Blogging as Natalie Dae today over at Three Wicked Writers Plus Two. Contemplation. What makes you stop and pause?
WordPress appear to have changed the way you link. It’s annoying and not working for me. So here you go: http://threewickedwriters.blogspot.com/2010/11/contemplation.html
Drawn to the attic in her new home, Amelia finds a saucy nineteenth-century wench dress. At first glance, it’s just a dress, but once she dons it, desire streaks through her and she’s transported to the past. Overwhelmed by lust, she is caught pleasuring herself, discovered by the most gorgeous man she’s ever seen, who turns out to be—her lover?
Amelia and Emmet join in an explosive sexual union, erasing the months—or is it centuries?—they have been apart as though they never existed. But suddenly Amelia awakes—alone.
Until the dress calls again.
Emmett’s not the only one lusting after Amelia. Lord Graham wants her and he doesn’t fight fair. He kidnaps her, sends Emmett on a deadly errand and forces Amelia to participate in his voyeuristic games. Although Amelia’s body betrays her, she vows to remain true to Emmett, but will he return? And can she escape the clutches of Lord Graham’s debauchery?
Amidst subterfuge, treachery and murder, Amelia and Emmet’s love grows and they reach new heights of carnal passions.
Emmett ignored her, only sliding his hands to span her stomach. His mouth covered one nipple, teeth lightly nipping, and the shock nearly had her opening her eyes. He sucked, tugging on the taut peak the way she liked, as she knew he would. She cried out, almost reaching her pain threshold. Emmett eased the pressure a little, then sucked and reared his head back once more, the torment too much for her, too intense.
He let her nipple go. It ached, and despite wanting the sweet torture to end, she longed for more. As though picking up on her thoughts, he tongued her nipple, sucking it as before. Amelia clasped her hands together tighter, wanting to cry out yet at the same time testing herself to see how far she could go. He pulled harder, his fingers stroking her waist, circling her navel, and she clenched her cunt, willed herself not to gasp.
She failed, snatching in air.
Breast free of his mouth, she lifted her pelvis, needing him to cater to her throbbing bud. The mattress dipped again as he shuffled his knees farther down the bed then settled between her legs, the heat of his breath on her slit forcing the air out of her lungs. Her torso juddered beneath his questing fingers and she itched to pinch her nipples. Instead, she squeezed her hands again. His tongue parted her. The tip swirled around her nub and a blaze of sensation warmed the folds.
“Oh God, Emmett…”
“I’m going to sup your cream. Lick you, make you want me so much you can’t breathe.”
He flattened his tongue, licking her with quick strokes, fingers smoothing down her body to widen her slit. She bucked as he worked faster, exquisite waves of pleasure ebbing and flowing in and around her bud. Panting, she writhed, unclasping her hands and gripping the headboard spindles. She dug her nails into her palms, the bite adding to her excitement. Tongue flicking from side to side, Emmett brought her to the brink of orgasm then stopped, kissing her mound and her lower belly. She hissed out between clenched teeth, frustrated but knowing when he touched her there again the pleasure would be stronger. He took his mouth from her belly and didn’t move. She waited, eyes still closed, and listened to the sounds around them—their breaths, a creaking bed downstairs, faint moans from customers, footsteps on the wooden floor below. She longed to open her eyes, to see whether he studied her, but at the same time not knowing suited her. And she waited, her heart picking up speed, her wet nub throbbing in time with it. God, how she wanted to let go and slide her hands into his hair, pushing his mouth down onto her slit, directing his movements and orchestrating the pressure. To tell him to sup her now, beg if she had to. But she remained silent, confident he knew exactly when to begin again.
At last, movement! He hooked his hands beneath her buttocks and lifted her, setting her lower half on his thighs. His balls rested against her ass, their softness and warmth arousing her beyond measure. Emmett brushed his hands up and down her legs, thumbs skating close to her thatch each time he reached the top. When he drew away she almost cried out in frustration, wanting more of the touch of his fingertips beside her mound. He leaned back to caress her shins, then her calves and she loosed a strangled moan. God, he teased her so! She needed his hands higher up, at her nub, which pulsed and swelled with every passing second. Sliding his hands beneath her knees, he pushed so her legs bent and she placed her feet beside him on the bed. He spread her legs and she could only imagine the sight of herself open for his viewing.
“Beautiful, wench. Beautiful.”
Her stomach flipped at the hoarseness of his voice, a voice that belied the fact he was in control. He was close, she sensed it, and it wouldn’t be long before he could hold back no longer and plunged inside her. She hoped it would be soon, because she was close to coming herself. The slowness of his actions had brought her to a high state of arousal, and just the slightest touch now might send her over the edge.
Thumbs sliding up and down each lip of her slit, Emmett tortured Amelia some more. She jolted, eyes nearly springing open, and waited to feel what he would do next. He placed his thumbs together then glided them down to her opening, easing them inside with his fingers splayed over her mound. He pressed his thumbs and fingers together, her pelvic bone in between, and moved his thumbs up and down the upper wall of her sheath. Suddenly, he curved his thumb tips and touched something deep inside her, a place he had never been before. A sharp sensation had her abdomen jerking and she almost, almost opened her eyes.
“Did you like that?” he asked, dragging his thumbs down then returning them to that place, pressing there with his fingers.
The sensation came again, and now he concentrated on the area, rubbing what felt like a ridge inside her. She nodded, wondering what would happen if he kept stroking. Amelia didn’t have to wait long before successive shots of fierce pleasure momentarily took away her ability to breathe.
“I told you I’d take away your breath. Good. That feels good, doesn’t it, wench?”
She nodded and gasped, riding out the new feelings his thumbs produced. As the bite receded, her bud still throbbing and in need of attention, he eased his thumbs out and gripped her waist. Without warning, he thrust his cock inside her, fucking her hard and fast. She clenched her sheath around him, gripped the bed spindles tighter and gave in to the rising tide.
“Ah, wench!” he ground out.
His firm thrusts nudged her up the bed and she crossed her ankles at his lower back, her whole body tingling with excitement. Juices coated his cock, the length of him gliding in and out easily, the aroma of sex heightening her desire. She came, bucking, keening, emotions running so high they overwhelmed her with their intensity. Emmett’s low moans and grunts brought on another wave of pleasure and her cunt ached with it. Wet heat filled her and her lover loosed a strangled yell, pushing into her with short jabs as he emptied himself into her contracting sheath. He slowed to a stop and lowered his body to hers, brushing her cheeks with sweet kisses.
Amelia opened her eyes, staring into his. Love shone from him and she wanted so much to tell him how she felt, but the words wouldn’t come, halted by the lump in her throat.
I love you, Emmett Dray. Love you…
I’ve had a bit of a revamp around here. I got bored with the white and decided to go with something more in keeping with the darker aspects of my work that I’ve been leaning toward lately. Sort of combining my “old” self (Charley Oweson) with the newer, m/m self (Sarah Masters). I love writing dark books, but it remains to be seen if the darker work will be taken as well as my other m/m. We’ll see.
The last two books of the Blinded series—Wildfire and Shimmer—are at the formatters, so they should be available soon. Scared is with two beta readers, so that novel will be sent to the publishers shortly. A single title, Grafton’s Point, in the Dreams & Desires anthology, the proceeds going to a battered women’s shelter, will also be available soon. As for WIPs…at the moment I have four books on the go. One for EC, one for who knows where, one co-authoring with Jaime Samms, and an m/m. You’d think with 4 to choose from I’d have the urge to write at least one of them, but I don’t. So, I might well start a new short today just so I keep up with my chapter a day regime that I’ve been sticking to for the past two weeks now. It’s working well, although some days the procrastination fairy does sit on my shoulder and prod me to do other things. Like she did this morning by making me re-do this site. Bless her…
I’m on a bit of a downer today, but ho hum, such is life, and I’m sure I’ll knock myself out of it in an hour or two. Sometimes life throws a curveball and makes me wonder what the fuck the point is with certain things, and I ask myself whether I need to take a new direction. Still, I’ll plod along as usual, see if anything changes—God, I’m always saying that!—and then if it doesn’t, I’ll think about making some changes of my own. Sometimes it’s like I’m beating a dead horse, know what I mean? I reckon it can apply to anything in life: When do you decide enough is enough? When do you say, “Right, that’s it! Fuck this for a game of soldiers!”
Yeah, it’s to do with writing, my career, whether all this hard work is worth the virtual paper it’s written on. But…that’s a story for another day. I think I’m just tired, may possibly need a break after hammering out Scared. Unfortunately, I never know when to quit until I burn out. So maybe I just need to either start a new book or go and do something else for a week or two. Avoid manuscripts like the plague. Um, yeah. That’s likely…
Whatever you’re doing today, I hope it’s a good one, and if you need to reflect, like me, I hope you come to the best solution for you. One that makes you happy. TTFN, loves!
After twelve days of writing like a loon, my first m/m novel, Scared, came in at 67K. It’s one of those books that, as soon as the plot formed, I had the urge to keep going until it was done. No stops, no procrastinating. I had the plan to write a 3K chapter every day, but obviously some days went to two or three chapters. I wrote it arse-backwards all the way, skipping chapters so the loudest characters got their say first, then went back to fill in the ones who didn’t have the courage to bully me into writing their parts. Bless them.
There are six main characters, something I didn’t expect when I started. Originally it was meant to be a novel about Toby and Russell from my short story Grave Findings, expanding on that book and what happened after that one ended. Whoa, lots happened, and a small part of Grave Findings, where Toby stops a couple of men harassing a young boy, turned into the basis of the plot in Scared. Boys abducted in order to be sold on in the sex trafficking trade.
It isn’t a pleasant subject, and I’m praying I handled it well, but it’s something that has bothered me for a long time. I read a true-crime book once, that stated more boys are abducted than girls, just for this purpose. It’s shocking and frightening, and when you delve into this terrible world, you realise there’s so much nasty stuff going on right under your nose.
Tomorrow I’ll be going through the book again from start to finish, making sure, because of me skipping chapters, everything runs in sequence and makes sense. The second draft also gives me the opportunity to add extras, things I tend to skimp on with the first draft, because I want to just get the main story down.
I felt lost when I finished. The book has literally controlled my life the past few days, and now maybe I can get to sleep without thinking on what happens next. Unfortunately, I don’t think that will be the case. The bad guy in Scared, “Frost”, decided he has a tale of his own to tell, so don’t be surprised if I do another mad few days writing another novel all about him. But that can wait for a little while. I need to give my poor brain a rest, not to mention my fingertips.
But, ahhhhhhhhhhh, it feels so good to have got that story out of my head and onto the page. I’ve just got to hope readers like it, despite the horrific subject matter. Eep!
I looked in the mirror and saw a face that wasn’t mine. Bags under the eyes, puffy lids, and wrinkles that have no business being there.
The sun is shining today, and I am glad. Sunglasses. They hide a multitude of things. Hide the windows to my soul, the memories of yesterday, the desolation that clouds the blue.
Tears. Nothing but a release of pressure. The hiss of a newly opened bottle of Pepsi. They come again, later, when the bottle is opened once more, just not so forcefully. And I wonder: Will the hiss that ceases to come, eventually, on that bottle, be the same for me? If enough tears come, will the hiss disappear?
Tears. The silent hiss.
She stood on the street corner, nothing feet tall and attitude written all over her face. She looked at my girl, up and down, up and down, and her expression told me a million things: I’m better than, I’m more than, I’m… The cut of her cloth may have been better. The cut of her hair too. But her face—such disdain there, such…hurtful thoughts expressed—was not better than the smile my girl gave her. Differences. So big. So vast. Even then. Even at such a young age.
I felt dirty. Beneath. Worse than.
Photographs handed over, and I took them, walked home, head bent, gaze on the past. Memories flooded back, of how things used to be, when there was no silent hiss. And I went back there, just for a moment, for the duration of a time suspended in happiness, where nothing else mattered. A tree branch snagged in my hair. Just for that second, I didn’t mind. Not then, when she looked back at me from the paper and I remembered loving her to death and never wanting her to grow up. But she is, she has, and I cannot stop time. Nor go back to the place without the hiss.
Perhaps. Maybe. I think I can go back there, but anger, resentment, and many other negative things have blocked the path. There is so much more good than bad, yet the bad overrides. Obliterates. Devours. It is stronger. For now. And I wish it wasn’t, but the fight has gone. Evil thoughts come, ones that don’t belong to me, much like my face, and I hate that I have thought them.
The wind cuts, messes my hair and dries the silent hiss. And now I’m here, in my sanctuary, my head filled with nonsense. Nonsense on the page.
I could sit for hours and ponder yesterday. And the days, years before that. Head filling with more nonsense. The man of yesterday planned it this way. Sewed some seeds, and now he eagerly waits for them to grow. But I didn’t water them, and I wait for them to die. Wither. Decompose. And while they do, he waits, staring at the ground for the first glimpse of green to push through the earth.
A long wait, then.
In the future, there will be sunny skies. There will be a head filled with no nonsense. There will be a sense of having come through this…this blink of time and being stronger for it. Isn’t that the pattern, though? The same pattern. The same damn pattern.
I prayed yesterday. For guidance. Help. Oh, God, anyone, please help me. And the answer came, as it always does: Wait.
I’ve waited a long time. I will continue to wait, the pressure building, then the silent hiss. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. But I don’t believe what I need to wait for will ever come. This is just a game, and that same damn pattern will replicate until the day I die.
Positivity is waiting for me around the corner. I’ll meet it soon, as I always do, and this blip will be a lonely memory, never visited or even acknowledged. I have too many little stones in my shoes to enable me to get around that corner without hurt, and I have no energy to take off my shoe and tip the stones out, but I’ll get there, and the sun will shine.
And there will be no sunglasses.
Just a short one, but I wanted to tell you about what happened this morning. While in the long queue at the checkout in the frozen food store, I stood and took the time to have a think about my latest book. A queue formed behind me, and I turned to see an old guy with only a few items in his basket. Me? I had a trolley full. So, as I always do if this happens, I let the guy with the basket go in front of me to save him waiting so long. Anyway, he thanked me, called me a star, and then said, “Tell me that shopping of yours isn’t just for a week!”
So I said, “Yes it is, and I have to get some more in other shops. I have kids to feed!”
After a few minutes, with the queue ahead going down very slowly (only two cashiers on in a majorly busy shop), I saw two other blokes behind me, each holding milk cartons. So I let them go ahead of me, behind Basket Man.
So I’m minding my own business, thinking of vampires and whatnot (LOL if anyone could have read my mind), and it was Basket Man’s turn to pay. Once he’d paid for his shopping, he held up a goody bag of Haribo and said, “I bought these for your kids, okay? You’ve restored my faith in human nature, you have!”
I said, as I always do, “Oh, bless you!” because I didn’t quite know what else to say. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him he’d restored my faith too, by doing what he did. I mean, me letting him in the queue cost him the £1 for those bloody sweets!
Wasn’t he nice, though? I can’t get over it.
After a week of me feeling very down and out of sorts, my angel editor at EC has taken it all away by giving me an acceptance on my latest novella. I’m so happy I could squeal and dance. What a difference a day makes, eh? I’d love to tell you more about the book but that would possibly give me away, so just know it’s a hot little number that I thoroughly enjoyed writing due to the love element between the heroine and hero. I like showing how two people are meant to be together and that despite inner worries, they find out the other is of like mind. This tale displays that clearly, and together the couple discover not only each other but also fulfill private fantasies they’ve so far never indulged in.
I’m away to finish Burning today with a happy heart and that weird surreal feeling I always get when I get an acceptance at EC. It’s like I need to pinch myself and ask if it’s really happening, like it can’t be happening to me because it just can’t. Because I’m me, and things like this don’t happen to me, even though they have.
I’m as happy as a pig in shit!
Have a groovy day, everyone!