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About Lace Winter

Author of sexy and edgy romance novels.

Partners and Crime (part 3)

[This is the third segment in a continuing erotic short story. If you’re just coming across this story for the first time, you might wish to go back and read part one and part two first. You can also find the entire story listed under Categories… Short Stories in the sidebar to the right on the main page. If you’ve been following Eileen’s tale so far, well, things get decidedly… ahem… steamier in this installment. Therefore, it is not intended for readers under the age of 18. Not that you couldn’t see this coming from the earlier segments, I hope. 😉 ]

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The shower door shut behind me and I pushed Travers against the tiled wall. He’d said only one word since the cuffs went around his wrists, but his face told me all I really needed to know. Again I claimed his mouth, crushing his lips beneath my own, taking what I needed from him. My fingers fumbled with the buttons of his uniform shirt, acting with a will of their own, and then I pushed it off his shoulders, leaving it bunched around his wrists behind him.

The vest, though. This presented a little more challenge. Undaunted, I ripped at the velcro straps, freeing the front section from the rear, and pushed the heavy ballistic material up, but with Travers’ height I couldn’t quite get it over his head. He ducked to aid me, but I worried about dropping it on him and breaking his neck.

“Let me help you,” he whispered. He must have seen the doubt in my eyes. He half turned, presenting his locked wrists to me.

I looked him in the eye. We were already so far beyond the pale of acceptable behavior in the Department. Indecision nagged at me.

“We shouldn’t do this,” I muttered to myself. Travers is your partner, Eileen. Do you want to get fired? I pulled the key and with a metallic click freed his wrists.

If he heard me, he gave no sign. Freed from the cuffs, he quickly pulled the vest up over his head, hanging it with his undershirt and uniform blouse in one smooth motion from a towel hook. I hadn’t actually seen him without a shirt on before, and for a moment or two I lost myself in his smooth pecs and rippling abs. I could only hope my openmouthed surprise and naked desire wasn’t too obvious. I barely registered as he quickly relieved me of my own top, and then the sharp rip as he pulled the velcro straps on my ballistic vest brought me back to my senses.

“Wait,” I said, as my vest joined his, side by side on the hooks.

“Not yet,” I breathed as he lifted my arms and my sports bra went with the vest and uniform.

“I don’t think…” as he turned me to face the wall and pressed himself tightly up behind me,  his hands on my hips and his lips nuzzling against my neck.

“Don’t think, McConnell.” His breath was hot against my ear, and again that spicy aroma wafted over me.

Heat shot through my core, racing from his lips against my earlobe to his hands at my waist, and pooling low between my legs.

“Eileen,” I said. “Call me Eileen.”

I squirmed, needing some relief, and felt his clear arousal pressed against my backside. My worries melted in the heat of my need, and I pressed my cheek against the cool tile of the shower while his fingers undid my belt. I relished the smooth ceramic against my breasts, flattening my nipples, while my uniform trousers fell around my ankles.

“Black lace,” he said quietly, his fingertips sliding around the waistline of my panties. “I should have known there was a sensuous woman under that tough, professional exterior.”

I turned around in his arms, putting my back against the wall, laying my palms against the firm muscles of his chest and pushing. I took a deep breath, opening my mouth to speak, to object to his comment, and that’s when I realized he had completely divested himself of all his clothing. Whatever I had meant to say, it was gone. I couldn’t help myself; I looked down between us.

If his desire had been obvious before, it was almost painfully evident now. I struggled to imagine skin stretching so tight and wondered how he withstood it. His erection angled up and a little bit away from his body, slightly curved and pointed right at my belly, quivering gently from his deep breathing. A small drop of moisture glistened on the tip, and I could not help myself. I reached down and curled my fingers about the head, gently sliding my thumb through the smooth silky slickness.

Travers leaned his head back and groaned, closing his eyes. His entire body went rigid, and I swear, he got even harder in my hand, though I couldn’t see how that was possible. His large hands slid up my waist to grip me under my armpits, cupping the sides of my breasts with the heels of his palms. He moved his thumbs to my nipples, already pebble hard, sending jolts of sensation arcing through my body. I sucked in a sharp breath through my teeth.

Get a grip, Eileen, I told myself. You’re losing control of the situation.

I reached up with my free hand and gripped the back of Travers’ head. The short spikiness of his close-cropped hair was almost electric against my palm. All of my senses seemed to be on hyperdrive, threatening to overwhelm me, yet still I pulled down on his head and brought his face to my breast.

Travers sucked my nipple between his teeth and laved it with his tongue. I moaned aloud, and that’s when the door to the locker room opened and Waters and Clark walked in.

The shower stall door was shut, but it would be immediately obvious someone was in here. Did they hear my moan? Would they look under the stall door and see four legs instead of two? No, why would they do that? But they might easily see Travers over the top of the door; he was a tall guy.

I reached beside me and turned on the water, drenching us both instantly. Of course the water was frigidly cold and my skin prickled with goosebumps, but that was the least of my worries. I put both hands on top of Travers’ head and pushed him down to his knees. He started to yelp when the water hit him, so I pulled his face in tight against me, muffling his mouth against my lace panties.

“McConnell, you ok in there?”

Travers wrapped his arms around my legs, his broad hands gripping my ass, and nuzzled me through the black lace material. I struggled to maintain calm in my voice.

“Yeah… yes, fine, just, uh, dropped the soap.”

I heard a snicker, Waters I thought, but I couldn’t be sure.

“Careful, McConnell. You never know what might happen when you bend over to pick it up.”

Waters was always trying to one-up the guys on the squad with how crass she could be, and Clark took her cues from her partner. I looked down at Travers. He hooked his fingertips in the waist of my panties, which would have been sopping wet even if the shower wasn’t running. He seemed oblivious to all else, and I was rapidly losing control again.

“Ha, funny! Yeah, I’ll be careful, all right.”

I gripped the short hairs of Travers’ head tightly. I had a very good idea what would happen if I bent over.

<To be continued>

Coffee Romance

I’m considering an entry for Frisky Feminist‘s Erotic Romance Anthology Love in the Time of Coffee. I mean, I love erotic romance, and I love coffee, so what’s not to like here? Of course, some seriously good writers that I know of are also considering entries, so competition might be… ahem… stiff. But, one has to start somewhere!

It’s not clear if the deadline for submissions is October 1 or December 1, so on the assumption it’s the former, I (and maybe you, too?) have to decide quickly. As in, very soon.

Here’s a snippet from the blurb at friskyfeminist.com:

Got a story about that sexy barista who keeps putting hearts on your cup? What about the brooding person in the corner that you just know is writing love poetry you’re dying to read?

We want to read it!

This comes right on the heels of Sheri Savill tweeting about coffee porn, which just got us all steaming and frothing for more, so the time must be right! At least right to ponder it over a cup of coffee.

What do you think?

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Desert Moon…

Serena is always a source of inspiration to me, and here with “Desert Moon” once again she does not disappoint. I know quite a few of you follow her work already, but just in case you don’t, you should really give her poetry site, “MsTranquility,” a look. Serena writes from her heart, and you can sense her soul in her words.

Starshine

Credit: NASA, Jeff Hester, and Paul Scowen (Arizona State University)

Image Credit: NASA, Jeff Hester, and Paul Scowen (Arizona State University)

Brightness falling,
Ancient light of distant galaxies
Crashing relentlessly,
A catastrophe aeons to unfurl;
Worlds bathed in brilliance
Cast by a thousand suns
Racing to their doom;
Millions of years, billions,
A cosmic blink while
Crawling from the murk,
Lifting eyes to the heavens,
Civilizations rise, empires fall,
Whole species fade away;
Still the novae explode,
Spinning gas and dust into
The shadow of the nebula
So the lovers may park and kiss
And hold each other under
A clear, starry night.

10 Reasons to Not Start Blogging

As most of you know, I’m fairly new at this blogging thing. What do you think, is it just a passing fad? No, you’re right, it’s here to stay a while, isn’t it? Well, if you’re considering blogging, you might look over this list. If you’re already blogging, you might look over this list. Paul (not Alfred — he can explain it better than I can) perfectly captures the essence, in beautifully satirical style, of the new (or perhaps even old) blogger’s life. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go check my statistics. 😉

Mountain Light

Early morning rush to work
Through the city by the bay,
Gleaming arches, shining towers,
Azure skies light the way.

Yet farther off and over all,
Stone ramparts rising high,
Icy shoulders, majestic peak
Glowing gold against the sky.

Falling glaciers, crumbling cliffs,
Sheer walls stark against the blue,
Slopes of white are lit afire by
The coming dawn’s pearly hue.

Mighty mountain, gazing down,
In her shadow have we dwelt,
Heedless of her awful strength,
Beauty, terror, presence felt.

Yet one morning glance upon
Her mist enshrouded face,
City problems drop away,
Forget about the race.

A breathless pause, a moment’s rest,
A pause in time and traffic slow,
Great Tahoma, mighty mother,
Resplendent in her alpenglow.

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Day 364 – It Don’t Mean A Thang If You Ain’t Funky-Fresh

The highly talented Charlotte Cuevas has been writing a poem a day, every day, for the past year, and you could do far worse than to read her delightful musings. She is also on the cusp of publishing a “greatest hits” of sorts of her work, which is very exciting! Here, in this piece, her second to last of her “365 Poetry Project,” she becomes a meta-poet, waxing rhapsodic in “funky” poetic voice about the art of poetry, and indeed all writing, itself. Because “people ain’t zombies, they don’t want y’brain, but they do wanna walk in y’shoes, and if you do ’em right with y’funky-fresh heart, they they’ll do right by you.” Here’s to hoping Charlotte is right — I think she is — and letting the reader walk in our funky shoes!

Partners and Crime (part 2)

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I kneeled there on Travers’ back, leaning in close to his ear, listening to him breathe, for perhaps longer than was absolutely necessary. My knee wasn’t digging into him that much, on account of the vest under his uniform shirt; it was my grip on his cuffed wrists that really held him down. I noticed a bead of sweat rolling across his temple and sliding down his brow to the roughly carpeted floor beneath his face. No doubt he was getting a little hot under that vest; I was feeling warm myself. Bullet-resistant vests aren’t exactly known for cool and breezy wearing.

All the fight seemed to have gone out of him, which didn’t fit his normal pattern, but I accepted it and pulled back off of him. I stood up, pulling him up with me, keeping a close grip on his upper arm just like I would any perp in cuffs.

I had spent a lot of time with Travers. We had been partners for about six months, which meant for the past six months I had been in his company pretty much more than any other human being. Yet still, we had never stood this close before. Frankly, I had never found him very attractive, despite his definite good looks, because he had always been such an emotional turn-off.

Now, however, something was different. He didn’t look so cocky. In fact, he almost looked vulnerable, though that was probably the shock of having been taken down so unsuspecting. Regardless, it was appealing in an odd sort of way. Perhaps it was the cuffs. Anyone looks vulnerable with their hands cuffed behind their back.

I had made my point. It was time to take off the cuffs and figure out a way to undo the awkwardness. It was time to step away, but I found I didn’t want to, not just yet. I stood by his shoulder, hand on his arm, looking up due to his taller height, and just absorbed the sense of power I felt, having this man, this police officer, my partner, under my control. As long as the cuffs were still on, he was helpless and dependent upon me, and I just soaked that up.

His nostrils widened, his breathing grew deeper and quicker, and still a bead of sweat rolled off his brow. He looked me in the eye, then cast his eyes downward, and in that moment we both knew who would be the alpha in this arrangement from now on. I didn’t want this moment to end, it was so heady.

Just then I heard voices from the hallway outside approaching. Female voices. Apparently I was wrong about who was on shift that afternoon, because in about five seconds Waters and Clark were going to come through the door and find us here, and I wasn’t sure just how I would explain not only why a male officer was in the women’s locker room, but also why he was in cuffs. Travers had heard them too, his head jerking up, turning to face the door.

I didn’t waste time thinking about it. I tugged his arm roughly, causing him to instinctively follow, and pulled him into the showers. Not a moment too soon, either, as Waters and Clark entered the locker room, still chatting about their shift.

“Did you see the look on that goon’s face when I pulled the cuffs? All macho, hey I’m the big guy, and bam! Totally deflated, meek as a puppy.”

Sounded like Waters made a collar today. Good for her!

“Yeah, they’re all spit and bluster until they realize it’s going down, then suddenly shit gets serious and they’re not so tough anymore.”

Clearly they were still on their post-arrest high. I grinned at macho Travers, all meek in my cuffs now. He started to get that look on his face, and I just put a finger to his lips. His eyes snapped right back to mine, his breathing still heavy, but he kept quiet. Once again I saw it — resignation, acceptance, vulnerability — and a surge of… something… washed through me. I felt that old tingle, low in my belly, one I hadn’t felt for a while, and my vest began to feel too tight. Oh hell no, no, but damned if I wasn’t getting aroused.

This was bad news. Travers was my partner. I didn’t even like the man.

I stood there a moment, my finger still to his lips, and he didn’t pull away. He just kept his gaze on mine, a hint of a question, uncertainty, in his eyes, and perhaps a touch of heat, but none of his usual bluster. This wasn’t his male posturing, flirting with the girls. All of that seemed to have dropped away, and what remained was… was that desire I saw in his face? Could he really be turned on by this, being told what to do by me?

Too much introspection, Eileen. I slid my finger down his lips, traced his neck from chin to collarbone, then gripped the material of his uniform shirt and pulled his face down closer to mine. I kissed him, hard, on his lips, unrelenting, claiming. Again I saw surprise, but he didn’t resist. I watched his eyes, gauging his reaction, trying to understand his headspace, but I really didn’t even understand my own. I just enjoyed the kiss, took what I needed from it. His lips parted slightly, opening himself to me, and I tasted mint, and a hint of spice, and I wanted more. That was probably his Pad Thai lunch and a candy from the bowl by the cash register, but it didn’t matter, I drank him in.

Dimly I could still hear Waters and Clark just outside. A locker door clanged, and a part of me wondered if they would feel the need to shower. Just go home, shower at home, I thought, and then I realized I was even more aroused. No, this couldn’t happen! If they came in here right now, both our careers would be jeopardized. But the thrill…

With a gasping breath I broke off the kiss, but I didn’t step away. God, how I hated these vests just now! Travers looked momentarily lost, and I realized just how into that kiss he had been. I searched his eyes, with an ear to what was happening just beyond the door, and then I gripped his arm again and pulled him into a shower stall, closing the door. He didn’t resist at all.

And he was still wearing my cuffs.

<to be continued>

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Blue

Is blue the warmest color,
Or just the coolest flame?
Expression of emotion,
Or well-known writer‘s name?

Red shift stars race away
Recede to darkest night,
While that cooler, deeper hue
Shifts approaching light.

Azure sky deceives,
Rays scattered by the air;
Indigo we should see,
But not for our eyes fair.

Cobalt lies the sea,
Emerald each heaving wave,
But when grey the fiercest storm,
There’s nary a hue to save.

Green eyes we do love,
And grey the keenest sight,
Warm are those in brown,
While blue is our delight.

Why are you blue?
He asked her on that day.
Well, I’m not with you,
She replied and looked away.

Or perhaps I’m just born that way.

<In response to a challenge from Naima>

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