A Little Piece of “Paradise”

Hey everyone! I’m excited to tell you that I have a short story out this week in an anthology that’s slipped its way into the world a touch early—hurray! On Fire: Erotic Romance Stories is out now on ebook with the paperback version available in just a few days. This lovely collection from Cleis Press houses both the sexy and the sweet, and since it’s edited by the fabulous Rachel Kramer Bussel, you know you’re in for something great!

I’m so pleased to share that a tender little old story of mine, “Paradise,” is included in this anthology. The story centers around Justin and Anna, a couple who are rekindling a long lost romance on Anna’s trip to Justin’s now island home of sunny Puerto Rico. This story is particularly dear to my heart, and I’d love to tell you why. See, I started this one quite a long time ago, after my own real life love affair with a man I’ll call G., who was in the military (and who very much inspired Justin’s character). I didn’t get far in my writing because I was more invested in the real life romance, which, sadly, didn’t last all that long after G. moved away. While we did attempt—and fail—at our own rekindling on a trip I took to Puerto Rico years later, we fortunately had a charming run-in years after that in San Francisco. 😉

Now, in real life, G. and I realized we would never work long term, though we both looked fondly on our earlier romance and all the intensity that comes from distance, oh so much distance…and that tension struck me as the sweetest basis for an erotic romance story when I saw Rachel’s call all those years later. So, I pulled out the two or three pages I’d written a decade before, added some details of my actual trip to Puerto Rico—because holy moly, that place is beautiful—and imagined what would happen if the couple was, say, more meant to be than G. and I were. The story found its way into Rachel’s hands a while back, and now I’m delighted to share it with you!

To celebrate On Fire’s release, I’ve got a little piece of “Paradise” for you to read below. And, to set the tone, two of my favorite pictures from my trip to Puerto Rico. One is from the island of Culebra, a short boat ride from the main island, and the other a splash of all the greenery you can find on the island itself. I hope you enjoy both pictures, and also the following story excerpt…

From “Paradise”:

I admired the view while Justin stroked his fingers over my hand. The water beyond the sand glistened like polished glass, a topaz field of wetness beckoning us to swim in it.

“It’s beautiful,” I said. It was this same vast ocean that had kept us apart for so long, and I frowned. Justin stepped closer, his flip-flops slapping on the tile until his chest hovered a couple inches away. Against the cherry-colored walls of the room, he looked out of place—a southern gentleman turned beach-boy who yanked me hard enough that I collided into him.

“No, you’re beautiful,” he said. He slid his hands to my hips before lowering his mouth to mine again. I felt numb, content to be with him, here, but my vision clouded over as delighted tears rushed into my eyes. Justin noticed and swiped his fingers in long, tender strokes beneath my eyelashes. “Hey now, sweetheart. What are the tears for?” He said it softly, his twang making me giddy. His own eyes glistened and I laughed, shuddering as more tears, happy tears, fell to my chin.

“I’ve just…missed you,” I said.

Justin shook his head, then kissed my cheeks. He whispered, “No tears. We’re here, together now. No more waiting or wondering.”

I nodded. “I know.”

He snaked his arms around me, both of us hobbling back and forth while he nudged me toward the glass doors. His lips grazed my ear as he looked between my face and the ocean outside.

“You know, for three years, I’ve been out here thinking of you, Anna. I’ve been in the water, on the beach, living in this beautiful place, but…” He ran his fingertips through the hair at my brow, then used his other hand to pull me close enough to feel the hard bulge in his shorts. “None of it compared to seeing someone as beautiful as you.”

My knees grew weak. Those words, those sweet sentiments—the firm wedge of his cock rising to meet me—God how I’d missed them.

“Kiss me,” I said.

He did.

This time, the kiss was heavier—less desperate to close the distance, only eager to rekindle our fire. I melted into his lips, heat coiling through my body and sending tingles along my limbs as he plundered my mouth and took my tongue into his. When I nibbled his lip, he paused. He swooped me up and I gasped, mesmerized by the man who cradled me in his arms and carried me to the couch.

“Do you know how many nights I’ve dreamed of you?” he said. I laid my head back on the cushions as he sat beside me on the floor, then trailed his lips over my hands. “I should offer you a meal. A shower. More to make you comfortable, Anna, but all I can think about is making love to you.”

Culebra

He grazed my neck with his fingertips, his roughened skin sending trembles through my body again, and I swallowed.

“Then do.”

Justin grinned. He climbed beside me on the couch, sinking his hip against my thigh and running his hand along my leg beneath my shorts. He traced his fingertips over my knees, then down to slide off my sandals.

“I’ve always loved how blatant you are, darlin’.” He circled my ankles with his hands, caressing them like he used to, like every inch of me was a temple he worshipped. I reminded myself to breathe, the longing to feel him after such an extended time taking over my senses. He folded over me, sneaking his hands across my belly, then under my halter top, and when he slid them over the cups of my bra, our lips locked tight.

“Justin…” I muttered, loving the way his tongue moved so aggressively in my mouth while his hands made the gentlest of strokes over my breasts. He skimmed his fingers over my nipples, rubbing the tender peaks until I moaned. When he slid his lips to my neckline, he spread slow, soft pecks between the panels of my shirt, flicking his tongue in quick lashes over my skin. A blush filled my cheeks at the touch, a reminder of the way he used to kiss my sex for hours before ever driving into me.

“God, I’ve wanted this, wanted you…” he said. He unhooked the few buttons holding my shirt closed, our kisses growing more frenzied as he laid himself over me. Our hips were together instantly, both of us grinding against one other as I grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked it over his head. He kissed me harder, his pelvis crashing against mine as he dragged his hands straight into my hair, then gathered it behind my head and yanked it tight just like I loved. I mewled.

“I want you too, Justin. I’ve missed you.”

“Oh…” He pulled back to look over me, keeping his fist in my hair, using his other hand to tease my nipples through my bra. His gaze was lost, hungry, lustful, his hands over me desperate and skilled. He pinched my nipples and I arched against him, ready for the wait to end.

“Please,” I growled.

***

There you have it! Some of your own “Paradise” to enjoy before you get your hands on On Fire, a delicious new erotic romance anthology available now. Pick up your copy on Amazon or at any of the buy links below…

Amazon (print)

Kindle (ebook)

Amazon UK

Amazon Canada

Bn.com (print)

Nook (ebook)

Powells

Books-a-Million

Happy reading!

XX,
Jade

 

Cover of The Assignment by Jade A. Waters

It’s Nearly Release Day—And Deal Time!

It’s almost here! Tomorrow is the official release day of my debut novel, The Assignment—and I couldn’t be more thrilled!

As you may have cCover of The Assignment by Jade A. Watersaught on, there have been a lot of events leading up to today. The blog tour kicked off about a week ago, and it will continue for almost two weeks more. Yes! You’ll have plenty of opportunities to find out about the book through guest posts, behind-the-scenes reveals, interviews, and other ditties along the way. Tomorrow, in fact, I’m scheduled to be stopping at not one but THREE fabulous sites! That’s right, you’ll be able to find a smokin’ hot excerpt of The Assignment at Rachel Kramer Bussel’s Lusty Lady blog, a guest post I’ve written about BDSM over at Underneath the covers, and also a review of The Assignment at Books Reviews Etc. Whoa! Will that be triple the fun, or what?

Speaking of extra fun…in celebration of the release of The Assignment, I’m offering a special deal. Anyone who purchases my debut novel within the first three days it’s available (so by 11:59 pm EST December 15, 2016), will get a free, never before published short story of mine. Hurray! I’m super excited to share it with you, too…all you need to do to get your hands on it is…

1. Buy your copy of The Assignment (by the above deadline) and

2. Email a copy of your receipt to me at jade@jadeawaters.com.

It’s that easy! You can find the book at the following locations:

Amazon US     Amazon UK      Barnes & Noble      Google Play      iBooks      Kobo

Once you grab it, don’t forget to email me your receipt. I’ll be sending the story out to you by the end of the week.

Have you already pre-ordered the book? You are awesome—and it’s no problem. Just email along your receipt showing you’ve made the purchase, and ta-da! This short story will be available to you, too. It’s a thank you for your support!

In the meantime, please keep an eye on the Official Tour Post so you can follow along and check out all the stops. Don’t forget to visit past stops, either—my favorite so far was a super fun interview with Rose Caraway (which included a sexy snippet read by me in-studio!). Good times! But there’s definitely more to come…you won’t want to miss a thing. 🙂

For now, thank you so much for joining me on this fantastic journey, and in advance for picking up your copy of The Assignment.

Happy reading to all!

XX,
Jade

PS Want my “autograph” for your ebook? Be sure to request one on Authorgraph if you do! 🙂

Cover of For the Men

“73A” — Out Now in For the Men!

Happy Monday, everyone!

Today is a fabulous day—it’s the official release of Rose Caraway‘s super sexy For the Men: And the Women Who Love Them anthology, and I’ve got a story in this one!

My story, “73A,” is one that’s particularly dear to me. It’s an older piece that definitely has some early Jadeisms all over it—it’s pure sass and ultra playful—and while at one point it was destined for another anthology, I couldn’t be more thrilled that it ended up in Rose Caraway’s hands. For one, she’s a joy to work with, time and time again. Two, the story is in second person—a form I don’t get to write in enough, but that I rather enjoy (especially since my start in erotica was sexy letters to special someones)—so I’m tickled to get it out into the world. And finally, the concept of this anthology is goddamn hot, hot, hot. It’s meant for you fellas, and of course, all of us ladies who love reading stories “meant” for the men. I happen to be one of these ladies, and this story is one I hope both the men and their lady loves will enjoy.Cover of For the Men

Now, I can blather on about the girl from 73A (her name, as you’ll see when you dive into the full story) and her sassy, sexual liberated self that leads her to entrance the painter on her patio, but instead, I’m going to share a snippet with you. The first line of this story popped into my head, and, well, I had to run with it. I hope you enjoy…

Excerpt from “73A”:

You’re working on my fence right now, and all I can think about is sucking your cock.

It’s a startling urge, seeing as how I’ve known you as long as you’ve been working on my patio fence—two days, plus the last three hours you’ve been squatting and bending, rolling that brush over the slats as deliberately as I want you to spread your hands over my body—but once you turn and smile at me through the glass door, it’s settled.

I check out your buddies, confirming both of them are hard at work, huffing and grunting on the far end of the enclosure. You gave one of them grief yesterday for not making enough love to his wife. Your logic was sound, and exactly the reason I called in sick today.

Well, it’s only half the reason. The rest is that I’ve realized watching you and thinking all these thoughts has left a wet spot on my couch.

I get up to change and you notice. You pause midway through your roller stroke, a coat of white over the top of the slat but a dejected shade of primer on the bottom. You peer through the glass like you’re probably not supposed to do on the job, but I don’t mind. Your eyebrows weave together, curious, so I dip my shoulder and wave with only my fingers. Once out of view I strip off my clothes, swapping my bra for one with little coverage and extra lace, then I cover it with a half-buttoned blouse. My damp yoga pants are replaced with a short skirt, and I decide panties are useless before heading back to my seat on the couch.

The wet spot there is somehow exhilarating, and I add to it a pussy already drenched in longing for what you might do if I invite you in.

You’ve gotten distracted by the other two men in my absence, but I’m ready now. I slide my legs apart a few inches, providing you a clear view should you turn around and pay attention again. I lower my hand, caressing the short fuzz that covers my outer folds before circling my clit with my fingertips.

You laugh at your partners, then check on me. The smile you had when you turned falters—not in any sort of frown, but in a definite state of confusion. This makes me excited, and I nudge my legs farther apart so you can watch.

You’re caught; you look back at them to check if they can see this, but the boys are preoccupied. Immediately, your eyes are on me. I sink into the couch, guiding my fingers over the pool of wetness between my thighs. I’m breathing heavy already, exhaling ragged sighs that I want you to amplify with your touch, but you can’t hear me with the door closed. You can only watch as I flick my index finger over my clit a few times, ratcheting the quivering of my pussy up to a tremendous ache. With my other hand, I slip inside, fucking myself with one finger as I imagine what you’d feel like plunging into me…

*

Oh, yeah. I had so much fun writing this little story…and I hope you enjoyed the snippet! Our girl manages quite an adventure with the painter on the patio, and I do hope you’ll check it out. For the Men is now available on Amazon, Smashwords, and Itunes, and will be coming to you on Audible very soon. You won’t want to miss it—order your copy today!

Happy reading!

XX,
Jade

P.S. Have you joined my newsletter? The first edition is coming in just a few days, and subscribers have access to all the latest news and exclusives for books coming soon, too! Please join the fun. 🙂

Cover of Rachel Kramer Bussel's Begging for It Anthology

About Those “Apple Thighs”

Like many women, I’ve long harbored nagging body hang-ups. I’ve heard we all have at least one thing we wish we could change—weight, breast size, hip width, nose length, belly roll, ass curve, etc., etc. I’ve certainly had my fair share of these “one things,” things I either wished to vanquish or worked ridiculously hard to at least adjust somehow. I remember a multi-year stint as a child convinced I would get a nose job when I was 18, but it turns out, I was destined to grow into the full-sized nose I had from birth. I hated my hips for the longest time because I was born with those, too (really), and I spent a lot of my teen years with bruises on them from bumping into things since I somehow didn’t grasp how wide they were. Both these features have since balanced out, and while they’re no longer issues, certain “one things” have persisted over the years. The big one, no matter how fit I am or what I do, is the hereditary trait most of the women in my family share: the “dreaded apple thighs.”

Apple thighs, I’m sure you’re thinking. What in the hell are those?

Apple thighs, you see, are very distinct in shape. They’re not quite like their oft-dwelled upon cousin, thunder thighs, but a round, fleshy version that tapers at the knee. This taper is what resembles—in some odd way that my mother explained to me when I was a wee little girl—an apple. And we of the women in my family are doomed (yes, doomed) to have these cursed apple thighs, no matter if we are thick or thin, short or tall, curvy or straight. Those fuckers just happen, and despite this, in my family, they get a lot of negative attention and commentary. As I have learned, apple thighs are bemoaned and bad, and as beautiful as one of us may be, we’ve still missed out somehow by having these big ass curvy thighs.

Now, I’m going to be extremely straight with you today: I’ve worked with some real body image issues over the years, which ebb and flow and for which I’ve even sought a little counseling to better deal on occasion. I’m all over the #allbodiesarebeautiful movement because I believe in it through and through, and though I have my wavers in spells, deep in my heart, I know these apple thighs are part of me and something that, most of the time, I’m okay with. But when I have my doubts—about them, or any other part—I have to think about the whole picture. I have to come to terms with who I am and love me just as I am.

That’s why, of all the stories I’ve released into the world, “Apple Thighs” is one of my most cherished pieces. It’s out now in Rachel Kramer Bussel’s Begging For It: Erotic Fantasies for Women. I wrote it one night after a particularly grueling day having heard another family member snigger at those “pesky apple thighs”; I’d come home and taken a peek at them in passing, and I thought the poor things needed a break, once and for all. I’d already had a few years in the circus, where I loved to dress up wearing leotards, tights, and thigh-high stockings—which I intentionally used to flash my thighs—so I’d had a good wave of embracing them. I’d even discovered how handy they were in my pole classes (because grip, hello). Still, I felt like this positive acknowledgement of their existence needed to be more drastic.Cover of Rachel Kramer Bussel's Begging for It Anthology

I needed to write a character who recognized her body for what it was and not only accepted it, but learned to love it, right there in the course of the story.

From that, Cassie and her post-counseling bus ride was born…and I went one step further, too, not dooming her with my apple thighs—but giving them to her as a gift.

Cassie is a bit down on her luck when we meet her, but on her bus ride—with the perfect co-passenger—she has that moment I think all women with that “one thing” need: the epiphany in which we realize that yes, we are who we are, and yes, we are just perfect as is.

So without further adieu, I’m delighted to share an excerpt of “Apple Thighs” with you:

Cassie pressed her palms onto her thighs. She’d been blessed with smooth, unblemished skin most of her life, so even stocky as they were, her thighs had the consistent, unmarred fair coloring that covered the rest of her body. As the bus continued its roll down the city streets, the flesh of her thighs shook. She had thin calves and narrow knees, but above them her legs curved out to a substantial width. In truth, she had a lot of muscle in those thighs from years of dancing and running, but they were definitely the outliers from the rest of her body.

She pursed her lips and ran her hands back and forth, grazing her skin. She could rest on her tiptoes to keep her legs up so that her thighs didn’t appear so wide, like two sturdy pancakes smashed out on the seat. But she kind of liked the way they looked. They carried her. They made her womanly. Plus, she was able to outrun all the women in her former running group—big, strong apple thighs and all.

Cassie fanned her fingers over her thighs and rubbed her palms along their length again, sighing. Her skirt caught on her wrists as she glided her hands up, crumpling it at the top of her thighs. She peeked at the seat across from her. Two older women sat there, the one by the window staring out and the one on the aisle reading a book. They didn’t notice her. No one in front of her would see what she was doing, either. She turned her head, checking out the seat behind her at a diagonal. No one there.

But the man behind her cleared his throat.

Cassie flattened her skirt and shoved her hands to her knees, her face burning as she whipped it forward.

Oh, fuck.

Had he seen what she was doing, mindlessly stroking her thighs?

More importantly, was she insane, rubbing her thighs like that in public?

As if in answer, the man lifted himself in his seat. Cassie held her breath. The entire bus was frozen in time, the driver watching the road, and the other occupants reading books, listening to iPods, or chattering about the news. But this man slid around the seat and sat beside her, not a word coming from his mouth as he peered forward.

She turned her head slightly, examining him from the corner of her eye and realizing she’d seen this guy before. She’d even smiled at him once, the last time she’d been stuck on this bus. He was handsome, his face peppered with the tiny hairs of one who didn’t shave everyday, and he had hazel eyes that shimmered thanks to the sun streaming through the window beside her. When she saw him a few days ago, he’d been wearing a baseball cap—but now his sandy blond hair was loose around his ears, making him look a tad older than he once had. Mid-thirty, late thirties…Cassie couldn’t tell. But she could tell that he was some sort of painter, his tee shirt and jeans always speckled with dried paint. Today he wore a spot of fuchsia on his right thumb and a streak of red along his left wrist.

She straightened her head again, her nerves on high. Had he seen what she was doing?

She felt his scrutiny on her then, and a chill fogged her body. When he spoke, his voice came out a deep bass that prickled her skin.

“Do you mind if I sit here?”

Cassie shook her head, her fingers latched around her knees. Her legs suddenly felt hugely exposed, though she did choose to wear this skirt in public, and apparently had no problem touching her thighs a minute before.

Idiot.

“It’s a better view,” he said.

Cassie bit down on her tongue.

Maybe he meant the window. Or being one seat closer to the front of the bus.

Or maybe she really was an idiot.

“Yeah,” she said, her heart racing. “Sunny outside today, isn’t it?”

The man raised an eyebrow and smiled. Cassie broke out in goose bumps. She hadn’t made an ass of herself on this bus, had she?

She willed herself to look back at him, wondering if her thighs had turned as crimson as her face—because wow, was she blushing, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. The sensation ran the entire length of her body in under a second.

“It is. But that’s not what I was talking about.” He gazed directly at her thighs, then back to her face. “Please don’t stop on my account.”

Cassie didn’t move.

The man kept grinning at her. She was surprised she didn’t find it uncomfortable, or awkward. In fact, she shifted slightly on the bench, keenly aware of how hot it was at the apex of her apple thighs.

“I…uh…”

Cassie pinched her lips together. Great, now she sounded like an idiot, too.

The man scooted forward in the seat, enough to block her from the view of any other passengers. He was tall, and with the muscles in his arms alone, it was clear he was strong beneath his jeans and tee shirt. She could do whatever she wanted right here in this seat, and no one would be the wiser.

Cassie shook herself. Was she actually thinking about this?

The man put both hands on his thighs, then tilted his head toward her legs before dragging his hands in an upward motion.

He was modeling what he wanted from her.

Her stomach knotted but her heart thumped in her ears. His smile was so sweet, so warm. So encouraging.

She slid her hands up her legs, halting them mid-thigh. Her fingers were shaking.

Now the man cupped his thighs, and Cassie did the same.

Beneath her panties, her groin swelled with heat. The flush running through her body was like a teasing caress, and she gripped her thighs again. He met her eyes and nodded.

“May I?” he asked.

***

I hope you enjoyed that teaser of “Apple Thighs,” included in Begging For It, Erotic Fantasies for Women. You can find out more about this anthology from Cleis Press on its Tumblr Page. It’s edited by the fabulous Rachel Kramer Bussel, and is available now in paperback and in a few more days on Kindle. I hope you’ll please check it out!

Happy reading, and may you love your apple thighs, too. 🙂

XX,
Jade

Cover for Ophelia the Second by Dayv Caraway

“Ophelia the Second” – Featured on the Kiss Me Quick’s!

Cover for Ophelia the Second by Dayv Caraway

Cover art by Dayv Caraway

There is something extraordinary about hearing one’s own stories read aloud. It’s an opportunity not just to know that your story has been read and heard, but to understand how a reader might translate what you’ve written. In grasping that—for just a second—you can almost relax into your words, listening to them as though they’re not your own, potentially savoring them in a different way than what was experienced when you had the pleasure of writing them.

That’s why today, I’m tickled to share that the fabulous Rose Caraway has once again honored me with a narration of one of my stories. This time, she’s featured “Ophelia the Second” on The Kiss Me Quick’s Erotica Podcast, and she does a tremendous job of it, too. This particular story is part of Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 1—and while I had the opportunity to read it live myself back in January, hearing it performed by the incredible Rose has made it twice as special for me. Extra bonus: Big Daddy’s sexy ass intro totally made me blush. 🙂

So, I invite you to please hop on over to The Kiss Me Quick’s to listen to “Ophelia the Second” with your own ears. It’s a sweet little erotic romance that’s got a lot of my theatre background worked in, and it still makes me smile. If you’d like to know more about the spark that ignited “Ophelia the Second,” please feel free to check out my Q&A with our incredibly talented editor, Rachel Kramer Bussel. You can also grab your copy of Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 1 right here.

Cover of Best Women's Erotica of the YearAnd finally—since I know you’ll love Rose’s rendition of this story—please indulge yourself in more of her fantastic readings of my work. Rose has honored me with previous readings of “The Doll,” “The Flogger,” and “Soundscapes”—an exclusive for The Kiss Me Quick’s Podcast.

Oh, and that delicious podcast? It’s something you should regularly indulge yourself in, too. 😉

Happy listening!

XX,
Jade

 

Picture of panties around red shoes

Elust #82: Fishnet Queen, How Do I Love Thee, Take Me, and Much More…

Elust 82 Header
Photo courtesy of Teachers Have Sex

Welcome to Elust #82

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #83 Start with the rules, come back June 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Take Me

How Do I Love Thee:On Comparing Relationships

Asking all the questions…

 

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Erotic Fiction: Fishnet Queen

I Manage My Expectations

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

Wanna Have Sex With Me? – Here’s how
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

 

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Maybe I’m not a pervert after all
Bad Excuses
Engaging with Sexuality: A Personal Perspecti
I wish there were more porn
Cock Size: Does it matter?
Blue is not a “boy color.”

Erotic Non-Fiction

Watching My Wife With Another Man Story
Afternoon Cunnilingus & Birthday Sofa Sex
Why You Should Shave Your Partner
Oct 2014 Session – Mistress Claire
Two Days Later
Roping a cougarling
Divining Rods
Dorabella’s pink-velvet spanner

Erotic Fiction

Puppy Love
Quick & Dirty
She Says My Voice Changes for Her
THE BLINDFOLD – fear of the unknown
U is for undress…
Stay Baby…Stay.
kink of the week–glasses

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Slutfest Reflection
Love and Fairness
Winnowing
V is for……..
My heart turns blacker: the new rules

 

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Blast from the Fetish Video Past
The whole person approach to Submission
Down on my knees
Dominant Doppelgangers, Dominant Opposites
Four eyes
BDSM and Depression: Therapy or Self-Harm?

Poetry

Eden, Revisited: A Lusty Limerick

Writing About Writing

Stepping Stones
Centering Disabled Characters in My Erotica

 

ELust Site Badge

B/W image of calligraphic pen resting on handwritten note; Steve Collender ©123RF.com

Erotic Fiction: “Words”

“Your personality is like a raging hill fire, swarming the skies in red-orange intensity as you barrel down to consume the valley below.”

This is what he says to me with a tremor in his voice, his eyes lit up with hope that I will approve.

It’s good, I admit, but I have to make him work harder for this. Always, always harder.

I drag the chair across the carpet, centering it in front of him. He’s on his knees, his cock grazing his belly since long before I bade him strip his clothes in the cold air of our bedroom. I told him to kneel, which he did promptly. I didn’t need to cuff him this time because immediately, his hands were behind his back, clutched together in his frenzy. I’d hit the record button on his phone right there in front of his eyes, reminding him in the gesture that I expected him to play all of this back later in preparation.

“Pretty good,” I say. “But you can do better.”

I plop down in the chair, naked save for my boots. I press my knees together. Randall is panting. The head of his shaft swells as I slide my hands down my thighs. I cock my head, then trail my fingers over my stomach and around my nipples.

“You may speak.”

He bites his lip, thinking. He’s so jumbled up in his head. Wordsworth, Coleridge, Eliot, Poe—masters of the language he’s studied for so long, intimidating him in his anticipation.

“Your body is a mystical ice storm, chilling and stunning, freezing me to the core in my—”

“Nope,” I say. I slip my fingertips between my knees, deliberately parting my legs. The vinyl of my boots has tacked together even in that short window of time, and it makes the sexiest unsticking sound as I spread myself in front of his face. Randall stares at my pussy. I am dripping onto the chair. “You just called me an ice queen. Does this look icy to you?”

His eyes widen. I can practically see the words assembling themselves in his mind. We’d scrimped for a while, sending him to retreats and conferences for almost a decade to study this stuff, and I know he has all the words he’s looking for despite his temporary block.

B/W image of calligraphic pen resting on handwritten note; Steve Collender ©123RF.com

Steve Collender ©123RF.com

Randall hesitates.

I move both hands between my thighs, dragging my fingers along my folds. Swiping at my juices so we can both hear the squishing sound.

“Again, Randall.”

His cock leaps.

“Your sex,” he says, gathering steam, “is hot as the ash of a molten volcano.”

I nod. “Oh, I like that.” I glide a finger inside, pushing it all the way in. Randall shudders. I use my other hand to part my lips so he can see each thrust of my finger. When I slip in a second one, he gulps so hard his Adam’s apple bobs up like a flotation device from beneath the water.

I am close to coming, but I can’t tell him that.

I remove my fingers, then scissor them in the air between us. They shine with my dew under the lamplight of our bedroom.

I turn around. I keep close to his face, watching over my shoulder as the beads of sweat break along his hairline.

“Well?”

“Your cheeks are like two glowing orbs of—”

“Tsk. Cliché!” I crawl onto the chair and stick out my ass. The stiletto heels of my boots are less than an inch from his chin. He flinches as he stares at them, but he’s captivated as I grab onto the back of the chair to balance, then shove my finger in my mouth to suck it.

Randall has only two hours until his seminar.

I curve my hand over the round cheek of my ass, cupping it for him. He is mesmerized as I wedge my fingers into my crack, then push the wettest one against my tight opening.

“This?” I ask.

I loosen my muscles and sneak my finger inside. I don’t let him see my excitement, but it’s making it hard to keep a straight face.

In, out, in, out. I pulse my finger in my asshole and Randall squirms on his knees.

“Your ass is a sanctuary. Dark, hot, bliss.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Is it, now?” I waggle my hips, the strokes of my finger making my pussy impossibly wet. I get so into the motion that my breasts slap against the back of the chair.

Randall groans.

“Give me something really good, baby,” I growl. I pull my finger out, smacking my ass. His eyes flutter. My poet and his goddamn stage fright are so incredibly hot for me.

I switch hands to improve my balance on the chair. It’s sturdy, but I’m shaking hard enough I might fall off. I angle my fingers better and slide three of them inside. He stirs again, his dick swelling larger. I moan as I shift my fingers, banging them high and rubbing against my sweet spot so hard my climax is threatening to take over. Randall notices.

“Please, Emily. May I?”

“I’m still waiting,” I say. I clench my teeth. This has to wait.

He grumbles. He can do this. Over one hundred presentations of his award-winning poems and they want him all over the nation to teach his art.

He frees his tongue.

“My want for you is the silver-tipped crest of a tsunami’s wave, splashing over the world to drown everything out, away. Through this, I swim to you—my shoulders weak, my arms limp, my cock a titanium rod desperate to feel you inside.”

I break into laughter. This is good.

“You can fuck me now, Randall.”

He jumps up from his crouch, positioning himself behind my ass. His hands roam my hips like a whisper. When he guides himself against my slick, damp folds, both of us moan.

“Your cunt…” he mutters.

He plunges deep without finishing.

Because both of us know actions speak louder than words.

*

Cover of Best Women's Erotica of the Year

“Ophelia the Second” is Out in Best Women’s Erotica!

New year, new sexy…and today I’m delighted to share that Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 1 is out! Woo hoo!

To celebrate, I have some news for you.

Cover of Best Women's Erotica of the Year

First, just look at that sexy cover. *Swoon!*

Then, our wonderful editor Rachel Kramer Bussel has been hosting some behind-the-scenes Q&A’s about our stories in the anthology. My story, “Ophelia the Second,” is a sweet little erotic romance set in the theatre world—specifically, the Hamlet backstage theatre world—and since I have my own past theatre experiences, I thought I’d put them to use for some inspiration. I hope you’ll head over to the book’s Tumblr page to find out more about what sparked this story.

I’m also thrilled to tell you that we’ll be having a live free reading of a few stories in Best Women’s Erotica of the Year, Volume 1 in San Francisco on Tuesday, January 19th. It will be in the Antique Vibrator Museum in the Good Vibrations on Polk Street—which, I have to tell you, is a fabulous space for a reading! I do hope you’ll join us, since I’ll be reading alongside Rose Caraway, Amy Butcher, Dorothy Freed, and Rachel Kramer Bussel herself! Be sure to find out more about this event right here.

And finally, what more to whet your appetite for this book than an excerpt?

Here’s a taste of “Ophelia the Second”:

“We always end up on a couch together, have you noticed?”

I laughed, trying to ignore the delicious smell of his post-show sweat, and the way the couch dipped under his sturdy, muscular body, almost pulling me into his side. He’d changed after curtain into jeans and a button-up shirt with the fanciest of shoes, and he looked even more impressive in his modern garb than he did in his lace-up leather doublet and boots.

“Guess so,” I said.

I sipped the bourbon. It was hot going down, warming me more than I already was sitting in Philip’s apartment with him staring at me with those heavy Hamlet eyes. I attempted to ignore the fight of my heart. I was usually so strong at resisting these terribly silly impulses around him, but it was impossible not to want him, not to imagine Hamlet speaking to me, or Philip taking my hand, pining for my love like his character did later on for Ophelia.

I suddenly felt like her—a naïve girl caught in the throes of some wild vision. It wasn’t madness, though it felt like it as he surveyed me.

“Good show tonight, huh?” I asked, needing yet again to get out of my head.

“Yeah. Tammy was on fire.”

I propped my elbow on the back of the couch and frowned. He knew I didn’t want to hear about Tammy or her wonderful efforts playing Ophelia—I’d confessed it over brews a month ago when he took me out to celebrate a five-star review from one of the most critical journalists in the business. For some reason, Philip had been more surprised at the review than my frustrated comments with Tammy’s rude backstage behavior.

“But it makes sense—whenever she’s a maniac off stage, she’s prepped for the role.”

I snickered, a loose spiral of my hair falling in my face. Philip caught it in his fingers and brushed it back, and I stared at him, surprised.

“We should have been on stage together,” he murmured.

I shrugged.

“Robert’s going to come around, Nat. Hopefully with the next show. You’ve got the talent.”

“You’re sweet,” I said. I took another swallow of my drink and placed the glass on his coffee table. Philip caught my hand.

“I saw you in the wings tonight.”

I froze. I’d been subtle, and he’d been so into his role I couldn’t imagine how he’d seen me.

“You know I see you there, right? Mouthing the lines, both mine and Ophelia’s.”

He clasped my hand in his and a fire sparked deep in my belly. Had the bourbon gone to his head?

Had it gone to mine?

“I’m convinced my best moments on stage are with you watching.”

“That’s silly,” I said, but Philip nodded enthusiastically.

“You should have been Ophelia. You’re perfect for the part. Your hair, your face. Everything about you, Nat—so charming and lovely.”

I trembled in his grasp. Like Ophelia, I had to be going mad. Philip brushed back my curls, lifting the hair on the nape of my neck.

“Let’s run lines for you.”

“Why? Tammy is Ophelia, and she’s never going to miss a performance. Remember?”

“Tammy is a terrible Ophelia. And one night, she will.” He tapped my nose. “Come on. Let’s practice.”

“I need a script.”

“No you don’t,” he said. He shoved back the table and crawled to his knees, ushering his husky off to his bed along the wall.

And then he started running lines, beginning with Act III, Scene 1, right when Ophelia meets Hamlet. He said his first line seriously, as if we were actually on stage, and I shook my head at him.

“You’re crazy.”

Philip frowned. “I’m trying to prove a point. You’re an actress, let’s go. Play along.”

I’d been on the stage many times. I’d graduated with a theatre degree, after all, but my parts at Esquire had been minimal with Tammy being the star she was. Sometimes, her rants backstage and constant insults made it easy to forget that I was once a big part of productions, too.

“Well?” Philip nudged my leg and took my hand again, and I tried to ignore the peal of my heart.

“Fine,” I said.

We ran through this scene, Philip’s hand clasped around my shaking fingers the entire time. He was theatrical and gorgeous, his brow furrowing and his nostrils flaring at all the appropriate moments. When he peered into my face, I witnessed the same brooding depth he cast over the audience each night, except this time, it was directed at me.

This time, he was Hamlet—and I was Ophelia.

It was easy to fall into the part. I knew the lines, and he was brilliant, drawing emotion and depth into my voice that I could never do when I practiced on my own in my apartment. Not without someone acting against me, getting as into the role as he did. He was magnificent. When we finished the scene, he stroked his fingertips across my palm with an encouraging nod. Then his lips turned up to form the incredibly charming grin the audience never got to see.

“Lady, shall I lie in your lap?”

I giggled. “Okay, I get it. Great scene. We can stop, though, I know the lines.”

“See,” he said. “You are the perfect Ophelia.”

I rolled my eyes and Philip leaned closer, the movement catching my breath in my throat. Both of us were quiet as he crouched on the carpet. For some reason, the way he’d touched my cheek at his front door crossed my mind. Then the way he’d grinned at me at intermission, and all the times we’d hung out backstage when he’d told me he loved talking to me. My pulse raced a little quicker.

Had I missed something in my Ophelia obsession?

Philip curved his hands around my knees, increasing the pace of my heartbeat.

“And what a fair thought to lie between this maid’s legs.”

“That’s not the line,” I whispered. The look on his face was different—not Hamlet. Not Philip. It was sweet and smitten, like the one I’d seen him wear as Romeo last year. I swallowed the lump in my throat as he inched his mouth closer to mine.

“You’re right. It’s not.”

*

Intrigued?

Please be sure to check out the book’s Tumblr page and order your copy now on Amazon. Thanks for checking out the inspiration for “Ophelia the Second,” and I hope to see you at the reading!

XX,
Jade

Black and white photo of Jade A. Waters

“Missing You” is Part of Tamsin’s Superotica Advent Calendar!

It’s a very special time of year—and for those of you not in the know, Tamsin Flowers hosts the hottest advent calendar in town. Each day until Christmas, she features stories from a bevy of fabulous authors that will definitely get your pulse racing. This year she kicked off with part one of a beautiful piece of her own called “Fallen,” and she’s featured so many other delicious stories too, from the likes of Lana FoxRachel Kramer BusselKatya Harris, and many more. Man and woman in the dark sharing sexual moment.

Today, Tamsin has kindly asked me over! She’s featuring a short and sweet flash piece of mine called “Missing You,” one I wrote a couple months back with an image of that achy feeling you get when the one you love is just too, too far away. So, with that in mind, I hope you’ll head over to Tamsin’s place to give this new release a read…

Once you do, be sure to keep an eye not only on all the other advent calendar stories, but Tamsin’s site, too. It’s a smokin’ hot destination!

Special thanks to Tamsin for hosting, and to you, readers, for checking out “Missing You“! 🙂

XX,
Jade

Sexy black and white image of man holding woman from behind.

“Toys” for All!

Early last year, I had the honor of having a story included in Violet Blue’s Best Women’s Erotica 2014. The story—“Toys”—was one I’d penned when I first started writing erotica, and I was over the moon to have it land in such an amazing anthology.Shadowed image of man holding half-clad woman from behind

“Toys” is a story that’s still rather dear to me. It’s about a woman who has amassed a collection of sex toys so large she’s nervous about introducing her new boyfriend to it—but it turns out, he’s not only a fantastic new boyfriend, but also extremely open-minded. The story is one of my more playful ones—and today, I’m delighted to let you know it’s available, for free, for you to read over at the Glass Dildo Shop. (You can find an excerpt here if you’d like a preview!)

I’ve previously narrated this story on Molly Moore’s “Storytime” KissCast episode—but for those of you who prefer your words on the page rather than in the ear, I hope you’ll check out “Toys” online.

A special thank you to the Glass Dildo Shop for hosting it, and happy reading, everyone!

XX,
Jade