Welcome to Mid Week Tease, where my author friends and I post a little something from a WIP, flash fiction piece or from some of our published work for you, the readers. Thanks to fellow author Sandra Bunino for creating this weekly event.
I've been posting some pretty mild teases lately, and I thought it might be time to turn up the heat and introduce you D'Ante. She's an artist who likes to push the limits of sexual expression in her always erotic, and sometimes controversial art work, including adding herself into her art!
Here's a little unedited taste of her and Jazz, just one of the delicious characters from Exposure, an erotic romance WIP (Work in progress).
All that Jazz
D’Ante Crawford entered The Underground, a particular hot spot for those involved in bondage, fetish, and S&M. As she sauntered past the circular stage where someone was being publicly flogged, she wasn’t sure what or who she was looking for until she spotted him, arms crossed, standing near the bar.
“Oh, yeah,” she muttered under her breath.
The man was gorgeous. And she couldn’t help but notice the way the lights bounced off his tall, muscled body. He reminded her of a gladiator with his skin shining in the color of dark chocolate—smooth and flawless. When he turned, she saw a thick black tattoo of what looked like tribal art forming a pattern of flames over his forearm; the rest lost to her as the delectable tatt disappeared beneath the material of his body hugging, V-neck shirt.
Without wasting another minute, she walked up to him, traced her fingertips over the line of his tattoo, and stared up at him from beneath her lashes. “I need to photograph you,” she said.
He laughed and looked down his nose at her. “Are you for real?”
His dark gaze roamed over her body before meeting her face, fixing his eyes on hers. “I don’t see a camera.”
“What I have in mind, we can’t do here.”
His eyebrow arched. “Yeah?”
“Pretty much anything goes here,” he said.
“Are you here with someone?” she asked.
D’Ante took him by the hand. “Then, come with me.”
“Where’re we going?” he asked as she led him out of the club.
Jazz stared out the window of the cab he shared with the goddess who tugged him out of the club. Not that she had to tug too hard. Yeah, he was use to women coming on to him. And okay, he even left the clubs he frequented with one or two unknown females from time to time in order to scratch a mutual itch, but he didn’t think any woman had intrigued him like the blonde.
When their ride had come to a stop outside a Soho gallery, he blinked. He’d been inside that gallery before. In fact, he’d been inside more than once, buying art to hang in his body-piercing, and tattoo shop.
He turned to stare at the woman sitting beside him, taken aback. No, he thought, then asked, “Are you the artist D’Ante?”
“Yes,” she said.
He scrubbed two fingers along his jaw. “Well, shit. I love your work.”
Those plump lips of hers, twitched. She smiled. “Thank you.”
Before he could snag his wallet to pay for the ride, she paid the driver, then exited. He observed her for a moment then got out of the cab and followed behind her, watching the sway of her hips in the skin tight pencil skirt she wore as she made her way down the alley and to the gallery side door.
When he came up behind her, the overhead light had set her long hair to shine like spun gold. “So, you were serious about taking pictures of me?”
“Yes,” she said as she unlocked the door and went inside. He stepped in after. D’Ante flipped on the lights, re-locked the door, and started walking to the back of the building. “Come on.”
Why not, he figured. He took a few steps in her direction, only to be stopped short when she stripped off her black satin-looking shirt. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve this streak of good luck, but he’d take it, and hopefully take her before the night was over. His cock stirred right before his mind sort of blinked out into the land of no fucking way when the skirt came off too.
The woman stood in front of him in a black leather push up bra, black stilettos, and nothing else. Like a beacon calling forth his gaze, he stared at the thin strip of pale manicured hair between her legs.
“Fuck,” he muttered. D’Ante was made up of Penthouse quality curves and long legs he wanted to feel wrapped around him. She came toward him like a slinking sex-kitten. Both he and his straining dick liked the way she moved. “You’re fucking hot.”
“What’s your name?” she asked, seemingly ignoring his statement.
“Jay Diaz. But everyone calls me Jazz,” he said.
“Well, Jazz. Take off your shirt, leave the leather pants on, only unbutton them all the way,” she instructed.
He smiled. “Yes, ma’am,” he said as he ripped the shirt from over his head and let the garment drop beside him on the polished concrete floor.
D’Ante maneuvered Jazz to a cobalt blue, velvet-covered chaise lounge; her camera already set up on one tripod, and had him lay back. He was cut and rippled in corded strength. When he stretched, his stomach looked like a washboard, and she wanted to feel that washboard, intimately.
“Turn your right shoulder toward me a little more,” she said, seeing the line of his flaming tattoo ride his massive bicep, flow over his shoulder, and disappear somewhere down his spine. She adjusted the light on the tripod next to the Nikon. He turned. She snapped the picture. Then another, and another, before grabbing the remote to the camera, joining him.
“Holy fuck,” he muttered when she straddled him. Slowly, she slid back and forth, feeling the slight abrasion as her lower lips rode the ridges of his stomach. She arched her back, rolling her hips. “Damn.” Her free hand latched onto his leather clad thigh and hard muscle met her palm. “You’re getting wet; I can feel your juices on me.”
“Yes,” she whispered, let loose of his thigh, then reached next to him on the couch. After grabbing up the prop she wanted, D’Ante wrapped the long whip around her neck—the tapered tip tickling the crack of her ass. “Hold onto the braided handle, Jazz.” He did, keeping his eyes on her undulating body. “Place the handle to my clit and press.”
“Hell yeah,” he said, doing exactly what she’d asked of him.
“Mmm…yes.” She moaned, sliding herself along his stomach, feeling the intermittent rub of the leather handle followed by his hard bulge at her ass when she slid back. Jazz leaned up and placed his mouth to the swell of her cleavage. “That’s it.” She pressed the remote in her hand, snapping a picture as delicious heat rose up her torso. “Lay back again.” He did. “Pull the whip tighter and keep touching me.”
He tugged on the handle. The loop around her slender neck tightened. Her eyelids fluttered closed. He tapped the edge of the handle across her clitoris. She slid herself on him.
“Do you know how good you feel?” Jazz asked her.
“Having your slick pussy glide over my stomach is like molten fire.” She picked up the pace. He gave a low groan then his voice went lower. Gravely. “I want to pull my cock out of my pants and slap your fine ass with it.” Her body started to shake. “I want to take you to your back, shove my shoulders between your creamy white thighs, spread you wide, and lick every pink inch of you.”
“Aah…” she moaned.
“D’Ante,” he said. “You'll like it when I tuck the tip of my tongue into your sweet cunt, lick my way up your wet folds, and suck on your clit. Won't you?”
“Ah huh,” she uttered. Swaying her sex across the hard ridges of his abs.
“You want me to eat your pussy until you scream, then as your coming, all shaky and wet for me, I’ll shove my cock into your tight quiver and press inside you so deep, all you’ll ever feel is me.”
She bit her bottom lip.
“Fuck,” he said, rub, rub, rubbing her hard stimulated clit with the whip handle and his hand.
She threw her head back, long hair whipping his crotch. The leather around her neck tightened. Her climax rose. Jazz groaned. She exploded. Her sex squeezed in time with her hand, pressing the remote to the camera.
Click. Flash. Snap.
FOR MORE MID WEEK TEASE