Tag Archives: erotica

Faye Hall – Erotic Romance Author

Today I have a guest post from erotic romance author Faye Hall

As authors we all come across challenges when writing our scripts. When you are an author of Historical erotic romances these challenges are no mean feat to overcome.

Historical romances of any genre always presents the task of not only writing a kick arse love story, but also ensuring the numerous historical facts included in the story can withstand the scrutiny of any history buff that turns the pages of your book.

Mistress of Purity, my third release with Red Sage Publishing coming out in August, presented many issues with regards to historical facts for me. Not only was there the historical accuracy regarding the town of Sarina in which the book is set that I had to get right, but also raping every history web page trying to find names of tavern’s (many of which were burnt down and lost in the history pages), and also the types of carriages used in Australia during the late 1800’s.

Passions in the Dust, my fourth release due out in October, was an even bigger hurdle as the story begins back in Plymouth, England before it travels to Bowen, Australia. So I had to try and track down shipping records from the late 1800’s to see if I could find a passenger ship travelling between the two countries at the particular year I wanted to set the story. I was lucky though and with many hours of searching the web and a huge dose of luck, I actually managed to find not only a ship’s name, but also the name of the captain.

Now given that my stories are primarily erotic romances, the accuracy of historical facts may not seem important but because of the country I have chosen to set my stories in I need these accuracies. Australian romances are becoming more and more popular as the years pass but, to many, Australia is still an unimaginable wilderness with a very blank and unknown history other than convicts from the first fleet.

This unfamiliar setting means that as a writer you have to work twice as hard to plant the scenery of the country in the readers mind. You have to describe so much of the townships, and make it as accurate as possible so that it is believable enough for the reader to become engrossed in what they are reading. I also then like adding the extra drama of further scandal, mystery and murder to help move the story along. The challenge here is to try and get inside the mind of the Victorian person, and know what they considered as scandal along with what weapons were available to cause whatever harm was needed.

So why do I torture myself by writing historical erotic romances?

It’s simple really. With each book I write I get transported back in time to a place few were ever told about, and fewer still will ever read about. I hope too that my readers will experience a journey unlike any other each time they read one of my books, and get to sample a piece of Australian history as they delve into the lives of my characters.

The history of Australia is a beautiful and adventurous one, filled with hardships and passions unlike any other.

Mistress of Purity and Passions in the Dust will show you townships of Australia few know to exist, and you will fall in love with the characters from each book as they take you on a passionate journey through their hardships in their still new and most unexplored country.


Bigfoot, Big Deal

Today I have an extract from Michelle Vongkaysone‘s Bigfoot, Big Deal. Take a look.

Within it, Inanna tried to apologize profusely, her attention darting from her companions to the elder Boulder. As hot pink flashed all about, she noted Duncan and Tanner’s renewed talk, now focused on food, albeit not of the thrown variety. While the latter held a bit of biscuit for “ammo”, he tried to be polite, listening to his superior’s rapid, lively chatter.

“Dad, how the hell should I know what he eats?!” Tanner shot back, his voice striking through those of all around him. “We just saw him this morning!” His right hand suddenly balled into a fist, the likes of which met their table. A clatter of dishes and silverware vibrated in the air, sending the eyes of all upward. Magenta orbs set wide, their owner stared at him with a shared indignant. “Ina, you got anythin’ to say?”

As the woman bit her lip on fresh nerves, her gaze shifted from Tanner to the younger Boulder, who remained focused on his dinner. Three drumsticks sat within view, stripped bare of their flesh and coating. Stray crumbs and red potato skins also lay on his plate, aside some lingering green beans. “Um, it appeared to be a large ape,” Inanna replied to the men, now deeply concerned for Benjamin’s well-being. He sat eerily silent, a restrained ire painting his motions. “So, I presume like them: Omnivorous, with emphasis on wild fruits and vegetables?”

She peered at the pale man, attempting to drive away his unease as such. His head eased up, revealing a small, civil smile upon pale lips. Now invigorated by his approval, Inanna turned back to the other men, her own lips parted. “See, isn’t that better?” she asked to the elder Boulder, his burning gaze upon her features. “Sir, doesn’t that make sense? I presume it’s like any other primate: Strong, agile, primarily feeds on fruits and such-”

“Right, like he’d have a body like that on plants,” Tanner abruptly stated, his eyes upon the hush puppy speared on his fork. “But, that’s the difference between Ina and vegetables: Some people actually want to eat her, ya know.” As he shuffled its doughy form in creamy gravy, the collected Boulders and Inanna herself stared at him. When a livid silence surrounded them, the man became aware of his grand error.

“Oh, dear,” Inanna softly sated through his given silence, her curious eyes upon his hunched form. “I’m sure he didn’t mean that! Forgive him, things have been really interesting at the house-” A slim brow raised up, its amethyst stripe imparting the woman with a rakish air. From their own seats, the elder Boulders glanced to each other, a hushed question on their lips. Duncan was the first to eye her head on, his own silver brows furrowed in his given objections.

His steely gaze bore through Inanna’s still form as full lips twitched with an eager anticipation and unease. His booming voice shot off at once, sending another torrent of questions upon her and Tanner. Their senses pushed to their limits, the pair retorted back to him, their voices panicked and fretful. As the trio argued among themselves once more, Betty and her kin sat idle, their forms abruptly paralyzed by shock and restraint.

“Because it wouldn’t be Sunday Dinner without some stupid comment,” Benjamin quietly groused to himself in vain. “Tanner, man, what’s gotten into you? Usually, I’m the one about that!” His head lowered once more, concealing his indignant eye roll from all. In the midst of their given racket, he tried retain his decorum as he pushed stray green beans around his plate.

Despite his growing embarrassment, the man manged to glance at his mother, scanning her for any such feelings. Betty’s painted lips were in a straight line, with only her left eye as any indication of her true mood. The bare orb twitched slightly, its movements tailored to accompany a well-meaning head shake. “Good Lord, it’s sad when we’re the sane people ’round here,” Benjamin teased to her, bearing a polite grimace of his own. “Isn’t it, Mom?”

“Dear, don’t say that,” the elder Boulder reasoned under her breath, her gaze drawing close to his slumped form. As a secondary caution, her mouth eased into a gentle smile, calm and invincible to any outside intrusion. “I’m sure Dad and Tanner, and Inanna have reason to go on like this.” To further her instilled serenity, Betty’s eyes snapped shut, shielding violet orbs as the trio’s heated arguments vibrated throughout their space. “I have pie, do you want some?”

“Of course,” he replied back as he released his fork from his grasp. “In the kitchen, right?” In an instant, it fell to his plate, releasing a clatter as warm metal met ivory china. His eyes darted to his mother’s side, and then to the thoroughly engrossed trio close by. More unruly notions pushed aside for the moment, Benjamin got up from his chair and tapped at Betty’s shoulder. In no time, she stood up as well, eyes open to the chaos around them.

On barely audible steps, the pair shuffled by their companions, en route to the elder’s now empty kitchen. When Inanna caught sight of them in the corner of her bright eyes, her hand rose, its pointer finger up straight. Such a gesture called Duncan and Tanner’s attention forth, prompting them to speak in hushed tones. “Oh, Benjamin and Betty left,” she stated in a small, shaky voice. Milky lids fell upon her orbs, blurring their internal flame. “They must be sick of us yelling at each other about everything.”
“That may be true,” Duncan remarked to her on a raw, authoritative cadence. “Far be it from me to impose on my clan on purpose, but I worry about you three.” His pale orbs fixed upon her frame, attempting to bore through its concealed curves. The left corner of his mouth curled into a bemused smile, the likes of which gave him a sly expression. With no vocal warning, the elder turned to Tanner, his full lips parted slightly. “After all, it’s not like you to be so perverted! Really, what’s gotten into you, son?”

As the pair stood in front of their towering refrigerator, crayon-drawn images entered their sight, long past relics of the pale man’s childhood. With a gentle, nostalgic nod, Betty reached for its handle, a large claw of silver. She drew it towards herself, revealing the devices contents in full. Soft light from within surrounded numerous plastic containers and bottles, like a trove of prized vessels. That pure calm the elder radiated beamed upon them, as though nothing could affect them with such notions.

“So, what’s all that ruckus about?” Betty inquired to her kin as she pulled a chilled concoction from its rack. Though she grasped its glass frame in both hands, the woman tried to shut her device closed. In the midst of her scramble, Benjamin shuffled over to ease its door shut himself. When violet met crimson, she smiled warmly at him, and propped her hands up to her chest. “Caught me there: Anyway, what happened with you and Inanna? Must be somethin’ big for them to be hollerin’ like that.”

“It’s a long story, Mom,” Benjamin replied, his gaze shifting from his mother’s face to kitchen walls. “It’s not just Bigfoot, either. Some stuff happened that made us rethink some things.” As bright eyes darted to and fro, Betty fixed her attention on his form, silently coaxing his focus to one point. As the pie rested in her hands, its top of whipped cream caught artificial light, making it appear like a cloud. “But, don’t worry! I’m sure we’ll take care of things eventually.”

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Blood Of The Eternal Moon

New release time. Today I want to share with you a great author I was very lucky to meet at my first ever book fair last Saturday, Simon Okill. Simon was great fun and I know you’ll love his work so please go and check out his latest release Blood of the Eternal Moon.


A lurid tale of blood lust, decadence and eroticism set in Paris 1925 where a young woman is nearing her Eternal Vampire state. To accomplish this she must escape the smothering grasp of a cruel hybrid vampire, Lucien, who is addicted to her pure blood. A fleeting chance reveals itself but he follows her scent and massacres all who dare protect his supply of Eternal blood.

She awakens in a tiny room, trapped and defenceless with amnesia. Something buried deep within her yearns to be set free by the next full moon – her Eternal Birthday. Her true self, Eternal, emerges in brief flashes of awareness to protect her from the demonic horrors of this terrifying asylum.

Desperate, she forges an alliance with her true love, Edouard, a handsome young doctor treating her. Lucien’s evil persona draws closer by the second. With little time remaining, Edouard must unravel Eternal’s vampiric past and make good their escape.

With the Eternal Hour at hand and the forces of darkness converging, Edouard and Eternal must fight to rid the world of this evil. If they lose, Lucien will reign supreme and unleash the dogs of war and chaos upon the world. Let the final battle begin.

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Seeing White

Still waiting for a white Christmas? Me too. Oh well, while we wait here’s a new release – Seeing White by Charlotte E Hart.


Alexander White, the wealthy business man with looks to die for. Just like the other colours you’d think…….but no.
He came from a very different place and made some of his money a very different way.

And he keeps it well hidden because the truth would destroy everything he has. All that he’s worked for would be gone in an instant if they ever found out what he’s capable of, or what he really did and who he did it for. So he keeps people far away with metaphorical games and walls to deceive and confuse.

He doesn’t do relationships, he doesn’t do emotions and he certainly doesn’t do love….. whatever the hell that might be.

He does money. Making it, manipulating it and spending it whist he plays with women who know what they’re signing up for when they walk in the room.

Three people shaped who he is today. One damaged him beyond repair, another taught him to control the rage, and a decent one helps him to consider his options more appropriately than his own head might allow.

But be under no illusions ladies, Mr White has not been a nice man, and he will probably never be a decent man but as long as he keeps up his image, and nothing gets through his barriers, no one will ever see the truth.

Life’s good for Elizabeth Scott, successful business, happy kitchen and a great sister who deals with all the expensive people so she doesn’t have to. She just cooks, bakes and smiles her way through each day……well most of the time anyway, that is when her great sister isn’t pushing her to, “get out there a bit more,” or “sort her shit out.”

Then the biggest contract of their lives comes up….. And the ever useless London tube, with her sister in it, catastrophically breaks down. Unfortunately that means only one thing, she’ll have to deal with some of that wealth herself and that means the devastating Mr Alexander White in all his glory.

Life suddenly couldn’t get worse, regardless of his unfairly gorgeous backside.

She has no idea what the hell she’s doing.

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The Science of Loving

Before we go any further I have to put up a warning. The following contains scenes of a sexual nature and adult language. The Science of Loving is an erotic novel from Candace Vianna so if this is your thing then read her exclusive extract.

I woke next to a sleeping angel. Her lips pursed as her eyes shuttled back and forth beneath her eyelids—that had better be me she was kissing in her dreams—her hair was a disarming mess, sticking out in some spots, dried sweat gluing it flat in others; her creamy skin was patched with beard burn. I liked her wearing my marks, but the idea of other guys seeing them didn’t sit well with me. Last thing I wanted was some tool seeing how fuckable she was, or worse, looking down on her thinking she was easy. She was mine and I wasn’t sharing.

Shit, my bladder was ready to explode, but after yesterday morning’s freak-out there was no way I was letting her wake up alone. Grinning, I tickled her nose, her lips, making them twitch. She rolled over, burying her face in her pillow, leaving me no choice, but to go looking for other things to tickle, starting with her shoulders. I began tracing little circles over her skin.

“Mmmmm…” She stretched sleepily, rolling over, sliding her leg around me making my cock jump as the duct tape bands scratched my skin. She stopped breathing, her body no longer relaxed. I guess she noticed.

“Morning, sweetness.”

“Morning,” she mumbled, shyly burrowing into me.

“Much as I would love wiling away the morning in your arms, nature’s been calling me for a while.” Flipping the sleeping bag open, I took a moment to admire my properly fucked woman. I fingered the band on her wrist. “I really hate removing these, but they might raise a few eyebrows, not to mention some really uncomfortable questions.” I crawled over her, returning with my penknife. “Wrist.” I slipped the knife under the band, sawing until the tape gave way. I briefly massaged her wrist—I need to find something that doesn’t leave marks—then went to work on the others until she was band free.

“I hear you awake in there.” The tent rattled from Danny’s abuse. Fuck, I hate early risers.

“Yeah. Yeah… Give us a minute.”

After tossing Angie her jeans and last night’s tee, I yanked my shorts on and left to thwart any further assaults on our tent.

“Morning Biggie.” Danny smirked.

“Morning,” I grumbled. “Where’s Brett.”

“He went for a walk. He’s been up for a while.”

“I take it he’s another early riser.”

“Boy howdy.” The pleased look on her face was warning enough to change the subject.



“Shit, I’d hoped he’d crawl back under his rock during the night. I guess we’re breaking camp early.”

“Yeah, I figured as much. Before you leave, we should make sure Dad can get the RV closed, just in case, ya know?”

“Uh huh,” I said, dropping Angie’s shower shoes at her feet after she climbed out of the tent, steadying her while she squiggled her toes under the straps.

“Morning Brain, nice hair.” Danny grinned at Angie’s bedhead. This was definitely a Kodak moment. Dammit, where’s my phone?

“Same back at ya, Pinky.” Maybe I should lend her a hat. Naw… This is too funny not to share.

“Ooh, someone’s feeling feisty this morning. I knew Biggie’d be a good influence.”

Angie blushed. “I need a shower.”

“No shit, you guys reek.”

“Fuck off.” I said after faking a silent laugh. I turned, offering Angie my arm, “Come Angelina, let us ignore this philistine and attend to our morning ablutions.”

Strutting off with our noses in the air—well, my nose anyway—we ambled through the campground, enjoying its unique flavor at the start of the day. The night’s dewy softness had yet to burn off, and snores and groaning, hung-over murmurs drifted on the shifting breeze, mixing with notes of smoke, trees and mold, along with occasional dashes of vomit and latrine.

“I wandered into the showers not really thinking. Apparently Mat’d found an on/off switch that led directly from my mouth to my brain. Shit! I almost had a heart attack when I spied the dark haired disaster victim walking next to me. I spun, and stared at my reflection. Now Danny’s ‘nice hair’ remark made a lot more sense. Frizzy clumps of hair were sticking out from my head at odd angles while other spots were smashed flat, making me look something like the Elephant Man—yeah, if he stuck his finger in a light socket—this wasn’t my typical bed-head. I didn’t know what this was—Fuckhead. I had fuckhead—shit, Mat’d seen me like this—oh, my God, he let me walk around like this! That asshole.

I jumped in the shower without thinking, letting out a girly squeal when the frigid water bitch slapped me—Bitch slapped? I’ve been spending way too much time around Danny; my inner voice was beginning to sound like her. If I wasn’t careful, I was going to end up with intimate piercings and covered in tattoos—I scraped my scalp vigorously then turned to my body, noting more than a few tender spots. I wasn’t sore exactly—okay I was sore, but in a good way—and the water burned where it struck raw patches. Muscles unaccustomed to use were tight, and my groin felt deliciously bruised. All in all, I could finally say I’d been well used and thoroughly debauched.

I was just bundling my dirty clothes in my towel when the fem-bots strolled in. “Hey guys,” I said, not wanting to be rude.

“Hey.” Suzi grinned. She was by far the nicest, if not too terribly bright. The others’ just ignored me. Like I care.

Mat was waiting tensely outside. He blinded me with a broad smile when he saw me and I melted—then frowned. Wasn’t I mad about something? But it was impossible to be mad at someone who looked and smelled so yummy. “Hey baby.”

“Hey.” His eyes roam over me, his smile widening when they reached my curls. Shit, my morning fuckhead. You rat bastard.

“I should be mad at you.” His smile faltered.

“Should be? Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

“Yes, not that you deserve it. Good thing you’re so pretty.” I swiped at him lightly. I couldn’t bring myself to beat on him the way Danny did.

“Care to share what offense my manly charms have overcome?” he said as I made a half-hearted attempt to escape his ogre arms.

“I looked in the mirror.” His smile returned full force then grew so wide his eyes crinkled. “I can’t believe you let me walk around like that. It’s your fault you know. It must’ve been all that hair pulling last night.” The fem-bots walked out just as that comment left my mouth. Shit.

“But baby, you wear just fucked hair so well,” Mat drawled, tugging one of my curls, earning me another round of nasty looks from the lingering bimbos. Awkward…

“That wasn’t just fucked hair. That was rode hard and put away wet hair,” I hissed making him laugh. “Thank God, everyone was still sleeping when we walked over here—oh, shit, Danny… She’s going to tease me for months.”

“Naw.” The bald headed freak grinned. “Years.” That damn smile didn’t leave his face the entire walk back. Jerk.

There was more activity around us now. Our fellow campers were emerging from their tents and RVs, turning wisps of smoke into clouds as campfires were stirred back to life. Pots clanked and excited Spanish blared from a radio tuned to a Mexican station. Avery cut a forlorn figure as we approached, huddling dejectedly under the canopy. The men didn’t acknowledge each other. Mat just continued on to the camper’s open door, dragging me in after him, the spicy scent of chorizo immediately making my mouth water.”


You can buy this book from Amazon now: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00MXC0E2C

And find out more about Candace Vianna here: 



Write Sex Murder

It’s Thursday, the weekend is close but not quite here, so pass the day with this exclusive extract from Write Sex Murder by Burt Bosma:

It was a panther, not a dragon.

When Pieterse approached the entrance of the Dark Haven Nightclub with Megan – dragged by Megan would be more accurate – his worst fears were immediately realised. The same pony-tailed bouncer was standing by the door. Only his muscular right arm wasn’t decorated with a fire-breathing dragon, as Pieterse had remembered, but with a panther. A fire-breathing panther, which was a little weird, but it didn’t make him any less menacing.

Pieterse felt the memory of his previous humiliation pulsing behind his eyes as they walked up the three steps from the footpath to the foyer. Sweat dripped under his armpits. The bouncer glanced at them. Then stepped aside. Pieterse was amazed.

“That’s incredible. He’s let us in.”

Megan was amazed at his amazement.

“Why shouldn’t he? He’s only there to stop trouble makers.”

“Well, he stopped me last time. I was sure he’d remember me.”

Megan turned. She put her face close to his ear so he could hear her over the pounding music which, even out there in the foyer, made normal conversation almost impossible.

“Two things. First, don’t be a dickhead. When you came here last time you were alone and probably dressed like an old man. These places will let almost anyone in. It’s all money. And second, don’t be such an egomaniac. He would have forgotten you two minutes after you left. Nobody remembers anybody, nobody notices anything, nobody cares. Nobody. Got it?”

Pieterse said he got it. Megan put a full stop on the conversation.

“Right, let’s go have some fun.”

Fun? Pieterse quickly realised that, at the Dark Haven, fun meant buying drinks at twice the price he’d pay at any pub or bar in the city and which, he was sure, had been

watered down. Fun was being assaulted by music so loud it shook his teeth. Doof-doof! Doof-doof! Doof-doof! Over and over. Every song, to his ear, almost the same as the last one. As for the look of the place, well that was probably fun too, but the lights were kept so dim they might just as well have been in a cave.

After one expensive drink, Megan dragged him out to dance. Dance? They squeezed themselves into the throng of writhing and sweating bodies and bounced around with them, locked together like a giant quivering jellyfish, trying to keep up with the doof-doof beat of the music. When the swirling maelstrom spun them to its outer edge, Pieterse took the opportunity to steer Megan towards the bar. He needed another drink.

Becalmed by the glasses in their hands, they stood back and watched the zoo. Through the strobing, flashing multi-coloured lights, Pieterse could see guys picking up girls, girls picking up guys, guys picking up guys, and girls picking up girls.

Megan leaned across and took Pieterse’s half full glass from his hand. He looked at her confused as she pressed her mouth to his ear.

“Go and try your luck.”

He didn’t understand.


Her turn again. Louder this time.

“Try your luck. Go pick up someone.”

This time he understood. His stomach gurgled. The place was awful enough without having to make a fool of himself in front of Megan. He grasped at a straw.

“Who? There’s no one here I want but you.”

Megan ignored the false compliment.

“Over there.”

Pieterse followed the line of her eyes and saw a girl standing alone about 10 feet away. She was in her late twenties, a little plump, but pretty in a girlish sort of way. She was wearing a short black dress – too short, because it exposed her oversized thighs – and was swaying on the spot, almost but not quite in rhythm with the music. She had an empty glass in her hand. Pieterse looked at Megan, hoping for a reprieve. It didn’t come. Instead he got an elbow in the ribs.

Pieterse took the few short steps towards the plump girl. He stood beside her. He was ready to make his big move. He leaned in toward her. Then he decided he wasn’t ready. He leaned back.

From the glazed look in the girl’s eyes, Pieterse was sure that the empty glass she was holding wasn’t the only drink she’d had – and probably not the only intoxicating substance either. He stood there for one entire doof-doof song, barely noticing as it merged seamlessly into the next while he built up his courage. He glanced across to where Megan had been standing. She wasn’t there. Then he felt a short, sharp pain in his back. A knuckle this time instead of an elbow, but he knew without looking that Megan was now standing behind him.

There was no way out. He stepped in front of the plump girl and yelled into her ear.


She smiled a dull-eyed smile and nodded her head, putting her glass down on a nearby shelf.

Success! For the first time since Pieterse had begun his quest to master The Method, he had approached a member of the opposite sex and received a positive response. And all it took was one magical, persuasive, incisive word: Dance.

A moment later he was back in the doof-doof washing machine spin cycle.

Pieterse pointed at himself.


She seemed confused, but then through the haze understanding came. She pointed at herself.


Dance. John. Lisa. Two words from Pieterse, one from her. A total of three words. Did that count as an intimate conversation? It must have, because Pieterse suddenly felt Lisa’s large but firm breasts pressed hard against his ribs. All things considered, he preferred Lisa’s breasts from Megan’s elbow or knuckle. He took her lead and reached his arms around her waist, placing his hands on her backside – or arse, or maybe ass, as he felt sure Megan would prefer – one hand on each cheek. Lisa didn’t object. Instead she pressed forward harder, grinding her hips against him to the doof-doof rhythm. Pieterse tightened his grip on her ass cheeks, massaging them in a circular motion. That didn’t bother her either. She pressed her head up to his neck and Pieterse felt her teeth dig into his flesh, not sharp, but with definite intent. Then she did something with even more intent. She forced her right leg between his legs, pushing her thigh against his soft spot and rubbing her soft spot against his thigh. Then she moaned.

Pieterse was amazed. There were hundreds of people on the dance floor, pushing against them, sweating on them, but no one took any notice of what they were doing. Maybe they were all doing it too.

Slowly but surely, that part of Pieterse where Lisa’s thigh was pressing grew hard. That seemed to please her.


Did that count as her second word?

Then she giggled. And gave Pieterse what was either her second or third word, depending on how you count the ‘Mmmmm’.


She grabbed his arm and pulled him through the heaving crowd to the door, past the ponytail and down a nearby alleyway. Seconds later his pants were around his ankles and he was holding her fleshy thighs in his hands as he stood with bent knees and pressed her against the wall of the alley.

Pieterse groaned. Lisa squealed. And that was that.

They sagged down the wall. Pieterse ended on his knees with Lisa sitting on his lap. They stayed in that position for a minute or two, then awkwardly stood up. He pulled up his pants, she straightened her dress. Pieterse didn’t know what to say, but quickly saw he didn’t need to say anything at all. She gave him a glazed smile and then spoke an amazing three words in a row.

“That was nice.”

He gave her one word in reply for a grand total of eight, or maybe nine, between them.


And then she walked off. Pieterse followed a few paces behind. At the top of the alley, she straightened her underwear, looked around, then walked up the street and back into the Dark Haven. When Pieterse got to the entrance, Megan was waiting for him.

“Woohoo! All right! Yeahh! Way to go!”

She did the full mock American celebration. Right down to the high fives and low fives, and added a little war dance of her own. Finally she settled down, still laughing.

“Come on Cinderalla, time to go home before you turn back into a pumpkin.”


You can download this book from Amazon now: http://www.amazon.com/Write-Sex-Murder-Burt-Bosma-ebook/dp/B00J2LGWSM/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1410291770&sr=1-1&keywords=burt+bosma