Liaisons - on sale now!

A new month, a new Black Lace short story collection - this one themed around Liaisons and published this week in the UK (pre-order for June 23rd in the USA). Wow - lookee there - the anthology kicks off with my story Roadside Rescue, but it also includes stories by Justine Elyot, Charlotte Stein (twice, the hussy), Alison Tyler and Portia Da Costa.

"Liaison" according to my dictionary means an illicit sexual relationship - or cooperation between military forces or units - or the binding or thickening agent of a sauce. All of which led to some very strange trains of thought while I was considering what to write ... Soldiers in bechamel, anyone?

But as it turned out, Roadside Rescue is about a woman on her way to meet her secret lover in a Scottish hideaway. This man has dominated her sexual imagination and life for years, ever since he was her professor at university. Only things don't go as planned, because when Sarah's car breaks down on a lonely road and she's picked up by local garage mechanic Gavin, it suddenly gets all complicated...

Here's an excerpt from near the beginning, where Sarah, wet through, has got into Gavin's truck. The scene with the garage and the hydraulic hoist and the engine oil comes later...

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With everything secured he returned to the cab and jumped into the driver’s seat in front of her, hastily stripping off his waterproofs. Underneath he wore a white sweater and worn jeans, and the rain had got through to them too in patches. ‘Pass the towel!’ he said.

She handed it over. ‘Sorry, it’s a bit damp.’

His eyes flicked up and down her. Blue eyes, and the beginning of nice lines in his face. He probably wasn’t even aware that he’d done it, she thought, but she knew he’d taken in the way her wet dress clung to her and she blushed, smiling. He hesitated before speaking, but she didn't seize the chance to look away and break the moment.

‘Oh, I can cope with a little damp.’ His humour was gentle. ‘Wouldn’t be living up here if I couldn’t, would I now?’

‘I suppose not.’ She could feel herself glowing. His gaze dropped to her wet breasts and this time he was clearly conscious of where his eyes were resting.

‘But you’ll be wanting a hotel room now.’

She didn’t know what to say. He caught his lip in his teeth and waited. ‘Okay,’ she managed.

The tentative flicker in his eye died down. ‘Since you’ll be staying overnight, I guess.’

‘Uhuh.’

‘And we don’t want you catching your death.’

The moment – the something that might have been, the barely definable suggestion of possibility - passed and he turned away. Sarah watched as he dried off with the towel, rumpling his hair to dark spikes. The back of his neck was weathered brown, his broad hands ingrained with old oil. Her heart was suddenly thudding in her chest. She felt she had to say something, had to keep him talking, because she could feel Mervyn’s disapproval looming at the back of her head and if she let the conversation lapse it would come crashing in on her.

At that moment she saw her fingers touch the back of his neck. They’d moved entirely without conscious direction, and though he was the one who jumped she was damn sure he was no more surprised than she was. His skin felt silky-warm.

‘Those are cold!’ He laughed to cover the precarious moment.

‘Sorry,’ she whispered, feeling the prickle of his nape hairs under her exploring fingertips. His heat was irresistible. ‘I really could do with somewhere to warm them up.’

‘Oh? He took a deep breath. ‘Well, you know, I can think of somewhere…’

‘Go on then.’ She had no idea where this daring was coming from, but it seemed to be determined to press on, wilfully ignoring Mervyn’s thunderous glare.

‘Well … You mean that?’

‘Yes.’

He was galvanised. He scrambled over the back of the seats, sitting in the notch between the headrests - the cab was just tall enough – staring at her, his breath suddenly loud down his nose. His lower lip caught once more in his teeth, making his smile lopsided and wary. He still didn’t look like he believed what she was offering until she reached up and laid her hands on his thighs, framing the bulge of his crotch. He put his hands on hers then, stroking her fingers and up her wrists, his fingertips callused, his touch increasingly firm. She undid his belt, slipping the top button of his jeans then working down the fly over what was a growing bulge. He had to help her pull out the burgeoning length of his cock, which quickly swayed impressively erect. His shaft surged and thickened even as she ran her fingers down his length for the first time. She could smell the washing-powder perfume of fresh clothes on the heat of his skin.

He was definitely on the substantial side.

‘God yes,’ he said in an undertone as she tipped forward to take his blunt and eager bell in her mouth, tasting his salt: there was nothing floral about that. He felt hot on her cold lips. He wrapped his fingers in her wet hair, quite gently, pressing her down on his cock. She took it all the way to the back of my mouth and held it there, squeezing, until he groaned with pleasure.

Because that was how Mervyn liked it too.


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