undeniable: part three

welcome, readers.

i just wanted to quickly say that i appreciate you visiting my humble corner. i hope that you’ve been enjoying the journey between Promise and Bryan. i’ll be starting the summer semester next month, so my life will get a little crazy until the end of the year. when i return, i hope to have a new read for you.

again, thank you all so very much. for everything. now, let’s see what these two neighbors are up to. please enjoy the final part of undeniable.



undeniable: part three

saturday night

Thirty minutes and three outfits later, Promise finally decided on what to wear, accessorizing with a silver bracelet and vintage rings. Bryan’s knock came at exactly seven in the evening. She opened the door, asking herself why she was nervous. The six foot seven man wearing a grey v-neck shirt and dark blue jeans reminded her why.

“These are for you,” he said, holding up two daisies.

“Thank you.” Promise took the flowers, touched them to her nose. While she found a vase, Bryan explained that the carrying case on his shoulder held two folding chairs for an outdoor movie on the park lawn. He watched her, taking her in. She was dressed in a fitted maxi skirt and a graphic band t-shirt. Her natural curls were pulled into a messy updo, lips touched up with nude lipstick. The makeup was simple, but it suited her.

“Ready,” she announced, dropping her phone in her bag.

She looked really nice, and he told her so.

Her heart skipped several beats. “Thanks, so do you.” It’s just fish tacos, she reminded herself. Two neighbors hanging out.


A row of colorful concession trailers lined the lot, with vendors offering anything from Korean-Mexican fusion food to homemade potato chips.

Bryan was nothing less than respectable. It was only a short walk to the park, but he insisted on taking the curbside on their way there, telling her, “That’s just how I am.” When they got to the food truck, he let her order first and wouldn’t let her pay for the food. Without knowing it, he reassured Promise that charming, considerate men still existed.

They found a relatively quiet spot among the picnic baskets, blankets and lawn chairs of other moviegoers. Settling in, they talked before the show. About snowboarding at night on Grouse Mountain, and an event called the color run. About cave diving in Tulum, the best and worst things to happen while traveling, and odd eating habits. Promise mentioned that she’d always wanted to try parasailing, but never had the courage to do it alone. When she paused to lick tartar sauce off the pad of her thumb, the pulse in Bryan’s neck pounded and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Lucky tartar sauce.

They even made a game of picking out random people and making up life stories for them.

When was the last time a man had her doubled over laughing, giggling between breaths? It certainly wasn’t with the the last guy she went out with—Geoff, the operations consultant with boyish good looks who suggested they grab a bite at a nearby gastropub known for their house brews and beef short-rib sliders. He’d sent a text to say he was running 15 minutes late. Promise casually brought up his lateness when he finally arrived. Instead of a sincere apology, he offered a facetious remark. Once the drinks were ordered, he fired question after question like he was leading an interrogation. She’d barely answered one before he’d cut her off with another.

During the meal, he critiqued her outfit, saying her clothes looked cheap and slightly used, then he complained about the pilsner he ordered. The check was placed between them when they finished. He was too busy trying to figure out the tip to notice that Promise had stood up. “It’s $12.80,” she said dryly, tossing some money on the table—enough for her half of the meal. She walked out of the restaurant, thankful that the date was over. . .

After the movie, Bryan and Promise walked around the neighborhood, talking the whole time. He offered her dessert, and the two of them stopped at Summer & Jaz Creamery for homemade ice cream sandwiches. “I have a question for you,” he said as they headed back to their apartment building.

Her brow furrowed. “Okay.”

“You seemed so hesitant to come out with me. Why?”

Promise told him about Jake, then about the string of disasters that led to her taking a break. “I guess I just wasn’t in a big hurry to cast my net back into the man pool.”

Bryan nodded in understanding. “You know not all guys are assholes, right?”

She licked the sides of her ice cream sandwich. “I know.”

“And you also know that this is technically a date, right?” he asked, stepping into her line of sight.

She stopped to look at him. “No, this is a nondate. An ice cream outing.” Bryan laughed. It was full-bodied, and rumbled like thunder. There was a small part of her that enjoyed knowing she was the cause of it.


“Home sweet home,” Promise said, digging her keys out of her bag. A knot formed in her throat when Bryan took a step into her personal space. He was close, too close. She inhaled, picking out the notes of his cologne: a blend of hibiscus, bergamot and tropical wood.

She pushed her key in the lock. “Thank you for dinner, the movie…” When she looked up at his towering figure, tiny jolts danced through her body.  “. . .and the movie.”



Bryan hoisted the carrying case onto his shoulder. “I had a really good time tonight.” His pulse quickened with the desire to kiss her.

“Me, too. I had fun.” Promise turned the key. The tension in the air around them made its presence known, the energy heavy and real. She could feel the heat from his body, reaching out for her like it was a living, breathing thing. Calling for her. Luring her even closer to him, threatening to exhaust her resolve. What happens next? If he took another step closer, she knew what would happen next. Awkward post-sex encounters in the hallway, constant reminders of the mistake she’d made, and moving when her lease was up. Logic told her that it was time to put some distance between them and say goodnight.

Once inside in her apartment, she flipped on the light, dumping her keys and bag on a foyer table. She leaned against the door; the butterflies were awake, flitting around, dancing in her stomach. A slow smile warmed her face as a wave of excitement swept through her, like a teenager after her first date. She fanned herself, toeing her shoes off. It took a small wiggle, but she reached under her shirt and unclasped her bra, pulling it off through the left sleeve. She was about to step out of her skirt when a knock came from the door.

From the other side, Bryan heard the rattle and slide of the chain lock, then the click of the dead bolt. He stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind them. “I need to say goodnight properly.” He backed her into the nearest wall, seizing her between its hard surface and the weight of his body. Promise could feel the impressive evidence of his arousal pressed against her. She couldn’t move, didn’t want to.

Before she could respond, before she could draw a breath, Bryan’s strong hands framed her face. He slanted his head . . . her full, inviting lips fit perfectly against his. As her body relaxed, she clutched the sides of his shirt, stood on her tiptoes, kissed him back. He smiled against her mouth when she took it deeper.

His lips were soft against hers. He tasted like the peanut butter cup ice cream he’d eaten a little earlier, his beard scraped her chin. She could get used to this. What started out slow and sweet, spilled into a haze of something rough, frantic-—almost frustrated. Their hands were everywhere: touching, roaming, seeking. Sensations tore through Promise like a tornado. Urgent. Fierce.

She made a tiny, impatient sound when Bryan pulled away. This imposing, desirable creature dropped to his knees. He bunched up her skirt, pulled it down to the floor. Her boy shorts were next. She watched him ease them down her shapely thighs, past her knees, her medium brown skin exposed from the waist down. She heard a broken moan when he lightly touched the hood of her clit with his knuckle. Did he make that sound? He looked up at her; there was something primal and pleading in his eyes. They held each other’s gaze for a few seconds. Neither uttered a word, but words weren’t needed.

Bryan leaned forward. Promise spread her legs wider in invitation, holding on to his shoulders for support. She made a noise as he drew her clit into his mouth and pushed his finger in her pussy. They both made a noise when a second joined the first. Her body canted against digits sliding in and out and in again, stroking gently against that spot while his tongue moved over the taut bundle of nerves. Side to side, up and down. Beautiful, lazy circles and figure eights. She closed her eyes, opening her mouth in an attempt to speak, to say something–anything, but all she could manage were quick, shallow breaths.

Delirium. That’s the best way to describe the state she was in. Her body was overwhelmed: inside her, Bryan’s fingertips were busy stretching here, teasing there—curling, exploring the contours. Outside, his thick tongue fluttered at her distended clit with just enough pressure to keep her at the edge of release.

This. She ached for this, needed this. Promise freed his bun from its elastic band. She pushed her fingers through his hair to grab a handful, to keep him near, his beard wet with her arousal. “Don’t stop . . .” she said, pressing against his face.

He didn’t. He took his time reaching and tasting, swallowing everything she gave him. Her pants became excited moans that encouraged him, he was so hard he thought he was going to lose his mind. He kept going, fingering, sucking, murmuring against the warm heat of her.

His name left her lips in a broken gasp. Fuck, the murmuring was sexy. Those soft, indistinct sounds coming from him only elevated her pleasure. Promise struggled to remain upright as she rode his hand and mouth. He pushed deeper, her body pulsed. She was weak.

Bryan stopped, disengaged. He pulled his fingers out slowly, kissing her inner thighs and belly button for a few moments. He wanted to stay there, wanted to lose himself in her feminine scent, but she made a helpless noise that told him what he already knew.

Raising up, he grabbed his shirt from the back, pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. There was a different look in his eyes, something dark, wild. Powerful. More kisses came, then he took her hand, leading her and her damp, shaky thighs down the hall to her bedroom.


the morning after

The ringing of the doorbell woke her. Promise turned to her nightstand. The light green display on the clock told her that it was 7:38 a.m. The scent of sex hung in the room, clinging to her body and sheets, like a fragrant perfume. A self-indulgent stretch reminded her that she was sore in places, especially between her thighs. Being fucked well—all night long—felt so damn good.

She replayed the previous night in her mind: bodies writhing, going from position to position; his solid form flush with her soft curves, skin on skin, moving together. Giving, taking. His head dropping; low, throaty sighs of pleasure finding sanctuary in the recess of her neck. Bryan kissing the corners of her mouth, the underside of her breast. His teeth finding her nipples, biting and pulling until she trembled.

The wide crest of his dick nestled in the crease of her pussy. Stroking, then parting her lips. A series of passionate moans and obscenities as he slowly eased his way inside. Every inch of him occupying a space he’d craved for some time. His eyes closing at the first feel of her delicate tissues. Promise’s legs hooked around his waist. Her nails digging, raking across his back, the satisfaction she felt in marking him.

“When was the last time you were fucked like this. . ?”

Him lifting her leg over his shoulder, chanting her name. The heat, the penetration. Her muscles clenching, enveloping, the friction against her clit exquisite. The expression on his face when he neared release; his nose against hers, uttering one word before their bodies relented to their own erotic inclinations. The statement punctuated with a thrust that brought them to the end in the most wonderful way.


The knocking summoned her out of bed. Promise dug through her dresser for a shirt and a pair of shorts. On her way to the door, she passed by her skirt and panties bunched up by the wall. She could still hear the sexy noise he made when he pulled them off of her.

She looked through the peephole. Last night, Bryan had seen her naked, vulnerable. Messy hair and morning breath was a different story. She silently cursed herself for not having any mints around, then opened the door.

“Good morning, sleepy head.” The smell coming from the take-out bag was almost as enticing as Bryan standing in her doorway. “Hope you like brioche breakfast sandwiches.” He was barefoot and shirtless. Jeans unbuttoned, riding low on his hips. His tousled hair hung in loose waves past his shoulders.

Promise hooked a finger in one of his belt loops and tugged, pulling him inside.

She was hungry, but it wasn’t for the food.

©enchanted.ladybug 3.13.2018


undeniable: part two



undeniable: part two

It was a twelve hour work day with too many demanding clients, too many meetings and no lunch break. After picking up a few things, Promise stopped for dinner at her favorite Vietnamese restaurant. By the time she got to her apartment door, she was ready to put the day behind her. She shifted two shopping bags from one hand to the other, searching her pocket for her keys. One of the bags ripped at the handle just as Bryan’s door opened. She uttered a curse word as cans and fruit fell from the sack, tumbling to a stop right at his feet.

“Let me get that.” He crouched down to scoop up the scattered groceries.

Watching him pick up bright green apples and cans of crushed tomatoes gave her an excuse to stare. The muscles of his biceps flexed beneath the sleeves of a shirt that fit him like a second skin. The temptation to slide her hand over his well-developed arms, to feel the fine, dark hairs on her fingers was unbearable. Promise swallowed through the arousing thoughts, and the dryness in her mouth. “Thanks.” She noticed the scrapes on his cheek when he stood up. “What happened?”

“Bike accident; used my face and elbow to stop a fall.” Music and loud laughter erupted from his place. “I’ve got company. Hopefully we won’t bother you.”

“Not at all.” It was a lie. She was looking forward to a quiet evening on the couch, slurping noodles and getting completely lost in a primetime show. “Are you okay? That looks like it hurts.” She glanced up into blue eyes so radiant, they reminded her of the water along the Caribbean coast. Her heart asked out of genuine concern, but it seemed her mind had other motives. Bringing up ideas of having his dick in her hand, rubbing the texture of the shaft against her cheek, outlining her lips with the tip, teasing him. Opening, letting him in. Listening for his breath, a sharp inhale followed by a moan of approval. Feeling his rigid length fully develop in the confines of her mouth. Her head moving up and down, the movements slow, calculating. Humming, swallowing, taking a little more of his pleasure—

“It’s nothing. I cleaned it up a little, so I should be good.”  

Unlocking her door, Promise gestured with her head. Bryan followed, helping to unload her groceries once they were inside. Her bohemian-style touch was everywhere: a steamer trunk coffee table in front of a couch accented with colorful patchwork pillows, a bookcase filled with paperbacks, and a slightly distressed hutch gave the cozy living space personality. Soft lighting from floor lamps added a touch of warmth and depth. She washed her hands then grabbed a tube of Neosporin out of an organized junk drawer. Bryan gave a confused look when he saw her pull a bag of peas out of the freezer.

“To help keep the swelling down, it conforms to your face better than ice.” She brought a hand to his face, carefully applying the ointment. “Dab this on your cheek and elbow a few times a day.” Closing his eyes, he flinched slightly, leaned into the contact. Something warm rushed through his veins when he felt when the pads of her fingers feather across the minor scratches. It had been a long time since anyone touched him like that: gentle, like they cared about him. He made a noise, wanting those hands on his body, caressing him. Everywhere. The song changed, the music a bit louder as it came through their shared wall, interrupting the moment. Promise jerked her hand away.

“I should get going.” Bryan said, grabbing the Neosporin and the peas. “Melanie’s got a cabinet door that won’t stay closed, I told her I’d install a magnetic catch.”

“Then you’d better go.” Promise pressed her lips together, then started piling apples into a wooden bowl. “Have a good night.”

“You too.”


Later, after everyone was gone, Bryan took a shower under water that was almost too hot. He thought of Promise’s fingers earlier that evening. They were soft, calming against his skin, as if to tell him that everything was all right with the world. He wanted more of that, more of her. He wanted her body next to his, beneath his, on top of his; arms and legs tangled together, both of them breathing heavily.

Just thinking about it made him hard. Placing one hand against the tiled wall, he wrapped the other around himself, moving his hand up and down his thickening erection with a grunt as the heated water came down on him. Fantasies came to mind of her tongue circling the crown of his dick, grazing over the small opening on the head, finding the sensitive frenulum. He thought of how it would feel to have her hand cupping his balls, gently tugging them away from his body. Licking along the seam on the underside of the heavy sac before taking it in her mouth.

Eyes closed, his soapy palm picked up speed. He imagined guiding the firm part of him down her throat until it touched the back, his hips pushing forward, her nose touching his stomach. He could almost feel the heat of her breath, the pull of her mouth massaging the veins along his shaft. Cheeks hollow, lips tight, pressing and sucking the soft skin repeatedly. The suction strong, increasing as she took him deeper—deeper until he had nothing left.

He was close. Aching.

Taste it. Suck it . . .

His body spasmed in warning.

A few determined strokes and incoherent sounds later, the need became too great. His body tightened and he let go, moaning out her name. Bryan came so hard his knees almost buckled from the pleasure. Panting, he slumped against the earth-toned ceramic shower tiles to keep from losing his balance.

He finished showering then dried off. Fastening a blue towel around his waist, he went to the kitchen for the makeshift ice pack.

Bryan leaned against the counter, holding frozen vegetables against his face, recalling the first time he met Promise: She was reading his magazine, wearing a striped button up shirt and wide leg jeans that rounded out her curves. She wasn’t wearing much makeup, she didn’t need to. She was equal parts plain and exotic, with gentle brown eyes that held a touch of mystery, and kissable lips that had him wondering—quite often—how they would feel against his. He remembered taking her hand. Her fingers were soft, but her handshake was strong.

He noticed things about her. Little things, like the fragrance of her perfume. She always smells good; bright, like red berries, honeysuckle and oranges. He noticed the way her breath hitched when he stood close to her, the way her eyes widened when she talked, or how she fiddled with her bracelet when she was nervous . . . he’d memorized each of her mannerisms. Then there was her smile. Natural, full of life, and could warm the coldest room. It hooked him, made every part of him stand at attention.

Bryan was a healthy, available man. There were a number of women who were only too happy and too willing to spend time with him; it just seems he hadn’t met anyone in the last few months who could hold his attention for longer than a date or two. The occasional late night flings, and lunches with dull conversations were getting old. Recently, Bryan agreed to let his close friends set him up with someone they thought he should meet, Gia Something. She was attractive, just not what he was looking for. She spent most of the evening texting and talking about herself. If there was one thing that aggravated the shit out of him, it was self-centered women.

He wanted someone with more compassion, who actually listened. Someone who knew how to laugh; someone he couldn’t stop thinking about, even when they weren’t around. Like Promise. In the short time he’d known her, he grew to like her. Maybe a little too much, he thought as he tossed the peas into the freezer. He wanted her. And he could see, in those mysterious eyes of hers, that she wanted him, too.


4:32 a.m.

Promise was wide awake, on her back, staring at the ceiling. Thoughts of Bryan occupied her mind during the day and crept past her dreaming eyes at night. Many a night. She pressed her thighs together, trying to ease the ache between them. But the sensation would not be ignored. Submerged in that strange place where the lines of fantasy and reality soften, she gave in, putting both hands under her shirt, caressing her nipples, rolling them between thumb and forefinger. One hand touched lower, pulling her panties aside to circle her clit, pretending it was Bryan’s hand.

Raising a knee, she invited a finger inside her tight opening. She went deeper, lifting her hips over and over to a network of scenes that involved her straddling him, lowering herself, the center of her desire accepting his size. Her body gyrating and rocking, lifting up so that just the head was inside of her.

She could almost feel his hands moving her, urging her up and down, back and forth at the pace he needed: slowly, sensuously. The pleasure mounted until she couldn’t hold back any longer. She came then, trembling, arching her back, biting her lip so the screams couldn’t escape. Legs splayed, she lay there content through the exhaustion. When her breathing slowed, she brought her fingers to her mouth, licking them, holding the fantasy in her mind until she fell asleep.


A couple of days later, Friday night found Promise with her arms folded over her chest, staring— for what seemed like hours—at four new test samples on a stretch of wall: Radish, Kimono Violet, Georgian Revival Blue, and Luau Green. She was pretty sure that the colors had started to blend together. There was a to-do list tacked to her refrigerator: buy a gift for Selah’s baby shower, clean the bathroom, pay a couple of bills online. But she really wanted to do something about that blank accent wall.

The chime of the doorbell interrupted her train of thought. She had guessed it was Melanie stopping by, only the peephole betrayed her. It wasn’t the face of a petite, sturdy-built woman in her late sixties with a pixie haircut; it was Bryan. Promise wasn’t looking her best, and she wasn’t sure why she did it, but she lightly combed her fingers through a head full of loose curls, then smoothed out her clothes before opening the door. “Bryan. Hi.” One look at his flashy gym clothes made her self-conscious about the black fleece boyfriend pants and faded tank top she was wearing.

“Hey, Promise. Sorry to bother you, I just wanted to say thanks for the peas and Neosporin.” When he looked at her, a sensation arced through him like an electrical current. She was makeup free and fucking adorable. Voluminous natural curls with honey blonde highlights were held back from her face with a headband. Her toenails were painted mint green and there was a silver ring around the second toe of her right foot. That tank top did nothing to hide the fullness of her breasts. If anything it accentuated them. He tried not to think about how she’d look without the inconvenience of the thin fabric.

Promise looked right at him then, as if she knew what his mind was thinking. “What are neighbors for?” There was a little discoloration, but his face was healing well. Even with purple and black hues, he was still dangerously handsome.

Bryan glanced around her living room, noting the sample squares on the wall. “You’re busy. I should let you get back—”

“I’m not busy.”

The courage he’d worked up had finally come to the surface. The words just left his mouth. “Do you wanna grab some dinner tomorrow?”

His question surprised her. Breaking the uncomfortable pause, she asked, “Dinner?”

He chuckled. “Yes, that meal between lunch and midnight. You do eat dinner, don’t you?”

Promise’s eyes went to his mouth, lingered there. She’d lost count at how many times she imagined his lips kissing her wrist, the ridge of her collarbone and her shoulder.

Bryan wiped his chin. “You know, this will go a lot quicker if you just say ‘yes’, ” he said with quiet confidence.

Pulling at her bracelet, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“You can’t because you’re being difficult.”

Promise put a hand to her hip and tilted her head. “Completely.” A fake smile creased the corners of her mouth.

“Difficult people have to eat, too.” Bryan recognized her artificial expression and ignored it. “It’s just fish tacos. No strings. No pressure.”

He let his arm rest on the door frame and waited patiently, arching one eyebrow, which only made him that much more attractive. Damn him. And damn what it did to her insides.

She contemplated the wall, then Mel’s words echoed in her mind like a favorite song.

The wall could wait.

©enchanted.ladybug 3.13.2018


welcome, readers!
i hope that things are colorful colorful in your corner of the world. it seems like it’s been forever (it has been). i’ve missed you and i’m still here, i promise. if you’ll allow me to, i’d like to explain why i’ve been away for so long. i told a select few who were sworn to secrecy, now it’s time to share the news: it’s been a long time coming, but earlier last year i took the necessary steps to go back to school. the ultimate goal being a complete career change.
as of june 6, 2017, i became a part-time student. add to that a full-time work schedule, it makes for one busy ladybug. unfortunately, other areas of my life have been neglected: reading, writing, diy projects, communicating/ keeping in touch. while certain areas of my life have had to suffer, i won’t be made to feel shameful for the decision i’ve made to invest in myself.
needless to say, it’s been exciting. scary at times, yet exciting. scary because change is hard. taking that first step, facing something new, embracing the unknown is hard. and overwhelming. exciting because this is important to me, and i’m looking forward to the new possibilities. i know that in order to grow, i have to change. as hard as that is, i remind myself of this: change happens. it’s progress, it’s life. it’s natural and necessary. i’m moving onward, with the hopes of securing a better future for myself (i have this crazy notion that i want my life to amount to something); learning along the way about who i really am. i have a really long road ahead of me, and as i embark on this new journey in my life, i know that in the end, it will all be worthwhile.
to my personal cheerleaders: your encouragement gives me life, helps to keep me in the game. you believe in me so that i can believe in myself. i don’t know if i can ever thank you enough.
now, on to the story. it’s inspired by a public figure/internet crush (le sigh), and has been a work-in-progress for some time (over a year, i think). i meant for this to be a short piece, like daily habit, but somewhere along the way it just took on a life of its own and wrote itself. then, things got bonkers—recent obligations kept me from working on it. when the fall semester ended, i had time in my schedule to write. so i did, and i wanted the story completely finished before i shared it, not post one part for you to read then leave you hanging for months while i finished another part.
i’m glad that it worked out to be a longer read. i think i owe it to you to give you something more substantial to make up for my absence. i just hope you find it entertaining, engaging, and maybe a little stimulating. (:
as always, i want to thank all of you for the simple courtesy of visiting my humble corner, for walking alongside of me, sticking around, for not giving up on me & enchanted.ladybug. you are so incredibly kind, it means the world to me.
please enjoy undeniable.





undeniable: part one

Promise couldn’t stay in bed all day. She wanted to, but she had a busy day in front of her, back-to-back meetings to begin the day. On her way out, she stopped by the mail room. Among a stack of bills and crumpled sales flyers was a magazine that didn’t belong to her. Reading the label on the bottom cover, she headed back to the second floor to drop off the misdirected mail.

The apartment next door had been empty for almost a year. She’d caught a glimpse of four athletic men carrying boxes and furniture from a large moving van one Saturday morning, but hadn’t formally met her new neighbor. So far she knew that it was someone named B. Vincent, and that they enjoyed outdoor activities.
She rang the doorbell, listened for movement. Nothing. She knocked. Waiting for a response, she thumbed through the magazine, stopping to read an article on less traveled recreation areas and national lakes.

“Intercepting my mail is a federal crime.” The deep timbre boomed, startled her. He stood there, so much taller than Promise that she had to crane her neck to look at him. Jesus, he was beautiful. Like a norse god reincarnated. Golden-brown hair drawn up in a bun, arms that would make any woman take a second look. She could tell that underneath the Batman t-shirt and sweat shorts was a body that could only be developed from hours of hard work in the gym.

The small voice in her head spoke: You’re gawking.

Her mouth felt dry. “I wasn’t . . . I  mean . . .” Clever. Apparently she’d forgotten how to form coherent sentences. She blinked a few times to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. There was in fact an exquisite man towering over her. She cleared her throat and held out the the latest copy of Outdoor, wondering if he slept naked or wore pajama bottoms to bed. “I’m your next door neighbor, it was delivered to my box by mistake.”

Naked, she told herself. Stop it.

“Thank you. And I was only kidding.”

There was a beard. A full beard that was almost her undoing. The man smiled, slinging a gym bag over his shoulder. He took the magazine, extended his free hand to introduce himself. “I’m Bryan.”

“I’m Promise. Welcome to the building.”  She shook his large hand with a firm grip that surprised him, holding on a little longer than necessary before slipping her fingers from his grasp. She straightened her shoulders, then flashed him a dimpled smile. “I hate to sound rude, but I have to go. I’ve got to meet with a client.”

“Sure, no problem.” His eyes moved over her, taking in all the contours of her shapely body. “It was nice to meet you, Promise.”

“Likewise.” She liked the way he said her name. Soft, low, like a verbal caress. A short surge coiled through her, making her knees shake. It had been a while, but she knew what that sudden feeling meant. It meant she had to struggle to keep from touching and licking him. All over. Promise reined in her desires long enough to return to her senses and walk to the elevator. She had more important things to do, like earn a living. “Have a nice day.”

He watched her walk away, grateful for the uninterrupted view. Not bad. His intention was to give her a small wave if she so much as glanced back over her shoulder, she never did. Something about her piqued his interest—and his arousal—during that brief encounter.

Bryan shook his head, what he couldn’t shake was that tug of attraction. It only took a few minutes, but his next door neighbor already had a strong effect on him. He was looking forward to getting to know her better.


In the following months, as chance would have it, Promise and Bryan ran into each other quite a bit: in the lobby on their way to work or coming home, while buying coffee from the Starbucks coffee cart, or at the fruit and produce market. Occasional hellos and small talk became lengthy conversations about everything and nothing, like they were longtime friends. Admitting the chemistry wasn’t easy; it had grown too strong to ignore, too real to disguise.

Even Melanie noticed the sparks between them. “It’s time for you to end this silly hiatus of yours,” she said, dipping her brush in yellow paint. After retiring from art education, Melanie took on dozens of hobbies from knitting to baking. Since cookies make wonderful bribes, that’s just what she used to convince her gal pal to attend paint and sip classes with her once a month. “You spend too much time working, it’s not healthy.”

Promise tried to listen to the instructor. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Don’t give me that rubbish, I’m not blind. I’ve seen you two in the lobby. You feed off each other,” Melanie said, her voice a charming English accent. “Bryan’s a cutie-pie. He’s got good manners, and all of his teeth. Let your guard down . . . have a treat.”

Promise agreed inwardly. She missed having a man in her bed, missed being tucked in the crook of a masculine arm. She missed sex—it just wasn’t high on her priority list right now.

Plus, fooling around with her neighbor didn’t work out too well last time. . .

She was on the rooftop deck at her old place, stretched out on a lounge chair, listening to her portable record player. Alabama Shakes was singing about dreaming and feelings, and being all right.* Her peaceful state was short-lived when someone showed up moments later. He said his name was Jake and that he liked the music she was playing. Leaning against the brick parapet wall, he dug around the pocket of his jeans until he found what he was looking for: a silver Zippo and a tightly rolled joint.

He clicked the lid open then lit up, ripping a long hit, holding the smoke between his lips. Jake was the new tenant who’d moved in down the hall from her—a welder with olive skin, black curly hair and a crooked grin.

He slowly exhaled, the zesty haze smelled sweet and tart, like blueberries and raspberries. “You smoke?”

“Every now and then, but I don’t accept weed from unfamiliar sources.”

“It’s not laced or inferior. I swear.” They passed the joint back and forth, talking well into the night before Promise packed up her record player, making a joke about needing her beauty sleep.

The next morning, there was a note clipped to her door with Jake’s phone number on it. She waited a few days before using it, going back for seconds, and thirds . . . and more. Snatching clothes, falling onto the bed attached at the mouth. Hands roaming and clutching through frenzied, sloppy kisses. There were no feelings, no discussions about life or politics. Just sex; and Jake gave as good as he got. It was reckless, fun.

She didn’t have any expectations for a relationship with him, but over time his needs changed and he was ready to be exclusive. “I want to date you. Only you.”

They only lasted a season.

Promise was coming home from spin class when she saw Jake in the hall, his arm around a dark-haired woman with a high side ponytail. Pretty from head to toe, her features hinted at Hawaiian ancestry. She was wearing an off-the-shoulder top and white jeans. A pair of pink strappy heels dangled from her fingers like an accessory. Promise and Jake made eye contact, he had a look on his face that she couldn’t interpret. She wondered what good it would do to raise her voice and cause a scene, and decided to remain calm.

Jake didn’t say a word. His pretty date whispered something then kissed him on the cheek. With hushed voices between them they sidestepped Promise, making their way toward the staircase.

Just like that, she had become a stranger.

The next day, there was a text: I can explain.

She really didn’t want to listen to him try to lie his way out of it. Her reply: No need to. We just weren’t a good idea.

For days Jake knocked on her door, leaving notes behind. He sent texts that Promise ignored, left voicemails that were erased, unheard. Even though her schedule was the opposite of his, she still used another entrance to the building in an effort to avoid him. On occasion, there’d be an uncomfortable encounter. No conversation, just casual nods and frustrated glances.

Eventually he got the hint.

When her lease was up, she moved out, putting about three hundred miles between them. One day, while rushing out to meet friends for brunch, her phone alerted her of an incoming text. A very short message on her screen from the welder: hey.

Guess things didn’t work out with pink strappy heels, she thought.

Hey. Like that one pixelated word meant his previous mistake was forgiven.

She rolled her eyes, blocked the number. Problem solved.

She’d had her fair share of dates after Jake. Some were short relationships, some forgettable connections that she found off-putting. Others were nuisances that left her feeling distrustful of her choices when it came to the opposite sex. That’s when she gave up, decided it was time to take a break. . .

Promise painted as she talked. “Getting involved with Bryan could be awkward, Mel. What if it gets messy?” She was pleased with her cobblestone road, but thought her street lamp could use a little work. “I don’t want to have to move again.”

Melanie brought a wine glass to her lips. “There’s something drawing you together that’s worth considering, and you know it.” More than knowing it, Promise felt it. Her body constantly reminded her of that fact. And yes, it was okay to want a treat, but the last thing she needed was Bryan Vincent and his man-bun distracting her, complicating her life.

A playful smirk enhanced Melanie’s slightly wrinkled face. She elbowed Promise, whispering something that made them both laugh. “Either you get involved with him, or I will.”

©enchanted.ladybug 3.13.2018

album: sound & color

artists: alabama shakes

track: this feeling

* In the actual lyrics, the word is spelled ‘alright’. I am aware that this is an informal version; and while it’s acceptable to use in song lyrics, it’s best to avoid it when writing. So, I used the preferred form.




welcome, readers.

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

today marks the five year anniversary here at enchanted.ladybug.  [ yay! ]

five years…what do i get, a new car? bag of skittles? one of those red ribbons you get from participating in physical fitness day like in elementary school?

i don’t have a story for you–yet. it’s coming, and i promise to explain more in the next post. i do thank you for your patience.

it has certainly been a year–good, bad or otherwise; but i’m hoping that 2017 will bring another year of hope and change. you may not know this, but there is an energy building around you. that energy is telling you that you want something in your life to change. the small break between the old year and the new year is a perfect time to tune in to you and make choices from within.

the universe has to change, even in a calamitous form. maybe this past year has done its best to destroy your foundation and left you broken or lost. maybe you’re in a dark place, or maybe you don’t know how you feel at all. rather than fight it, try to welcome the change with a willing spirit. then listen. listen for truth and direction; your spirit will guide you home.

the coming year will not be without its struggles, but be bold and be brave. you have all the strength, courage and hope you need within you. i hope that 2017 brings new beginnings and exciting opportunities to you and your families.

to those who continue to visit my humble corner, i am deeply grateful for your light and your energy.

from my heart to yours, have a happy new year.

[be golden.]






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 delightful 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