know every little detail.”I stared at him. His eyes were narrowed and his fingers were meshed tight. There was something solid and powerful about him. His calm assurance and the air of competence and determination surrounding him made my soul fill with hope, but at the same time sent prickles of apprehension snaking up my spine. He was almost too perfect to have landed right here, right now, to help me out of this nightmare.“Yes,” I said. I nibbled on my bottom lip. The truth wasn’t easy and it saddened me to say it. “Denny wasn’t happy, in fact he was downright miserable, completely in the doldrums.”“Why is that?” He’d lowered his voice, softened it too. It was more like a hum now, like a concerned parent coaxing a child to speak. “You can tell me, Beatrice, in fact you need to tell me.”“Denny is gay and they made his life miserable at Smithfield.” There, I’d said it.“How did they do that?”“Always having a dig at him whenever they could, typical playground bullying. Calling him an up-hill gardener, ginger-beer, bum bandit, you know the sort. Ignorant and pathetic.”Aimery frowned. “So why did he stay?”“He had nowhere else to go, and no one to help him out of the situation. I wish I could have, but what could I do? I live at home with my dad and it’s not like I have loads of dosh to give him so he can start fresh and do the interior design course he’s always on about it”“Maybe someone has offered him a way out and that’s why he’s gone.”I shook my head. “No, he would never have left without saying goodbye. We were close, best friends.”“But not lovers?”“No, absolutely not.” I was shocked by the question and fiddled with the base of the mug, sliding my fingertip around the smooth pottery. “I just told you Denny is—”“I know, gay. So maybe he met someone and was swept off his feet, whisked away into the sunset.”“Do you really think so…ow!”“What.” He was on his knees before me, reaching for my right hand.“Bloody hell, that’s sharp,” I said, watching a ruby blob of blood grow on the tip of my index finger.He wrapped his hand around my wrist and tugged my arm straight so he could examine my wound.“The base of this mug is chipped.” I glanced at the smear of blood on the shiny surface. “It has a lethal bit sticking out of it.”“Hardly lethal.” He cocked one eyebrow and swept his tongue over his bottom lip. “But I’m sorry that had to cause you pain.”“Had to?” I frowned and went to pull my wrist from his grip.He kept a tight hold, his cool fingers keeping my hand still and hovering before his face.“Hey, I—”“Please,” he said almost on a pant, “allow me.” He leaned forward, shut his eyes and wrapped his lips around my bleeding digit.Instantly I was aware of powerful suction, his tongue soft but firm as he took my entire finger into his mouth, knuckle deep.“What are you do…?” My words cut off as a tingling warmth spread up my arm. It seeped into my chest, spiking my nipples and creating a heavy weight low down inside of me.He continued to suck, his cheeks hollowing, his eyes shut tight as though succumbing to ecstasy. My hand felt on fire, but not painfully so, it was good heat, heat that was now burning up my arm and flooding my stomach, my pelvis, oh God, and my pussy.I squirmed on the seat, captivated by the sensation but also needing to be free of it.“Aimery,” I gasped. “Please—”He slid his hand from my wrist to my elbow, bunching my sweater, all the time keeping a tight hold of me.I felt trapped, pinned in place, but I didn’t mind. His mouth, his tongue, the soft gulping noises he was making as though drinking greedily was mesmerizing. And my pussy, the heat was intense, the pressure building. My clit was pressing against the gusset of my knickers and in turn against the seam of my jeans.A small groan weaved its way through my throat. He responded my placing his other hand on my thigh, and smoothing it upwards, to the juncture of my legs and pressing against my clothing.“Ah, oh, oh, what is happ—” I couldn’t speak another word. A small, trembling orgasm was ravishing my cunt. Fingers of pleasure burst outward, clenching my gut and curling my toes. I screwed my eyes shut, slumped back in the chair and dropped my head down.As the spasms faded I was aware of the heat in my chest, arm and hand subsiding. I opened my eyes and re-focused.Aimery was staring at me, his pupils were enormous. He kept a tight hold of my wet finger, the end now pale and the slit in my skin void of blood.“Just as I suspected. You are truly an exquisite find,” he said.“What, what just happened?” I was being treated to quivering, orgasmic aftershocks, my breath a little hard to catch.“You have a very rare blood type,” he said, cocking his head and again licking his lips.“Yes, I know,” I said a little dreamily. “I have to store some in the local hospital, my mother did before she passed too.”“Bombay,” he said. “Truly a delicacy.”I tugged my hand from his and this time he released me. “What the hell?” Despite feeling a little dreamy, I jumped up and scooted to the middle of the room. “How would you know that?”“I just tasted it.” He stood also, towering over me.I rammed my hands on my hips, this wasn’t making any sense. “No one has ever heard of my blood group, barely anyone in the world has it and if it wasn’t for some throwback gene of mine I wouldn’t either.”“Hardly sensible to go into a profession where cutting yourself is a daily hazard then.” He smiled, almost lazily. It was the first time I’d seen him even vaguely relaxed since I’d met him.“You didn’t answer my question,” I snapped. “Again.”He broadened his smile, kept his eyelids heavy and reached out and stroked the back of his thumb down my cheek.I hitched in a breath. His proximity, the way he smelled this close up—sweetly spiced, like man and sex—filled my senses. But I wanted answers. I was confused, angry, scared, turned-the-hell-on by him. How did he know my blood group just from tasting it?“You really don’t know how special you are, do you?” he murmured.Suddenly his lips were on mine. Lips that had been wrapped around my finger moments ago were moving, soft and pliant, teasing my mouth open. I felt helpless to resist. I didn’t want to. Aimery was class-A-gorgeous, despite his over-enthusiasm for sucking my blood.He delved into my mouth, the tip of his tongue searching and tangling with mine.I joined in, played the game, opened up and tilted my head to deepen our kiss. Allowed myself to fall into the delicious flavor of him and the fantastical moment.Suddenly I remembered why I was there.Denny.“No,” I stepped backward, away from him and toward the door. “Aimery, what are you doing? I though you were going to help me find my friend.”“I am.” His brow creased and he rubbed his temple. “I will.”“But—”“Come back tomorrow.” He sighed. “I will have news of Denny by then.”“How can you know that?” I shook my head, watched him fold his long body into the chair by the fire. He crossed his legs, hooked his hands over the arms and rested his head back, as though preparing for a nap.“I just know,” he said. “Trust me.”“What makes you think I can trust you after…after, that?”“Because,” he said, settling his gaze on me. “You, Beatrice, have just become my world and I will do anything to make you happy.”My heart rate rocketed and it was going like the clappers anyway. “Don’t be so ridiculous, we’ve only just met.”“I’ve met lots of people, and I’ve always known whether they are special within a few short hours of becoming acquainted and you, well…” He paused and folded his arms. “And you, let’s just say, it just took me a while to get past all those other smells you have lingering around you. But now I have I know that you are indeed very special.”His riddles and over-zealous declarations suddenly irritated the hell out of me. “Oh, this is ridiculous,” I said, turning and striding toward the door. “You’re just too weird, all this smelling me and then sucking my blood. What are you a bloody vampire or something?” “Beatrice,” he said wearily. “Don’t go, not yet.”I turned as I reached for the handle. “Its Bea, not Beatrice. And I’m going because this is freaky. I thought you were going to help me find Denny?”“I will. Please, come back tomorrow and I promise I won’t disappoint you.”Annoyance gnawed at me. I pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway. Slammed it shut so hard a picture of a wolf, shot through the neck with an arrow, shifted on its hook.

I hope you liked that little snippet. Watch this space for news on BITE MARK which will, hopefully, be released 2013.

Have a great Sunday

Lily x

Inspiration

Interested in where I get inspiration for my novels? Then head on over to my website and read all about it...

Mattress Music - Sunday Snog

Welcome to Sunday Snog! This weeks' smooch is from Mattress Music, the first in a set of three novella's featuring sexy rock 'n' roll band The Manic Machines. In this first scene we see Nina trying desperately to enjoy the hot guy she's picked up in a bar. Trouble is she's struggling because of the music she's put on to cover up the sex noises...



Elton was killing me. I needed to do something—fast. I glanced at my iPod in the far corner of the room. The small blue circle stared at me uncaring, as if it knew I’d lost the remote in the move and could do nothing, in my current compromised position, to shuffle the droning song.
And boy, did I need to fast-forward Candle in the Wind. It had conjured a head full of images of Marilyn and Diana, big hair, sweet smiles, churches, orphans—
And it seems to me you lived your life—
I pulled in a deep breath and focused my attentions. What did it matter what song played? Its purpose was to mask noise as I concentrated on Ian, the hot guy I’d picked up at the Solo Bar. He was where my thoughts should be trained, not icons and princesses and worrying about my new flatmates hearing our sex noises.
Because bless him, Ian was doing his best down there, licking and sucking, swirling and fondling. Hell, he even had two fingers searching out my G-spot. But what could I do? My head wasn’t in it—
Your candle burned out long before—
Neither was my body...
“What’s up?” Ian asked, throwing off the duvet as he came up for air.
“Nothing, I’m fine.” I curled my hands over his wide shoulders and pulled him down for a kiss. He tasted of me, hot and spicy, slippery-tongued. He settled his sheathed erection between my legs and prodded my entrance. All I could think of was Marilyn being found in the nude, Diana forever in England’s greenest hills.
“God, you feel good,” he said in a tight voice. “So damn good, I won’t last long.” He had a rugged, should’ve-shaved look and now, hovering over me with his face flushed, pupils wide and a sheen of sweat on his brow, he really was drop-dead gorgeous.
I wrapped my legs around his hard thighs and encouraged him in. Despite his appeal, it was just as well he wouldn’t last long. Because there was no way I was going to climax, not with Elton warbling on miserably about dead people. Might as well get it over with, then I could turn off the abysmal mattress music and get some sleep.
He pounded to the hilt on his first plunge. I caught his uncontrolled moan in my mouth to stop the guttural sound vibrating through the walls into my flatmates’ ears. I had three—two guys and a girl. They were nice, friendly, but I hadn’t been living at 62B Chiltern Apartments long and I was on my best behavior. Last in, first out played on my mind—if any of the longer-tenured residents complained about my weekend habit of picking up strangers and fucking them stupid, it would be me who had to leave.
“I’m coming,” Ian gasped, racing in and out of me like a jackhammer, our skin hot and sweaty, dark coils of his chest hair sliding against my jiggling breasts. With one hand, I grabbed hold of the headboard to stop it banging and tried to find a spark in my clit. Elton carried on singing, totally oblivious to my predicament.
“Aah...” Ian grunted as he froze, buried as deep as he could possibly go. I clamped my vaginal muscles and gleaned what physical pleasure I could from having a hard rod pulsating deep inside me. He tried to lift his head but I pressed his nape and caught his second long moan in a kiss.
He quivered and shivered and then his weight landed hard. “You’re fucking awesome,” he whispered into my ear on a hot, panting breath.
“You too,” I said, running my hand down his perfectly smooth back. Not a pimple anywhere, just acres of glorious hot, male flesh and a deeply guttered spine lined with solid muscle. “Really good.”
He lifted his head and looked into my eyes. “Liar.”
“What?”
“Liar, you didn’t come.”
“I did, it was great...you were great.” Lying to a man who was buried inside me was not something I was good at.
“I’m not stupid, Nina, I can tell when a woman orgasms. I can’t always tell the difference between real and fake, but bloody hell, you didn’t even try to pretend, not even a little wriggle and a gasp at the right moment.”
Frowning and shifting my hips, I muttered, “Sorry,” as I pushed out from under him.
“Don’t be sorry.” He rolled to his side, bent his arm and propped his head on his hand. The flat silver cross around his neck hung toward the mattress. “Just tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it for next time,” he said, still catching his breath.
Next time? Not likely. One-night stands were my game. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” I pulled the duvet to my chin and turned to the wall. “It was me.”
He caught my jaw. “Tell me,” he ordered, tipping me to face him. “I want to know.”
Through the dim light, blushed orange by a streetlamp, I could see his dark eyes staring straight into mine, unblinking. One of my flatmates banged crockery in the kitchen next to my room then a deep rumble of laughter from one of the guys, Jerry I think, filtered through the thin wall.
“Why do you care?” I asked, toes and fingers curling.
“I’m lying naked in bed with you, we’ve just shared as intimate an experience as two people can, and you wonder why I’m bothered that you didn’t have as good a time as me? Would I be human if I didn’t give a shit?”
I shrugged. Candle in the Wind had finished, and in its place Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me was swirling around us.
Too late to save myself from falling—
That was me, I thought, too far gone on this road of shagging any cock I could find to be saved. In my old flat, living with Dee and Fiona, life had been great and mattress music was never needed. We all just went for it, having as much sex and as many noisy orgasms as possible. We would giggle about it over breakfast and swap stories about what racy shenanigans we’d been up to.
But now they’d moved on. They were both head over heels in love and settled in their own homes, leaving me out on a limb and living here with strangers.
Of course I wasn’t technically alone, but if I was honest I’d never felt so lonely. I didn’t want to be, loneliness was like a dull, gray hole swelling inside me. Starting in my stomach and stretching outward. And in the center of this hole was a new bitter emotion—envy. I envied what Dee and Fi had found, lasting love with respect and commitment. But admitting what I wanted and changing the fact that there was no one special in my life were two separate issues.
More pressingly, at the moment anyway, nor could I change the fact that I hadn’t orgasmed since I’d moved. My one-night stands just weren’t doing it for me anymore. The intimacy of getting naked and sweaty with someone wasn’t satisfying the hunger, the need that was eating away at me like an itch I couldn’t quite reach.
I’d been here three weeks, three fucks. But each week there had been something sneaking into my brain that had distracted me from the delicious buildup to climax. Deadly quiet the first week when I was with a bodybuilding scaffolder from Durham, every mattress squeak and grunt sliding under the door and echoing through the walls. With Dave, an earnest accountant from Chelsea, a knock on my door midway through a blowjob put me off my stride. And now this morose mattress music was stopping me from having a great time with the truly gorgeous Ian.
“Nina?” Ian pressed, dragging me from my depressed musing.
“It was the damn music,” I said with a frown. He wasn’t going to let it drop so I might as well fess up. “I couldn’t concentrate. You were doing it right, great, but I just kept thinking of Marilyn Monroe and Princess Diana and Elton singing at his piano with his big, wobbling white wig and that mole thing he used to paint on his cheek.”
Ian tipped his head back and laughed. A big guffaw that shook the bed.
“Shh!” I pressed my fingers to his lips.
“Thank God for that,” he said, grinning. “Thought I’d lost my touch.”
“It’s not funny,” I whispered.
“No, no.” He tried to straighten out his grin. “Of course it’s not. I’ve just never thought of it before, the words in a song competing for the attention of the woman I’m trying to please.” He dropped a kiss to my lips. “So why did you put it on if you don’t like it?”
“So no one will hear. The walls here are so thin, and I’ve got male flatmates who I don’t want perving with glasses pressed to the walls.”
“You think they would?”
I sighed. “Probably not, they seem nice enough, but just the same...”
“You want your privacy.”
“Exactly.” I paused then sighed. “We should have taken a cab and gone to yours.”
“Yeah, but this was closer, much closer, just a quick walk around the corner.” He smoothed the hair from my face. It always went wild after sex. The hundreds of tiny, copper corkscrews seemed to take on lives of their own. “Maybe we could leave the music off and do it really, really quietly,” he whispered, spreading springs of my hair over the pillowcase.
“No,” I said. “That won’t work, I’ll be too conscious of even our breathing, or if the mattress squeaks.”
His eyes narrowed and a muscle in his cheek flexed, then he got up, dropped the condom in the bin, walked to the iPod and finally silenced Elton. “This isn’t over, you know.”
“What isn’t?”
“This...you.” He flopped back down, scooped an arm under my shoulders and pulled me onto his chest. “Go to sleep,” he said quietly, rubbing a circle over my bare upper arm. “I can tell you’re exhausted.”


Have a great Sunday :-)

Lily x

Book Lover's Inc interviewed me!

Please stop by if you have time and read my interview at Book Lover's Inc. Some great questions, an amazing review of THAT FILTHY BOOK, not to mention a lot of fun!

5* review for FREE story MORE

Natalie and I are thrilled to have our first Amazon review in for our FREE short story, MORE.



IF Venus and Mars read this the world would be a better place.
This is a delicious conversation between a wife and her husband from the minds of Lily Harlem - Scored and Natalie Dae. They did a fabulous job of how a married couple should communicate in the area of sex and what they both want.
The wife is the more dominate of the two but that doesn't mean the husband didn't give her what she wanted and then some. I think couples should read this together and enjoy the effects it will bring afterwards. Wonderful job ladies!
Buy Links
Amazon US
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