Tuesday, November 21, 2017

Goodbye Moderation: Gluttony Release!

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In a world where indulging our appetites is too often seen as a bad, selfish way to live, this anthology offers 12 delightfully wicked stories of people feasting unashamedly on pleasure.

Discover carnal pleasures that combine catering and cunnilingus, devour these delicious tales of abandon and allow yourself to be inspired by characters who long to taste all that life and lust can offer, whether their focus is food, sex or a combination of the two.

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Thursday, November 16, 2017

Getting Over You By Getting Under Someone Else - Part Two

Unforgettable – 
Part Two
Read Part One Here

Even to a back room that looks strangely like storage. Except it won't be.

There will be a small bed in the back, tidy if plain.

Until She sits down on it, somehow transforming the bed—the room—into a more familiar setting as Her weight settles into the down. Look around at your old room. Your old bed. “How is this possible?”

“You already know.”

Your stomach will clench at the sound of Her voice. You’ll shake your head, trying to clear it. You’ll swear it can’t be real. It can’t.

“Say it.”


Except you won’t believe in it.

“Say it!”

You do.

She’ll smile. “Good.” She’ll stand up and walk around you, dissecting you with Her gaze. “Strip and lay down.”

Do it. Without question, let your desire overpower your doubt. At just Her words, you will feel naked in front of Her, in a way that no amount of clothes can change. So peel yours off, layer after layer. Don’t be frightened when you feel small, exposed. Everything will be heightened, making denim and cotton feel like flesh, flayed while you pull it down your limbs.

Once actually nude, you will feel different. Raw and ragged. Crawling onto the bed, you will feel reborn. You’ll shiver as the sheets rub against your vulnerable skin. Close your eyes and imagine what, after a week without Her, Her touch will feel like.

You’ll hear Her chuckle at your shaky need. You’ll feel Her footsteps on the hardwood pound in your heart. Look up at Her. She will stand at the foot of the bed, tall and looming. “Who am I?”

Unsure, you’ll raise an eyebrow at Her. You’ll wonder what She’s talking about.

“Tell me.”

You will learn. Your tongue will tickle, the taste of the tea tingling. That sensation will reach inside you and pull words from your throat as you tell Her who She is. She is a miracle and a nightmare. She will grab your ankle, digging Her nails into your flesh. She is your every dream, good, bad, and ephemeral as hell. Those menacing, manicured hands will claw and climb up your leg, leaving long, red scratches on your skin, marking you as Hers. You’ll want to touch Her and be touched by Her. She will grab your hips, digging Her grip as She climbs onto the bed between your legs. You’ll want to take Her and be taken.

She’ll reach up and grab your face, forcing you to look at Her. “Who am I?”

The only woman you’ve ever loved.

“Am I?”

Your eyes will widen while She begins to change. Try to recoil, but She won’t let you go. Won’t let you look away.

“Who am I?”

You’ll shrink in Her grasp, held still as Her smile widens and Her dark eyes blink to blue. Her body will swell, filling out in places beneath Her clothes. Slight wrinkles will slash across Her skin near Her eyes and mouth. Dear God.

“Who am I?”

Your fifth grade teacher. Her name, that you won’t have thought about in years, will fall from your lips like stony truth. Stuck in the clutches of prepubescent hormones and awkwardness, you’d been so in love with her. She’d been so sure you were cheating, scoring high on tests and homework, but failing miserably whenever called on in class. It hadn’t been that you couldn’t do the work but, the minute she spoke to you, your brain would stall. She was too beautiful, too smart, and too kind, always treating you like you mattered, like everyone, like you, were special. So young and inexperienced, how could you not have loved her?

“You love me?”

You had. Once. As much as a fifth grader could, which will feel both more pure and less real than love today. You’ll close your eyes and lose yourself in the memory when she leans in to kiss you gently on the forehead.

You’re body will tense and panic when you feel her hand on your cock.

“Shhh. It’s cool.”

You will know that voice.

Open your eyes.

You’ll look into the face of your college girlfriend, who wore her long, black hair in severe, high ponytails and always wore cherry-flavored lipgloss. She’d been your first, well, everything. Your first girlfriend. You’re first sight of a naked woman. You’re first blowjob. Your first lover.

“Did you love me?”

Yes. You’ll look at her now, right into the brazen face she boldly wore to mask the vulnerable insecurity she carried inside. You’d loved her; part of you always will.

Let her hand move over you, move you. Feel her fumble with the condom, her hands eager but unsure. Close your eyes again and remember what it felt like to love like that. When everything was new and unknown. When for now felt like forever. When you feel the slick slide of cherry-flavored lip balm slip smooth and sloppy down your dick, enjoy it. Moan her name. Hitch your hips and coat your length in drugstore cosmetics and her. Remember her.

Cry out when she sinks her nails in your thigh, bringing you back from your past. Look down and watch your memory melt into Her. Her dark eyes will glare at you, cold and hungry. Her smile will look self-satisfying and sharp. She won’t ask you if you love Her. She already knows.

Instead, She will climb atop you, straddling your hips so She can ride this body beneath Her that She’s already claimed as Hers. You will hate that you love Her while She slides your hard length inside Her. Hate that She still has such a hold over you. 

But, as She rides you, feel it. Really feel it and know that it’s different than it has been. Don’t be afraid. Or disappointed. Understand that within this love, you’ll feel the echoes of all the others that came before. Having felt the fuel, the fire, and, yes, the fade of those loves, recognize it now. Even in Her. 

When She grips your thighs to undulate over you, grip Her hips too. Dig your fingers deep. Hold tight to Her and know that, want all you want, but this too will fade.

Watch while She flickers, fluttering into someone else. For a moment, She’ll look strange, like a flash of someone you ought to know, before She settles into her. Familiar. Similar. But uniquely her.

Grab her hips and thrust into her. Let the pleasure of you—of your and her together—build and burn. Ride her as she rides you. And, when you hear her come, pour everything you are—everything you have been and the promise of what you could be—into her.

Then hold her. Pull her limp, slick, soft form to you and wrap grateful arms around her. Kiss her and imagine that you can taste your whole life on her lips.

But, most of all, thank her.

When it’s finally time to get up, to leave, put on your clothes and take out your wallet. Pay her and tip well. Very well. She’ll have more than earned it.

As you tie your shoes, ask her if you’ll see her again.

“Do you need to?”

Maybe not. “But I might like to.”

She’ll smile at you. “Well, you know where to find me.”

True enough. 

But, before you leave, ask her the question that’s been bugging you for the past few minutes. “At the end, before the glamour dropped, you transformed into my cubemate from work.” You’ll shake your head, confused. “Why?”

She’ll quickly tuck your money into her purse and look at you innocently. “I don’t know. The spell reads your mind and tells me what to look like through the link.” She’ll shrug. “So you tell me.”

Your brow will wrinkle. “She’s just a coworker. A work friend, at most.”

She’ll grab her purse in her hand and shoot you a knowing look. “I’m not the one you have to convince.”

You suppose not. You’ll think of your coworker with her windblown pixie cut and warm, grey eyes. You’ll think of her brown bag lunches and rainbow of glitter pens kept in a chipped mug on her desk. You’ll think of her laugh and the way her nose crinkles when she smiles or is trying to remember something. You’ll think of coffee breaks and lunches that never seem long enough. 

You’ll think about how she always slaps your hand away when you try to steal a taste of her chips or treats. And the way her eyes fire when making a point with a client or colleague. You’ll remember the way her voice sounds when she argues with you, ruthless and right. And you’ll feel a familiar feeling.

You won’t love her yet.

But, maybe, if it’s meant, you might.

Nod at that thought, think about talking to your therapist about it next session, and smile.

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Find even more great reads and Put Your Money Where Your Orgasm Is!

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Please Check Out My Own Little Story Limbo.

Getting Over You By Getting Under Someone Else - Part One

Unforgettable -  
Part One

There are some things in life you will never forget.

For as long as you live, the black of Her eyes will color everything you see. Her voice, Her laugh, will echo in your quiet moments, a sound your ears will always strain to hear in a crowd. And Her touch.

Her touch.

How could anything compete with something you still can’t quite understand? How could the grip of Her hands, so tight and unforgiving on your wrists, on your ankles, on your throat, on your heart, feel both possessive and freeing at the same time? How could the bite of teeth, the lick of tongue, and the suck of Her mouth devour whole, while feeding something deep within? How could the dig of Her nails feel like they were tearing into skin to get to soul?

That’s not something easily left behind.

But, if the last year and a half have taught you anything, you must learn how or you will never move forward.

So answer the ad.

Tell yourself it’s just a joke—a fake, a dare—if you have to. Just do it.

When the ad answers back, don’t flinch at the sound of her voice on the other line. Don’t stumble through the questions. This is what you’ll want; remember that.

But don’t beat yourself up, when you fail. You’re not perfect and you’ll be fairly sure, by her knowing tone and calm patience, she’ll have probably heard worse.

When you schedule a time to meet, show up. Don’t hide in the corner.

If you can, try to look like you want to be there.

You want to be there.

Be prepared, when you see her; it will hit you hard.

You’ll have chosen that ad because, while she won’t look like Her—no one could look like Her—there’s something about the flash of teeth in her smile or the glint of her eyes that reminds you of a memory your mind cannot let go.

When she wants to negotiate, let her have whatever she wants.

Don’t wonder why she frowns at this. Don’t try to read the second thoughts that flash like red flags through her eyes.

When she looks at you incredulously and asks if you have any limits, pause. Take the time to think about it.

Because you do.

As the past burns your skin like a brand, tell her. “I just need something to change.” Living like this is your limit

She’ll look at you, her dark eyes distant and sharp as a saber. “I’m not a shrink. Or a doctor. I can’t fix you. No problem you have right now in your life can be solved in-scene.”

You’ll know that. You may not want to, but you will. Shrug. “I’ve been to therapy and doctors. Had them check me up and down. Inside and out.” Turns out, they can’t fix you either. You will learn that, after endless tests that inevitably come up inconclusive or advice—exercise, diet, talk—that won’t help. Whatever. “That’s not what this is about.”

She will arch a perfectly shaped eyebrow at you. “Then what is it about?”

Think about this. This is important. Drop your gaze and focus inward, mentally touching all the empty space within. Don’t be afraid; be more honest with her than you’ve ever been, even with yourself. “Learning how to live with being broken.”

You’ll hold your breath, while she thinks. You’ll wonder what you hope her answer will be. When she nods, you’ll know for sure. “I can work with that.” The words are not Hers, but the rejection you feel in the casual tone and tilt of her head, however wanted, however asked for, will feel fresh.

Ignore it.

Set a date, a time, and a place to meet. For real.

Excitement will mix with terror in the moment. It will feel oddly comforting. Triggering a part of your brain that has been craving something it couldn’t name. That feeling will sustain you, consume you, for the days to come.

When the day comes, don’t show up an hour early; it will look desperate and obvious as you sit in your car in the empty parking lot. Just waiting with an anxious foot tapping in time to your racing thoughts next to the gas pedal. Don’t do that to yourself.

You cannot control the world, your therapist always tells you, just how you choose to live in it.

So choose to live in it.

Because, want all you want, the past cannot come back.

She is gone and you need to find out who you are without Her.

So enter the early morning café.

You’ll see her, seated in a booth in the back, a steaming cup of sweet-smelling tea in her hand. Join her. When she looks at you sternly, meet and keep her gaze. Until you can’t. When the weight of it makes yours falter, don’t feel bad. “Have you been good?”

Her rules.


You’ll have followed her rules—too afraid not to—but it will have been hard.

You may hate porn. But you need it.

When She’d left, you lost everything. Your home—because how could you stay in the same home as the man who’d stolen the girl who’d stolen your heart—your friend, and your heart. For a long time, for longer than you’ll want to admit, you lost the ability to function, dragging your body around like a zombie from bed to work and back. You won’t want to remember the long stretches of days where you barely made eye contact with anyone, your coworkers and fellow commuters uncomfortably aware of your aching soul. With each passing day, you noticed the berth they gave you widening as they silently and collectively waited for the broken bits of you to blow away, finally unburdening them.

The only solace you’ve had is porn. It lured you in and made you feel less alone, less unhappy, at a time in your life when you had next to no one in your life. It’s been your escape from a world that has done its best to make you feel unwanted. The doe-eyed digital performers with perfect proportions looked at you with want and welcome. Each pixelated pant and moan felt like coming home.

Until even porn, like everything else in the world, betrayed you.

Be honest, you should have seen it coming. There were signs that, in hindsight, should have scared you. When you spent hours scouring sites to find images and videos, looking for Her—for women with eyes or mouths or hips or asses that made you think of Her, who you could superimpose the smell and taste and feel of Her onto—you should have known something was wrong. When even those stopped being enough and your mind and body became accustomed to—began to crave—themes and acts your conscience quaked at, you paused and pondered at the path you were taking. 

You let it take over your life. Let it become an obsession. Let it become bigger than the rest of you.

Be afraid.

Let that fear lead you here. Like you’d said, you came for a change.

So look into her eyes. “Yes.”

Before she'd left you last time, she told you to stop. No more porn; not until you’ve stopped using as self-flagellation. No more fantasizing and fetishizing the past. No more Her.

It won’t have been easy. Your body—your heart, your soul—will revolt. Will want what it cannot—what it should not—have. You will feel lost without it. You will ache for it. Inside, you'll feel your desire, like this rigid, raw, ravenous thing. It will feel larger, harder, more powerful, than you. You will wonder what harm one time—or one more or just one more—could do. Stay strong. Because, even if it doesn't feel like it now, her rules have to be better than where you’ve been. You’ve been unhealthy with it, with Her, for too long and even you must realize you’ll never move on, if you’re not willing to leave this behind. “I wanted to, but I didn't break my word.”

Her eyes will soften and a smile will tug at her lips. “Good.” And, in her, you'll see something familiar, something you never thought you would again. Something inside will loosen, even as your body tightens. “Very good.” She’ll cross her legs and stare at you over her teacup. “Are you sure you want this?”

Her tone will be serious. Take it seriously.

“I'm not Her.” She won’t need to say it. Lord knows, you know. “Trying to replace Her with me in your mind isn't going to end well for either of us.”

Nod. You know. Lord knows. “You do remind me of Her.” She knew that, of course. That’s why you chose her. “But that's kinda the point.” You’ve carried the memory of Her with you for so long. Felt it weigh on your mind, your heart, your body, for so long. “I need to find...” What’s the word? “Boundaries.” You’ll need to build walls. “Between Her and me.” You’ll know it’s a strange request. But none of us get to choose what we need. “I don’t want you to replace Her; I want you to release me from Her.”

She’ll nod before pushing a cup full of tea your way. “Then drink.”

Do it. Let the spiced taste of it linger on your tongue and cling to your throat. Close your eyes and drink deep, listening to her laugh. “You know, usually I help people get their rocks off by indulging their fantasies, not the other way around.”

Carefully, place the cup on its saucer. “I appreciate any help I can get.” Shrug and watch while she takes the cup from you. “I just want to feel normal again.” Close your eyes when she sips from your tea, the act feeling odd and intimate.

She’ll laugh harder. “You may have picked the wrong ad to answer then.”

Curious, open your eyes. 

And, somehow, some way, see Her.

Look into Her eyes. She’ll reach out Her hand to you. “Come with me.”

Take it.

You’ll have no choice.

Follow Her anywhere She wants to take you... 

Read Part Two Here

Tuesday, November 14, 2017

Unspeakably Erotic: Lesbian Kink Release!

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Monday, November 6, 2017

Touching You as No One Has - Part Two

The Echo of Impacts – 
Part Two
Read Part One Here

His hands coasted down her waist before cupping her hips. Those hands were gentle, but a constant weight over the scars that crisscrossed there, as he suckled her sensitive breasts. She wanted to squirm, felt her body ache with it, but she couldn’t. Trapped by his hold, unwilling to either give up the pleasure he was giving nor risk pressing too close or too hard against his hands, she stayed still under his attention. She had no choice but to surrender to him.

It’d been a long time since she’d surrendered to anyone. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d done so willingly. Yet with Mac, she did, giving to him. Safe in the knowledge that, whatever she gave, he might take, but he would give back. She could give him control in this moment because, once it was done, he would never try to keep it. She could give herself over to him because she could feel, even in this moment, him give himself to her too.

So when his kisses headed south, she parted her legs for him, grateful when his hands moved with her, followed her every shift as if this were a dance they’d done a thousand times. 

And, as if proving this was a deliberate act, he teased her with his teeth, nipping her waist, her belly, her inner thigh, making her jerk and yelp, as much from his playful bites as the sudden press against his palms. It was strange how the controlled shock made the sting different. It hurt, but the pain was quick, a sharp spark that was over before her mind could even fully register it, leaving a sizzling heat in its wake.

It shouldn’t have turned her on, but it did. The sensation of it, sure, but also just the thought that it was Mac doing this to her, causing this overwhelming whirlwind within her. It was its own kind of magic.

And then his mouth was on her. He licked at her labia, tracing every dip and vale of her heat swollen flesh, making her slicker as his tongue lapped at her. The tip of his tongue plunged deeper, flicking against her opening in a tantalizing tease. By the time his lips wrapped around her clit, sucking her deep while his tongue laved, she wanted to weep with want. She gripped the bedsheets as desperate sounds slipped past her lips. Her back arched as she sought to press herself deeper into his touch.

When his hands gripped her hips harder to hold her in place like an anchor, the pain of it only added to the sensations threatening to drown her. She cried out, her eyes blinking blankly, while her world exploded into pleasure. Her hand reached out to hold Mac’s against her hip, that touch grounding her while the rest of her world washed away.


Mac winced. He wanted to roll his stiff wrist. Wanted to take his hand away from her flesh, feeling the power against his palm like the threat of a stove.

But instead he just lay there between her limp thighs while her body shook with an orgasm that hit her in waves. Her strong body so vulnerable, almost fragile, before him. 

Except for her hold on him. Her hand on his gripped him, held him still. He could feel her life in that touch. The pain of her past, sure, he felt that like a blistering pulse against his palm. But also the strength of who that past help shape. This was who she was. More than her power, this was why her world trusted her with Faere Trade, with one of the most significant haven places, a space that kept the peace and kept its people safe. For better or worse, she’d seen, done, and been more than most could even imagine.

And, after all of that, she’d been chosen, and more importantly she chose, to protect her people.

She was amazing.

Stretching forward, he kissed her hand, fancying he could feel that touch travel through her hand, through his, and into her.

He knew it couldn’t. Sex, even great sex, didn’t fix anything. Couldn’t heal. It wasn’t magic and neither was he. The only reason why he was even here, in her world, in her bed, was because magic had happened to him.

He knew that he couldn't take away her pain, couldn't change the past that had made her who she was today. Wasn't entirely sure he'd want to, even if he could—after all, who would anyone be without their past? 

Still, with his lips against her skin, he furrowed his brow and wondered if there was anything anyone could do to make it better. Wounds were supposed to heal, weren’t they? Even if the scars lingered, the pain wasn’t supposed to. With all this woman had been through and all that she gave back, there had to be something someone could do.

Didn’t there?

He felt her hand, warm and soft, settle over the crown of his head. “Thank you.”

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Find even more great reads and Put Your Money Where Your Orgasm Is!

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Touching You as No One Has - Part One

The Echo of Impacts -  
Part One

Mac Dunn watched San Merida fall back, sated, on her bed, her beautiful, nutmeg-shaded skin slick with sweat in the afternoon sun. She panted, catching her breath. “Not to sound ungrateful for the lunch break, but I should get back to the café soon.”

Mac stretched to lazily but insistently pull her closer to him, unwilling to let the moment go so quickly. “Isn’t one of the perks of being the boss being able to come and go as you please?”

With a chuckle, San swatted him playfully but snuggled all those soft, sexy curves closer. “Only if you want to go out of business.”

Snorting, he caught her wrist, loving the look of the delicate limb trapped in his larger, stronger, darker one, and kissed her hand. “Faere Trade’s been around forever. It’s an institution. It’s not going anywhere.” More than that, it was a place of community and power and no one was going to fire the ageless witch who’d been running and guarding it for the better part of a century. She was irreplaceable; almost as much of an institution as the café. He stroked her forearm, trying not to be so in awe of her. “You know, at least not for the length of a long lunch.”

He froze for a moment, a cold shudder seizing him, when his pinky brushed the raised skin near her elbow. He hated that reaction, but he couldn’t help it. 

As a black man in America, there had been times in his life when his survival had depended on his ability to seem unfazed. When, in the face of danger or even death, he’d needed to project strength and calm, even and especially when those were the last things he was feeling.

But, in countless ways, San fazed him.

Mac found San undeniably beautiful, from head to toe. But there were places on her body—along her upper arms and shoulders, snaking up her thighs and hips, even over the bridges of her feet—that felt off limits to him, where red scars scoured her skin in intricate patterns like delicately woven barbed wire. Most of the time, he didn’t think about them. But, the moment he touched them or looked at them too long, his thoughts felt caught.

And it wasn’t as if they made her less attractive. On the contrary. Everything about them, from the sight and feel of them—even just knowing they existed, so often hidden beneath her clothes—almost seemed to call to him. 

Which scared him.

“You know, it’s ruder not to ask.”

Mac looked down at her. “What was that?” He tried to force his body to relax. Not for the first time since he’d met her, he wondered if she could read thoughts.

She rolled onto her stomach, putting some space between them. “It doesn’t take a psychic to know what made you tense up. You couldn’t be thinking about my scars louder, if you tried.” She pushed her dark hair off her face and sighed. “You have questions. Ask.”

Mac bit the inside of his cheek before pushing up to sit on the bed. “I don’t want to pry.” He knew a bit about her history. You didn’t get to be where she was, what she was, without seeing some shit—without wading in it. Or being weighed by it.

Mac was still, by comparison, new to this whole magic thing. But, even as a newly made immortal, he couldn’t quite wrap his head around what living as long as she had would inevitably mean.

“Yes, you do.” She snorted. “Rather, you want me to be pried; you just don’t want to be the one to do it.” 

“Hey now.” Mac may not have her magical resume, but he’d been in the muck of it long enough to know that magic, for all its wonders, could do real damage. In the few years that he’d been involved in it, there’d been memories that he knew he’d never share because sharing meant remembering, reliving. And there were moments he didn’t think he could afford to give that kind of power. “I figured, if you wanted to share, you would. If you didn’t…” He shrugged. There were worse things than wondering.

She tilted her head thoughtfully before nodding. “Not much to tell. All magic requires sacrifice. Be it time, effort, dedication to learn the craft.” She shrugged. “And some spells are fueled by blood, some by pain, some by loss. Some of the strongest ones draw on all three.”

Mac stiffened against a shiver. “What do those kinds of spells do?”

She gave a stiff smile. “Nothing good.”

Mac wanted to ask for more. And he didn’t. He’d heard stories. Myths and legends, fairytales and horror stories, that had their roots in her. Her history literally haunted humanity’s. Looking at those scars now, they almost seemed like ripples in her skin, like echoes of impacts. Part of him might be curious about them, about her. And maybe one day he’d ask. But, for today, she was right; there were parts of her he knew he didn’t have the courage to disturb. 

So, instead, he reached out, letting his hands hover over the marked flesh. He couldn’t tell if he was being fanciful, but the space around the scars felt strangely charged. His skin prickled, almost like the start of frostbite, not painfully but not pleasantly either. He wanted to wrench his hand away. Instead, he let himself settle into the sensation. “They look fresh.” He didn’t think they were; she’d had them as long as he’d known her. Or, at least, as long as they’d been having sex. Scars didn’t take that long to heal. “Do they hurt?”

She shrugged, causing her shoulder to touch his fingers. He felt the connection like an icy shock. “Power like that lingers.” She said it so nonchalantly.

He shook his head. “So you just live with the pain?”

Her scoff held centuries. “Doesn’t everyone?”

He supposed that was true enough. As an immortal, he’d died many times in many different ways. Some were just to see if it was true. Some to prove how true it was. Each one hurt. Each one, uniquely. Some in mind-breaking ways.

But, once you made your way back from broken...well, nothing put pain, no matter how extreme, into perspective quite like survival. And people like them could survive a lot.

But to live with it every day. It didn't seem fair.

Closing his eyes, Mac leaned down and kissed her shoulder. He felt power crackle against his lips, felt it reach out to him. Reach inside of him.

It made him want to reach back. He wanted to heal her, to erase the painful parts of her past. He wanted to slip inside her and somehow share her burden, ease it, even just a bit, for just a moment.

So he trailed his lips over the raised skin. “That doesn't hurt, does it?”


San didn't know how to answer that.

It did. It always did. Knew that touching them must hurt him too. That was the nature of them.

Yet. “It feels better.” And it did. It felt strange to have someone touch places on her body most people avoided. She'd carried these scars for most of her longer-than-most life and had more than her share of lovers in that time. 

But, long before any of them, she'd let darkness inside her, gave parts of herself to it. She'd been sure, just as her lovers had, that those parts belonged to that dark past and always would.

That was the price of that kind of magic. No one used it without giving up something of themselves.

But, with Mac, she felt tenderness in every touch. Every brush of his lips or fingers seemed to heal even as it hurt. As if he were leaving a bit of himself on her too.

She'd lived long enough to know that few things lasted. Least of all love, despite what all the stories told. It would take more magic than a few touches to make those parts of her belong to him. But, with the sun and his attention warming her, she felt the cold grip of her past loosen, just a bit.

He made his way lingeringly slow down her shoulders, over her arms, and along her breasts. He made the path over and over, making the sting of his lips over her scars blur and blend with the feel of his hands on her breasts, his tongue across her nipples. It made for a dizzying circuit, overloading her senses as pain and pleasure mixed…

Read Part Two Here