the facebook trending column. that’s how i found out about Prince’s transition. like so many others, i don’t think i wanted to believe it at first. but then my news feed became overloaded with posts from facebook friends, and even then i had to turn to google for validation. it finally sank in when i saw reports from cnn, cnbc and time. i was taken back to the day i heard about Michael Jackson’s passing; destroyed all over again. mourning two incredible humans whom i’ve never met.

i was never part of the elite few who got to see him (or Michael) perform live. the closest i’ve come was watching him on television when he performed at the 2007 super bowl. no sexual overtures, no risque stage behavior. just him. in the rain. reminding us all why he is an icon. generous and benevolent, Prince quietly helped those in need. asking nothing in return. he’ll never know this, but he gave me something special: bookish and introverted, i was 15 years old when i had my first sexual experience. even though i had nothing to compare it to, i found the encounter underwhelming. there were no fireworks, like i had seen on tv. there were no stars, no life-changing orgasm (there wasn’t one at all). but there was music. insatiable and scandalous played repeatedly in the background.

those seductive lyrics were the reason why i was able to detach myself and tolerate the safe, but lackluster sex i was having. the music grabbed me, and took me away somewhere my soul could connect with it. and then something happened. the music reached places the guy i was with at the time didn’t. i was comforted, i didn’t feel like a timid ugly duckling anymore. in that moment, music gave me what i needed: to feel desirable. those two songs were the only good thing that came out of my first time. the only thing that meant something special to me that day. so maybe there’s a small part of me that feels that this story is the least i can do for the pleasant stimuli he gave me. i only hope that i did right by him.

thank you, Prince Rogers Nelson. rest well.

as i mentioned, this piece was a work-in-progress for about two years. inspired, in part, by two (very sexy) public figures. [le sigh²]

i hid a few gems throughout the story, see if you can spot them. if you have any Prince stories you’d like to share, please feel free to do so in the comments.

as always, thank you for visiting my humble corner. please enjoy indigo.nights


indigo nights


the interlude

They met in a record store near Calhoun Square. When he spotted her in the funk and soul section and waved, she raised an eyebrow and waved back. He went over to introduce himself, hand outstretched. Told her his name was Emiliano.

“I’m Egypt,” she said, extending her hand. Ice broken, they talked about the untimely loss of Prince. The impact he’d made, and the barriers he’d crossed in the music industry. Emiliano saw him perform in Chicago and London. Egypt said that Prince was legendary. Gifted. An innovator gone before his time.

Emiliano was a gorgeous Latino man with round, hazel eyes, dark hair, kissable lips and naturally tan skin. Standing at five nine, he was a little shorter than what Egypt preferred, but the unique timbre of his voice more than made up for that. Its quality low and gritty, like super fine sandpaper—she certainly enjoyed the way it scratched her. And fuck if he didn’t smell good. Shower gel, designer cologne, whatever it was, she had found herself wanting to breathe him in all day.

They flipped through a bin of albums, reflecting over the distinctive melody of ‘I Wanna Be Your Lover’  and the seductive ballad of ‘Insatiable.’  Small talk over the edgy  ‘Dirty Mind’  album cover led to an exchange of numbers which led to plans of having coffee together sometime in the near future. In their contacts, they gave each other an alias as an inside joke: She was paisley.park, he was A.N.

Emiliano did call her. After a few rounds of phone tag, Egypt accepted an invitation for breakfast on Wednesday, a quick lunch on Friday, and dinner the following week.


                                                                                                                                                         the melody

They met at Bar La Grassa. Egypt ordered Paccheri with saffron milk braised chicken. For Emiliano, the hand-cut New York strip—cooked medium, served with roasted beech mushrooms. The next hour was spent playfully debating public affairs and political events. They entertained themselves with 80’s movie trivia while sharing a slice of Gjetost cheesecake. Finishing around eleven, the two of them stood outside the restaurant to watch acrobats perform a street show. After the performance, captivated onlookers clapped and cheered for an encore. Emiliano and Egypt talked for a while, exchanging a few laughs and flirting harmlessly before ending the date.

There was a pause while he took a moment to work up the nerve to tell her that he wanted to enjoy her company a little longer. “Come on, my loft is amazing.” Egypt should have said no. Every inch of her mind told her to go home. But her body told her something different. And it didn’t help that he was so damn sexy. Just then, something coiled in her abdomen. Deep. Tight. Tighter. She’d confront her moral sense in the morning.


the build

Emiliano was right: his place was amazing. Built in the late 1800’s, the building was originally a firehouse before it was converted into to two separate loft spaces. A true bachelor pad with brick walls, exposed beams, concrete flooring, and floor to ceiling windows that Egypt immediately fell in love with. At night, the city shimmered with lights. She was taking in the skyline when the music started softly in the background:

Young is the night
It feels so right
Now that U’re mine
Let’s take our time. . .

Prince’s lyrics resonated through her body. She could see Emiliano’s reflection in the glass getting closer, filling the space that separated them with his presence. Bold and confident, just like the music. Just like the Artist. Egypt felt fingers on her shoulders that made her shiver. “Like the view?” he asked.

“It’s incredible, you can really see how big the ci—” She felt breath on her neck, followed by lips. Egypt tried to focus on the music, tried to focus on the skyline, but Emiliano whispered something against her skin—in Spanish. There was something so arousing about him speaking in his mother tongue; she was defenseless against it. Her head lolled to the left, he took advantage of the access. Kissing here, there. Nipping gently against the steady pulse in her neck. She wouldn’t last long at this rate.

Egypt turned around. Their faces met somewhere in the middle; their mouths parted in invitation. She cradled the back of his head and leaned closer until his lips were on hers. Emiliano’s hands rested on her waist, then clung to her. His tongue sought a way in, she didn’t deny him access. He tasted her, she tasted him. The delicate dance melted her insides.

The man knew how to kiss.

U can see through race car drivers
Let me show U what I’m made of
Tonight is the night 4 making slow love. . .


                                                                                                                                                     the drop

By the time the music changed, Emiliano and Egypt had made their way to the middle of the living room where they determinedly undressed each other, fingers touching newly uncovered dips and curves along the way. When they were completely naked, Emiliano fell back onto the sectional sofa. He bent his index finger, beckoning her to come closer.

He was already hard when Egypt took a seat on his lap. She shifted, moving forward, wrapping her arms tight around his neck, the welcoming heat from her pussy warming his shaft. Wasting no time, she gave in to strong urge within her and brought her mouth down, taking Emiliano’s sensuous lips, expressing her desire for him the moment her mouth met his. Every few seconds, she’d pull away, making him reach for her. He’d catch her bottom lip, and sigh into her mouth, letting her devour the soft sound. There was a lot of kissing, touching and caressing that seemed to last for ages all while the falsetto vocals of The Purple One came through the home audio speakers:

(Whisper) Whisper a question
With my body (body) I’ll scream a reply
Anything’s acceptable
Just ask me and I’ll try it. . .

Egypt took hold of him then. Dick in hand, she rubbed the wide mushroom head, the pad of her thumb slippery with the precum that pearled at the crown. A hiss pushed past Emiliano’s clenched teeth as her fingertips moved down the side, tracing the contours of him, feeling every vein. His tempting girth twitched and swelled against the contact. She palmed his balls, kneading the heavy sac in her hand. Her eyes were on his as she concentrated on his shaft, twisting and squeezing with both hands. Up. Down. Up. Down. Base to tip. The feel of her long, languid strokes sent ecstasy spiraling up his spine, making his head swim. Emiliano couldn’t help himself. He thrust against her touch for several long seconds; but he wanted more. Needed more. “Fuck me,” he said through hooded eyes.

Egypt pressed her knees against his sides, then rubbed her wetness against his shaft. The heavy sound of approval that came out of Emiliano was music to her ears. Gripping his shoulders, Egypt raised up on her knees. She lowered herself, shuddering and sighing at that first feel of him, watching his handsome face change when she sat down.

Throwing his head back, Emiliano let out a sensual groan when she started to move. He put his hands on her waist, urging her. Egypt took all he offered, rising, falling on his prominent erection. He pushed up into her, the deeper penetration made her gasp when he hit all the right places. She felt so damn good around him. He lifted her breasts, sucking hard at one nipple, giving the same attention to the other one. She continued to ride the length of him: Full strokes. Tight circles. Leaning back slightly to change the pressure. Bouncing slowly, then a little faster. Over and over. Each lift and drop a bit more insistent than the last. They moaned repeatedly, both moving fluidly with the rhythm of the music. Both so very close to a climax that hovered just out of reach.

Anything you ever dreamed of
I’m willing to be
Tonight is gonna be scandalous
‘Cause tonight I’m gonna be your fantasy. . .


It was still dark when Egypt woke up.  She didn’t know what time it was, just that she had to go. Emiliano’s arm was draped over her. Carefully, she tried to disengage from him, but he felt her move. “Where are you going?” he asked without opening his eyes. Once again, the sandpaper scratched at her, deeper this time. Rough and raw.

“I wanted to leave before you woke up.” She almost whispered it. Stretching an arm toward Egypt, Emiliano pulled her back under the covers. She made the most beautiful sleepy sound, situating herself closer to him until his chest was against her back. He was warm. So very warm, and she could feel how hard he was. Emiliano’s hand crept between her shapely brown thighs, his fingers caressing then spreading her lips. She reacted to the contact with sexy noises. He whispered a string of Spanish words into her ear and massaged her clit, making it swell. Egypt closed her eyes and panted a little, then a lot. When he rolled the sensitive knot between his fingers, she writhed against him. Her pussy ached for more; and he was only happy to oblige.

His thick digits found her wet entrance. One, then another. Twisting, exploring, prying with just the right amount of pressure. Sliding effortlessly, moving deeper. Thieves in the temple—her temple.
[ Love, come quick ]

Egypt fought for breath as her hips canted towards a hand that slowed, then moved faster. His wrist forceful, moving her. Playing her like an instrument. Fuck, he was good at that. Emiliano withdrew and pulled her leg over his thigh. He pushed past her inner lips, easing her open slowly, forcing her to feel every inch of him. “So fuckin’ good,” he moaned it softly, but then his breathing changed into something long, ragged and heavy. His teeth found her shoulder. His body found a delicious pace.

The musical icon continued to stimulate the air in the loft with his evocative lyrics:

Candle light – no (no), I don’t think so!
The crackle of the flame will just spoil my flow
Besides, I can be your fire baby, yeah
Drippin’ all over U like a ball of wax, relax and let go!

Emiliano savored the gentle motion of him sliding in and out of her. He liked that she was so wet, liked that she was so tight around him. While he struggled to maintain control, the tension in his body wanted release. Soon. But this wasn’t meant to be frantic. It was meant to be unhurried. Purposeful. Impassioned, like the music that played out around them.

Emiliano made every nerve ending in Egypt’s body come alive all at once. Instinctively, her pussy tensed around him, reluctant to let go. Wanting to feel more, he went deeper. Balls deep, finding an angle that hit her spot exquisitely. Her eyes rolled to a close. Thought and understanding became a blur of remarkable sensations. Gasping her pleasure, she pressed her face into the pillow, loving every push, every pull. Within moments, the gratification that had been building broke through, and those steady movements paid off. He thrust again, and again. And again. One final time and Emiliano felt himself quiver. He let go: shuddering, grunting, holding her hip like a vice.

His release prompted hers. Her inner walls squeezed his hardness as her own orgasm splintered with a vengeance. Egypt grabbed a fistful of the bed sheet and came apart. Intensely. Screaming. Her body shaking against Emiliano’s big platform bed. Swear words and sharp cries merged and died out with the lyrics of ‘Do me Baby.’ When their bodies were sated, Emiliano’s muscular arm went around her. Spooning her from the back, he said good morning, planting kisses in the sweaty hollow of her neck. They lay that way—liberated—in round notes and high melodies—until they drifted off to sleep.

Give it to me till I just can’t take no more
Come on, do me baby, like you never done before
I want you now, I just can’t wait no more. . .

Emiliano and Egypt saw each other a few more times after that night. Eventually, busy work schedules got in the way. Dates were postponed or cancelled, calls and texts became less frequent. Needless to say, they lost touch with each other entirely.  

[And all good things, they say, never last]

 the everlasting now

rail station platform: four years later

It was Saturday, the day after the summer equinox. Egypt knew when spring was over, she could smell the change in the air. The morning was sunny and warm without being stuffy. There was a thin crowd of commuters on the platform, all waiting to board the train. Some heading to work, some to the farmers’ market. Others were off to the park to stretch out on large blankets; press their feet in the grass; play in the sunshine. Today, she decided to take the Metro to her taiko lesson. She stood off to the side to busy herself with her cell phone until she heard the breaks of the Metro Blue Line screech against the rails. The approaching train came to a slow stop. Its doors slid open, people poured out just as others were pushing their way in.

Waiting patiently to get on, Egypt took her glasses off, cleaning them on the hem of her shirt. A male voice called out. “Paisley Park.” Her heart jumped. The sound registered immediately, its deep, gritty timbre she’d recognize anywhere. Thankfully the universe had been kind: she didn’t look like a total hot mess, and she wasn’t carrying a bag of feminine hygiene products. She put her glasses back on and looked up, staring at a face she hadn’t seen in four years. He looked a little different. The light stubble on his face now filled in with a short boxed beard, other than that he was still as handsome as ever. Devastatingly so.

Emiliano licked his lips, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His eyes moved over her. The sexy black woman standing just inches from him had hardly changed. Thick lips that came to her naturally. Side-swept bangs framed her face, almost covering her doe-like, sensual eyes. There was a small diamond stud in her nose that wasn’t there before. And underneath her clothes was a curvy bronze body that took him back—four years ago—to that night in his loft. The images made him feel hot. All over.

Egypt adjusted the bag on her shoulder. Damn, he’s lovely when he licks his lips. Wicked, but lovely. It all came back to her, sweeping through her mind so vividly: The loft. The music. The way he felt inside her. The Spanish against her skin—that made her smile. Suddenly, the most delightful tremor lurched through her.

She tucked a few strands of hair behind her left ear.  “Alexander Nevermind.” 

©enchanted.ladybug 1.5.2019

song lyrics:
slow love by prince : sign o’ the times
scandalous by prince : batman
shhh by prince : the gold experience






welcome, readers!

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

enchanted.ladybug is seven years old today, can you believe it?

school life is going amazingly well so far. [knock on wood] it’s certainly not without its challenges, but i’m doing great (really great), hanging in there even when there are times i feel like jumping ship.

i’d like to take a moment and wish all of you a happy new year. the new chapter will not be without its obstacles, but know that you are here to fulfill a purpose. the creator put you here, right where you are, to fill a need. 

i’m sending you all my best wishes for 2019. i hope it’s is filled with wellness, encouragement, and memorable moments. smile. be kind…to others and to yourselves. find your passion and go forward with confidence, and don’t. give. up.

i want to thank each of you who have taken the time to visit, read, and comment on my posts. most importantly, thank you for your light.

have a safe 2019.

oh, did i forget to mention that i’ll have a (late christmas) gift for you all in a couple of days?  *ladybug wink*

[be golden]



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 ice cream.”

 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