Tantalizing Terrors…to Come

Posted on October 19, 2015October 18, 2015 by Jade A. Waters

Halloween, Halloween…it’s in the air! This is the time of year when everything starts to get a little bit creepy, fun, and wild—and that’s why today, I could no longer resist giving you a tantalizing preview of the delicious, sexy terror to come!

Libidinous Zombie is a project orchestrated by the fabulous Rose Caraway of The Kiss Me Quick’s. She’s a woman who likes her erotica with a twist, and because of that, I can assure you that the stories within will merge horror and erotica into something mighty combustible. I have so much to tell you about my story, “The Lucky One,” once this is out—but for now, I’m just going to leave you with a few teases.

First, the fantastic art for “The Lucky One,” created by the amazing Dayv Caraway:

(Catch the art for all the stories right here!)

Next, check out the incredible lineup of other authors you’ll find included in the pages:

Allen Dusk
Janine Ashbless
Malin James
Raziel Moore
Remittance Girl
Tamsin Flowers
Rose Caraway

Finally, don’t miss this thoughtful post from Remittance Girl about the psychological reality behind the blending of erotica and horror!

This anthology is coming out for Halloween, which is just around the corner…are you ready?

XX,
Jade

How Does it Feel to be Bound, My Love?

Posted on August 11, 2015August 11, 2015 by Jade A. Waters

I have never been all that quiet about the origin of my stories. Many of them are purely fictional, or fantasies I’ve dreamed up, conscious or not—but a few are retellings of true events, actual encounters I’ve twisted to be better, or on occasion, semi-fictionalized redos of things I’ve been lucky enough to enjoy in real life.

Today, I’m delighted to tell you that Bondage Bites is officially out—it’s a new title edited by the amazing Alison Tyler, and published by Cleis Press. To say I am over the moon to be in an Alison Tyler collection is a massive understatement…but to get to say I have three short shorts in this anthology—all connected to my personal life—basically has me giggling. Er, grinning. No, blushing.

Okay, maybe a combination of all three!

So, to celebrate the release of this hot anthology of super short stories, I will give you some dirt—that is, I’ll share a snippet of all three stories, each with a taste of the reality that inspired them.

Here we go!

First, with the tamest personal connection of the three tales:

“The Gate”

A few years ago, I went on vacation to Italy. I traveled throughout the country, but I got particularly caught up during my stay in Tuscany, where I had a rental car to check out everything in the area I could. (This song came out during my stay, and it become my driving theme, if you’re curious.) One night, while dining at this incredible family owned place in Poggibonsi, I spotted a rather magnificent storefront gate in an alleyway that got my gears turning. The waiter commented at one point that I had a nice blush on my face, and—based on the scene running through my head—I can’t say I was all that surprised. So, after finishing dinner and taking a beautiful stroll under the moonlight, I went back to my villa and wrote out a snippet of the entire fantasy I’d envisioned and then sent it to my lover back home.

Once the vacation ended, I decided that wasn’t enough. I needed to turn the whole thing into a full story, which soon became “The Gate”…

When you gestured back at the gate, I understood why you’d brought your backpack to dinner. The flush that spread through me couldn’t be from the wine—not after only two sips—and I wanted to rush to feel the surprise you had in store. Still, I knew the longer we took, the quieter the alley would be.

We took forever, too. No one seemed to mind the leisurely American couple, or the way we didn’t speak, just stared at one another with half-grins while you stroked my hand. When we finished, we wandered around the cobblestone center hand-in-hand. It wasn’t until past one that you led me back to the gate.

“I haven’t seen anyone for almost an hour. Are you ready, Mara?”

I nodded. My role now was to remain still, which is what I did as you removed the cuffs from your bag. I clenched my knees together, feeling a charge clamor up my thighs and straight into my pussy over the thought of being seen, and of what you would do to me once you bound me here.

You grinned under the street lamps as you fastened me to either side of the gate, and once I was secure, your hands roamed around my neck and down my back. Then you kissed me and lifted my skirt, stroking my thighs right there in public. You gripped me, kneaded me, your breath hot on my cheek. You took my gasp as an invitation and slipped your fingertips under my panties, nudging them aside so you could feel how wet I was for you—and moaning when you discovered my short curls soaked through.

I wanted you to touch me deeper, but you liked to string it out. You whispered, “How does it feel to be bound, my love?”

Strangely, I didn’t take a picture of that gate—but I have never forgotten how gorgeous it was, or the way it felt to just sit there drinking wine in the pleasant breeze, dreaming up a scene that I later got to flesh out in a full tale.

Okay, next up:

“Safety Shears”

This one has a bit of a funny back story because, well, in truth…

Bondage accidents happen.

Lucky me, I happened to experience one such accident—which had my doctor and I exchanging some seriously hilarious emails for a solid week after it happened. The good news is that all was okay after a little stretch of time, and safety shears found their way into my closet for the next time. *Cough.*

Now, while I feel it’s important to remind that fiction is not meant to be an instructional guide, I can’t speak highly enough about owning a pair of shears.

And it’s from that recommendation that “Safety Shears” was born:

“I think it’s okay,” she said, clenching a hand, then releasing it. She smiled at him. “You have the safety shears handy, right?”

He nodded, jumping off the bed to show her that he did indeed have them, right there on the nightstand. When he stood upright, the glow from her lamp cast the sexiest of shadows over his abdomen, enhancing the results of all the working out he’d done of late. He was such a pleasure to look at, the most handsome lover Julia had taken in years. And with the eager way he stared at her, he’d proven delightful in more ways than one.

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to give you carpal tunnel. Or anything worse. Can you imagine?” Matthew chuckled and crawled between her thighs again, but now he grew serious, quiet. He admired his work. “Dear God, you’re beautiful like this.”

Julia had only been cuffed before, but something about Matthew made her want to submit to his every whim. He’d spent the last twenty minutes binding her like a man possessed, stopping every so often to caress her face or brush back her hair. Twice he’d slipped a finger inside her, testing her and moaning at how her pussy flinched around him. “Please, Matthew, fuck me,” she’d cried, and he’d hurried back to the business of tying her up. Now he ran his hands over her inner thighs and down to her ankles, fondling the rope that connected them to her wrists. Instead of the traditional hog or frog tie, he’d left her on her back with her legs splayed and her thighs free so he could more easily access her. And he did just that, tracing back from the ties and over her belly, then circling his fingers around her nipples and making her gasp.

“I need you,” she whispered.

Ah, safety shears…

Okay, finally, it’s time for what may be my most favorite (and definitely the most personal):

“In the Morning”

For this story, I opted to try something I’d never done before—I took an old lust letter I’d sent to a lover and converted it right into a story. 🙂 Not to worry, though! No boyfriends were harmed in the making of this story. I warned the recipient, way back then, that I’d probably end up doing this at some point—and he totally got a kick out of the idea. See, when we dated, we were supremely open to sharing fantasies, and if we weren’t speaking them in bed, we were sharing them in emails, via text, or on the phone…. Some of them got acted out, and others didn’t, but suffice it to say that “In the Morning” is a tale fully based off a real email I sent during our very memorable affair:

Somehow, he’d shifted my arms behind my back without me ever stirring. Now he patted my wrists in satisfaction with the knots he’d pinned me in, and I felt an immediate rush of warmth between my thighs.

“I told you what I expected in the morning, darling.”

Without another word, Gabriel crawled off the bed and stepped behind me. He’d bound me so many times before, and every time, I felt this way—this desperate longing, this hunger for his touch. The heat from my pussy seared up through me, and suddenly I wanted nothing more than to feel him, to lose myself in the way we moved together.

“Come to me,” he said.

I squirmed beneath the covers, my arms pinned too closely to my back for me to use them in any useful fashion. I managed to roll to my side and slide off the bed, landing on my knees directly in front of him. Gabriel was naked, his beautiful prick swollen and upright before my face.

“Show me how much you want me, Katharine.”

I grinned. Even bound like this, that would be an easy feat—I always wanted him, each second of every day. I wiggled closer, my balance off with my hands bound, and then I took him in my mouth. I swallowed him, licked him, wanting to devour every inch of him, and dear God, he tasted so delicious on my tongue, so tantalizing when I couldn’t grab onto him or stroke his length. He jumped and jerked between my lips and I moaned, because I still wanted him so much more…

And there you have it! A small sampling of three stories that are pretty damn connected to my real life. Please pick up a copy of Bondage Bites not only to read these stories in their entirety, but to check out all the fabulously hot bondage short-shorts you’ll find within. Alison Tyler is a phenomenal editor, so this collection is, no doubt, going to be a huge hit. You can pick up a copy at Amazon and other retailers today, and I hope you enjoy what you find!

Thank you so much for reading!

XX,
Jade

By the Sea, Part 3: The Tide

Posted on July 28, 2015December 30, 2016 by Jade A. Waters

“The Tide” is the final installment in a three-part series. Click here to read part one, “By the Sea,” or here to read part two, “Driftwood.”

Anya came to him shouting, bounding across the shore, the wind catching her hair and the sand battering the soles of feet she’d stripped from her sandals before she left them in the backseat of her car. Her belly was tight from such a well of emotion she felt she could blow like the wind, one way, then another, but she didn’t want to ignore the pain in her side anymore, the bruises on her arms that she’d stared at, long and hard, sure this was it. This was now.

They met in a collision so forceful it seemed contrary to all they’d been—their chests slamming tight, their mouths wild, their hands seeking one another, needing one another, puffs of breath spilling from their lips as they clung. Josh kissed away the drops rolling from the corners of Anya’s eyes, and she smoothed her thumbs over the line of his brow, both of them whispering their love and their tales as the wind kicked up the water once more. This time the sea didn’t sing to them, but for them, washing onto the shore and summoning them close, then retreating to leave the smooth spread of sand upon which they were meant to lay.

Color image of tide rolling in near pier with bright sun

Birute Vijeikiene ©123RF.com

Once Josh drew back from her, he cupped the sides of her face. She thought maybe she was crazy, or they were completely out of their minds—but when his palms, warm and sweet, held her tight, Anya knew this was right, knew the shivering inside was part of the course, part of their fairy tale. One cannot have joy without pain, and they had surely had theirs—she saw the trouble in Josh’s eyes that melted when he looked at her, felt the certainty brimming between them as he pressed his lips to hers, kissing her like he never wanted her to leave again. Like he never would, either. She leaned hard against him and his knees gave, taking them down to the wet shore, and Josh pulled her onto him until she straddled his hips and felt the power she found with him. With him she wasn’t broken, afraid, or weak. She was everything she wanted to be, everything she could be, and as he arched up against her Anya felt the way his body told her this, and the desire in the trail of his hands over her skin. She kissed him as they both fumbled with his shirt, and once he shrugged it off his shoulders she lifted her dress up over her head. He gasped, for she’d come naked beneath, not wanting anything to stop them this time, both of their lives discarded to leave only them, this moment, this truth they’d sought. When Josh spread kisses over her breasts and eased out of his pants, she’d never felt more alive, more real, than they were now.

They had come here many times, but never had they done this, naked here, so open, so free. The waves crested and swelled, reassuring them, dancing in the sway of the wind as Josh ran his hands up her sides, lovingly touching her scars. Anya leaned back above him, letting him see all of her. For so long they’d snuck here in the dark, their short visits a rush to touch, to kiss, to move together before time slipped away and they were forced to leave each other once more—but now, she imagined that time stood still as Josh stroked her skin, then thumbed the split of her folds. They murmured there with wanting sighs, hungry and needy but slow in their caresses, until finally Anya could wait no more. She guided him into her, and Josh groaned at the touch of her hand, at the silky feel of her encircling him tight. And once Anya began to move above him, digging her knees into the sand and rolling her hips to take him deeper inside, her body quaked with the choice they’d made. They rode it gleefully, confidently, their excitement filling the moans that carried onto the wind, surrounding them in a chorus that stirred the pleasure in her, stronger this time, lifting her soul like it always had with him. Anya closed her eyes but Josh slipped his fingers into her mouth, drawing her gaze as she shuddered above him. The spasms of her cunt gripped him, urged him, made him mutter words of love before he, too, came, and she fell over him there on the sand, their bodies hot and slick, shaking with this new union, this wholly different love they’d opted to share—theirs and theirs alone. When their breaths slowed she peeled herself off him, trailing a finger down his chest and smiling at the mirrored trace he made over her belly and along her leg.

“We’re going to be happy,” he said. “I know it.”

She nodded and took his hand, pulling both of them up from the shore. They were covered in sand so Josh led her forward, into the water they’d never dared go before. The waves licked at their feet as they walked into it, and Anya squealed at how cold it was against her skin. Josh cupped it and splashed it over her before she did the same right back, and then the two of them ventured until their legs were submerged, the water cocooning their calves, knees, and thighs, the current so strong it tried to rock them from their stance but failed as they wrapped their arms around one another, kissing there, close.

“This is real,” Josh said. “We’re real. And I think we’re going to be okay.”

Okay echoed in Anya’s ears and she closed her eyes, loving that Josh’s lips came soft again, peppering her upper lip, then the bottom one, before he kissed her full and strong.

Maybe he was right and they would be. Or, maybe they wouldn’t. But Anya knew what surged between them was magnificent like the tide—here now, loud now, sweeping up against their legs as they held one another beneath the moon that had hardly waned. It was as if it had lingered well past its reign to see how the next part of their story began, smiling upon the embrace that molded them together, and sending the wind to kiss their cheeks and gust around them with a whistle of encouragement that had been there all along.

By the Sea, Part 2: Driftwood

Posted on July 21, 2015December 30, 2016 by Jade A. Waters

“Driftwood” is the second installment of a three-part series. To read the first installment of “By the Sea,” click here.

When Josh told Anya he loved her, she didn’t just hear the words but felt them, little drops of rain kissing her cheeks to ease a storm that bent trees against a backdrop of lightning and dark, tumbling clouds. The phrase was a breath that moved through her, filling her up, making her whole. When she said it back, the movements between them grew deeper, sweeter, their bodies playing to it, for it, dancing as if to a symphony.

This night, they climbed the pier, Josh whistling as the wind blew Anya’s dress up and aside, giving him a view of where he’d just been, where she’d craved him. She’d surprised him when he met her, aching more this time, grasping at his hands and running them over her as they tangled themselves on the shore and he found the liquid desire already soaking the short curls of her sex. This had made him moan and bury his face between her thighs, lapping at her as she hooked her ankles around his back. He’d whispered of her salty musk, of the sweet pool he wanted to crawl into and live in for an eternity if he could only find a way in. When he rocked forward with every thrust of his tongue, the motion sang a lullaby that built within her, making her shudder at the slide of his fingers inside. He rubbed fervently, urgently, at the bud of nerves that craved his touch, never retreating until she bucked and thrashed against the sandy floor. And when Anya had let out her cry, he’d hardly waited to slide inside her, filling her with a lusty groan that left them laying there afterward winded and surprised at how it could seem better. Familiar. Perfect.

So when they reached the top of the dock and toppled to the damp boards like two clumsy children, Josh curled himself with Anya all over again, resting his head in her lap and staring up at her while she fondled the tousled strands of his hair. Tonight the surf barely made a sound, the white crests absent from view, the water lazily slapping the piles that held this stoop up beneath them, propping them in some version of solidity they didn’t really have. A solitary seagull flew overhead, letting out its caw, and she tilted her eyes up to watch it coast through the black ocean above while her fingers stayed laced in Josh’s hair.

B/W image of driftwood on beach at sunset

Mark Shreves ©123RF.com

“What if we were real?” he asked, and Anya thought she saw the stars twinkling, heard them telling her yes, heed this question. This one is very good. It loomed between them, rife with wonder, complication. She heard his breath, a low raspy sound that made her imagine what it would feel like to sleep beside him like they did only once, the night they’d somehow managed escape and tumbled through the door of a cheap seaside motel. He’d had his hands beneath her skirt before the door was shut completely, his lips sweet on hers, kissing away everything, whispering of how much he loved her, how he had counted the minutes until they would see one another. It was as he found her hips that he confessed she made him feel alive, like they were the only two people in the world who understood one another. Anya had lifted her head in eager agreement, both of them falling to the bed, clutching at one another, needing each other more than anything. They’d made love again and again, their bodies never drifting apart in the moments between until they fell asleep to the occasional whoosh of a car on the lonely, coastal road outside. She’d dreamt of taking his hand and running into the sea, splashing and laughing like she remembered doing once long before, when she was young.

Josh squeezed her tighter with the arm he’d weaved around her waist, and drew her back with the slip of his hand up her side until he could circle her neck and reach his fingers into her hair. She’d felt this same hold not a day before from someone else, those fingers rough, tugging her to see his face, and she’d barely moved her head in muted agreement, for any other answer would never do. She had lain there, silent, smothered, kissing without kissing, her mind dancing off to remember these fingers. Josh’s fingers. They were soft, gentle pads sketching love on her scalp, reminding her that both of them were happy, here by the sea.

“What if we were?” she asked. Anya tore her eyes away from that wafting bird to the look shining in Josh’s eyes that she’d seen before. The moon was out again tonight, not as bright, but lighting his face enough to show the deep lines in his forehead from trying in his other life, and his pupils spreading like oil in the middle of two vast blue lakes. The question was as difficult for him as it was for her, because—despite his love for her and the way he came to Anya desperate for something warm, something real—to leave his life would rain a storm of agony on someone else, a fragile, loveless truth they’d avoided speaking of for some time.

Josh rolled into her lap, his body warm, so warm, knees curling up into his chest so that they grazed her hip as his arms encircled her waist. His breath fell hot through the fabric of her dress, stirring her in spite of the gravity of their words, the tenuous sanctity they shared between them. Would it be the same if they were real? Would she feel the same for him, and him for her?

Would they be better?

“I think we’d be happy,” he said.

“Do you?” Anya didn’t want to break it, this raft carrying them along.

Josh lifted his head. He grabbed her skirt and pressed it up, exposing her to the humid air as he rested his head back on her thigh and peered with a wisp of a smile at the wetness between her folded legs.

“Don’t you?”

She wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe the disruption they’d cause would be worth it, that the love between them would build and overcome, powerful like the sea. Josh dipped further into her lap, his mouth grazing the tender swell of her clit. Then he puckered his lips and blew a stream of air over her, until Anya tilted back her head with a quiet moan.

Maybe it would. Maybe they could.

“I want this. You, Anya,” he said. “Don’t you see how much I love you?”

Josh pressed his mouth flush against her, his tongue swirling as he took her hips in his hands, and she trembled while the sea churned rhythmically beneath them.

To read the final installment of “By the Sea,” click here.

Best Erotic Romance of the Year – Out Now!

Posted on July 17, 2015July 17, 2015 by Jade A. Waters

Great news—Best Erotic Romance 2015 is officially out today, and I’m tickled to have “Fertile” included in this hot anthology from Cleis Press! This one is edited by Kristina Wright, an amazing author and editor. I’ve been mesmerized by her stories and anthologies for so long, I damn near fell out of my chair when she accepted “Fertile” for this book. Talk about a huge honor!

So, to commemorate release day, I thought I’d share a brief behind-the-scenes and excerpt.

As is usually the case for me, this story came to life with a spontaneous line that popped into my head…at the gym, no less. I was in a dim room at a gym while I worked it on a spin bike. I wasn’t in a class or anything—but suffice it to say I was torturing the crap out of myself (I was a fitness junkie back then), and, standing on those pedals, sweating like a fiend, it happened.

Wham!

“The bitch is in heat.”

As usual, I had no idea where this line came from. But as I pumped it on that bike for the remaining 20 minutes—because I couldn’t very well stop my workout to write this stuff down—I sorted out a loose sketch of a wife very much desperate to have a second child with her affectionate, loving, and extraordinarily patient husband.

And from that, “Fertile” was born!

To be clear, the line The bitch is in heat does appear in the story, but you’ll have to read it to find it where. 😉 For now, though…

Read an excerpt of “Fertile”:

“I’m sorry for teasing you, but you can’t pressure me like that. You can’t treat me like I’m your sperm donor, babe. It’s the most cliché bullshit in the world.”

“I don’t….” She really didn’t, but the pained look on his face made her cringe. His hands, meanwhile, were making it impossible to have this conversation. Her hormones had become a raging inferno that made nothing but his touch important at this moment.

“You do.” Jerry crept his fingers further, straight toward her aching entrance. Tiny tendrils of heat burned down her thighs as he snuck one finger inside and barely tickled her with the end of it.

“Jerry,” she whispered. She wanted his whole finger, his whole hand, and then, the hard bulge she knew he’d formed in his pants. He’d always been ready to go at a moment’s notice, making his extended delay to give in so much more frustrating.

Instead of answering, Jerry pressed his mouth over her, on top of his splayed fingers. His breath came through the fabric like a gust of hot wind, sending goose bumps over her chest. He paused, his mouth so dangerously close she was ready to tear off her own panties if he didn’t soon.

Jerry pulled back. “I know I’ve been bugging you for months, partly because you get so flustered, but also because you’ve badgered me.”

“Because—”

He cupped his mouth over her and she moaned.

“I know why. And I did want what you want. I do want it, but dammit, Sheila, treat me like your husband.” He grabbed the top of her panties and shook his head. “Like you want me because I’m a man, not a machine.” He inched the elastic waistband down over her hips and Sheila pressed her hands to her face. Embarrassment burned in her cheeks and down through to her core, and when he just kept staring at her, she trembled. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

She wanted to believe she couldn’t understand much of anything with her sex exposed to the cold air of the room, but watching Jerry—this beautiful man, the father to their child, the one who had worked so hard so she could stay at home with Daniela like she’d always wanted—she could see why he’d teased, and why he’d pulled away for so long.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“I am, too.” Jerry nodded, then let her panties drop to the floor.

Sheila sucked in a breath and lay still. The hormones pummeling her nerves demanded she pay attention, but she wasn’t about to ignore Jerry’s frustration. Not with his eyebrows knitted together and his lip caught between his teeth as he pondered his next move.

“Jerry?”

He didn’t say anything, then reached up to grasp her hips. He laid his mouth over her, this time covering her completely.

“Oh god.”

Jerry flicked his tongue over her clit. “Do you want more?” he asked.

Sheila forced her head up. “Do you have to ask?”

He slicked his finger from her swollen nub to the base of her slit. “Tell me, then.” When he drew his finger over her, his expression softened. “I love the way you look right now, but I need to know you want it.”

“Yes, yes, I want it,” Sheila said. “I do.”

I hope you enjoyed it and thank you for reading!

This edition of Kristina Wright’s Best Erotic Romance 2015 is sure to be a sexy one—and you can pick up your copy right here!

XX,
Jade

By the Sea, Part 1

Posted on July 14, 2015December 30, 2016 by Jade A. Waters

She swears she knew him then, back when life was full of dreams and promises, and cotton candy blossoms so big they smeared on her nose when she bit into them. Back when unicorns were real, and pain was not a word that exhausted her vocabulary in its bitter streak across her world, molding a quiet wake in the thin, wired lines that sprouted from the corners of her eyes.

But she didn’t.

Vickie Hudson ©123RF.com

It’s just that, in the touch of his hand now, in the way he closed it around hers and pulled her into the swell of his chest as he slid his fingers into her hair, it was too easy to forget she hadn’t. That Josh hadn’t always been there, watching, encouraging, and loving her. He’d heard it all, seen the scars that ran along her side, knew in the occasional manner she jumped when he walked too swiftly and surprised her how fiercely that life had embedded itself inside her. It had branded her even through the rosy smile on her lips, and the chime of laughter she regularly exhaled with him. It was for this she loved him, treasured how he drew her nearer, somehow pulling her close enough it felt like they could become one by the sea that swept onto the sandy shore, swirling around and between their bare toes as if promising to take them away with the current, into the wide open space of their love.

“Can I kiss you, Anya?” he asked.

Always, this question. Despite her gaze into his eyes, surrendering everything to him because it was so easy, so right. Josh took her chin in his fingers as she nodded fast, leaning up on her toes to try and fall further into him when their mouths met. His tongue and hers weaved like coils of algae drifting to and fro, in, between, around, lazily surrounded by the kiss of the tide. As the wind gusted around them, rustling the fabric of her dress, seizing her hair and whipping it around their faces, it was hard not to feel herself disappearing with him, fading into the night, into the sea.

“We’ve only an hour,” she whispered. But his lips covered her sigh, smothered the truth that kept breaking them apart. She was hers, he was his, and yet they weren’t. Still, this, too, was easy to forget as he kissed her with so much love. As the two of them dropped to their knees, oblivious to the grit of the sand digging into their skin, to the wind warning them beneath the moon that lit them up on the shore.

Josh did not stop kissing her as he pushed her back, his hands slipping up her skirt, trailing along the smooth lines of her legs and caressing the fleshy rounds of her thighs. His tongue stayed heated against hers as he tucked fingertips under the sides of the flimsy underwear she wouldn’t wear at home but had donned just for him. His breath came sweet on her cheek as he pulled the fabric down, pausing as she swayed her hips for him to work it over her bottom, then down past her knees. He discarded it beside their bodies on the shore, a crumpled ball of lace that might, in this wind, be blown away, carrying the secret that bound them as it tumbled to the water and drifted out to sea.

“I’ve missed you,” Josh said, and he kissed her once, hands slipping back up her thighs, pushing up her skirt, revealing Anya to the night sky. She loved his stare, torn between two views—that of her face, and the wetness waiting for him between her thighs. It was when he looked there that he slid two fingers against her, tracing the silky cleft only partially shown in the moonlight, but so clear to him as he eased them inside. This is when she moaned, craning her neck, her lips falling apart in more whimpers as his fingers sank so far within her. Josh cupped her knee with his other hand, pushing it aside, bidding the split of her thighs be visible to him, the truth of how they loved divulged once more. Behind him, the water swelled and rolled, but she was lost in the sounds that fell from her throat, in the surge of love for him. For this man who understood and knew her, who made her feel like the rest was nothing but a faded memory she didn’t need to revisit, despite the relentless hold it still had on her.

Josh slipped another finger inside, gliding all of them in, out, kissing her knee, staring into her face. When she reached for his shoulders, begging him to sweep into her, he wrestled down his pants to settle between her thighs. Anya weaved her fingertips around the side of his neck, urging him, and Josh rested against the heat he’d stirred up in her, asking again in his whisper if he could take her in the way they both loved.

“Yes,” she gasped, the sound so crisp in that night with the sudden thrust of him into her, in the movements of him inside her, and her movements with him. Anya dug her feet into the sand and lifted her hips to meet him, arching against his deep thrusts as she caressed his shoulders and he sighed her name. He heaved above her and she swayed with him, needing him in her, with her, part of her, for as long as she would be allowed. As his motions grew faster he brought his lips back to hers, kissing her as though she was his princess and he was her prince, as though they truly were familiar then, when those dreams existed. Josh curled one hand around her arm, and the other slid beneath her dress, clutching at the skin of her side and mindlessly tracing the scars that weaved down to her hip, where he gripped her tight to drive faster, deeper inside. And in all this Anya never hesitated, never stopped arching up to meet him, gasping for the seal of her cunt around him, for the pulse of her lust shaking her, filling her, making her desperate for him like she was and believed she forever would be.

“Anya…” he said, the name a bite on her cheek before his breath caught, a moan that echoed hers beneath him. Together they thrust, caving, coming, his love meeting hers as she shuddered around him, tucking her nails into the sides of his body as the feeling washed through her and lapped at her skin like the moist, salty air. The waves rolled on behind them, a whisper to the whish of their breaths, to the soft kisses they played on one another’s mouths.

In time, their hearts settled. Their breaths fell still. Josh swept his fingers back and forth over the skin of her thigh as he kept his forehead against hers and gazed into her eyes. They would lie like this as long as they could, treasuring each quiet minute until it was time for her to stand and leave him there. The perfect fairy tale of their love would be held once more, a story in their hearts as strong as the tide, as bright as their very own moon, and deep as the ocean they would drown in, together, if they could.

“By the Sea” is the first installment of a three-part series. Click here to read part two, “Driftwood.”

Interviewed on Inside the Erotica Author’s Studio!

Posted on July 11, 2015July 12, 2015 by Jade A. Waters

The most exciting thing happened earlier this week—the lovely Rose Caraway of The Kiss Me Quick’s Erotica Podcast had me up to her studio to record an interview! Wow!

Rose Caraway is the editor of The Sexy Librarian’s Dirty 30, a collection in which I am lucky enough to have two stories, “The Bells” and “The Doll.” To celebrate the release of this book, Rose has been interviewing the contributors on her “Inside the Erotica Author’s Studio” series. The whole idea is to introduce you to each of us while finding out more about us and our stories. I could not be more thrilled to be a part of this book, and now to have had the privilege of talking with Rose in her actual studio—well, let’s just say the whole experience has completely boggled my mind.

We had such a great conversation about all sorts of things—you’ll find out about my tendency to try just about anything, how I write, thoughts on my stories, my experience with having an agent, and even an interesting date accident I almost had. Rose is positively one of the sweetest people on the planet, as is the amazing Big Daddy, so this interview made me feel right at home in their studio!

If you’d like to check it out, you can do so right here with the player below. Or, if you’d like to read Rose’s show notes alongside the interview, you can click on over to The KMQ’s. Either way, I hope you enjoy listening to us as much as I enjoyed my time hanging at The KMQ’s!

Also, don’t forget to check out The Sexy Librarian’s Dirty 30 in audiobook or ebook format. And if you’d like to hear some of my previous work narrated on The Kiss Me Quick’s, check out my story “Soundscapes,” or a poem, “Owned.” It’s been a privilege working with The KMQ’s, and now to be interviewed by them!

Thanks so much for joining us!

XX,
Jade

N.B. You can now listen to “The Doll” narrated by the fabulous Rose Caraway right here!

Flash Fiction: “Kiss of Fate”

Posted on May 20, 2015May 23, 2015 by Jade A. Waters

It was a simple move, really—the sweep of his hand over my hair. Down, then repeat, fingers crawling over wild, tousled strands while he gave me that wistful smile of his. The move shouldn’t have meant anything, but in his eyes, I saw that it did. That all those years of silent communication were leveling out in the beautiful brown irises I’d told myself not to love so long ago.

And so it felt only natural to lean toward him, the whisper of the air around us urging us on, pressing us together like we were in a time-capsule vacuum of space. It didn’t matter that there were people shouting around us, cars whizzing by, stars glistening in the heavens above as though they were trying to tell us that they’d been watching all along, waiting for this very moment. Waiting for both of us to get it, to feel that strange floating sensation between us as his hand met my shoulder and he pitched toward me, too.

He opened his mouth as if to speak, and so did I—but nothing needed to be said. There was no verbal expression to communicate the way we slipped closer, now not two bodies standing there conversing through our buzz over the eternal mysteries of men versus women or how we always poked fun at one another, but two flames coming together, bursting into a giant, scorching fire. Lip to lip, tongue to tongue, we lost ourselves in a kiss that should have taken place so many years ago but never did.

I drifted into him, and he swept into me. We were one, arms wrapping around each other, tongues dancing, fire brimming through our bodies in ways I’m sure we would have known once, had we actually tried. As his hands played up my sides and back into my hair, pulling me closer, he kissed me harder—like he meant it. Like he needed it. Like the press of my body to his wasn’t enough, was never enough, and instead he ached to be with me, part of me, loving me just as I loved him and always had. His fingertips along my scalp sent electric pulses all through me, making me fall into him even more, sending that spark so deep I felt my need, my lust, heavy like the night around us. I was ready for him. For this.

For everything.

When we pulled apart, the air hummed dense with our fervid breaths. Then we smiled, the universe winking its starry eyes, for it knew what happened next.

So did we.

“Come home with me,” he said.

There was no other answer but yes.

Flash Fiction: “A Taste”

Posted on April 29, 2015April 29, 2015 by Jade A. Waters

She’s been waiting her whole life for him, she thinks, and she raises the coffee to her lips.

They’ve been eyeing one another across this diner for the better part of an hour, all while he’s pretended to read his paper and eat his late night bacon and eggs, and she’s forgotten to finish the soup that grew cold not long after she ordered it. She’s been distracted by the rules skipping through her head—don’t stare too much, cross your legs like a lady, don’t forget to eat with your mouth closed—but with the gazes they keep casting back and forth, she doesn’t think these things are really all that important anymore.

Anna pays her check and rises from her booth. She imagines she’ll be the first to leave. That he’ll follow her outside, giving her a moment to reflect on whether he’s stalking her, and if she’s supposed to run. Or if instead she should give away everything she’s actually feeling—the unsteady ticking of her heart inside the safe housing of her chest, the unusual race of her once regulated breathing, or, more than that, the heat that’s slickened at the peak of her thighs, making all this thought a perilous landscape of impossible, inexplicable desire.

But the man is the first to leave. He walks right by her, deliberately meeting her gaze. The brush of his hand on hers cannot be a coincidence, nor the look in his heavy-lidded eyes. And so it’s Anna who follows him outside, Anna who walks in measured steps behind him, Anna who glances up at the stars, just once, reminding herself how small she is in this world as he turns the corner and she’s left to decide one way or another.

Don’t talk to strangers, her mama said.

But mama’s been dead a long time now.

Anna finds him leaning against the backside of the building, staring beyond the edge of the bluff at the water below, where the waves ebb and flow like the surge in her veins. In her head, as she comes to face him, she anticipates the things he might ask of her. What’s your name? Why have you followed me? What are you looking for tonight?

He asks none of this. What he does is take her wrist and pull her to him, so that her breasts are flush with his chest and he’s breathing down over her face. She believes he’s asking for her approval, which she gives in the one kiss they will share—their lips merging, opening, exchanging the bitter trace of coffee, the hint of greasy bacon, and the sweet, sweet taste of spit. His hands are on her ass, molding her flesh, squeezing her closer. She welcomes this, then the way he swings her round to face the building, sliding behind her so his entire body lines her back. Anna gasps when his fingers slip under her skirt, because now he knows just how anxious she’s been for this. For him. Never show a man how much you care she remembers, but his fingers are in her, riding up and hot in the wet desire she doesn’t know how to hide. His teeth find her neck as he wedges her tight to the wall, and Anna’s open mouth grazes the fading building finish. She tongues the wood as he unfastens his pants, then the salty air that kisses her lips and makes her feel alive when he presses his cock to her ass.

“Okay?”

This is the murmur she’ll remember him by, a quiet, desperate groan that elicits the wild bob of her head. We don’t take risks. Good girls don’t take risks she’d been told, but as he drives inside she wants nothing more than to risk it all, again and again. Every thrust of his cock brings another moan, another moment, another physical expression she held buried so far inside. She spreads her fingers on the building and arches her back, letting him sink deeper, closing her eyes while the waves sing behind them and he moves faster inside her. He bites her neck again, surely tasting the glisten of sweat that’s broken out along her chin. Her body shakes when he slides a finger in her mouth and she closes her lips around it, the taste of her cunt on his skin. She’s only partially surprised she comes before he does, her whimpers preceding the muffled grunts he makes into her hair. He fills her with the honest, heated greeting of a perfect stranger.

For a minute, they stand like this, Anna smashed between his body and the building. His come is seeping out around his slowly softening shaft, dripping onto the panties barely pushed aside before he marked her as who she really is. Who she’s wanted to be.

The man places a kiss on the edge of Anna’s mouth. It’s tender and indifferent all at once, but she understands the intention behind it, what he’s learned, too. Thank you.

She is still standing against the wall after he tucks himself away, pausing like he’s supposed to, waiting to see if she wants to say something, or if there’s anything else she needs. But there isn’t.

When he’s gone, Anna spins around, her back to the building as the chaos of her belly becomes a soothing warmth that brings a smile to her face.

She’s never taken a risk before.

And she’s been waiting her whole life for this one.

Sex and Cupcakes: A Sweet and Provocative Read

Posted on March 4, 2015March 4, 2015 by Jade A. Waters

I don’t do many reviews on this blog for several reasons, the biggest being that I’m inundated with technical reading for my day job. So, while I do occasionally squeeze in a book for pleasure, reading one for review is often a juggling act beyond my capacity. The benefit of this unfortunate fact, however, is that I am able to save this space for reviews of things I truly enjoy, books and stories that speak to me on a level I’d relish sharing with others. This is why today, I’m delighted to tell you about Rachel Kramer Bussel’s Sex and Cupcakes.

Rachel Kramer Bussel is a well-known erotica name, but she’s also a woman in the genre I’ve looked up to for years. She’s rocked my world with stories I’d read long before she accepted my first ever published piece (when she left me squealing, of course), and after that, too—both as a writer with a delicious imagination and an editor with a detailed eye and well-pinned finger on the pulse of our crazy market. It’s this latter piece Ms. Bussel takes a bit further than others, and that I most admire; she is virtually everywhere with articles, commentary, and reflections on sex and its various forms of cultural impact. Her words hit right on the mark for me, as she’s got a strong opinion paired with a knack for examining all sides of the issue—which is precisely why I bought Sex and Cupcakes, and why I enjoyed it so much!

This collection of nine essays showcases some of Ms. Bussel’s best commentary while also examining our sexual culture. Pieces such as “I’m Pro-Choice and I Fuck” and “Monogamishmash”—like many of the essays in the book—are thoughtful explorations of what our labels mean, and perhaps more importantly, what they don’t mean, that simultaneously share personal anecdotes and revelations. It’s clear Ms. Bussel doesn’t intend to throw out opinions and jam them into the minds of those she’s writing for; hers is a style full of sophisticated writing and opinion, but with a welcoming approach to every other person’s desire, style, and kink, too. She speaks in “Sorry, But I’m Not a Sexpert” about her sex writing not equating to acting as a sex educator. While I agree this is true, it’s her openness on the page that focuses readers on the idea that things aren’t always what they seem, and which teaches them—albeit indirectly—that in exploring our own sexuality, there is no need to push our wants, kinks, and desires onto others. This open-mindedness is a repeating theme throughout Sex and Cupcakes, and the primary reason her essays held such intrigue.

I am not, in general, a nonfiction reader, but getting an inside peek on the thoughts of one of my idols made this collection even more enjoyable for me. Whether it be Ms. Bussel’s striking and blunt words throughout “My Boyfriend’s Fat,” or her personal confessions on fantasy versus reality in “Champagne Sex,” each essay struck a different and pleasant chord. My personal favorites were “I Have Trouble with Orgasms” and “Sex and Cupcakes.” The former is a smart, important read for most women, a sort of battle cry for the sentiment of “lacking” some feel or are made to feel when this, in truth, is a pretty normal occurrence for many, while the titular piece is a brief memoir exploring the author’s relationship with both sides of her life as erotica writer and cupcake blogger. It was this piece that resonated for me the most, both in my own sensation of having two lives and the perception that goes with each (erotica writer life and “normal” life), and her comments on society’s tendency towards slut-shaming in the name of feminism while still condemning those who choose to speak their erotic truths. I’d say overall, this piece was about balance; so it would seem that as far apart as they sound—the sweetness of cupcakes and the delicious explorations of all things sex—Rachel Kramer Bussel shows us they are a pairing quite meant to go together.

I highly recommend you pick up your copy of Sex and Cupcakes on Amazon.

XX,
Jade