daily habit

welcome, readers!

happy 2016. i hope that things are colorful in your corner of the world.

in my last post, i mentioned my struggle to maintain focus. i also mentioned that i had a new piece to share with you, and that there was a sentence that i wasn’t happy with. well, that sentence turned into two sentences. then three…the revision process is fun, no? anywho, i made (many) changes, but i’m satisfied with them.

i tried something slightly  different with this story. my idea was to go for a less is more approach: pull you into the fantasy and captivate your senses without the backstory that i normally give. i hope i’ve accomplished that with this piece.

as always, i want to thank all of you for the simple courtesy of taking the time out to visit my humble corner and read my short stories. it means the world to me that you come here. i do hope that you enjoy daily habit.

[and look, i even added a cute little image.]




daily habit

8:09 a.m.

The coffeehouse was mostly empty, except for a few customers in tailored suits who were in a hurry to get to work on time. For the past month, Nyah broke her morning routine, going two blocks out of her way twice a week to visit the trendy little shop.

She would be the first to admit that she was addicted, but it wasn’t the Cuban espresso that caffeinated her…

His co-workers call him London, and he was enjoyable to look at. Tall—she estimated a little over six feet—with a cheerful face, thick framed glasses, and freckles across the bridge of his aquiline nose. The beginnings of a 5 o’clock shadow framed his jawline and she could only imagine what it would be like to feel the short, stiff hairs against her palm.

London greeted her from the register. His voice was deep, rimmed with something low, rough and attractive; like the riff in a blues song. Giving him a warm hello in return, Nyah took some money out of her pocket and stepped to the end of the counter. The scent of his cologne—a warm, yet sensual composition—captured her senses, awakening her soul. It lingered in the coffee-scented air the way she wanted to linger at the shop counter: with a reluctance to leave.

After ordering her usual, Nyah found a table near the window, which looked out at what used to be an antique furniture store. The owners decided it was time to retire, so they sold the building to an unidentified investor and relocated to Lake James, North Carolina. Rumor has it that an art gallery would stand in the store’s place soon.

Digging a book out of her messenger bag, she inattentively thumbed through its pages. It wasn’t long before thoughts of London began to surface in her mind, and she did nothing to push them away. Her eyes found a way to sneak a glance at him. What she wouldn’t give to grab fistfuls of his dark hair and pull his mouth to the silk of her brown skin; holding him there as he dotted the base of her throat with kisses.

Letting out a breath, Nyah held the book in front of her. But hiding her face didn’t stop the lustful images from flashing through her mind’s eye like a movie preview: his hands exploring the lush curves of her body, caressing her back, hips and waist. There were hazy clips of shirts—his and hers—being peeled off and tossed aside, and of London relieving her of her bra, palming her breasts, squeezing and kneading their heaviness; his head lowering, tongue teasing and circling her nipples, teeth tugging at the firm tissues; her breath hitching in response, her back bowing, body trembling…threatening to betray her.

Unable to resist, she lowered the book a little, turning a page for the sake of appearance, watching London work the espresso grinder. His shirt sleeves were rolled up now, and she could see the dark, clean lines of a tattoo on the inside of his forearm. She wondered if there was a story behind his ink. Probably; but story or no story, she was a sucker for men with tattoos.

Nyah shifted in her chair, pressing her legs together in an effort to ease the ache between her thighs. There was something impulsive and wonderful building inside her, pulling her to another place. A place where London would draw her closer, cushioning her body against his. With just inches between them, he’d lean in until his lips landed softly on hers. His tongue would move to open her mouth, curling and dancing around her own, deepening the kiss…learning the taste of her. From there, his fingers would take over, reaching into the front of her cargo pants, feeling their way inside her with twists and turns—withdrawing and entering with slow, delicious precision. A place where she would feel the push and pull of his digits raising and lowering the hood of her clit until her orgasm came hard and strong, robbing her of breath. And strength.

The desire she felt was gaining force within her. It made her skin hot and her pulse quicken, just by gazing at him.

Nyah had every intention of looking away, but it was too late: London’s gaze caught
hers. When his hypnotic blue eyes and slightly stubbled face grinned at her, she found herself wondering if he wore boxers or boxer briefs, if he shaved his private area, or if his dick curved upward when it was erect…

The reflection made her smile inwardly. Huffing out a small laugh, she lifted the book to hide her face again…and to return to her fantasy.

This time, she was on her knees in front of him, loosening his belt and lowering his zipper, pulling his arousal from the confines of his jeans, feeling it swell beneath the pads of her fingers when her hand closed around him. In Nyah’s imaginative mind, her tender fist was squeezing and sliding up and down the texture of his hardness: one deliberate stroke after the other. There was scene after scene of her licking down the length of his erection, over his balls, then under them; kissing her way up the shaft, sweeping her tongue against the delicate skin along the ridge before probing at the narrow opening on the tip; stretching her mouth around the crown, drawing him in with a sultry moan.

Nyah wanted to see the expressions on London’s face, listen to his needy groans fill the room, inhale his manly scent.

She wanted to tease him. Take him—all of him—down her throat, sucking with passion and vigor until he had nothing left. Nyah could practically hear the wet noises, feel the heat radiating off his body as his pace quickened without restraint.

She wanted to taunt him. Free him.

Just the thought of having her lips tightly sealed around London’s hard flesh—guiding him to rapture’s edge before pushing him over—made her inner muscles clench for attention.

His attention.

Nyah’s jaw tightened. There was a small sound inside of her that wanted to form a word and escape. And it did, trailing off just as she turned another page of the book she was pretending to read. “Fuck.”

She could smell the enticing scent of his cologne. He was close.

Nyah looked up to find London putting a cup—and a pastry that she didn’t order—on her table.

Closer than she thought, and close enough to make out the tattoo. A well designed steampunk clock decorated his forearm. God, she wanted to lick those beautiful mechanical gears.

She felt a quiver in her stomach, her heart was beating almost as loud as the indie music coming through the speakers.

London licked his lips in a way that only added to her torment. “Be careful, it’s hot.” What was it about his smoky voice that made her skin prickle with need?

Yes, you are. She smiled and thanked him. He smiled back, wiping his hands on his apron, and giving her a small wave as he turned to leave.

Nyah reached for the cup. Scribbled on the sleeve below his name and phone number were five words: your book is upside down.

© enchanted.ladybug 2.08.2016


welcome, readers.

i hope that things are colorful in your corner of the world.

it’s been a while since my last post, forgive me for that. but i’m here now because today marks the four year anniversary at enchanted.ladybug.

nothing new under my sun. i’ve been writing; not as much as i would like, but i have been writing. time usually works against me, but lately i’ve been struggling with the roadblock of focus. when i was afforded a nice chunk of time to sit down and write, i’d get distracted almost immediately. i wish i could tell you that they were productive escapes, but they weren’t. not good for stress levels or the creative process as a whole. it may have something to do with the fact that my daily life goes in about seventy-five directions, and by the time i find an opportunity to sit down and write, my brain is like, “i want to watch episodes of “the great british baking show” online. i want to take a nap. i want some candy corn!” (my brain likes candy corn. i…don’t ask.)

it’s a challenge, but i’m working on it: detaching myself from the things that distract me in order to improve my concentration when i’m trying to write.

as i mentioned earlier, i’ve been writing. i started a piece months ago, but instead of focusing completely on that, i tried to write a second story that was centered around the Christmas holiday in order to have it ready for my December post. (#distraction) November rolls around, and i have nothing ready for the holiday. what i do have, is a finished story (the one i started months ago) that has nothing to do with Christmas. i shared my concerns with my good friends who were kind enough to tell me that i should post the story, and not worry about it having a Christmas theme. they’re right (thank you, butterfly. thank you, sailer.), because i do have a habit of being excessively concerned with details that (probably) aren’t all that important.

[insert disco music and meaningless chatter here]

it was my intent to share the story with you on the 31st. however, there is one sentence that i’m just not happy with. over the past few weeks, i’ve rewritten it, added to it, changed a word, changed three words, and i’m still not satisfied. but i’m hoping to have it ready to post in the next couple of weeks. [fingers crossed]

to everyone who continues to visit my humble corner, thank you. i’m so appreciative of your patience, your understanding, your kindness, and your light.

as we say goodbye to this year, i hope that the coming year finds you capturing your dreams, that your heart remains delighted, and that you have all time you need.

[be golden.]


through it all

welcome, readers.

i hope that you’re doing well, and that things are colorful in your world. i’m still dealing with a little of that emotional pain i mentioned in my last post, but i’m coming out of it.

the person that hit my car did something very noble: he came back to the office where i work, offered an explanation and an apology, then gave me his insurance information; i’m hoping to take my car in for repairs early in the coming week.

thank you for being so patient with me, i finally have that story ready for you. i’m sorry that you’re reading this Christmas-themed story so close to Valentine’s Day, but i really appreciate the fact that you’re visiting my modest corner at all. thank you for hanging in there.

here’s hoping the rest of your winter is peaceful. i hope that you enjoy through it all.

through it all

This time of year always put Eric in a festive mood. Old Man Winter dusting the city with the first snowfall of the season, children’s faces lighting up with anticipation as they wait for Santa’s float in the parade, watching The Polar Express  on television; just a general sense of goodwill all around.

For the past three years he and his girlfriend, Sarai, made a tradition of going to the park to see the light show and shopping for a tree on Christmas Eve. But this year she was finding it hard to be thrilled about the holiday.

“I really shouldn’t go, I have a lot of work to do,” Sarai said, pulling a knitted cap over her thick, tightly curled hair.

Zipping up his coat, Eric dropped his shoulders. “I can’t go to the park and the tree lot without you.”

“Eric, if I don’t get a head start on this project, I’ll get behind. If I get behind, I won’t get paid.” She used her gaze to remind him that they needed the extra money.

Seeing her face fill up with concern, Eric walked to her. Even when she was over-thinking, she was still cute. Her expressive brown eyes and spirited personality are what mesmerized him from the first day they met. “Stop stressing. You won’t get behind and the sculpture will be amazing.”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “Besides, if we don’t get a tree, Santa won’t come.”

Sarai smiled, pulled up on his collar. She was in a different mood, but she didn’t want to ruin their night. “So you don’t get too cold.”

They headed out, walking one block from their apartment to catch the bus. When they got downtown, they watched the ice skaters in the seasonal rink and looked through cafe and clothing store windows that were decorated with animated elves, toy soldiers and reindeer. The park’s appearance had been changed into a sparkling display of multi-colored lights. Wreaths accented lamp posts that were spiraled with ribbon, the railings were draped with holly, and a 100-foot tree had been elaborately decorated for the holiday. Eric enjoyed walking through the tunnel of lights, Sarai’s favorite part of the experience was roasting s’mores over one of the large fire pits in the courtyard.

It was just after 9 o’clock when they got to the tree lot. Eric and Sarai were greeted by a tall, stocky man wearing a striped scarf and wool cap. He introduced himself as Joseph, the attendant.

Arm in arm they wandered through the lot, passing an older couple in one aisle who were playfully debating the quality of cypress and fir trees. There was a small selection, all different varieties and sizes. Joseph was a great lot attendant, helpful without being a pushy salesman. When he promised to knock off a few dollars because it was Christmas Eve, Eric and Sarai picked out a pine tree and carried it to the bus stop.

The cold winter air was fragrant with the smell of roasted chestnuts; a short line of people waited patiently near a vending cart to buy a bag. Just outside of a community center, residents stopped briefly to make donations or to thank the volunteer bell ringers for the Salvation Army. A woman was on the corner playing Carol of the Bells  on her acoustic guitar. The music carried down the street, attracting more and more people. Eric stopped so that Sarai could listen. She loved that song, but thought there was something beautifully haunting about hearing it this way. Once the woman stopped playing, Eric dropped the change leftover from the tree into her guitar case.

When they got home, Eric excitedly took off his coat and pulled out a box of decorations from their bedroom closet. Sarai moved a small table aside so she could lean the tree against a wall in a corner of the living room. They didn’t have a fireplace, so she hung their stockings from the hooks of a storage shelf near the front door. Together they set the tree in the stand, Sarai made sure there was plenty of water in the reservoir.

The evening was spent decorating their tree over mugs of hot chocolate that Sarai made with Taza chocolate discs. When they were done, Eric turned off the lamps and plugged in the lights. The soft glow of blinking bulbs added warmth to the living room.

The five-foot tree was simple but charming, dressed with carefully placed decorations like bells and small, beaded garland. While admiring their handiwork, Eric made eye contact with Sarai and winked at her. The man was ruggedly handsome: sun-kissed skin and warm, hazel eyes that she always seemed to get lost in. After several seconds, his gaze moved to her lips; and that led to a long, amazing kiss—the kind that made her knees buckle.

“Where’s the mistletoe?” Sarai asked playfully, breaking contact.

“Come here.” He drew her face to his; their kiss tasted of the hot chocolate they drank moments earlier: rich and sweet.

The longer their lips were acquainted, the more Sarai stopped worrying about her upcoming project and enjoyed the sensations that conquered her. She whimpered when she felt his tongue in her mouth; seeking out her own, curling around it in a sublime struggle for control.

Her arms went around his neck. Eric held her closely, nibbling her lower lip between pecks. The kiss seemed to go on forever, but it wasn’t enough. Within an instant, they found themselves on the floor near the foot of the tree. He gathered the bottom of Sarai’s shirt, lifted it over her head. Unfastening her bra, Sarai shrugged out of it and lay back on a hand-woven rug.

Eric kneeled beside her and leaned over, teasing and biting the hollow of her neck. Sarai’s breath quickened. His soft, moist lips gave her goose bumps. She was always helpless against the feel of his mouth against her ebony skin, helpless against the pleasure that unraveled within her.

A few minutes later, he was pulling off the rest of her clothes—one item at a time—tossing them aside. She stretched her arms above her head and watched Eric grab an ornament from the tree. Taking his time, he skimmed the ball down her nose, lips and chin. He went across her throat, over her collarbone, then her breasts—one after the other.

Eric watched the expressions on her face after he noticed her dark nipples tighten to the touch of the bulb. He brought the ornament lower, using it to make curly designs on her stomach. He moved on to the swell of her hips and lower still—below her waist—pressing the decorative object against the underside of her clit. With a feathered touch, he played with her for a while. Seducing her. Torturing her. Rubbing the ball, slick with her wetness, over her tight bud.

Riding the edge, Sarai hissed. The insistence in her body was relentless and vivid. She was aching. Desperate. For him, for her own salacious gratification.

Just as her body was about to betray her, the ornament was pulled away.

Eric shifted to be between her legs. He coaxed them open, tracing lazy lines along her inner thigh. Sarai’s pelvis made a little jump at him, he lowered his head to accept the invitation. When the tip of his nose was at her entrance, he inhaled the her presence. He loved her shapely body; the way she smelled, the way she tasted, the way she bit her bottom lip and quivered under his hands.

The tip of his determined tongue pushed upward, opening the lips of her pussy. He lifted her right leg over his shoulder, then curled his hands underneath her. He sucked her taut clit, pausing to roll it around his tongue every few seconds. Then his fingers joined in. He twisted two digits inside of her, stroking her warm, soft channel.

Sarai felt her heart racing. A sexy rush of heat radiated through her body, making her dizzy. Her eyes were heavy, half-closed. She was close. So damn close. Panting raggedly, she moved against his face, seeking more of him with each roll of her hips. His fingers went deeper. His breath was hot, his beard scratched her legs and she was pleasantly overwhelmed by the contrast. She cupped her breasts, tweaking her nipples while his mouth took on a life of its own. He held nothing back: sweeping his tongue over her intimate opening in every direction; sucking her labia; pinching her clit between his lips.

Barely breathing, Sarai twisted like she was trying to escape. She cried his name as he continued tormenting her well lubricated pussy, encouraging her release.


He stopped to tell her to say his name again. She did.

Sarai grabbed his head, his attention was too much to bear. Passion ripped through her veins in wicked currents, he was driving her crazy. She looked at the tree, a glimmer of colored lights was the last thing she saw just before her eyes fluttered closed. Garbled words became low moans, and her climax ruptured into a million euphoric pieces.

Eric murmured silently against her as her tender muscles pulsed and freed her release. Sarai’s precious juices trickled down his chin. She tasted like lust: an evil desire so raw, dark and torrid that he thought he would drown in her sweet taste.

Sarai lay there heaving, sweating and sated. At that moment, Eric dropped a line of kisses and small bites along her inner thigh. In that raspy timbre that she loved, he whispered, “I love feeling you come.”

The yearning to do more caused the erection in his jeans to hurt. He needed to be inside of her, and quickly relieved himself of his clothes. His dick stood hard, proud and slightly curved. Taking hold of his shaft, he rubbed the head up and down her cleft, then in slow circles. He pushed slowly, working his way inside; forcing her to take every impressive inch of him. When his six-foot two frame was on top of hers, Eric pinned her wrists to the floor. He groaned from the pleasure as he filled her, stroked her.

Still trembling from the first orgasm, Sarai declared her approval in short breaths. She loved feeling him against her, heated and strong on her body. Under the confinement of his hands, Sarai arched against him; the serpentine movement of her hips met his pace again and again. She felt the vibration of Eric’s muffled sounds against her neck when her womanly muscles pulled at him, holding him possessively. The broad head of his manhood found her tender spot repeatedly. Sarai tossed her head to the side, feeling that heat again. A second climax was growing inside of her, bringing her to the precipice of ecstasy.

Eric’s slow, rhythmic movements became more aggressive. Drawing out and pushing forward with purpose.



He kissed her, sharing her taste, growling her name against her lips. His body tightened. His balls felt heavier on each down stroke. Tension coiled in the pit of his stomach; it wouldn’t be long before it snapped, causing him to have a jaw-clenching orgasm.

They made love for hours, the scent of pine and sex hung heavily in the air. The snow started to fall just outside their frost-covered windows, covering the street in a fresh blanket of white, providing an incredible backdrop to their long, intimate evening.

A beautiful moment, captured forever in their minds.


Sarai woke before Eric did, unsure as to when they made their way to the bedroom. She was facing him, her leg draped over his. Carefully, she drew the pad of her index finger down the bridge of his nose. She stroked his face then pressed her lips to his. “Merry Christmas,” her sleepy voice whispered.

She slipped out of bed without waking him, throwing on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. She needed to put his gift under the tree and start dinner. This year they were having roast chicken with lemon and herbs, carrots and roasted garlic mashed potatoes. And for dessert, roasted peach cobbler drizzled with balsamic vinegar, served with vanilla ice cream: Eric’s favorite.

In their cozy living room, Sarai picked up the clothes that were scattered on the floor. She smiled with satisfaction as images of the previous night aroused her mind all over again. A gift bag under the tree caught her eye, that’s when she felt Eric’s kiss at the back of her neck. “I know it’s been hard for you to get in the Christmas spirit.”

Sarai just nodded. Eric didn’t get the bonus he was hoping for and she’d been out of work for almost nine months. They were living within their modest means; her emergency savings helped with their monthly bills and necessities, but obviously it wasn’t going to last forever. Still, Eric remained optimistic through it all. He even encouraged her to capitalize on her hobby and sell her unique pieces.

Sarai stayed consistent in getting the word around. A collector eventually contacted her online and commissioned her to make a tendril vase for his niece. Eric knew that Sarai loved her craft knives and dental tools for the lifelike detail she could get from her work, but he thought it would be nice if she had a new sculpting kit for her first paying project.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so—”

Eric kissed her again before she could reply. “Shh, it’s fine. We’re going to be fine.”

Sarai smiled, knowing that they would be. “Thank you.” That pair of words was not just for the gift, it was for everything that Eric brought into their relationship: patience, consideration, ordinary moments. It was for all the ways he showed her that he loved her.

“Can I peek in the bag?” Sarai was inching toward the tree.

Eric pulled her to the bedroom, a smile raised the corners of his mouth. “In a little bit. First, let’s go play some naughty reindeer games.”

© enchanted.ladybug 1-31-2015


welcome, readers.

today marks the three year anniversary at enchanted.ladybug.

before i continue, i would like to thank all of you who take the time out to visit my humble corner. your comments and encouragement have meant so much to me, and they play a huge part in what keeps me motivated. so thank you, beloved reader. thank you for your support, thank you for your light.

i hope that your coming year will bring colorful moments. i hope that if ever the tiniest crack should find a place in your soul, know that it doesn’t make you imperfect; it’s just a way for the light to shine through the pain. Rumi has this expressive saying: “The wound is the place where the Light enters you.”

my spirit is in desperate need of this light. the month of December has not been kind to me. i don’t think i’ve ever discussed much of my personal life here because i never intended for this blog to be a vehicle for that part of my life, but bear with me. please.

something happened earlier this month and now i have some emotional pain that i’m trying to overcome. there’s also what happened to me on the 26th of this month: while i was at work, someone hit my car and didn’t leave a note. i can no longer enter my car on the driver’s side or roll the [driver side] window down.

i haven’t been interacting much on the discussion board that i belong to. there, i’m the cute little ladybug: skating around, being silly, offering encouragement with my uplifting spirit. because of what i’ve been dealing with, it just doesn’t make for a very sociable individual.

it’s also the reason i don’t have a story for you this month. i have one that i’ve been working on, i just thought i’d have it ready to post by now, especially since it’s a holiday-themed piece. there’s still a little editing to be done, i do not have names for my characters, i also do not have a title.

i think my muse is going to pack her things and abscond to Italy for an extended vacation. not that i blame her; i’d leave too if i was stripped of my desire. i do aspire to be a better writer and i know that in order to reach that ambition, i need to work through this emotional mess and find something to motivate me. i fear that if i don’t, i’ll lose the desire (and my muse) completely, and i’ll go years without writing. i don’t want that to happen.

i’ve been trying to get rid of the feelings by doing anything i can to keep my mind from being idle. maybe, in some way, this is me trying not to accept the emotional pain. i don’t know.

i know that a healing is coming, that the light will shine through the hurt. but right now, i’m tired. i’m tired of being the strong one, i’m tired of smiling through the pain. i’m tired of being tired.

i’m not throwing in the towel on my blog; i’m not that deep in the abyss. i just need some time to center myself. for now, i’ll have to wait out the suffering.

i feel so bad: i normally have a new read for you at the end of the year and i’ve come to you empty-handed. i’m sorry, beloved reader; but know that i’m (slowly) working on it. i just need a little more time.

once again, i want to thank you for your support and your encouragement. thank you for gracing my little corner and being a part of my deviant little world.

have a safe and joyous new year.

dream often and be golden.


sleight of hand

welcome, readers!

happy halloween! i hope that you’re doing well, and that things are colorful  in your corner of the world.  i did promise to try to have something posted in time for halloween, and i do have a new read for you! don’t worry, there are no ghosts like my last halloween story, but i hope you enjoy my contribution.

as always, i want to thank all of you who take the time out of your day to visit my humble blog. your support, feedback, and light mean so much to me.

whether you’re having or attending a party, taking your little ghouls and goblins trick-or-treating, or just handing out candy to cute little witches and cowboys…have a safe and fantastic halloween.

i hope that you enjoy sleight of hand.

sleight of hand

“The devil has no power…except in the dark.” —Cassandra Clare, City of Bones

“I’m not babysitting him, Brian.” On a conference call with her supervisor, Nahla rolled her eyes.

“I can’t meet with him and I know that if anyone can close this deal, it’s you.” There was a short pause. “This is an important account for everyone.” If this were a game of chess, Brian Powell would have just forced Nahla’s enemy King into an unfavorable corner with that comment.

She sighed. “Fine, I’ll consult with him.” She could almost hear her boss smiling through the phone. Being an executive at a commercial real estate firm didn’t lend itself to turning away clients, especially ones of Matthew Grant’s caliber. Nahla was confident and direct, but she was also personable; and that’s how she won the trust of her clientele. But the rumors about Matthew’s demeanor didn’t inspire her confidence.

He entered Nahla’s corner office  fifteen minutes late, bringing with him a swagger that grated on her nerves. He also brought his strong investing principles and a need to put his money somewhere.

“Mr. Grant, I’m Nahla Davenport.” She crossed the lavishly furnished room with her hand extended.

Immediately struck by her exotic appearance, he shook her hand. “So you’re the ambitious executive that came so highly recommended.” In his late forties, Matthew Grant was a well-respected, self-made business man who came from humble beginnings. But everyone Nahla talked to said that he was impossible to work with.

It was rumored that most rival firms never got past their presentation; that he had a reputation for being openly critical during heated discussions over contractors and renovations, never hid the fact that he was bored and would sometimes walk away in the middle of potential million dollar meetings without even asking for projections, leaving banks with no choice but to pull the listing and consult with another firm.

Be calm, be dignified, she reminded herself. “Mr. Powell sends his apologies, I’ll be handling our meeting this afternoon.” Realizing she was still holding his hand, she invited him to take a seat in the chair facing her desk. “May I get you something to drink? Coffee or tea?” she asked, handing him a presentation folder which he nonchalantly looked through.

“No, thank you.” Matthew wasn’t Hollywood handsome, but he was a distinguished, dark-haired, green-eyed eligible bachelor who had single and married women from all social circles gravitating to him. He looked up, taking in the full length of her body before she sat down. “Brian told me about your impeccable project success rate, but he never mentioned how beautiful you were.”

A flash of heat went through her that she didn’t welcome. Flattered and agitated by his compliment, Nahla thanked him. “I understand that you’re looking for an aesthetic property. This particular building is a foreclosure, but it can be purchased inexpensively and fixed up.” She then spent the next fifteen minutes trying to convince him that the deal was promising. “The potential for appreciation on the investment is excellent and I have contacts at Lennox Financial who are prepared to negotiate.”

The entire time his eyes were on her, but he wasn’t paying attention to her pitch. He was analyzing her, long and hard. His gaze lingered at her smooth, medium brown skin, high cheekbones, and a pair of revealing, almond-shaped eyes. Her shoulder-length black hair with auburn highlights and side-swept bangs  suited her. She had a habit of wetting her lips, probably an unconscious habit, but it was turning him on.

Nahla noticed Matthew checking her out more than once. He wasn’t very subtle about it, either: sly smiles and deep stares here and there. He was trying to make a connection, but she wouldn’t return his interest.

He mumbled something: she expected him to get impatient, verbally attack her and leave. “Any other investors that want in on this?” he asked with a long sigh, tossing the proposal on her desk.

“It’s an attractive, profitable enterprise, and I do have some foreign investors who are interested in this deal.” She’d be willing to bet that Matthew had already done his homework and knew about the foreign investors.

She needs to loosen up. “Perhaps we can discuss this deal over dinner. There’s a new steakhouse I’ve been dying to try.” His eyes leisurely swept over her again.

Her eyes met his. She drank him in for a few seconds, cleared her throat then looked away. “I’m a vegetarian, Mr. Grant.” That was a lie. Nahla felt that unwelcome flash again. Eager for him to leave, she glanced at her watch and brought the presentation to a close by standing up and making her way to the door. “But I would love to invite you to our annual Halloween party this Saturday night.” She tried to hide her irritation.

“All business with you. I like that.” Taking the hint, Matthew followed. “So—where is this shin-dig, sweetheart?” He flashed her an over-confident smile, pretending not to notice her fist balling up.

“Please, call me Nahla. You can get the information from my assistant. Don’t forget to wear a costume.”

She watched him turn on the heel of his Tom Ford loafers and leave her office. In that short time, Matthew Grant managed to rub her the wrong way and give her a headache. Closing the large oak door, she prayed—twice—that she didn’t blow this meeting.

Nahla looked at her fist. Hitting him would probably turn him on.

Halloween party : Are You Afraid of the Dark?

During the day, Lakehurst Resort operated as an upscale family destination spot. Tonight, after hours, its large banquet hall would be transformed into a haunted carnival to host the annual Halloween party for Nahla’s company. Everyday items like PVC pipe, burlap and cheesecloth were formed over Styrofoam to create ghoulish scarecrows and horses. There were cauldrons bubbling in the corners, realistic cobwebs cleverly strewn across a scary ticket booth at the entrance, intricately carved pumpkins on each cloth-covered table that lit up from the inside, and a fortune teller. Later, there would be a contest for the best costume, and a horror movie.

When Matthew arrived at the party dressed as the devil, complete with makeup that looked professionally done, he spotted Brian Powell immediately and they talked shop over drinks and appetizers. Nahla was standing with a small group; every few seconds, he would turn his head to look at her. Compared to the other costumes, there wasn’t anything special about the pink boxing uniform she was wearing, but he couldn’t stop looking at her.

It took him all day, but he finally figured out why she was so intriguing: like most women, she wasn’t hell-bent on throwing herself at him, or rather, his bank account. He was instantly drawn to her in a way he’d not been toward anyone else. She was—different.

He recalled vividly how soft her hand was in his a couple of days ago. The way her dress pants emphasized her curves; getting a peek down her fitted shirt at her ample cleavage. He could still smell the jasmine and coconut water notes he picked up in the perfume she was wearing. He smiled to himself, thinking about her hand at her side, balled into a fist. All of these thoughts elevated his desire.

The party was in full swing. One hundred and fifty costumed employees mingled, played games, laughed, and danced to the music of a local band. Nahla was casting her vote for the best costume when Matthew appeared next to her. “Trick-or-treat.”

She took one glance at him. “Mr. Grant…I see you’ve let your alternate ego out for the night.”

“Speaking of alternate egos…” He looked her up and down. “Don’t tell me that you don’t enjoy being someone else, even for a couple of hours.” It wasn’t mandatory that Nahla show up, but as an executive who was trying to prove to her supervisor that she was worthy of being a name partner, it set a good example to her co-workers. If it were left up to her, she’d be at home going over an exclusive list of her best buyers.

“Touche.” Looking into his enchanting, pale green eyes, she did that lip-licking thing again. “Are you having a good time?”

“I am, this is quite a party.”

“Mr. Powell throws one every year as a way to celebrate our firm’s achievements. He really gets into this stuff.” She nodded in the direction of her boss, who was dressed like an outlaw from the wild west.

The music changed and the band played a slow song; Matthew raised his eyebrows at her.

“If you ask me if I’ve ever danced with the devil, I’ll punch you,” Nahla declared.

Matthew chuckled, taking her hand. “Fine. Will you dance with me?”

“You don’t like me, do you?” he asked.

“You’re an educated, successful man, Mr. Grant. What’s not to like?” In the middle of the crowded dance floor, they swayed to an acoustic tempo; her arms around his neck, his hands against her back.

“My pretentious, overbearing attitude?”

That made Nahla smile. She suddenly decided that it wouldn’t do any harm by being genuinely nice to him. Besides, she could hear Brian’s voice in her head: ‘This is an important account for everyone…’

“I’ll be damned, I didn’t know your mouth could actually do that,” he said, wanting to know what else that tempting mouth of hers could do. He pulled her closer until her body was cradled against his, letting out a low groan when he felt her breasts pressed against his chest.

Matthew wasn’t a bad dancer. Rocking gently with the music, Nahla’s body followed his unhurried movements. It had been a long time since she slow danced like this. She’d forgotten how much she liked being close to a man: being held, smelling his aftershave, feeling safe in his presence.

Shit, she thought. Even when he’s dressed like he’s ready to drag someone to the Underworld, he still excites me.

She tried to carry on a casual conversation, but her efforts were interrupted when, halfway through the dance, he told her that he didn’t expect her to be so desirable. “I’ve wanted you from the first moment I saw you,” he added.

He looked down. “Do you see what you’ve done to me?” he asked, making Nahla aware of his erection pressing against her.

She looked up. Feeling that large bulge against her tied her stomach in knots and made her nipples harden. Nahla’s job kept her busy, and that left little time for dating. She was fine with that, until the devil came along…tempting her, reawakening a passion in her that she buried for months; causing this enormous force of pleasure to spiral through her.

She didn’t want to be attracted to him, but she was. And even though it bothered her, it didn’t stop her from lusting after him. In her mind, she was bearing the solid weight of his body; feeling his warm, sweat-covered frame pressed against hers, slamming roughly against her pelvis.

The thought of him saying dirty, filthy things in the hollow of her neck as she clung to him made her want to come right then and there. “Mr. Grant, you’re a nice-looking man, I can appreciate that. But I’m not interested in you.” That was her way of trying to deny the raw chemistry between them.

“You and I both know that’s a lie.”

Damn him.

For the rest of the song, they danced without speaking. Her body, flush with his, raged with sexual need. She felt herself getting wet. Grateful when the music finally stopped, Nahla took a small step back. “I…um…I have to go.” She walked away from him while the crowd applauded the band. It was easier to do that than to admit that she wanted to feel the fullness of him pushing in and pulling slowly out of her.

After the contest, Nahla sat at a small table in the back; Matthew sat next to her. The lights went out, and the movie started. Rubbing his chin, he asked, “Do you know what you need?” He had a strong desire to nuzzle her earlobe and kiss the curve of her neck; lift her leg over his shoulder, bite the inside of her thigh. He wanted to take the broad head of his dick and massage her clit with slow circles; push deep inside her over and over, feel the tender flesh within her gripping him tightly—fuck her mindlessly and savagely until he could no longer control his desire to come.

Nahla tried to ignore him by watching the supernatural horror film on the screen ahead of her, but his deep, rough voice, along with the feeling of ecstasy, was taking over her senses and making it hard to keep her composure.

“You need someone to push your buttons.” He slid closer to her. His strong hand was on her leg, his breath incredibly warm against the rim of her ear. “To fuck you until you can’t stand it.”

Nahla crossed her arms on the table and whispered, “I’m not that desperate to close this deal, Mr. Grant.” She fidgeted, fighting hard to keep the self-control that would ultimately slip away from her.

Matthew squeezed her thigh and frowned. “Be still, Nahla.”

It wasn’t as if she could go anywhere: on one side of her was a wall; on the other side of her was the Father of Contention. She should have knocked his hand away, she should have protested. Instead, she simply nodded at his instruction.

Without warning, his fingertips walked up her thigh, hooked inside her panties and pulled them aside. When he drew his thick finger up and down the crease of her entrance, Nahla’s body responded in the only way it knew how and moved against him.

Matthew’s nostrils flared. His growing member pressed painfully against the inside of his pants, wanting—like a caged animal—to be freed. Teasing her under the table was elevated by knowing that she would enjoy this just as much as he would. “I need to be inside you,” he said, the pad of his finger lightly rubbed her clit, coaxing it from its hood. “I want the taste of you on my tongue.”

Nahla’s head fell forward. Her defenses were not just down, they had ceased to exist. She felt sensuous and vulnerable at the same time; it made no sense. Biting into her lower lip, her body trembled at the table. She wanted to moan and swear, and lock her legs around his waist; taking every inch of him, feeling the hard thrust of him against her inner walls.

Matthew eased a finger just inside her, pushed a little further, past the tightness he felt and stopped. Nahla inhaled sharply and tightened around him as if to say, ‘Mine.’

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let me in,” he said, grinning in the darkness. He continued to do as he pleased between her legs: working her clit by rolling the little bundle of nerves between his thumb and forefinger, pinching and pulling the soft folds of her lips, twisting his wrist as he stroked inside her; intent on bringing her the ultimate pleasure.

Nahla should have been ashamed at her defenselessness, but thought there was something incredibly comforting about being at his mercy.

A second finger joined the first. Nahla gasped, trying her best not to be louder than the volume of the movie. Obeying instinct, she scooted to the edge of the chair, parting her knees a little to accommodate him.

Her ass slid back and forth against the seat as she undulated against him. Her receptive flesh throbbed against his fingers and she let out a small hum, feeling her climax approach.  Fuck, this feels so good. Take it.

Matthew shifted in his chair a little, scooped his hand under her leg and placed it on top of his, spreading her open a bit more. Without missing a beat, he moved deeper  within her opening, then withdrew. In and out. Over and over.

Slowly, ever so slowly.

Then with one gentle flex, he was scissoring inside her warm recesses. He heard her sucking in several breaths, knowing that each pleasant stroke pulled her closer to the edge.

“You know, you may not like me,” his voice was low, just above a whisper, “but your pussy certainly does.” He pulled his digits out part way, then, taking his time, entered her again. The tight walls of her womanhood contracted, enticing sensations shot through her as he fucked the inside of her body. He was methodical, touching special places that she could never reach. Matthew didn’t need to ask her if she liked it, he knew she did.

The deliberate rhythm went on and on, causing satisfaction to flutter and erupt inside her. Nahla opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t. Don’t stop, is what she wanted to say, but her eyes were locked on the pumpkin sitting in the center of the table; the flickering LED flame dancing within the ghastly cut-out highlighted its eerie gaze.

The air felt warm, but it was her: hunger and need ripped through every fiber of her body. A sigh escaped her lips. She could smell her fragrant arousal as she accepted more of him.

His movements became more concentrated, more demanding. Pushing in, pressing inward and upward, massaging her G-spot, then pulling out—his fingers saturated with her juices.

Faster. Harder.

Nahla’s hips matched each steady thrust of his hand. I hate you. I want you. Take it all…

Matthew fingered her for several minutes, then growled one word in her ear: “Come.”

Nahla squeezed her eyes shut. Her body tensed, her heart raced. She imagined hearing him utter that word and that guttural sound against the folds of her lips. With an emotionless stare, the jack-o’-lantern centerpiece watched the pleasure on her face as she released her desire. She barely had time to brace herself before the familiar jolt of gratification claimed her.

Wanting so badly to cry out, she tightened her jaws and pressed her knuckles to her mouth to stifle the noises and quick breaths that dared to leave her mouth.

Her orgasm was all-consuming—it almost hurt: so intense, yet so enjoyable. Lost in that incredible moment, she panted heavily through her nose.

When the delight of her climax finally ended, her body relaxed and her eyes slowly opened. She committed every moment of this scrumptious event to memory.

Damn him. Again.

Matthew caressed the edges of her labia long after she stopped quivering. When he slowly pulled his hand from between her legs, he smiled victoriously, sucking the reward of her wetness from his fingers, one at a time.

Monday Morning

Brian Powell stuck his head in the door of Nahla’s office. “I just got off the phone with Matthew Grant. He said that was one amazing party and that he was ready to put up the money on the foreclosure.”

“What about the projections? Doesn’t he want to look at the figures for the last ten years?”

“I asked him the same thing. He said we could send the figures by courier as a formality, but he’s ready to close the deal immediately. You must have really impressed him, Nahla.”

She felt a decadent pulse at the apex of her thighs. “I must have.” Seconds after her boss left, her assistant’s voice came on the intercom, letting her know that an important call was holding on two.  Picking up the phone, she pressed the blinking line. “This is Nahla.”

“Now will you have dinner with me?”

Speak of the devil…

© enchanted.ladybug 10-31-2014


welcome, readers!

i hope that the universe has been kind to you and that everything is colorful in your corner of the world.

it took some time, i know, but i have a new read for you. just a boy-meets-girl encounter, but you might be interested in knowing where the inspiration came from. i was lurking the internet one day and came across a picture that is either the inside of a club or a lounge.  i stared at that image for the longest time, thinking to myself that it would make an awesome hookah lounge. from there, my mind imagined a guy and a girl having a date there, and from there my mind started thinking naughty things so i grabbed my notebook.

i know that Halloween is around the corner, and i’m not making any promises, but i will try to post something for the occasion. no promises, but i will try.

as always, thank you for visiting my little corner; thank you for your encouragement; thank you for being you. i do hope that you enjoy impulse.


Eight months. That’s how long it had been since their breakup. A job offer was the reason that Kiara and her ex-boyfriend were separated by 901 miles. He had to make a hard decision and in the end, his profession won out over his emotions. They tried a long distance relationship. Seeing each other as often as they could, occasional video chats and late-night phone calls; it wasn’t perfect, but they were happy. Eventually the distance was too difficult to maintain, both agreeing that they wouldn’t be able to grow as a couple with so many miles between them.

It’s also how long it had been since she’d had any physical contact with anyone. To come out of her dating hiatus, she decided to avoid serious commitments for a while and experiment with casual dating. It didn’t take her long to learn the balancing act of having a sexual relationship: establishing boundaries, learning to be intimate without getting (emotionally) attached—no strings, no commitments. Her last encounter was nothing to write home about. An average dinner date with a guy she met at an outdoor movie party that led to average sex twice a week. He filled a void during that transitional time after her breakup, but when he started showing signs that he wanted more, she ended that arrangement.

When Kiara’s co-worker, Loren, insisted that her single neighbor was someone she would connect with, her initial reaction was an emphatic no. Going out with someone sight unseen just didn’t appeal to her and the few times she was set up ended in disaster. There was the lawyer who wanted to show off by wolfing down an entire bowl of phaal, then spent forty-five minutes in the bathroom. The personal chef who spent the evening talking about how women have no place in positions of authority, and the landscaper who was eager to take her to dinner then conveniently forgot his wallet when the check came.

Loren offered a few general details of the man like she was a salesman trying to sell a car for sticker price. To quiet her colleague’s pestering, Kiara relented and agreed to go out with him.

His name was Shaun, and after a few friendly emails back and forth, plans were made to meet him for drinks on Friday night. She kept an open mind and had no expectations, convincing herself that she’d have nothing to lose.

A day before the big night, she got an email.

I hope you haven’t changed your mind.

She replied promptly.

I’ll be there at eight o’ clock sharp wearing an ice blue off-the-shoulder mini dress.

The Al-kimiya Hooka Lounge had recently been renovated to keep up with the evolving business district downtown. Beautiful Arabic decor, exotic crimson red and burnt orange color tones, ambient lighting, and plush seating made for an inviting and upscale atmosphere.

Kiara arrived early, and a friendly hostess took her to a cozy table near the back. She looked around the partially crowded lounge watching this short, thin guy walk around like he owned the place. In the seconds it took her to shift in her seat and glance at her watch, he’d already made a beeline for her.

“I’ve not seen you here before.” His arm was outstretched. “Name’s Tony.”

She got a whiff of his nauseating cologne and shook his hand. “Hi, nice to meet you.” Probably picked it up from a truck stop, she thought.

“That is a beautiful dress you’re wearing. It’s very distracting.”

Clever. “Thank you.”

“Is that a Prada?”

“No, sorry.” Macy’s, twenty percent off. Try again. “May I have my hand back, Tony?”

He smiled, releasing her grip. “You strike me as a lady who enjoys lemon drop martinis.”

“Actually, she enjoys something a little more tropical.”

Behind Tony came the deep, controlled lilt of an accent she later learned was from North Ireland. Before her stood the figure of a tall man with dark, tousled hair, devilish looks that made him very easy on the eyes, and lips that were just begging to be kissed. He was holding two fruit-garnished cocktails. Kiara threw a half smile at Tony, who raised his hands up as if to say he meant no harm as he backed away.

Taking the empty seat opposite her, the stranger’s deep-set blue eyes met her gaze as he identified himself. “I sure hope you’re Kiara or else this is going to be really awkward.”

“I am, and thank you for that,” she said, looking in Tony’s direction.

A server arrived, offering them menus. A short while after making their order, a multi-hose hookah and a Mediterranean olive appetizer was placed at their table.

Between the food, the smoking, and the drinks that, according to Shaun, were concoctions of Guyanese rum, pineapple and Armagnac, they talked about his work as a consultant in the pharmaceutical business, their mutual love of  Travel + Leisure magazine, and how they were coping with single life.

“My ex-wife and I wanted different things. I wanted her to work a steady job, and she didn’t.” Having recently wrapped up a three year marriage, he admitted to being nervous about dating again. He tried the obvious methods like speed dating and online personals. But the problem he faced with getting to know someone virtually was that the image he formed in his mind was ruined when a face-to-face meeting took place. “Not everyone was truthful in their descriptions,” he added.

Their conversation moved along from subject to subject. Shaun had a great sense of humor. He was well read, loved classic literature and talked passionately about the influential works of Ovid’s Metamorphoses. They talked about Kiara’s volunteer work with a non-profit organization that provides shelter for the homeless, and their wanderlust cravings; how they both wanted to visit Turkey, rent a countryside estate and walk down narrow roads that ended at secluded beaches.

Shaun caught the server’s eye and waved his hand, ordering two more drinks. When the second round arrived, Kiara raised her glass. “To two successfully unsuccessful relationships.”

“I’ll drink to that mouthful,” he laughed, the rich sound sent vibrations up and down Kiara’s body.

As the lounge became more and more crowded, the energetic buzz of laughter and conversation erupted around them. Shaun straightened his shoulders. “So, was I what you were expecting?”

Kiara picked up an olive. “I didn’t have any expectations. You were—a pleasant surprise,” she said, tossing the small fruit in her mouth.

“Nice answer.”

“What about me?”

“Oh, I expected to be bored out of my mind.” His bright, blue eyes lit up when smiled at her. “Actually, Loren couldn’t stop talking about her fascinating co-worker and how I wouldn’t be disappointed.”


“And she was right. You’re a sweet, amazing woman.” Shaun looked at her a little longer than he should have, quietly admiring her natural, full lips and her desirable brown eyes. “And I’m far from disappointed.”

She shifted in her chair: an attempt to ignore the warmth between her thighs. Kiara was enjoying the company of her blind date. But then something changed. A burning need clenched deep within her stomach. The dampness between her legs reminded her of her lackluster sex life. Her mind became congested with images of them together; she bit her lower lip to hold in a whimper.

She wanted him.

It’s amazing what a cocktail or two can do for one’s courage. In her partially intoxicated state, she took a small sip of her drink then absently rubbed the rim of her glass. “Is your dick as nice looking as you are?” Bold, but she would blame the alcohol in the morning.

Shaun took a long drag from the hookah’s mouthpiece, the water at the base bubbled softly. When he exhaled, thick clouds of smoke billowed around him, hitting Kiara with the sweet smell of mango-flavored tobacco.

She watched his face emerge from the vapors: he wasn’t smiling. The expression on his face was dark and intense, his irresistible eyes called to her. For a moment, she held the lust-filled gaze that was locked on hers. Then her eyes drifted to his faded jeans and white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

Shaun stood up and moved closer to her. He leaned down, his lips barely touching her earlobe. The scruff on his jawline tickled the side of her face, making her heart beat a little faster. He breathed the challenge in her ear. “Let’s go find out.”

His words hung there between them, enticing and fiery. Loren never mentioned his accent, but Kiara liked it. A lot. A gasp caught her off guard as he took her hand and led her through a maze of people down a long hallway. He made a right turn to a door that was roped-off for private events, unhooked one of the stainless steel ends and pulled her inside the elaborate room where he immediately slipped his arms around her.

Lowering his head, he swept his nose over hollow of her neck, whispering endearments against her smooth, perfumed brown skin. His teeth slowly and deliberately nibbled her there for a long time. He paused, lifting her chin to capture her lips in a sweet, unhurried kiss. Reigned in by the tenderness, Kiara embraced him; she could barely breathe but she didn’t care.

With a groan, he slowly backed up to the large sectional sofa, taking her with him. Starting at the bottom, she unbuttoned his shirt, spread it and slid her hands around his taut waist. Pressing his lips to hers once more, Shaun quickly deepened the kiss, their tongues fighting for control in an unforgettable tango of tasting and stroking. Passion spiraled through her body and she lost herself beneath his mouth.

Just after the kiss ended, Kiara fussed with the belt buckle on his jeans but only for a few seconds. She undid the button on his fly, then reached into his pants, fondling and lightly raking her nails along his tender scrotum. It was driving all of his senses mad, but it felt so good. Dropping to her knees, she pulled his pants down to his ankles. Shaun’s dick sprang free, fully erect and dangling in her face. Gripping the base of his shaft, she licked at a bead of moisture on the crown. Her tongue lashed at the small slit on his glistening head before outlining the rim and tracing the veins that defined his length.

Kiara opened wide  and his dick was in her mouth. As her lips moved up and down every inch of him, she hummed delightfully when his tip gently touched the back of her throat. Shaun’s eyes rolled back. He softly moaned his satisfaction; the warm, wet feeling made his body twitch.

Kneading his balls in her hand, she kept her mouth on him, licking and sucking insistently. When her jaws began to ache she squeezed his erection with her lips, slowly pulled the head out with a gentle pop, and stood up. Taking his hand, she slid it under her dress. Through the fabric of her panties, he drew his fingertip, the middle one, along the swollen folds of her labia. She whispered, “I want your dick there.”

With a provocative smile, he quickly peeled his shirt off and tossed it aside.

Easing her dress off her shoulders, Kiara stepped out of her clothes. She pushed him onto the vibrant cushions and straddled his legs in a reverse cowgirl position. She rubbed her pussy along his aroused flesh then lifted herself, hovering over the plump head of his dick before lowering herself with a moan until he was completely inside her. That first feel—the tightness of her, the fullness of him, was an intense pleasure for both of them.

Resting her hands on his legs, she moved slowly, pulling up and pushing down over and over again—making him feel each gentle bounce.

“Fuck,” he growled. Holding her firmly by the pleasant swell of her hips, Shaun’s body rose to meet hers, each thrust to her center more profound than the last. He drove deeper, stretching and filling her, fucking her the way she needed to be fucked.

Kiara arched her back, the slight curve of  his dick stroked her G-spot and caused her inner muscles to tighten around him. She rubbed her clit with tiny circles, panting harshly as her walls held and released him in measured movements. Both of them crying out blissfully as the aroma of sex and soft sucking noises filled the room. It was lewd, sexy and exciting.

Shaun struggled to control his sweat-covered body, but he wasn’t able to take it anymore. His balls ached. He needed to come. The friction of him tunneling into her, subjecting the depths of her body to his firm member, was bringing on the betrayal of his orgasm. Loud, choppy moans were forced from his lungs.

Tremors of pleasure rioted through Kiara’s body that were so strong, her heart pounded like a drum. She could feel him throbbing inside of her, the frantic thrusting made her moan savagely in a way that surprised her. She leaned forward, gripping his thighs to ride him faster. Obscenities—his and hers—almost climbed over the muffled sound of music from the lounge.

Four rough strokes later he came, closing his eyes and shouting in that final moment of release. When his thick, white fluids spilled into her, Kiara’s orgasm came fast and hard. She shuddered through it, taking all he had to offer.

Out of breath, Shaun sat up to hold her, resting his cheek against her shoulder as they recovered. Kiara absorbed the warm, solid feel of his chest against her back. A sudden sharp spasm hit her thigh muscles; she was looking forward to the dull pain the next day. Gasping softly, she smiled at him over her shoulder.

Shaun propped himself up on his elbows, watching as Kiara gathered her clothes. “Can I call you sometime?” he asked with a hint of fatigue in his tone.

After dressing, she shook her head and kissed his sleepy face. “No, but I’ll come find you.”

And she did, several days later.
© enchanted.ladybug

*al-kīmiyā (the chemistry), is the Arabic spelling of the word alchemy.


welcome, readers!

i’m sending you warm wishes that things are pleasant in your corner of the world.

i have a new read to share with you: my first voyeur piece.

as always, i am grateful for the time that you take out of your day (or night) to visit my humble blog. your feedback, good or bad, is always welcome. i do hope that you enjoy diversion.



Oh I watch you there through the window and I stare at you. You wear nothing but you wear it so well. — “Crash Into Me” by Dave Matthews Band

Travis was dressed for and hoping to get a run in before the movers arrived with more boxes and the last of his furniture, even though a light storm was likely to hit the metro. He ate leftovers for breakfast. Once he was settled in, the meals would be more elaborate. For now, cold Chinese food would have to do.

Standing by the large pivot window in his modern condo, he watched the morning activity around him. His last place was in a three-story brownstone across the street from a parking garage, a church, and a corner bistro; and the windows in his bedroom looked out onto a street that was always busy with pedestrians and cross town buses.

His new building was located in a more dense neighborhood, but he loved that it blended contemporary and old-world charm.

While admiring a partial view of the waterfront, a flicker of movement caught his eye. He looked in that direction, right into a spacious bedroom in the complex across from his. He took in the swanky decor, the large bed with colorful bedding, the nightstands on either side, and the creme colored chaise lounge angled in a corner of the room.

The sudden motion was a woman of color with full lips and a wide, but soft jawline. His eyebrow perked up when she opened her modest robe and dropped it from her shoulders. Light blue, hip hugging panties matched her bra; a bra that drew attention to her cleavage. She left the room, returning moments later with a bottle in her hand.

From his living room window, Travis gazed longingly as she put lotion on her body. His eyes slowly drifted over the full hourglass figure of his neighbor. Something told him that he shouldn’t have been watching: guilt. And it’s not as if he’s never seen a half-dressed woman before, but he couldn’t help himself. A whispered ‘wow’ left his mouth when her hands moved over her well-rounded hips and legs.

Doing something as simple as using lotion isn’t necessarily erotic, but somehow she managed to pull it off.

The way she leaned over to work the cream into her dark brown skin; the slow, meticulous way her hands moved up and down her legs, and the way her arm and thigh muscles flexed when she put a leg forward was almost like a strange fascination: one that he found arousing. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there, but he regarded her until she was completely dressed.

Grabbing her briefcase, she left her bedroom—the private show was over.

Trying to ignore the uncomfortable strain in his pants, he smiled to himself and left for his run.

That night, Travis spent the evening unpacking. Curiosity got the better of him when a light came on in the opposite building. Moving skillfully around a coffee table and a stack of boxes, he was hoping to see the intriguing woman with the lovely face.

She was there, but to his disappointment, he was not rewarded with a robe or lotion. Only a tank top and boy shorts that barely covered her ass. She did nothing more than move from room to room while talking on her cell phone, eat from the refrigerator, dance around to music that he could not hear, and return to her bedroom to watch TV before turning her bedside lamp off.

Deciding to entertain himself, he surveyed some of the other units. The insides were nicely decorated with hardwood floors and warm color schemes. Residents were either eating, washing dishes, or settling on their couches in front of flat screen televisions.

He wondered if this would be his routine at night: scanning the windows of the building that faced his; staring into the homes of these individuals, into their lives. Learning a little more about them each time they moved around their space. Their intimate moments playing out in front of him like his own personal motion picture. Like the lanky guy one floor down who painted on canvases, the grey-haired lady who practiced her violin; or the couple in the corner unit who argued in their study.

Strangers who may or may not be aware that they are being observed.

On a Friday evening in September, something happened. Something that deserved his attention.

Dropping his leather satchel by the door, Travis fed his fish, pan fried some potatoes in butter, and poured himself a glass of scotch. Loosening his tie, he ate in front of his computer.

It was almost ten o’clock, he was finishing up some work on his laptop. Moments before exhaustion hit, he looked up just as her light came on. He immediately pushed back from the table, flipping a switch that almost cloaked him in darkness.

Making his way to the window, Travis leaned against the frame, glass of scotch in hand.

Button by button, the nameless beauty was shedding her clothes, flinging a red pantsuit and a blouse on the chaise lounge that was situated in that awkward corner of the room. Once she unhooked her bra and shrugged the straps off of her shoulders, his eyes were on her moderately sized, but full breasts. The images that flooded his mind only increased his arousal.

She sat on the edge of the bed, then removed her panties. He felt his dick growing hard as he watched her naked body gracefully fall back against the mattress.

Using both hands, she rubbed her face and neck with languid strokes. She palmed her breasts: pushing them together and rolling the nipples between her fingers. One hand remained there, the other drifted to her abdomen and hips. Reaching her thighs, the unknown woman bent her knees and spread her legs, inviting him to look as she fingered her labia.

Travis’ eyes widened as she teased the crease of her nicely trimmed pussy. Up then down, repeating the movement over and over. A voice, his own, could be heard as he softly counted the number of times her middle finger rubbed the hood of her clit. “One, two, three, four.”

He took a sip from his glass before placing it on the windowsill, truly savoring the rich, complex taste of single malt scotch on his tongue the way he savored the sight of this woman’s back arching upward as she pinched and massaged her stiff bulb. He couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking about as pleasured herself.

Unbuttoning his slacks, he watched with fascination. He cradled and stroked his balls while she furthered her exploration. A pull at his zipper freed the painful erection that pressed against the front of his pants.

Travis closed his hand around his heavy member, his thumb slipping through a bead of wetness on the head. Slowly, he moved his hand from tip to base….repeatedly. In the dark corners of his mind, he was with this exotic woman: placing long, demanding kisses in that space where her neck and shoulders meet; his hands splayed across her back, moving down her sides to the curve of her ass, squeezing and lifting her cheeks.

He envisioned himself tracing the rounded lines of her breasts: sucking her dark, puckered nipples into his mouth—one after the other, lightly chewing on the taut skin; crawling between her legs, nuzzling and kissing her vulva, lapping at her lips—stopping briefly to inhale the scent of her arousal.

Travis tried to imagine what it would be like to taste her. To hold the flavor of her in his mouth before swallowing, leaving the beautiful finish of her juices to linger on his palate. He wanted to give her pretty pussy something more than her fingers. He wanted to fuck her in that large, well-designed bed of hers: without mercy.

He could almost feel the tip of his dick teasing her clit, separating her lips, entering her, and expanding her walls; his weight pinned against her—torso to torso.

His excitement continued to grow. Moaning raggedly, he thought about her sexy legs locked around his waist, effortlessly transforming from one position to the next. Her squirming beneath him as he moved in and out of her with long, deep strokes. The muscular length of him filling her, familiarizing itself within the warm confines of her sex; their bodies rising and falling like waves in the ocean. And he wanted to come with her—to share the shuddering sensation of an electrifying orgasm.

His erection ached at the idea.

For several minutes, Travis watched anxiously as the enticing lady eased two fingers in and out of her sex, seeking out her moisture. Her mouth was moving. Her hips reared up hard and fast as she stretched her opening, pushing urgently against her digits as though each undulation of her body was being pulled closer to the brink of pleasure.

He felt a catch in his throat when he saw her tug at the shaft of her clit. She paused, drawing slow, small circles around her bud before pulling on it again. Without missing a beat, she inserted her fingers inside of her, twisting them in and out of her entrance. His imagination led him to a place that made him think he could almost hear a squelching noise from the gradual withdrawal of her fingers.

He swore under his breath. “Fuck…” His own personal movie, and he was enjoying the show.

His fist tightened around his flesh, bucking his pelvis in time with her movements. The sensual rhythm turned him on so much that his shaft thickened in his hand. It was only a matter of time.

Working his rigid organ with quick, firm strokes intensified his pleasure, and stirred up visions of the walls of her body contracting around his glans, pulling him deeper inside her womb. His mind was clouded with the secret event that played out before him. He could almost smell the heady aroma of their bodies fucking. Adrenaline shot through his body, his breathing got faster and heavier. His knees were weakening, threatening to buckle underneath him.

Before long, Travis felt a familiar sensation in his groin. After a few good upstrokes, he threw his head back and shut his eyes tight, giving in to his need. A long, harsh grunt erupted from his mouth when his erotic pinnacle clamored through him. He placed his free hand against the wall when he found his release, almost slamming it against the exposed brick.

He couldn’t hear, of course, but at the same time, his neighbor’s cries spilled from her lips. Her mouth went slack. Grabbing her breasts, she tossed her head from side to side. Falling from the edge of ecstasy, she surrendered to the demand of her orgasm; kicking and squirming like she was in agony.

When the passionate spasms that claimed her slowly subsided, she brought her hand to her mouth, sucking and licking her fingers clean. The dreamy look that registered on her face was one of contentment.

An untethered Travis opened his eyes. The evidence of his sexual excitement had landed on the window and dotted the floor. By the time he looked in that direction, the light was off in the sensuous occupant’s bedroom.

As reality set in, and the last pulse of his climax tapered off, he tucked his soft, sensitive dick back into his pants then cleaned up the sticky mess he’d made.


The following night, Travis lingered by the window in anticipation, pretending to gaze at the dazzling cityscape that stretched out before him. He craned his neck, searching the rooms of her condo. He figured if he waited long enough, he’d be distracted with the pleasures from the previous night.

The figure staring back at him stopped Travis from enjoying his lascivious thoughts.

Instead of his mystery woman, a tall, lean, dark-haired man with a chiseled face stared back him. The suit he wore enhanced his powerful, confident look. His hands were in his pockets; the fixed, serious expression that showed on his face bore through the darkness, holding Travis’ gaze.

Travis guessed that the man would come looking for him, not that he blamed the guy. He’d probably do the same thing if the roles were reversed.

But the well-dressed man didn’t come for him. With an unrelenting stare, he threw Travis a closed-mouthed smile and nodded.

Travis wasn’t sure why, but he returned the gesture. Then the mysterious man drew the curtains.

The private show was over.

© enchanted.ladybug 04-01-2014