All posts by @Toria_Lyons

A True Horror Story

This is a true story. There is no exaggeration, this is exactly what happened.


I have no warning before it happens.

It’s true that I haven’t been sleeping well, and the nap on the sofa was probably a mistake. I didn’t think this would happen, this stomach-churning journey of horror.

First I wake. The middle of the night, still pitch-black outside. I’m lying on my back, the way I normally sleep.

I feel It in the room, a certain heaviness. It’s come to visit. I hear the bed creak as It sits down beside me.

It’s heavy, the bed is noticeably lower. I keep my eyes shut. If I believed in deities, now would be the time to start praying.

The pressure begins, hands making Their way up my body. To my breasts, I feel Them cup and press down on my breasts. I hear It’s heavy breath.


I begin to struggle, to free myself from the paralysis. I force my heavy eyelids open. There are shadows all around my room, unnaturally bright due to the full moon.

Where is It?

I move my body, turn slightly to the side. My breath is loud in my ears. My heart beats like a drum.

Where is It?

The shadow there, that’s a hanger on on the front of the wardrobe. The one opposite the bed, is that It? No, that’s the clothes stand. Is It crouched behind the bed? Looking in the window at me? The dark patch by the door, is that It?

My eyelids are heavy, I close them, and feel It return. Pressing me down, feeling my body. This unwelcome Visitor. This Creep. This Assailant.

Eyes open again. I force my legs to move, force my shoulders to shift. I’m so tired, so utterly tired. I want to relax into the welcoming embrace of sleep, but every time I do, It’s waiting there for me. Lurking. Haunting. I can’t see It, but I can still feel It there, just waiting for me to close my eyes again.

I shift further. I move my arms and legs, change the side I’m balanced on. I feel It stand up off the bed, hear the bed creak again, and Its malevolent presence seems to have gone.

I don’t trust It. I fumble to turn on the bedside light. My eyes hurt from the harshness.

My room is empty. There is no one in here but me. The door and windows are all closed. I hear creaks outside the door. Perhaps It’s waiting for me?

I pull out my laptop, force my exhausted brain to start reading something innocuous.

Force myself to calm down.

Force myself to stay awake until the sky begins to lighten.


The next night, I’m scared to go to bed, and to turn the light off. I turn the light back on. Someone has suggested I sprinkle rice or salt around my bed, to give It something to count, instead of bothering me. In the bright light of day, the idea seemed ridiculous. Now, it seems like a harmless thing to allay my worst fears.

I sprinkle a light amount of fine salt around my bed.

It doesn’t work.

This time It wakes me up lying down beside me, on the opposite side to the previous night. It’s in a more playful mood this night – it tugs my hair a couple of times. I think I hear a chuckle, and the bed creaks as It moves away.


The next night, I have a few drinks to help me sleep. The night after, some tablets. I couldn’t take another night of this.

Sleep paralysis. The Old Hag.

I have been assaulted by my own brain. Tricked, terrified and left feeling sick and exhausted.


I’ve had episodes since I was young, though it was only in the last fifteen years that they became as terrifying as this. They’re sporadic, and have happened in many different places. I’ve read that you’re supposed to ‘relax’ into them, and the feeling is supposed to go away. This doesn’t work. I’ve read that once you’ve woken up and moved, it won’t return. It does. I’ve read that drugs and/or alcohol are supposed to make them worse. They don’t.

The only common pattern I can find is sleep disruption, when I’ve either napped earlier in the evening or gone to bed earlier than usual.

I’ve told other people about them – sometimes I have to as the next day, I can be completely on edge and unsettled. Some insist that it must be something paranormal – a ghost, a malevolent spirit or demons. That’s what it feels like.

However, I’m a scientist. A pragmatist. No matter what tricks my brain is playing, I know that it’s just that, just tricks.

Or do I?

What stopped me writing…

…in school.

On a writing forum I frequent, there was a discussion about geographical accuracy, and if readers picked up on errors.

I went to great lengths to get the geography correct along with the timing of the trip. A complete section had to be rewritten to accommodate a short drive that was originally an overnight drive.

I could see the comments about traveling 100 miles in eight hours. We had them stop to rest and refresh instead.

It reminded me of this, from my youth:

About 25 years ago, as a piece of GCSE school coursework, I wrote a story based on a similarly long drive.

I wanted it to be overnight, and long enough for the characters to learn something about themselves. Unfortunately, this discounted the UK as it wasn’t big enough, city-to-city, for the story length.

Having watching too many episodes of California-based soaps, and also having consulted an atlas, I decided to base it in America. And was highly criticised for it not being realistic enough with US slang, etc. I really didn’t know enough about the locations, what junctions were called, how to write American dialogue.

I think I received my worst English mark ever for that story.

It was a painful lesson to learn, as I was the year swot at the time and everyone took the piss out of me getting a C+/C. I had always, always, received As in English until that point; English had always been my favourite topic when I was younger, I’d often placed in school competitions and won a prize in a county-wide contest. My enthusiasm for writing and reading seemed to die from that point. I still read voraciously, but seldom classic works. I fell behind in my coursework. I didn’t really enjoy the subject any more. Coupled with post-mortems of many classic works for English Lit, which I rarely could agree with but had to parrot the conclusions of, English became a subject I could barely tolerate.

The US-driving story was the last time, until I started writing again five years ago, that I had produced something fictional that I enjoyed, or could even recall.  I’ve no idea what I wrote for the rest of my coursework, I have feeling it wasn’t up to much, and I finally gained a B at GCSE English, with a C in English Lit.

With the failure of that story, I look back and realise it was also the teacher himself who took a lot of the joy of writing out of English for me. Mr F was the ‘trendy’ sort – relatively young, easygoing with a snazzy ‘tache and dress sense. He was popular with everyone.

Unfortunately, I didn’t really ‘get’ him; I always got on better with the more traditional type of teacher. A combination of Mr F and the course also managed to kill my enjoyment of Thomas Hardy novels (amongst others) and any poetry. One time, after I had heard part of Robert Frost’s poem ‘Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’ and I wanted to know who wrote it. I quoted him the final lines:

‘I have promises to keep, / And miles to go before I sleep, / And miles to go before I sleep.’

He didn’t know (HOW? He was an English teacher, FFS!) and was so utterly disparaging, he totally put me off.

I hate regret or blaming others for my misfortunes, but I wonder now how different my life would have been had I been assigned the more-traditional Mr C. Had I scored better in English, I probably would have studied different A-levels, done a totally different degree at uni, maybe begun writing even earlier…

Wow. Please excuse the trip down memory lane.

And I’ve realised that there was something else I wrote that I enjoyed:

About 3-4 years later, and following the death of my grandma, I had an A-level General Studies exam. It was essentially all multiple choice, apart from the English section, which was a short story based on a true event. I wrote about the funeral, about the grandma I hadn’t seen in a couple of years and didn’t particularly like, about how I hadn’t cried until I saw my granddad stood at the front of the church, shaking and alone. It remains to this day, the most enjoyable and cathartic exam I’ve ever had. I always wanted a copy of the story, but was unable to obtain one, though I still remember the last line, ‘Finally, I cried.’

My former English teacher would have hated it.

For that, however, I received an A.

Christmas read: Playing It Cool – free story

Playing It Cool

Here’s a short Christmas-themed story for you to enjoy.

Contains: snow, high levels of drinking and sporadic swearing, ice-related peril, references to classic rugby matches, a pitched battle and perhaps some romance. Please comment!



‘Fuckit, I’m cold.’

‘Fucking freezing.’

‘I’m starting to wish the pitch had frozen hard enough for the match to be postponed.’

‘Me too. Despite that I’m enjoying watching Danny run around being manly. I’ve missed him since he stopped training us.’

‘You and your crush on Danny, I just wish you’d talk to him sometime.’

A heavy sigh, ‘I know, but he’s never looked at me that way.’

‘And he never will unless you say something! Ooh, a break. Go Matt!’

The women cheered on the action in front of them, until someone’s frozen fingers dropped the ball and the ref blew.

‘That scrum looks lovely and warm; I’d love to be in the middle of it, surrounded by hot men. It looks far more exciting than our scrums.’

‘You’d get mashed.  If we had a game tomorrow, it would have been called off, there’s a serious weather front supposed to be moving in.’

‘Nah, that’s for the north only. The weatherman said it would miss the south-east.’

A flurry of snowflakes whipped past the women’s noses.

‘I think Mother Nature says differently.

‘At least these bloody Christmas jumpers are warm. Well, warm-ish. When do you think it would be safe to move inside?’

‘When the final whistle goes? We’ll be fined if we head for the warmth before then, the Boss is watching.’




It had been decided several months earlier that the Harford Park RFC teams were to have a joint Christmas social. The first XV down to the vets and the women’s teams would unite for a night of drink-fuelled, festive-themed debauchery. Not that the average Saturday night in the rugby club was ever a quiet affair, but this would be special, with compulsory fancy dress, an “epic” fines session for real and imagined gaffes, and later, whoever was left standing could use the VIP passes for Flames, a cheesy nightclub nearer Central London.

It was the most eagerly anticipated social occasion of the year, the local shops were cleared out of Christmas finery and the postman inundated with parcels to be delivered “c/o Harford Park RFC”. No one foresaw that the unpredictable British weather would thrust a snow-covered spoke into proceedings.


Danny tucked his chin into the collar of his winter coat as he strode away from the raucous rugby club, trying to retain some body warmth for his long walk. He would never have even thought of walking the three miles home a couple of years ago, especially through ankle-deep snow, but now he saw it as good exercise and a decent way to sober up. Since he’d started training for triathlons, his stout build had slimmed down to a shadow of his former prop-playing self and he couldn’t drink so much. When the amateurs were desperate, he’d step in and make up the numbers, but he was at an age where his joints wouldn’t take the weekly rugby hammering.

The game that day had been a one-off and he already felt a few twinges and scrapes and bruises developing, overcoming the post-match-winning euphoria. It had been a good night but he’d had one hell of a ribbing for leaving early. It did help that those going clubbing had left earlier than expected too, before they were stranded in Harford. The flakes had begun coming down thickly at the end of the game and started sticking, despite the weatherman’s predictions. There was already a thick layer of several inches on the pavement and roads, cars were starting to skid and slide. However, as Danny had relied on instinct that morning, the boots he was wearing were sensible, with ridged soles so he wouldn’t lose grip in the deepening snow.

He shook some snowflakes out of his mop of curly blond hair, pulled a beanie on and started whistling as he cautiously stepped off the pavement to cross a side road.

‘Help!’ The faint voice came from down the dimly lit street.

Spotting something moving on the ground a few yards away, he stopped, ‘Hello?’

‘Hello, is s-someone there?’ The female’s voice was faint. ‘Please, help!’

Danny started walking towards the tremulous voice. ‘What’s happened?’ As he got closer, he saw a scantily dressed woman huddled on the ground.

‘Be c-careful! Ice!’

Danny skirted a dark patch and slowed. He could feel the lethal slickness under his shoes, disguised by the layer of snow.

‘I f-fell and I’ve h-hurt myself. Phone d-dead. C-can you help me st-stand please?’

The heavy snow obscured his vision again.  He held his arms out and hands grabbed him. As he pulled the woman to her feet, he could feel them slip out from underneath her. ‘Bloody hell, are you wearing skates?’

‘Stupid sh-sh-shoes.’

They turned towards the main road, and she tried to walk, but cried out when she tried to put weight on one glittery, sandal-clad foot. Her feet slipped again, and if it hadn’t been for Danny, she would have crashed to the ground. She attempted walking again, but had to stem another shriek.

Danny felt her slight weight as she gasped, ‘Look, would you mind if I carry you? We’re not going anywhere fast with you like this.’

‘O-O-OK. Please…my skirt…’

He looked down. It was rather short, barely visible under her hip-length coat. ‘I’ll try not to let it rise up.’ He swung her up in his arms, settled her as she tugged at her skirt. He could feel her shivering and icy water immediately started soaking through his jacket. Her skirt was the least of her worries. ‘Where are you going?’

‘T-train station. Catch train home.’

‘Not tonight, they’ve all been cancelled.’ Her increasingly violent shivers concerned him. ‘Look, the rugby club’s a few hundred yards that way, we can raid the place for dry clothes, get some first aid for that ankle, and see if anyone there is heading your way. Sound OK to you?’


He could barely hear her voice, and started walking as fast as he could. Luckily, they were close enough, and the club’s drive was rough ground with a better purchase for his feet. The sounds of partying grew louder as his arms began to tire.

‘You OK?’ he asked.

There was no response from his bundle. He kicked the first set of double doors open, and turned sideways to get through, ensuring her legs weren’t knocked. He elbowed the lighter, second set ajar and walked into the noisy, warm bar.

‘Danny! You’re back so soon!’

‘Danny boy! Who’s the fair maiden?’

A woman gasped, ‘Oh my god, she’s fucking freezing, filthy and soaked to the skin. And look at her ankle!’

Immediately, the tipsy men and women surrounding him seemed to sober up.

The women’s captain elbowed her way to the front, ‘Emma, go put the showers on, she needs warming up ASAP. Matt, go find some towels. Jim, can we have some hot chocolate please? Anyone else, find dry and clean clothes. We’ll also need the first aid kit. Get Jim to call an ambulance too, although it’ll take ages to get here in this weather. Where did you find her?’ The last question was directed at Danny.

‘She was near the main road, said she’d fallen.’

The girl stirred, ‘Fall, where am I?’

‘You’re at the rugby club; we’ll sort you out here.’ Someone passed the captain a couple of towels. She draped one over the girl, gently lifted strands of water-darkened, long blonde hair out of her face and wrapped the other towel around her head. ‘What’s your name, sweetheart?’


‘OK, Amy. I’m Beth. Danny will take you to the changing rooms, we’ll warm you up and get you sorted in no time.’

‘Thank y-you. I’m s-so c-c-cold.’

Danny followed mother-hen Beth to the changing rooms, garnering many approving glances from the club patrons. He felt like Superman, despite his arms burning like hell.

Emma jogged back towards them, ‘I’ve started running the small bath in the ref’s room. It’ll fill in no time and be better than the shower.’

‘Good thinking, Emma. We can’t put her in until she’s less cold, but it’ll help warm the room up.’

The smaller room was already beginning to steam slightly when they entered. Beth stuck her hand in the bath water and nodded approvingly, ‘We’ll remove the jacket, and then I’m afraid you’ll have to leave as all her wet clothes need to come off.’

They propped the shaking girl up on a nearby bench and stripped off the lightweight jacket, and a handbag that she’d had tangled around her neck. She was wearing a glitzy, silver halter-neck dress underneath.

‘No wonder she’s so cold, even without getting wet!’ exclaimed Beth.


Danny felt like he was deserting Amy as he backed out of the room, with other women rushing in either side of him, carrying hot drinks and clothes, and even a bottle of shampoo. The door closed and he turned to return to the bar area.

In one hand swung her silver handbag. Opening it gave him a slash of guilt, it felt intrusive, but there wasn’t much there, just a slim black phone, a small purse, tissues and a lipstick. He knocked the door to the referee’s room and handed over the bag, minus the phone. Someone in the club usually had a charger; he could give it some power for her to call home once she felt better.

Re-entering the club bar, he felt like hours had passed since he’d departed for home to catcalls ringing around him. He was handed a glass of whiskey and clapped on the back.

‘Good work, my man, get that down you.’

He didn’t give his training any thought at all as he slugged the drink. She had gone so quiet, so fast. He’d been really worried she wouldn’t survive. What was a few drinks compared to that?

‘What a stunner, but did you see how little she was wearing?’ His tall and handsome but surprisingly modest and shy mate Matt rolled his dark eyes, ‘And those shoes? If she’s broken her ankle, I wouldn’t be surprised. Fucking madness.  Any idea how long she’d been there?’

‘No idea, she just said she wanted to go to the train station.’ As Danny shrugged, he realised the arms and front of his coat were wet, so stripped it off to drape over a nearby radiator along with his beanie and gloves. Underneath, he was wearing a tacky Christmas jumper and jeans, as per most in the bar.

‘There’s no way she would have reached the train station like that. You know, you probably saved her life.’

‘I dunno.’ Danny felt a blush rising in his cheeks.

Matt nodded at the window; the snow was now so heavy, despite the exterior lights, it was impossible to see more than a foot. ‘She was on the verge of hypothermia, her lips were blue and it looked like she’d been dragging herself quite a way, she had scrapes all over her legs and hands. You’re a hero, my man.’

A soft kiss was dabbed to his cheek, ‘I agree. Danny, you’re a hero.’ Emma smiled, ‘She’s come around properly, and we’ve cancelled the ambulance as she’s warmed up sufficiently according to the thermometer Beth is wielding.’

‘It wouldn’t have got here anyway,’ interjected Jim from behind the bar. ‘I’ve been listening to the radio, there’s been a massive pile-up on the dual carriageway, the road is blocked and there are possible fatalities. There’s been fighting at the taxi rank in town, most drivers have given up and gone home. Buses and trains cancelled. Police are advising for everyone to stay indoors.’

‘Lock-in tonight then, Jim?’ Matt grinned cheekily.

Jim sighed and looked around at the twenty-or-so drinkers left in the club, ‘Anyone who hasn’t left by now and doesn’t live within half a mile is stuck here, so I don’t have much choice. There are some mats you can borrow from the playgroup, and I’ve taken some blankets out of the cupboard to air, you’ll have to sleep on the floors of the function rooms. Or drink in here all night.’

Danny stared at the dregs of whiskey left in his glass, ‘In that case, Jim, I’ll have another. Thanks.’


An hour or so later, more of the women returned. Apparently, Amy had warmed enough to be able to get in the bath, they had helped her wash, towelled her off and cleaned her grazes. Beth thought the ankle was badly sprained and had strapped it up. A hairdryer had been magicked up to dry her hair. Danny had plugged the lifeless phone in to charge, and the dark-haired, petite Emma darted back and forth, but appeared to enjoy returning to Danny and Matt’s company.

Emma’s job had also been to keep the drink flowing between the changing rooms and the bar; once it was clear that Amy was OK, the women had continued drinking. They even had an impromptu, hilarious fashion show with all the clothes that had been gathered, including a scrum half prancing around in Amy’s now-dry dress and shoes. She had told the women she never, ever wanted to see the garments again, if it could be helped. They held an on-the-spot auction for the surprisingly undamaged designer items, and raised enough funds to raid the club shop for something more substantial.

A while after, the door opened and conversation hushed. A stunning blonde stood there, poker-straight shiny hair almost to her waist, green eyes gleaming in her make-up-free face. Her slim form was clad in a long red Harford rugby shirt with black leggings on her slender, shapely legs. A pair of red socks and crutches completed the picture.

Danny heard Matt gulp beside him.

‘I believe I have someone to thank for my life.’ Her voice was soft, her eyes travelling around the assorted occupants of the bar.

Danny gingerly put his hand up, ‘I…I don’t know if I saved your life but I’m the one that found you. I’m Danny.’

Amy’s eyes ran over him, finishing at his blond curls, jutting chin and smiling eyes, ‘Hi Danny, thank you.’ She hobbled into the bar, swinging carefully on the crutches towards their small group, and conversations resumed.

Beth followed her, looking pleased as punch at the result of her nursing. ‘She recovered really quickly, once we got her warmed up. And I’ve strapped up her ankle, I think it’s just badly sprained.’

‘Do you like my outfit?’ Amy did a whimsical twirl, ‘Your club shop had some base layers so I got a set plus the jersey and socks. I’m toasty warm now.’

‘You look lovely.’ Matt’s voice was hoarse and he had to clear his throat, ‘Err, hi, I’m Matt. What on earth were you doing there?’

The blonde settled against a nearby bar stool, taking the weight off her feet. ‘I’d been at a house party. It was supposed to be an elegant, civilised affair, instead it turned raucous and I left when the local scumbag drug dealer arrived.’ Amy rolled her eyes, ‘I was hoping for a taxi, but my phone died and I had to walk away from the house as some wasted middle-aged guy kept trying to feel me up. Then I got lost.’

‘Very unlucky.’

Amy shivered, ‘And cold. I never intended on walking anywhere in those shoes, they’re sitting down shoes only. I’m supposed to be training for a race next month.’

‘Not on that ankle, you won’t,’ warned Beth. ‘You’ll need an x-ray, I don’t think it’s broken but I could be wrong.’

Amy sighed, ‘Just my luck. Has anyone seen my phone?’

Danny fumbled behind him, ‘Here it is – it should have enough charge by now.’

‘Great, I’ll try calling a taxi. Or waking a friend up.’

Danny coughed, ‘Ummm, Jim says we’re snowed in and the roads are blocked. No one’s going anywhere soon. ‘


The barman bustled over, ‘I hear my name being used in vain? Evening, lovely lady, you’re looking much better.’ The grey fox gave Amy a flirtatious smile, ‘Booze or bed?’


‘Your choice is either to try to sleep in one of the function rooms, or keep drinking in the bar here. Unless you live within walking distance?’

‘Nope, the other side of London. So we’re all stuck here?’

‘Yep, weatherman got it utterly wrong.’ Jim looked like he was enjoying being the portent of doom. ‘Roads won’t be ploughed until morning.’

Amy shrugged and grinned, ‘Well, I might as well make the most of it, there’s no one at home waiting for me.’ She brought a fifty-pound note out of her handbag, ‘Next round on me?’


It probably wasn’t the best of ideas for someone who’d been on the verge of hypothermia to be boozing it up with the rest of them a couple of hours later, but the first aid crew were satisfied she was fine. The women returning from the ref’s room plus others who had failed to catch a taxi or train sheepishly wandering back swelled the group to thirty or so. Some headed for a nap, but most stayed in the bar, drinking chatting and singing. Jim had found some old, classic rugby matches to watch on the TV screens, and they dragged some of the mats into the bar. They even unlocked the kitchen and fried chips to stave off the munchies.

Danny lay with a pint in one hand and a chip in the other and a woman either side of him, watching the Barbarians beat New Zealand in 1973. The large bowl of fried potatoey goodness was balanced on his flat stomach and both women were digging in with him. Beth and a couple of the other women were the other side of Emma with their own helpings of chips.

It was unusual for Danny to spend so much time with women, even when he was coaching their team, but he was enjoying it. Emma had a really offbeat sense of humour, and she used her hands to talk enthusiastically. Every now and again, she lightly touched him to make a point. Amy chuckled and added in some dry comments. He felt quite dizzy from the attention. And they both smelled so good.

They had all giggled over the awkward haka performed reluctantly by the New Zealanders, so unlike the present-day tour de force, and over the dated hairstyles and kit.

‘You know, I’ve seen that try a million times, but never the rest of the match,’ commented Amy.

‘You watch rugby?’ Danny and Emma turned to her in surprise.

‘I played in uni, and…ummm, my dad played for the Saints.’

‘What was his name?’ When Amy whispered the answer, Danny nearly choked on his chips. ‘Him? Bloody hell, he won England and Lions caps too!’

Amy blushed, ‘Ssshhh, I don’t usually tell people in rugby clubs, they start asking me for autographs or expect me to use his name. Or start calling me “the Smith girl”.’

‘OK, we’ll keep shtum. Won’t we?’ Danny elbowed Emma.

Emma nodded and hummed as her mouth was full of chip. They carried on watching the match, and Matt came to join them, sitting down on the other side of Amy. He was quiet, which was unlike the normally ebullient Matt.

‘You OK, mate?’ asked Danny.

Matt nodded, he seemed to be blushing slightly, ‘Good, thanks. Ummm, it’s been a long day. How are you feeling, Amy?’

Amy yawned, ‘Brighter than I usually feel at four in the morning, but not by much.’

‘Ummm, would you like a drink?’

Amy held up the pint of bitter she had been nursing, ‘I’m struggling.’

‘Something shorter?’

‘All right.’

While Matt went to the bar, Amy turned to Danny, ‘This night has turned out more enjoyable than I thought, barring the awful house party and near-hypothermia. That wasn’t so great.’ She shivered.

‘Yeah, I was worried for a bit. You muttered something about going to the station, although as Matt said, I’m not sure you would have got there.’

‘I can’t remember much from shortly after I fell, just a lot of white and pain. I can’t explain why I didn’t just knock on the door of any nearby house, but the cold got to me, I couldn’t think straight. Scary.’ She shuddered again.

‘Tunnel vision. I’ve seen people on the rugby pitch or triathlon field ignore serious injuries to carry on. Sometimes your brain doesn’t realise that circumstances have irrevocably changed.’

‘Yeah, getting to the station was all I could think about. Even when you found me, then you mentioned a rugby club and that sounded tempting and I knew I would be OK at a rugby club. The women were epic, you were epic too.’ She kissed his cheek and smiled widely at him.

He happily grinned back, feeling an unexpected warmth in his groin. Danny was used to being single; he trained so hard that his love life had taken a back seat. Amy was a stunner, and it occurred to him that if he asked her nicely, she may go out on a date with him. He was already in her good books for rescuing her. He opened his mouth, ‘Amy-’

A throat was cleared, ‘Ummm, I got some port, it seemed more Christmassy.’ Matt was standing above them looking like a just-kicked puppy, with a bottle and a few glasses in hand.

‘Ooh, port. Lovely idea,’ congratulated Amy.

The penny dropped for Danny – Matt only acted like he had when he fancied a woman. There had been jokes about how incompetent at flirting he was, and that it was usually obvious. So obvious that the boys usually gave him carte blanche just for the entertainment value. Somehow, Danny had missed the signs.

‘I got a glass for Emma but she’s fallen asleep.’

Danny glanced to his other side to see Emma dozing, curled up. Beth was the only one still awake, and she gave Danny an incomprehensible glare.

What had he done wrong there?

He was confused. First Matt, now Beth. Definitely too much to drink if he couldn’t figure out what was going on. He excused himself, ‘Sorry, little boys’ room is calling.’

The bar group had dwindled by half, and the remainder not watching the classic matches were dozing in chairs or singing mournful songs in the far corner. The break didn’t do much to clear his head. On his return, he picked up a couple of blankets, intending to head for the function rooms. Perhaps sleep would be a better bet?

‘You know those are the larrrshhtt ones,’ Jim informed him. As it had quietened and his services were rarely needed, Jim had joined the other drinkers. ‘I wash keepin’ dem for der women.’ He nodded towards their group.

That meant Danny had to stick around.  He wandered back just as Amy stood for her own visit to the loo.

Emma was shifting around a bit in her sleep, tucking her hands in her sleeves to warm up so Danny carefully lay one of the blankets partly over her. Beth and the others had found their own covers so he held the other out to Matt, ‘Here, last one for you and Amy.’

Matt looked guilty, ‘Danny, I’m really sorry about interrupting before, I don’t know…it was clumsy of me. I panicked.’

‘Why did you panic? Do you like her?’

Matt nodded so hard, his dark hair fell in his eyes, ‘As soon as I saw her, I had to stop myself from lifting her out of your arms.’

Danny laughed, ‘I’d have been quite happy for you to, my arms were killing me.’

‘Then when she returned…’ Matt rubbed his chest. ‘And she’s really nice and smart and knows about rugby. But you have dibs.’

‘Nah, the floor is yours.’

Matt’s shoulders relaxed, ‘I owe you a million.’ His shoulders stiffened up, ‘Fuck, that means I’ll definitely have to ask her.’ He knocked back a mouthful of port.

‘What’s up?’ Amy had returned silently on her socked feet. ‘Ask me what?’

Matt’s gulp was audible. ‘Amy, wouldyouliketogoforadrinksometime? Please?’


‘OK? You will?’


‘OK.’ Matt looked lost for words.

Danny nudged him, ‘This is when you’re supposed to find out where she’d like to go and when.’


‘I’ll leave you to it.’ He couldn’t spoon-feed Matt what he should do next; he was hardly experienced himself recently. Danny regained his position on the mat next to Emma, and tucked himself under the remaining half of blanket. He only felt a twinge of envy as Matt and Amy moved closer and closer together, instead sipping his port and watching Jonny drop that goal once more, then his eyes began drifting closed.


Mmmm. Something smelled fresh and clean, and felt soft against his face. A little body was snuggled partially over him, breasts against his chest and arm, hips against his awakening groin. Who was it? The bundle of womanhood groaned slightly, and yawned.

And stiffened.

Danny concentrated on staying relaxed, not sure who it was or what he should do. Last he could remember was seeing Jonno holding the Webb Ellis Cup aloft. Unfortunately, his body disagreed, continuing to harden.

Did he imagine her rubbing against him slightly?

‘Pssssttt! Emma!’

The hair was lifted away from his face, and he felt a sharp inhale. Then, slowly, the body moved off him. He felt some regret in letting it go, and some deflation in the groin area. Luckily. Otherwise the blanket resettling around him might have looked quite obscene.

It felt colder without his feminine extra. There was whispering around him, some soft snores and the creak of a door, the clink of a glass. And a giggle hushed up.

He slowly cracked his eyes open, to see the TV screen black and dark. Some bright light was coming in around the edges of the curtains, illuminating the bar area. He sat up slowly, his body creaking and aches from the previous day’s effort making themselves known.

None of the women’s team were there, but Matt was curled around Amy, contented smiles on both of their dozing faces. A couple of others were asleep across chairs, including Jim.

The bar door squeaked and he turned to see Beth sneaking in. The smell of bacon wafted over, and his stomach grumbled. He lifted a hand, and she looked guilty for a moment, then pressed a finger to her lips before crooking it.

Following the captain into the corridor towards another function room, the enticing scent of bacon strengthened as did the buzz of chatter.

‘We’ve raided the kitchens.’ Beth could speak normally once out of the bar. ‘We’re using the function room closest for breakfast. Some people are going to try getting home or to work once the drive is cleared.’ There was a cheer from outside, ‘And others need the energy.’

There seemed to be more people in the room than in the bar last night. Danny spotted a couple of families with kids tucking in to platefuls. They definitely weren’t around last night. The TV screens were showing dramatic pictures of snow rescues and kids tobogganing down slopes.

‘Half of the street lost power when a car hit ice and street furniture. They’re sheltering here while the electricity company sorts it out. We’ve set up a playroom next door.’ Beth handed Danny a plate of food. ‘Get that down you, there’s digging to do.’


‘Shovelling snow.’


As Danny ate, he searched for a glimpse of Emma. To no avail; there wasn’t a peep of her bouncing brunette head. However, ten minutes later a yawning Matt and Amy came in, the latter on her crutches. They waved before grabbing their own plates of food and joining him, Matt solicitously carrying both plates.

‘Sleep well?’

Matt and Amy smiled happily back around mouthfuls of food, glancing and each other and blushing.

‘How’s the ankle?’

Amy pulled a face, ‘Throbbing a bit, like my head. Beth has already given me some painkillers.

‘Good. Apparently we’ve some shovelling to do. Well, Matt and I have, to clear the club drive enough for cars to get out, and help some locals.’

‘People have cars here?’

‘A few were leaving them here overnight anyway and collecting them in the morning once they were sober enough to drive.’

Matt cleared his mouth, ‘Mine’s one of them. I was going to take a bus or taxi home last night and return this morning. It’s going to be a big dig; the snow’s really deep out there, over a foot, nearly two in parts.’

‘Really?’ Danny hadn’t thought to look outside yet, he’d been distracted by his experience on waking, and that Emma had since disappeared.

‘That’s one hell of a Michael Fish moment for someone; there was no prediction of snow for the south-east at all. Just a hard frost.’

Amy hummed, ‘They changed the forecast late morning, but by then it was too late for many. Me included, I was Christmas shopping before getting ready for the party and didn’t think to check.’

Matt teased the woman by his side, ‘You were underdressed for any kind of weather, admit it.’

‘Yeah, there is that,’ she admitted with a grin. ‘I wasn’t planning on walking anywhere though. Strictly taxi and train, with emergency taxi money just in case, hence the fifty-quid note I used for the drinks once I knew I was stuck here. See, I wasn’t being totally daft.’ She nudged Matt playfully.

Danny watched as the two teased each other while they cleared their plates, then Amy excused herself to go for a shower. Matt helped her part of the way, until Amy patted his cheek reassuringly and sent him back.

Matt grinned ruefully as he rejoined Danny with a couple of mugs of coffee, passing one over. ‘She’s going to freshen up, Beth’s found some toothbrushes. Wanna go for a walk?’

‘OK.’ They wandered out of the function room towards the main part of the club. ‘You know, I’ve never seen you so comfortable with a woman.’

Matt continued to grin, ‘She’s wonderful, isn’t she? I can’t believe she wants to go out with me. We chatted for hours and then she fell asleep in my arms. I’m going to drive her home later.’

Potty. Absolutely head over heels.

Danny couldn’t help another pang of envy. Which somehow reminded him of Emma. He glanced around, wondering if she would reappear.

‘Who’re you looking for?’ Matt’s grin had turned into a smirk. ‘Emma, perchance?’


‘You’ve always had a soft spot for her.’

More like hard after that morning, thought Danny. He felt a twitch in his groin at the memory.

‘And she seems to like your company. Nothing’s ever happened between you, has it?’

‘She’s a player, no consorting between players and coaching staff, remember?’

‘You’re not a coach any more, are you?’

‘No, I’m not,’ realised Danny as he pushed the main club doors open and cold air rushed in. ‘Ooh, look, someone’s built a snowman.’


The first missile splatted into him milliseconds later, then they were bombarded by a barrage of white balls.

‘Oh shee-eesus!’

Danny and Matt both backed up and the doors swung closed to the sound of feminine and childish giggles. They looked at each other and laughed at the lumps of snow in their hair and clothes, even lumps sinking into and cooling the remains of their coffees.

‘War?’ Matt raised an eyebrow at Danny.


Seconds later, they were pulling their coats on, cups discarded. They paused by the double doors, noting that the frosted glass panels probably gave warning that someone was coming out.

Matt peered through a cleared piece of glass, ‘Looks like they’ve set up camp about twenty yards away, they’ve built up a wall. We’ll have to reach around the back to disarm them. Let them waste their fire, then we’ll attack.’

They dived out of the doors, one going left and one going right, landing in the soft snow. Shouts of alarm rang out, and more white missiles inundated them as they skirted the bunker, just beyond reach of the artillery powered by an adult and a couple of children.

Danny followed the sound of a familiar laugh as the shower gradually lightened. Their stockpile must have been running low.

‘Attack now!’

He ran as Matt sprinted in from the opposite direction. Two children jumped out, and began running away, screaming with delight. However, snowballs continued to be thrown from the dugout.

‘I’ll take the deserters, you go for HQ!’ Matt yelled as he jogged after the youngsters, giving them a chance to get away.

Several more hits, and Danny started sending hastily made lumps back towards the snowy barricade. He must have hit his target as there was a disgruntled squeal.

‘Do you surrender?’

‘No surrender!’ a woman yelled back, and pelted him with another couple of snowballs.

He jumped over, and found the woman he had been looking for.


When Danny had begun as assistant coach to the women’s team, their main coach was Paul. Although competent, Paul had been notorious for being a bit handsy with some of the women. Matters had escalated elsewhere as a result of Paul’s flirtations, and he left the club shortly after. The more-professional Marcus had taken over, and Club management had had a word with Danny and Marcus, making it clear that even though they were volunteers, they didn’t want a repeat. Danny had taken that to mean avoiding even mild flirtations. So, he’d never even considered the women sexually, even though they sometimes flirted with him. They were out of bounds.

Or were they?

Now he was actually looking at her, laughing, with clumps of snow in the hair escaping from her bobble hat, he realised how much he liked her. She had always been enthusiastic about drills, even in the worst of weather, and listened carefully to his instructions. She was intelligent, great with kids and a joy to be with. He’d missed her since another former player had taken over his role.

‘Emma-’ He had fistful of snow in his face for his troubles.

Danny charged her, taking her down onto the soft snow but not landing on her.  She giggled. ‘No surrender!’

‘Are you sure?’ He captured her hands and pinned her lower body down with a restraining leg.

She tried to wriggle away, but couldn’t. ‘Temporary ceasefire?’ she asked hopefully.

‘Cheeky.’ Her mouth was so close to his, he couldn’t resist a pecking kiss.

Her eyes were wide when he drew back, ‘Oh.’ She bit her lip.

Danny’s gaze was drawn to the white teeth nibbling the edge of her pink mouth, ‘Oh?’

Her body softened under his, she stopped fighting as clouds of breath puffed quickly from her mouth.

Sod it, he would kiss her again. He released her hands, and her lips met his halfway.

She tasted minty and fresh and warm and new and like home, all at the same time. Their kiss deepened as they both murmured with delight. He felt her hands in his hair as his tucked her closer.


A ball of ice hit both of them on their heads, breaking the moment. ‘Ow!’ groaned Emma.

He lifted off her as the guilty parties ran away chortling, and helped her to her feet. His body was humming with need, with wanting to get closer to the brunette. ‘You OK?’

Emma gave an awkward smile and brushed the rest of the snow out of her hair and off her clothes, ‘I’m fine.’

They stared at each other, wordlessly, for several moments, until the opening of the club doors broke the tension.

‘Time for you to come in, kids and grown-up kids,’ shouted Beth. Then she noticed Danny and Emma, ‘You two can stay out until you’ve had a proper chat. Don’t freeze.’

They were left by themselves in the white wilderness. Emma looked so small stood there, this time avoiding his eyes, a pink flush on her cheeks.

Danny summoned up his courage; if Matt could do it, so could he. ‘So, Emma…would you like to go for a drink some time?’

***The End***


noun: coincidence; plural noun: coincidences; noun: co-incidence; plural noun: co-incidences
  1. 1.
    a remarkable concurrence of events or circumstances without apparent causal connection.
    “it was a coincidence that she was wearing a jersey like Laura’s”
    synonyms: accident, chance, serendipity, fate, a twist of fate, destiny, fortuity, fortune, providence, freak, hazard; More

    a piece of good fortune, (a bit of) luck, (a bit of) good luck, a fluke, a happy chance;
    “the resemblances are too close to be mere coincidence”
  2. 2.
    the fact of corresponding in nature or in time of occurrence.
    “the coincidence of interest between the mining companies and certain politicians”
    synonyms: co-occurrence, coexistence, conjunction, simultaneity, simultaneousness, contemporaneity, contemporaneousness, concomitance, synchronicity, synchrony;

Earlier this evening, I came across something which made me think. I’ve been finishing off a short story for the Literotica Winter Holiday Contest, and was reviewing the description of the characters. Then, as part of a break, I was reading Golden Angel’s latest blog posts and realised something:

Our Dommes had the same colour hair. They were both redheads.

Now, I know this is a minor coincidence as my Domme Lindsay was featured in Playing For Keeps, and even though it’s only recently been published, most of that novel was written over a year before I had started to read Golden Angel’s excellent Venus and Stronghold series, but it still made me jump.

It reminded me of another coincidence: the first rugby match I saw after the publishing of Playing For Keeps had a Tom at 8 and a scrum half called Alex. Weird, huh?

I’ve had a house guest staying with me for a few days, a young rugby player. I’ve been asking him questions for research purposes and he’s been telling me of things he’s heard, and got up to. Recently, he told me about a new physio at another team who’d already been seduced by a handful of players…shortly after I’d drafted out a similar storyline. This Sunday, he mentioned the MFM orgy he’d had on Saturday night…while  since Friday, I’ve been immersed in writing my first MFM story.

As I mentioned in It’s really not about you…honest!, these things happen, and usually make me laugh. But every now and again a chill runs down my back, what if someone thinks it’s a lack of creativity? Speaking with other writers, some admit to refusing to read another writer’s novels while they’re plotting, as they’re afraid to unintentionally plagiarise. I’m hoping there’s enough new material in my brain to not do that, but coincidences will still happen.





Drawing the lines between romance, erotic romance, erotica, & porn

I read a post by L.E. May recently, Do books still get judged by their cover? which reflected some of what I’ve been thinking in the last month or so.

These past few weeks, I’ve been doing a fair bit of writing/editing/promotion. So much that I’ve hardly been out on my bike (oh, the shame!) My main focus has been split between the third in the Harford Scarlet series, Playing Away/With Fire (I know, I know; I call it ‘Playing Away’, the Publisher knows it as ‘Playing With Fire’ and we’ll have to sort it out soon) and a continuation of my BDSM story, Playing Power Games (Mum – if you’re reading this DO NOT click on that link. Please). I also did some rewriting of Playing Up, making it a prologue for the Harford Scarlet series, and added it to Amazon and Smashwords (Mum – please don’t click on those either, I’ll do a PG13 version for you).

I’ve noticed one thing: worryingly, the heat level in each piece of work is at a different level.

Adding in the second novel, Playing Around (coming in December 2014), and I generally cover each one of the categories in the title of this post, except ‘porn’ (too much character development apparently). I’d say most of my work varies between romance and erotica, but there is a lot of ground to cover there.

Why does this matter? I’d like to think you’ll know what you’re getting when you pick up a ‘Toria Lyons’ piece of work. The pedant in me would prefer consistency. The daughter in me would like to be writing something her mother could read. *blushes* The pragmatist in me is screaming that for the sake of my overdraft, I should be writing whatever will earn me a few pennies. And the writer in me just wants to write what she is inspired to write, at that moment in time.

Why has this happened? Because when I write, it depends what mood I’m in. Sometimes I like to do the emotional stuff, sometimes I like to move the plot on, and sometimes I love to write a naughty sex scene. Games was actually a deliberate challenge to write something waaaaaaay out of my comfort zone (it was a Literotica Valentine’s Day contest entry and I’m still chuffed to say it came third on the US-dominated site), and continuing the tale has included a lot of research that I never thought I would be doing. BDSM protocols can be rather complex, toys very varied and personal reactions vary.

What has this got to do with the lovely post by L.E. May? Well, I’m always surprised to open Playing For Keeps and see the under the title, ‘An erotic novel’!

I suppose it’s the bluntness, it rather slaps you in the face. THIS IS EROTIC, THIS IS! Has anyone said they wouldn’t read it due to the implication that it’s a bit saucy?  Not that I know of, although to be honest, I haven’t given them the chance!

I’m hoping I’ll be judged solely what’s inside the cover pages. *fingers firmly crossed*


(As a sidenote, I’m finding it weird to sign books on request. I’ve always believed that defacing a book was wrong, so writing in one is still really peculiar to me. Plus I never know what to write, and I’m terrified of making a mistake and spoiling the whole book! I’m getting better at it though, and buying me a drink first certainly helps.)



A Wheelie Good Time – free story!

A Wheelie Good Time

A ride in more than one sense of the word

Just a naughty little short as I take a break from writing my rugby series. I love cycling.

This has not been edited by another person, so please excuse any mistakes.


P.S. Don’t be worried if I’m on your wheel, I rarely letch at a man’s arse. Honest. Unless they’re an ex-rugby player. Hehe.


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Adara watched his taut buttocks moving, the muscles bunching and elongating, intimately revealing every line of his fit body through the thin black fabric, and prayed she wouldn’t embarrass herself.

The saddle was rubbing against her and she could already feel herself swelling and getting wet, threatening to gush through the padding of the cycling shorts.  She consoled herself by reflecting that a damp-looking crotch at the cafe stop wouldn’t be anything new to the fellow Lycra-clad cyclists. After all, cycling fifty-odd miles in the blazing summer sun meant nobody was particularly fragrant or fresh-looking by cake and coffee time. And tottering like John Wayne due to the arousal between her legs would just be attributed to normal saddle-fatigue.

Besides, bringing herself off in the loo cubicles may be her only option for relief.

If she had known, when she turned up for the regular Sunday club run, that she, as one of the slower riders, would be paired up with Gareth while the annoyingly fast youth riders tore off, she would have spent the previous night with her vibrator. Gareth, the dark-haired, dark-eyed ex-rugby player with the body better than most Greek Gods. Gareth with the ponytail, the stubble, the broad shoulders, narrow waist and, hell, what was that expression? Mouth-watering buns of steel. Oh yes.

She restrained a whimper as he came out of the saddle and she had another eyeful of those particularly sweet treats.

She was used to being dropped when the whippet-like lads upped the pace, but there were usually others fancying a more leisurely ride. That morning, at the car park meeting point, she had looked around the gathered cyclists and forlornly realised there wasn’t anyone of her pace there. When Gareth piped up and said he wasn’t up for a hard one, she had to restrain a snigger before her heart leapt in anticipation. When he also suggested cycling the lanes rather than the faster-but-busier main roads, she smiled in happiness. She’d temporarily forgotten that cycling together would mean having to watch his backside for at least fifty percent of the time.

Torture. Sheer, erotic torture.

Oh god, his thighs were wonderfully powerful, tanned with a light dusting of hair. She would love to feel him using that strength to thrust inside her. Taking her from behind, those wide shoulders covering her, dominating her.

She shifted in the saddle, pushing her clit into the leather, rubbing herself against it. So, so close. A tremor ran through her and she moaned, ‘Oh!’

‘You OK?’ Gareth glanced round briefly to check on her.

‘Fine,’ she confirmed throatily. ‘Just a little…bump in the road.’

He gave no sign of having heard her, and she decided that her aching loins would have to wait. Somehow.

At least the countryside was pretty, the rolling country lanes bordered by six foot hedges with vast expanses of lush green fields on the other side. Sporadic gateways gave glimpses of the field’s occupants, usually sheep or horses, although many were empty or contained crops.

It wasn’t safe for Adara to spend too much time looking anywhere but at Gareth, but she managed it for a while. Well, a few minutes, until she was transfixed by the rear view of him. So transfixed she nearly missed his next question.

‘Fancy winding the pace up for a sprint? Here to the next village sign?’

‘Why not?’ Anything to distract from his beautiful backside.

As Gareth increased the pace, Adara had to concentrate on keeping on his wheel, keeping that foot-length between his rear and her front to maximise drafting and conserve her energy for an attack. If she stayed within that limit, despite his greater strength, she may be able to surprise him and sprint past. If she was patient enough. Patience was key. Timing was everything. Like when a man thrust his hard cock inside her for the first time. That glorious feeling of fullness just when she wanted it.

Oh fuck! That moment of inattention meant she had dropped several feet off his wheel. She worked harder for a few moments to get back on as they swept around a corner. She could hear him beginning to breathe heavily, like a man who had just come.

As her imagination ran wild again, she almost missed Gareth signalling to pull over and let her take the lead for a while. Adara focussed on maintaining the speed he had set, pulling over herself a short while later as the burn in her legs set in. They took turns taking the wind, their only communication the twitching of arms and hands as they swapped over.

They flew around another corner and houses began to break up the hedgerows on either side. Once the village sign was in sight, Gareth really slammed the hammer down, and Adara had to hang on for dear life. Yards from the sign, with one final push with energy she didn’t know she had, she pulled out and shot past him just at the right time.

‘Woohoo!’ she yelled joyfully, punching the air with one fist and laughing as she slowed. The adrenalin rush that came with winning swept over her, in a feeling not far off an orgasm.

Gareth came up alongside her, grinning ruefully and gasping. ‘Well done,’ he congratulated.

‘Thanks,’ puffed Adara. ‘That was such a rush, better than sex!’

‘Depends on who you’re doing it with,’ corrected Gareth.

‘No one at the moment, I’m single.’

‘Me too.’

They looked at each other and Adara wished that they both weren’t wearing sunglasses and helmets, so they could see each other’s faces. Was he flirting with her?

She couldn’t think what to say in return, and they continued cycling through the village two-abreast, singling out for the odd car.

Gareth eventually broke the pregnant silence, ‘So, how long have you been cycling?’

‘Since last year, an ex got me into it.’

‘You’re pretty good at sprinting. Do you race?’

‘Not yet, I’m not brave enough.’ Adara grinned ruefully.

‘But you plan to?’

‘Once I’m fitter, yeah…maybe. I’d need to lose some weight first, most of the girls are size six to ten, I’m verging on twelve.’ She looked down at her body wryly, at the curves the tight kit was covering.

‘Don’t lose any more, you’re perfectly proportioned as it is.’

She allowed herself a little smile, ‘Not great for racing though, or climbing hills, I usually get left behind. What about you?’

‘Had to give up the rugby a couple of years ago, too many injuries. Someone suggested getting a road bike and I’ve never looked back. Lost loads of bulk too, but in a good way. I still work out my upper body though, otherwise I’d look odd.’

‘You look perfectly proportioned to me.’ They looked at each other again, and Adara cursed the sunglasses again. ‘Why the slower pace today?’

Gareth laughed, ‘Hangover from last night. You still won that sprint fair and square.’

‘You did more work on the front than me though, so we can call it a draw.’

Going slower and chatting, the heat caught up with them and Adara partially unzipped her jersey, cursing that the overriding colours of that and the club shorts were black, black and more black. Nice in winter, didn’t show stains and looked smart, but attracted heat on the hottest of summer days.

Gareth glanced over at her a couple of times, ‘As much as I appreciate a bit of skin, better do that up once the pace increases.’

Adara blushed and laughed, ‘Yeah, I’d want the only occupant of my bra today to be me.’

‘Had insects down your jersey before?’

She nodded, ‘Yeah, I once cycled through a swarm of bees, eventually I had to strip off to get them all out. You should have seen me screaming and dancing around by the side of the road just in shorts. Had a few comments from strangers passing by.’

Gareth chuckled and said something about wishing under his breath before clearing his throat, ‘Were you stung much?’

‘A few times down my cleavage and on my…err, breasts.’ Adara traced a hand to where the painful lumps had been.

‘Oof!’ Gareth yelped as he went through a pothole he’d been too distracted to see. ‘Err, that must have hurt.’

‘What, the stings? Not too bad, they had almost gone by the time I got home and found some antihistamine cream to rub on.’

Once out of the village and recovered from their exertions, they started to pick the pace up again. They had an awkward moment when neither could decide who to go in front.

‘Since you beat me in the sprint, it’s your turn to lead,’ eventually nominated Gareth.

Adara was quite happy and relieved with that; even cycling alongside, she had been sneaking glances at him, his strong profile and temptingly firm lips. She pulled in front of him, put her head down and began working harder.

A few minutes later, she came out of the saddle for a sharp rise, efficiently pumping the pedals to keep momentum, her hips shifting smoothly. Halfway up, she couldn’t miss the groan from behind, ‘You ok?’

‘Yeah, just a bit of a twinge,’ he panted back.

Adara gave a sigh of contentment, now she was leading, she could almost forget her companion. Almost forget the electrifying effect he was having on her body, and the heat between her legs. Almost. She was having to work harder out of the draft, but there was no actual wind to speak of. Whenever they slowed, the heat of the day would catch up with them. The sultry smells of a summer in the country surrounded them, along with suntan lotion, sweat and tar from the roads. When in the open, the heat shimmered off the tarmac, creating temporary mirages ahead. Riding under sheltering trees, the sun dappled the ground and disguised possible hazards.

Adara squinted at the road, having particular trouble. She quickly signalled to warn of a particularly large pothole in the road, and cringed as her own tyres only just missed dropping into it.

Gareth wasn’t so lucky. She heard a bang and, ‘Fuck!’ from behind, closely followed by, ‘Shit! Flat! Ease Up!’

She coasted into a grassy gateway, out of the way of what little traffic there was and removed her helmet, shaking out her long brown hair. She was grateful for the little shade offered by the trees; once stopped, the heat really hit.

Gareth followed shortly, walking his wounded mount and frowning. Sure enough, his back tyre sagged to the ground, the rubber flat around the wheel. He lowered the bike onto its side on the soft grass and took off his helmet too, running fingers through his darkened, sweat-laden hair and retying it.

‘That was a nasty hole, did you see my signal? It was a bit difficult to see until the last minute,’ babbled Adara, afraid she had done something wrong. It wasn’t always possible to avoid potholes but it was wise to. You really couldn’t know how deep they were or what they contained.

‘Yeah, I was a bit distracted though,’ confessed Gareth. ‘All my fault for choosing the wrong time to…swig some water.’ After partially unzipping his jersey, he crouched down to undo the quick-release skewer.

‘Need anything?’ she asked, trying not to gape at his strong forearms and thinking of the flash of solid, hair-dusted chest he’d just exposed. She breathed deeply, taking in the tempting scent of fresh male sweat and was grateful for the glasses covering her eyes. There was just so much masculinity. His shoulder muscles rippled under the formfitting jersey as he carefully pulled the wheel away from the bike frame.

He glanced up at her and smiled, ‘Nope, got it all in my second bidon, thanks.’ He gestured towards the cage holding a clear bottle containing an inner tube and some tools.

The smile just did it for her, her female parts clenched once again. ‘I’m just going…for a comfort break,’ she squeaked.

Strictly speaking, a comfort break meant the loo, but Adara justified the little white lie to herself. She couldn’t be in comfort until she’d done something to dissipate the heat gathered in her body.

The five bar gate into the field was easy to scale and she headed for a copse of trees, her body burning. Once out of sight, she knelt down in a grassy hollow, dropping her glasses, frantically unzipping her jersey and stripping it off, pulling the straps of her bib shorts down so she could shift the shorts down to her knees. No knickers to remove, her fingers dipped straight in and she moaned with relief from the direct touch.

After a hard squeeze of her breasts through the thick elastic sports bra, she settled with a forearm on the ground, her head resting against it so any noise would be muffled by the grass. Her other hand was busy between her legs, she was so wet she was squelching.

She usually lay on her back to masturbate, this position was less usual for her but she needed to muffle her gasps of pleasure. Already she could feel the coils of pleasure tightening in her belly. She could smell sweat, sunscreen, grass and herself, only missing the scent of a male. Him. Those thighs. That arse. What did he have between those muscular thighs? Would it be long? Thick? Veined or smooth?

Her fingers swirled around her swollen nub, her rhythm quickening and sighs increasing. The frustration that had been building up all morning was coming to a peak.  She was so, so close but still couldn’t come. She needed something more, something…

Her frustrated gaze fell on the small hand pump in the back pocket of her jersey. Could she? It was smooth enough, long enough, and maybe just about wide enough to feel.

Sod it; she needed something cock-like inside her. She grabbed the slim aluminium tube, shook it loose from the pocket and touched it to her. It was warm, heated by the close proximity to her body and the sun. She moved it around her swollen lips, stretching the tension out before brutally thrusting it inside her.

‘Ahhh,’ a sigh escaped her. She thrust again, and again, moaning constantly, forgetting to keep quiet. In and out, a quick twist, squeezing it tightly with her inner muscles. It wasn’t quite thick enough but was enough.

Just as her body wound up to coming, she heard something close to her, felt footsteps.

She lifted her head. Gareth was stood frozen a couple of metres away. The zip of his jersey was even further down his chest, and from one hand dangled his saddle bag.

‘I…I called but you didn’t answer…you’ve been some time…I heard noises, I thought…’ The sunglasses ensured his gaze was inscrutable but he didn’t look away. ‘I forgot my pump. Can I borrow yours?’

She groaned with embarrassment, her head falling back onto her arm. Her body was screaming for completion, she was just so near to coming. ‘Oh fuck,’ she muttered.’

The pump took that inauspicious moment to slide out of her and drop to the ground. Her embarrassment was total, but that sudden empty feeling was nearly as bad. A shiver ran through her. She had been so close.

She had to take her hand from between her legs to pick up the pump. Her fingers slipped on the juice-covered, narrow tube, and she looked down at it, wondering how she could give it to him. Should she be covering herself up instead? Forgetting the pump for the moment, she began tugging awkwardly at the bib shorts caught around her calves, her backside wiggling.

Gareth’s breathing becoming louder and she risked a brief glance up. All that caught her eyes was a massive bulge between his legs. He was aroused, and big at that.

‘Oh my fucking god.’ She shuddered, her body clenching around thin air, wanting that flesh and blood tool inside her.

‘Adara, look up.’ She lifted her head further as he shucked off his glasses and met his hot eyes. ‘I can help you with that.’ Gareth nodded towards her and started removing his jersey, ‘If you want, of course.’

The rasp of the zip seemed as loud as her breathing, she frantically nodded back at him and he pulled down his bib shorts. He was fully aroused, his hard cock sticking straight out. He knelt in front of her prostrate form, undoing her bra fastening and stripping the thick black fabric off.

‘Let’s have a look at you.’He coaxed her into a kneeling position facing him. ‘Shit, you’re hot.’ He fondled himself and groaned.  Hesitatingly, almost as if he was waiting for her to object, he cupped her breasts and pinched the nipples.

Her eyes temporarily lost focus with the pleasure, ‘Need cock,’ she muttered. ‘Gimme.’

He was hard, so hard, with pre-come already welling up on his damp skin. Her hands were small on him, he would stretch her a fair bit more than the pump had.

She groaned suddenly, ‘No way you have a condom?’

‘Bag, here.’ He fumbled with the small black bag, bringing out a square of foil. ‘I was a boy scout and the wrappers make good tyre wall reinforce…fuck,’ he swore as she roughly stripped off her bib shorts and attacked him, her legs straddling his and rubbing her wetness on him.

‘I’ve been thinking about this all morning, I won’t be able to last long,’ gasped Adara as her hips undulated. Her hands moved up and down his back, barely giving him a chance to pull open the packet and smooth the rubber over himself.

‘Doesn’t the man usually say that?’ panted Gareth as he sat back on his heels, his arms full of mostly naked writhing female. He took control of her hips, lifting up and rubbing her against him but not inside.

Without realising, Adara began pleading with him, he lifted her up slowly and at a frustratingly cautious pace, he began slipping inside

The real thing was soooooooo much better than the inanimate pump, thought Adara, ‘Oh yesssssss!’ she hissed.

She tightened around him as he slowly stretched her until he was completely seated within her. He wasn’t small at all, his cock was a good, thick size, and she hadn’t had anything in her for a long time. She tried to catch her breath, the erotic shudders making her arch her back and rubbing her breasts against his solid, sweat-dampened chest. Her eyes glazed over, instinct taking precedence. Her hands moved to squeeze her breasts roughly, to pull the nipples, and her hips thrust at him as hard as she could.

Somehow, he lay back, letting her ride him. It was even better for her. Her hands darted from her lips to her breasts, running down her body to the thrumming, swollen, slippery heat between her legs. She was so close, she didn’t have enough hands, she growled in frustration.

He heard her appeal, his hands moving to cover her swollen breasts, copying her actions and squeezing them harshly, tugging on the engorged nipples and bringing her upper body closer to his.

The change in angle as he pressed against her swollen clit spurred the tsunami of sensation to break within her. She shrieked as a glorious crescendo was reached, the combination of the pleasure and pain of his hands on her breasts and the delicious pressure and hardness between her squeezing thighs. The pleasure was nearly unbearable, waves of heat rebounding through her.

The world spun as he turned her over, stretching one leg up to hammer inside her, his head thrown back and teeth gritted. As the ripples of shock quaked her, the thrusting increased the satisfaction, until it felt like she was going to come again. Her hands smoothed down his back, her nails dug into his firm buttocks and her hips circled his.

His hips jolted harder and she squeezed him as tight as she could. He yelped as he began to spurt inside her, his groans unstoppable. His upper body collapsed on her as tremors of bliss continued to run through them both.

It was quiet while they caught their breath. Gareth reflexively kept pushing inside her as he shrunk a little, they both enjoyed the aftershocks.

Eventually, he slipped out of her and she could feel the condom loosening, ‘We … we’d better … the condom.’

He took the hint, pulling himself to one side, taking it off and tying a knot. She missed his weight, the fullness inside her straightaway. Her hands ran up and down her sides, to the mire between her legs and she rubbed her tender, swollen knot as she kicked her legs out.

‘Any more of that and I’ll be ready to go again,’ he commented, bemused at her actions.

Adara barked with laughter, ‘I wouldn’t say no, I feel great.’

‘Me too.’

She turned her head to meet his smiling, hot eyes, ‘Good.’

Minutes passed as their heartbeats slowed and perspiration dried. The wind picked up slightly, the cooler breeze leading to Adara eventually stirring. She sat up, looked around for her jersey and pulled some tissues out of a pocket. ‘Here,’ she chucked a couple over to him as she tried to dry herself off.

Adara strapped her bra back on, awkwardly located her socks and yanked her bib shorts back into place. He started dressing too, sitting back down to pull on his socks on as she rooted around the grass, picking up items that had fallen from her jersey pockets. She was kneeling, wiping down the pump when she felt him pushing behind her. She gasped, her body ready in seconds, ‘We can’t, no more condoms.’

‘Don’t worry, I was just tempted by your wiggling arse.’ He thrust against her a couple more times, the layers of Lycra and shorts padding frustratingly dulling the sensations before moving away and standing.

Somehow she managed to pull herself together, straightening the rest of her kit.

‘We stink of sex,’ observed Gareth as he zipped up his jersey.

Adara sniffed and barked with laughter, ‘Straight home for a shower then? If that pump still works.’

‘We’ll call a taxi if needed. Which is closer, yours or mine?’ His dark eyes burned.

Before she could answer, they heard a call from the direction of the gate, ‘Hello, cyclists? Having trouble?’

They both giggled at the timely interruption and made their way out of the hollow, to greet the helpful driver who fortunately had a track pump in his car. After they waved goodbye to their rescuer, Gareth and Adara mounted their steeds and headed back towards town at top speed.

It was a nice day for a ride.

*The End*

Or do you want more? Please comment!

Knickers to a VPL

Why I won’t be waving the white flag and giving up my skimpy knickers.

SAM_0951This is what you need.

I recently read a blog post by Tabitha Rayne about giving up skimpy and returning to the big knicker. Tabitha does say she finds the VPL sexy, but the gist of the comments below was that the ‘Bridget Jones’ was more comfy. I’ve had friends saying similar for a while, that they don’t wear skimpy underwear because it’s not comfortable.

Pants to that!

I contend that the problem is with design of the knicker in question. Or simply, a basic string versus a thick elastic thong.

Look at the lovely item above! There’s nothing to it, and it’s as comfy as comfy gets. (Admittedly, it’s white which is the most impractical colour for underwear ever.  I learnt the perils of white underwear when young; my mother used to always boil-wash anything white into an attractive dingy grey. The reason it’s still brilliant white is because I buy multipacks and only wear the black or nude ones, so the white are left over.)

The trouble with a lot of thongs is that they’re only designed to be worn for a short time. If the bit between your legs is wider than the gap between your arse cheeks, of course it’s going to be uncomfortable. If the elastic is thick and unwieldy, it’s going to be uncomfortable. Plus if it’s not cotton or another natural fibre, and washed well, you run the risk of a visit from the tweety bird.

Here’s the case in point. (There’s not much which gets me taking photos of knickers on a line, but here we go.)

SAM_0953 (1024x768)

Observe from left to right the comfiness factor decreasing rapidly. I think I wore the one on the left once (and never again), the one in the middle is for special (short) occasions, and the black lacy one (the rear piece is one of the thin vertical black pieces)  I’m happy in for whole days out.

SAM_0954 (1024x768)

These are both optimum widths, however, the elastic of the black pair is stiffer, therefore less forgiving .

I’ve been wearing cotton strings for sixteen years now, and my only problem has been sourcing the ones I like – unfortunately they’re not easy to find. I even wear them comfortably when cycling, which is the one activity where I’m always lectured that I should be knickerless.

So you see, there is no need to accept the ugly VPL (IMO) of big knickers (and possibly upset your other halves), there are other options open to you.

P.S. if anyone wants to try a nice string, I can send you a nice white one. *winky thing*





It’s really not about you…honest!

‘All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.’ Standard disclaimer in many novels.


Since Playing For Keeps was published, I’ve had a few comments from people regarding who I’ve based my characters on. Some people are rather worried, or flattered, or perhaps frantically Googling ‘how to obtain a restraining order’. Conversely, some are upset that there doesn’t appear to be anyone based on them.

Don’t worry, it’s not about any of you. Really isn’t.

It can’t be, you see. As in the quote at the top, writers have to invent characters, places and scenarios. Otherwise we’d be biographers. I’d be lying if I said every smallest thing was fictional, but no character is truly a written representation of one real-life person.

It turns out some of them are unfortunately similar to real-life people. Some of them aren’t. That’s what happens. There are coincidences, which make me cringe and/or giggle when realised.

So, where did I find inspiration?

Ideas come from the internet, general life including attending local club rugby matches and going out for drinks with friends, plus some people-watching. Anywhere, in fact.

For the names of the characters in Playing for Keeps, at a London Scottish match I had a glance at the hospitality table plan. There were plenty of Celtic names there, so I wrote them down and later mixed and matched a few together. For any further names, I took a team sheet from another team and added a list of the most common first names. (I still have those lists somewhere, but I think the only one not used is ‘Fiona’. )

In PFK, and in PA, I also had to make sure some names were relatively commonplace, to fit into aspects of the plots.

It does help me keep focus to be able to ‘see’ my characters when I’m writing, so I’ve also started some boards on Pinterest, like this one for PFK. Are Tom and Sarah how you imagined?

So, that’s about it. Sorry to disappoint anyone.

Sex and cycling

‘Astonishingly, for a study commissioned to promote a bike show, cycling came out on top. In all, 36% of the women asked found men who cycle attractive, against 17% for football and 14% for rugby. If we believe the findings, the words women tended to associate with cyclists were the likes of “kind” and “intelligent”, as against “aggressive” and “selfish” for football lovers.’ Sexy cyclists: Hands up who fancies men with shaved legs?


So, for the previous two weekends, I have managed to combine my loves of rugby and cycling. I rarely go anywhere without my bike, so going for a ride and catching a game afterwards is great, if I have enough layers to keep warm.

As a rugby supporter, I can watch a game and appreciate the skill and effort, but as a woman I can also appreciate how hot some of the players are. There’s nothing like a lovely, fit, muscular body covered in tight-fitting kit, sweat and mud. (Unless they’re over ten years younger than me, in which case that would be a bit…squick.)

Not just the obvious too, there’s more to it than thighs, arse and chest. There’s the forearms, for example. I was talking to someone the other day and his forearms were just…lovely. Strong, nice wrists, light dusting of hair, a couple of scars, very hot…

*sighs wistfully*

Where was I? Oh yes, that brings me on to cycling.

Tight kit? Check.

Fit bodies? Check.

So, why don’t I find male cyclists as sexy as I find rugby players?

Simply, cycling isn’t that sexy. As mentioned in A Wheelie Good Time, ‘cycling fifty-odd miles in the blazing summer sun meant nobody was particularly fragrant or fresh-looking by cake and coffee time’. Or pub time, if you’re with a good crowd.

So, rugby players get sweaty too but that’s hot? What is it then? What’s the difference?

I think, for me personally, it’s the lack of upper body bulk. Simple as that. I’ve always felt well-built, my hormones want a man who is physically bigger than me. I have never fancied the slimmer or slight man. Cyclists in the main have absolutely no upper body bulk, and if they’re serious about putting the miles in, turn sideways and you’ll miss ’em. ‘Skeletal’ would be an understatement.

It’s not the kit thing. Really not. (Even though bib shorts are one of the most ridiculous-looking garments ever and paired with a cycling tan – brown arms with sharp tan line halfway down skinny bicep, rest of torso blindingly white.)

Bib shorts – here’s an example.

And the torso – “I’d like to thank all my teammates on Team Nipples-Pasty White Chest”

Oh, and there’s the shaved legs too. Call me picky but I find it rather disconcerting when a man has smoother legs than I do, despite how muscular those legs may be. I do wonder how far they’ve taken the shaving though. Mid thigh? Top of thigh? All the way? Is that really the type of thing you want to discover in bed?

(Btw, we know how ridiculous the full-kit outfit may look to others. Deal with it. We do.)

Some of the language is ridiculously sex-orientated: bonking, lube, greasing your axles, pumping your tyres up. Strangely, we get inured to all this, it mostly takes strangers to cycling to point it out. We laugh politely, and move on.

I know of people who would go into almost-orgasmic rapture over a nice line of carbon, or even, steel. I can appreciated how beautiful a lot of steel bikes are, and the workmanship can be fantastic. But is it really sexy?

Women can look ridiculously attractive in cycling gear. But I’m not a lesbian. I also dislike it when sex is used to sell women’s cycling gear (Assos are arseholes about this and although some of their kit is really nice, I won’t buy it for this reason).

Strangely, the men pictured doing manly things in cycling gear seldom have cycling physiques, and never have proper cycling tans.  Several times, I’ve heard male cycling friends criticising the choice of model as they can’t tell whether the kit would fit a cycling physique.

(Side story: Last year, I went to pick up a new jersey on a club open kit night. The upstairs of this house was taken up with men queuing for kit and trying it on. It was possibly one of the most surreal moments of my life to see and hear these men fussing over which size to buy, and asking their friends how it looked, complete with bending over and posing. I nipped in, grabbed a jersey, tried it on and left in the same amount of time one guy was trying to decide on which size to buy.)

Sitting in the pub yesterday, surrounded by fit and healthy (ish, we were in the pub) friends, we were trying to put our collective fingers on what it was, and couldn’t.

So my conclusion is, sadly, that cycling and cyclists just aren’t sexy. Sorry.

Unless they’re cyclists who used to be rugby players. That’s a whole different ball game…

Playing Up – free story!

Playing Up

Please note: this novella has not been professionally edited. It is an earlier version to the one currently edited and available on Amazon. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

The thumping nightclub music segued into a popular floor-filler and the excited crowd surged around her, almost knocking her off her too-high heels. Sian caught her balance just as two warm, strong hands around her waist steadied from behind. She sucked in her breath, conscious of the extra few pounds spilling over the waistband of the close-fitting trousers, and wondering who the gentleman was who was quick enough to notice she was in distress. The sea of revellers calmed, and the hands were removed as quickly as they appeared.

She carefully swivelled on her heels to see Rob standing close to her, wide shoulders protecting from further upset. A hot spark zinged through her belly. ‘Thanks for that,’ she acknowledged with a smile, shouting over the music.

He smiled back, his straight white teeth shining in the club lights, contrasting with his short dark mussed hair. ‘No problem, just glad you didn’t slap me for touching you without permission.’

So many responses flashed through her brain: that he could put his hands on her any time and she wouldn’t object; that she‘d love to touch him; that she’d want them to touch each other. She opened her mouth to say something but his attention was already distracted by a drink being handed to him. She decided to leave it with a smile, ‘See you later.’

As she walked away, she mentally kicked herself for not saying something more imaginative, something flirtatious to get his attention.

Clare was by the corner of the bar ordering a couple of drinks and Sian joined her. ‘You’ll never guess what I’ve gone and done now,’ she yelled over the music.

‘It’s something embarrassing, I can tell. Spit it out,’ commanded Clare.

‘Not really, but I completely missed out on an ideal flirting opportunity with Mr Powell,’ she groaned.

‘Never mind, you’ve got all night to make up for it. And there’s other fish in the sea.’

Sian thumped her forehead against the nearby wall, ‘But I can’t stop thinking about him; I have trouble even looking at other men. He‘s just so, so hot. He really does it for me.’ She pulled a strand of her long, curly, light brown hair forward, covering her deep cleavage, ‘But he’ll never be interested in me.’

Clare patted her arm sympathetically, ‘Don’t think like that. It’s his loss. Rugby players don’t often meet normal women for all the glamorous types swarming around. Although he‘s not my type, Rob’s bloody attractive. For a prop.’

Sian snorted, ‘Damned with faint praise, thanks. We’ve never established what your type is though.’

Clare pulled a face, ‘Not tossers like that Luke. Although I can’t control my hormones, they seem to decide for me. Damn things.’

‘Talking of hormones, and keeping them under control, where’s Sarah gone?’

They both looked around for their normally reserved friend, to see her laughing and joking a few yards away with a couple of dark-haired and well-built admirers.

‘Who’s that she’s with?’ shouted Sian.

Clare yelled back, ‘That’s Nick and Sam, they used to play for Harford. Both of them ask her out quite regularly but she always says no.’

‘She really doesn’t want a relationship, does she?’

‘No, she doesn’t believe she’s suited for them, especially not with a player. I had to agree with her after the Luke debacle. Now, let’s dance.’

They left their drinks in a quiet corner with a couple of familiar faces keeping an eye on them, and moved a few feet to the dance floor to enjoy the rhythm of the music. Every now and again, each discreetly signalled and laughed when they saw an attractive man looking their way. Sian caught a few glimpses of Rob but purposefully kept her eyes away. When Sarah joined them, a thirsty Sian went to reclaim her drink, discovering that Rob’s group was only a few yards away from them.

As she drank, she tried not to look, but found her gaze was drawn irresistibly towards him. His body just flat-out did it for her, from the dark T-shirt which clung lovingly to his thickly muscled upper body, to the well-worn jeans which hugged his tight arse and strong, broad thighs. He turned around and caught her looking his way. His eyes smiled at hers, ‘How are you?’ he mouthed.

‘Great,’ she smiled back, ‘Good game today?’

He looked puzzled as if he couldn’t hear her and gestured that he’d come over. As he stepped nearer, her tummy began to roil with nerves and anticipation.

When he was closer, she tried again, ‘Good game today?’

‘Not bad. It was nice to get the whole eighty minutes.’

‘For a prop that’s like running a marathon.’

He laughed, ‘That’s quite accurate, except for more bruises.’

‘First time this season too?’

‘You’re correct, it was.’ He stared more curiously at her.

Silently she cursed herself; that was too observant. ‘Someone else worked it out, not me,’ she filled, ‘but it looked like you still had plenty of energy, that was a great try-saving tackle in injury time.’

‘Thanks again. How long have you been supporting Harford Park?’

‘Since I moved here from Cornwall six months ago.’

‘Isn’t Sian a Welsh name?’

‘My mother liked it, and my father was half Welsh. He insisted on the spelling, S I A N not how it’s pronounced, Sharn.’

‘Oh, OK then.’

They stood awkwardly, Sian trying to control the butterflies in her stomach. ‘So, do you come here often?’ she quipped lightly.

‘Now and again. I’m only having a couple of beers tonight as I’m driving some of the boys home later.’

‘That’s nice of you.’

‘I’m a nice man.’

‘I can see that, I mean…’ she was glad that the dim lighting covered her blush, ‘I mean you seem like a nice man. I don‘t know you well enough to agree. You could be an axe-wielding maniac for all I know.’

‘Do you know many axe-wielding maniacs then?’

Sian giggled, ‘Just one or two, for some reason they seem to be attracted to me.’

‘I can see why,’ Rob appraised her appreciatively, from the deep cleavage bared in the semi-revealing top down to the glitzy but flimsy heels precariously strapped to her feet.

The butterflies intensified their fluttering and moved lower down, Sian shifted in place and took a gulp of her drink. ‘I suppose I better be getting back to the dance floor, Clare will be wondering where I am.’

‘She’s dancing with Sarah now.’

‘Still…excuse me,’ she went to pass Rob but in her agitated state she managed to step awkwardly and her ankle turned slightly.

Rob caught her again around her waist and helped her get her balance back. Again, she sucked in her tummy but this time his hands didn’t move away. ‘Are you OK?’

‘I’m fine, I’m just a klutz. Thank you for being a hero again.’ She dabbed a kiss on his cheek, almost swooning as the combination of his spicy aftershave and him drifted up into her lungs. Yum, he smelled so good. Her legs nearly gave way and she was grateful for the hands holding her up.

‘You sure?’ he turned his face towards her.

‘Yes, thank you,’ she breathed.

They froze in place for a few seconds as their eyes met again, and their lips met, and met again. The first touch of his hot tongue electrified her body, the second nearly made her swoon again. He tasted of beer and male essence. She murmured with pleasure, taking the kiss deeper and moving closer to him. Her hands rose to grasp his shoulders, run down his back and pull him closer towards her.

He deliberately seduced her with his tongue, working firmly into her again and again. Her body hummed with bliss at the fast-rising sensations. Her hands held his waist, she felt the muscles under the skin and couldn’t stop her hands from wandering further, to hold on to his buttocks. The powerful muscles rippled under her fingers and she squeezed back. In response he moved even closer to her as the kiss continued to deepen. She could feel his increasing interest against her body and murmured her delight, pressing her aching body against him. They twisted together in the shadows of the club, oblivious to anything around them.

Sian’s arousal was quickly escalating, he tasted so good, felt so good and it was all turning her on, blood rushing to throb and swell between her legs. She needed something, shifting restlessly to straddle one of his thighs. He steadily pulsed it back against her and the extra pressure took it up several notches, the sensations boiled up inside her, inner muscles squeezing tight. Her hips moved and her leg lifted so his bulge was pressed right against her. It was enough, or too much, she tipped over the cliff and her whole body shook. Gasping, she tore her mouth away from his, hiding her face on his shoulder, turned away from the rest of the club.

‘What’s the matter? You OK?’ he spoke in her ear.

She could only moan in response as the tremors died down. She tried to glance up at him to reassure him but her eyes lost focus as the last of the quakes threw her.

His concerned eyes cleared with sudden understanding, ‘Did you just…?’

She managed a feeble nod. ‘Look, no hands,’ she joked weakly.

‘Bloody hell,’ he swore, ‘I didn’t know that was possible from a kiss.’

‘Neither did I,’ she admitted. She brought her legs back together, drawing away from him. His arms fell away, brushing lightly against the heavy undersides of her breasts. She could feel dampness between her legs threatening to soak through her trousers and tell the world how aroused he’d made her. ‘I need to…clean up.’ His eyes heated and she nearly came again, she still felt so ready and aching for him and had to stop from rubbing her thighs together, shifting her hips. ‘I need…’ she restrained the next words. Him, she needed him. Inside her, filling and stretching her. Her head bowed as visions of what he could do to her flashed through her head and he had to hold on to her as her legs gave way.

‘Are you feeling OK? Shall we get out of here?’ suggested Rob.

Sian nodded, her embarrassment total as she noticed people watching them curiously. With a guiding arm around her waist, he helped her collect her coat and they left the club.

He took her to a side street and with a beep, opened a car door. Sian dazedly got inside, the butterflies in her stomach taking over again.

He started the car, ‘I’ve only had one beer so I’m OK to drive. Where do you live? I’ll take you home.’

‘Ranwell,’ Sian named the nearby suburb and watched as his strong hands operated the vehicle, competently handling the machine. The thought of those same hands on her body sent shivers through her. She had heard jokes about the female equivalent of a hard-on, a “wide-on”, and thought that was what she must have between her legs, throbbing, engorged heat and gushing wetness. Her thighs shifted restlessly together and apart as she attempted to find respite from the insistent arousal. She failed to restrain a whimper as her hands fidgeted in her lap.

‘Are you cold?’ asked Rob with concern. His left hand went to take the temperature of one of hers, missing and his strong fingers glanced her thigh instead. She couldn’t stop the involuntary jolt of her hips and a faint moan. He chuckled. ‘Or is it something else?’ he added, his deep voice dropping sensuously.

His voice sent shivers of lust down her spine. ‘Something else. I’m…not usually like this.’

‘Like what?’ His idle fingers returned, tracing down and up her thigh.

Her breath shortened until she was almost panting, she wanted those thick fingers somewhere else, ‘So…ready.’ She was glad of the darkness covering her blush.


For the rest of the short journey, Sian struggled to stay still in her seat, anticipation riding her unmercifully. She sat on her hands to keep from reaching across to him, to find out whether the bulge she’d felt earlier was still there. Her knickers felt unbelievably wet against her, and she had to concentrate on not pulling the seam of her trousers against her mound for extra friction or relief.

The atmosphere in the car remained tense. Every now and again Rob would run a hand up or down her thigh, Sian would try to restrain a moan. His fingers would lightly touch near her mound, teasing her, and he would pull away as her hips followed demanding more pressure. Her breasts were swollen and begging for contact, for friction, for him to suck on the knotted nipples to give her some kind of relief.

She could barely draw a breath to guide him towards her place, and was a heaving mess as he pulled into her road. He slowed the car and glanced at her, she hurriedly got her bearings. ’It’s the one with the lamppost outside,’ she directed. ‘You can pull over right outside.’

He drew up outside her flat and the engine cut out. ‘Nice street,’ Rob looked up at the building, and at her. His glittering eyes were just visible in the light cast from the street, ‘Been here long?’

‘Since I moved to London, six months ago.’ Sian released her hands to take the seatbelt off. The device wouldn’t unclip, she started tugging at it.

He stilled her fingers, ‘The catch is a little…recalcitrant.’

They faced each other. With a click, the strap smoothly slid away from her body but their hands stayed together, the fingers entwining.

‘Would you like come in? Please?’ asked Sian throatily, not caring how it sounded.

He took one of her hands and moved it to the bulge in his jeans, ‘How does this feel?’

He was thick and ready, twitching under her palm, she squeezed him lightly and he groaned. The smouldering flames between her legs flared even higher. She squeezed him again, her free hand running through the soft, short hair at the nape of his neck and pulling him towards her. ‘Fuck. I want you so bad.’

‘I’m so hard for you.’

‘I’m so wet for you.’

‘Hold me.’ His hand directed hers on his crotch.

‘Hold me!’ she grabbed his other hand and placed it on her breasts. The hard squeeze followed by a nipple pinch made her lose control; she arched her back into his hands and tried to get closer.

She banged her knee against the steering wheel, which brought her slightly to her senses; they were still in the car, she couldn’t take him there. ‘Inside,’ she hissed, groaning as she halted his roving hands.

‘If you want me to.’

‘Fuck yes! Definitely.’

As soon as he agreed, she leapt out and impatiently waited for him to lock the car. She swiftly mounted the steps and he followed her into the flat. As soon as he crossed the threshold she descended on him, slamming the door and yanking off his T-shirt in one move. With a laugh of victory she ran her hands over his pectorals, ‘God, you’re gorgeous. I’m dying for you.’

‘I’ll try not to leave you disappointed,’ assured Rob huskily, bemusement in his voice.

Between deep, drugging, lascivious kisses, she stripped off the rest of his clothes, happy to see his generous manhood was ready for her. She clasped her hand around him and his hips flexed as he groaned at her touch. She didn’t want to take her hand off him, but the ache of need between her thighs was intensifying into pain.

‘Sofa,’ she muttered, ‘Here.’ She led him by his cock towards the cushions, he came willingly and she pushed him so he was sitting, his body hardly visible in the light from the streets shining in through the window. She pulled off her clothes, forgetting to hold her stomach in, rooting around in her bag for a condom and rolling it on to him, struggling to stop caressing him. ‘Sorry, no more foreplay. I have to have you.’

His hands came up as she knelt across him and one went between her legs, ‘Fuck, you’re absolutely soaking.’

Sian gasped at the intimate touch, rubbing herself on him. One of his fingers delved inside her and she squeezed it tightly with her inner muscles. She kissed him, sucking at his tongue in an imitation of the act to come as her hips rolled towards him.

Before she could peak, he withdrew his hand. Instead, hers went down to touch him and she moved until she was above him. Anticipation. It was too much, she thrust her hips down and he speared smoothly up into her body. It was enough to send her crazy, yelping in pleasure at the tight fit and jolting as close to him as she could manage. She began sighing, her body an unstoppable, runaway train, out of her control, squeezing him as tight as she could.

‘God, you feel so good, so big and hard inside me,’ she babbled. ‘I just want you to fuck me.’

He moaned back, his hips beginning to lift towards hers and his breathing heavy. His hands moved to cup and squeeze her breasts, orbs that until then she hadn’t realised needed the contact. Her hands covered his as he plucked and twisted her hard nipples, she showed him she liked it a little rougher and he obliged, the painful pleasure shooting through her body. He countered it by running his fingers along the sensitive undersides and she gasped blissfully before he tugged on her nipples again.

Her hips began moving faster and faster on him as the tension built unbearably. She felt the beginning of tremors taking her up and away so she thrust towards him. He began jolting harder and harder, he growled in frustration and somehow flipped her over. They tumbled to the floor.

She was under him now, his hips taking her unceasingly, the friction from the plunging, building and building. Her nails scored his back, went to hold his buttocks and she dug them in again, forcing him as deep as he would go.

The first wave hit her like an avalanche and she screamed as she clamped down on him, he grunted and moved his hips quicker against her resistance. ‘Shit!’ she panted as a second wave joined the first, the pleasure becoming excruciating. Their bodies were so slippery where they met, there was no friction apart from her muscles tightly clenching down on him. The third wave was slightly softer but left her stranded on a high as he continued plunging inside her. His moans joined hers as he stiffened and with the last, smaller wave washing her into a daze he hardened and spurted inside her.

He collapsed beside her, gasping deeply. ‘Wow.’

They took several minutes to catch their breath, their bodies still rubbing together. He felt great on top of her, despite his extra size. To be enveloped, pinned down by him. Just yummy.

Eventually, he rolled onto his back and dealt with the condom, tying it off and putting it to one side. ‘Feel better now?’

She still hungered for him despite coming so strongly. Her insides twitched, missing his presence already. ‘A bit. When can we go again?’ she asked cheekily.

He laughed hoarsely, ‘Hell, give me time to recover.’

‘Hmmm, that’ll have to do.’ She stretched sinuously on the floor, arching her back and wincing as she felt the start of some carpet burns. ‘The next time will have to be in my bed though.’

She rolled over and stood up, smoothing her hands over her curves. She could see his eyes glittering in the dim light as he watched her. For the first time she didn’t feel self-conscious about the few extra pounds she carried, instead feeling gloriously sexy. He was so much bigger than her anyway, his body was entirely bulky muscle but not in a bodybuilder’s ripped and defined way. He had more of a strong farmer’s build, muscle that was there to be used and not shown off. Her insides rippled again and she restrained a moan.

She gestured at a door, ‘The bedroom and bathroom are through there. I’m going to have a quick shower, you’re welcome to wait or join me.’

She didn’t hang around for a response, instead turning and sauntering to the small bathroom. It didn’t take long to clean up in the shower, her fingers lingering on her breasts and the swamp between her legs. She tried to dry herself off, but anticipation of the next couple of hours was riding her and she only just managed to stop rubbing herself.

He was waiting outside the bathroom door, absolutely naked. Her insides clenched again as she walked past, trailing a hand down his buttocks. Sitting on the bed with only a dim light from the hall, she heard him shower and go quiet. Her heart leapt as she heard rustling of clothes. She had to restrain herself from seeking him out, to stop him from leaving.

His clothes were in his hands as he entered the room, he placed them on a chair.

‘Are you…joining me?’ she asked hesitantly.

He didn’t respond straight away, instead standing over her, still naked. His cock had risen again and she gasped as he nudged it insistently against her. ‘Does it feel like I’ll be going anywhere any time soon?’ he asked, rolling on a condom.

Not giving her a chance to respond, he gently pushed her torso flat and pulled her hips towards him, lifting and thrusting inside for a couple of strokes. ‘You’re soaked again, you know,’ he commented hoarsely, withdrawing and watching her writhing on the sheets. ‘We’re going to have a fun time tonight.’

Sian could only moan in response.

He lowered himself over her, her legs trying to pull him back inside her. He slipped past instead of inside her and rubbed against her engorged clitoris. Even that was too much for her, the sensations sending her off into a world of pure feeling. The way he loomed over her, dominated her. She wasn’t in control of her own body, the time spun away as they feasted on each other. This time he held back and didn’t come until she was begging to have him.

They slept briefly. Sian woke first, unused to having a man in bed with her. Her head ducked down under the sheets and she roused him with her tongue, slipping on the condom and straddling his hips as he realised what was happening.

He let her ride him for a while until he decided to take control. He turned her onto hands and knees, her arse sticking up in the air. He plunged in and out of her, his hips hammering into her and she loved it, clawing at the sheets, throwing herself back at him. He even slapped her bottom several times, the brief sting adding to the rush of sensation running through her body and tipping her over the edge.

After that, they slept again. The next time, Rob woke her up, slipping into her from behind. They moved together slowly, somehow it became more tortuous than the earlier, rougher sex. His fingers pinched her clitoris as her back arched and she came with a half-scream. That was the last she remembered.


‘Oh, shit.’

The beeping of a phone had woken Sian up. She knew it wasn’t hers, and it took some time for Rob to realise it was his. He dragged himself off the wrecked bed, the sheets almost tripping him as he staggered over to his pile of belongings.


Sian stayed still on the bed, wondering what was so bad. A little grey light was beginning to penetrate the room as the day began, which meant it was around seven.

‘Bollocks,’ muttered Rob again under his breath, ‘Fucking weights session. Shit.’

She heard more rustling of clothes.

‘Shit, I can’t go smelling like an orgy. Shower.’

She heard him go to the bathroom and the water run briefly, and the rustling of clothes again. Whether to pretend to be asleep or awake was her dilemma. Awake, it had to be.

She stretched silkily on the bed, ensuring the sheets covered her from breasts to knees, ‘Morning.’

Rob stopped in the middle of pulling his T-shirt on, ‘Morning.’ His eyes ran over her body, lingering where the sheet barely shielded her breasts. He groaned and his hand went to his jeans-covered groin, ‘I can’t believe I’m still getting hard after last night.’

Sian sat up slowly, pleasant aches from the night’s exertions running through her body, coupled with fresh excitement as he ran his hand over his swelling erection. The sheet slid from her breasts, exposing them completely to him.

His hot eyes dropped to her hardening nipples, ‘I should be off. If I leave now I won’t be late.’ He didn’t sound too certain.

‘Hmmm,’ murmured Sian, sensing some leeway, ‘You can spare ten minutes. Come here,’ she commanded.

‘Ten minutes?’ He couldn’t resist, closing the gap between them.

His groin approached her face and she licked her lips. Her hands ran up his thighs and across to the strained fly. She squeezed him through the fabric as his head went back and he moaned. Her fingers nimbly unbuttoned him, pulling his jeans down and scooping his erection out of his dark-coloured boxer shorts. For a moment she gazed at him in awe, he was so sexy, the plum-shaped head, the strong column which curved slightly to deliciously hit that spot inside her. The veins running along the underside. The head had begun to ooze its excitement and she licked her lips. She had tasted him last night and he was delicious. She leant forward and her tongue ran up the length to swipe across the top. Tasty.

His hips flexed towards her as he panted at the touch, ‘More.’

‘I better hurry up though if I’ve only got ten minutes,’ she giggled. Her hands clutched his buttocks, pulling him closer to her. As her mouth enclosed his head, she assisted it with one hand on the shaft, the other brushed the crease between his legs.

To her delight, the previous night she had discovered that he kept himself well-trimmed below and the skin was even more sensitive because of it. He also loved her playing with his buttocks, his taint and balls. She worked that now, enjoying the taste of him almost as much as he was revelling in the sensations.

His knees started to give way and she guided him to lie down on the bed, straddling him and pushing his erection between her breasts. She dipped a hand between her legs and used the moisture there as lubricant on his shaft. She watched as his cock moved back and forth between her mounds of flesh, continuing to swipe at him with her tongue as he came towards her.

He tasted so good that she couldn’t get enough of him. As his hips arched and cock hardened, she moved her mouth down and swallowed him up. He spurted into her mouth and she drank him down, taking every drop. He brushed her hair gently as he moaned and panted, his muscles rippling before his head fell back with a sigh.

Sian slowly got up and went to the bathroom, grabbing a small cloth and coming back to wipe him down gently. ‘Come on, you have training to get to,’ she cajoled.

He groaned and she helped him off the bed, pulling his shorts and jeans up from his ankles. The T-shirt he managed to straighten himself, his sensibilities returning. As he picked up his keys and other detritus, she became aware that she was still naked and sticky. She snatched a towel from the bathroom and wrapped it around her body, blushing as he stared at her curiously.

‘Hadn’t you better be going?’ The words came out colder than she had meant.

He still gazed at her. It became more than awkward. She turned around and stalked out to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and glugging it down.

He followed her, ‘You know I’d return the pleasure if I didn’t need to go? And it would be a pleasure with someone as responsive as you.’

Her blush became a full-body flush as she imagined him between her legs, licking into her. Now she stared at him as her legs weakened.

Rob laughed at her predicament, ‘We’ll take this up again. I really have to leave; I’m going to get a bollocking for being so late.’ Two strides brought him next to her, he kissed her on both cheeks and inhaled.

She self-consciously squirmed, ‘I really need a shower.’

‘Maybe.’ Head ducking down, he swiped his tongue in the cleavage exposed by the towel. He closed his eyes, tasting her, ‘I’ve washed my body but I’ll have the delicious taste of you on my tongue for the rest of the day.’

As a parting line, it couldn’t have been more successful at wrecking her remaining composure. She heard the front door close behind him as her legs gave way and she slumped to the floor.

Chapter 2

Sian had forgotten how addictive great sex could be. The craving to be skin-to-skin, to suck, lick and nibble another person, the glorious full feeling as a man thrust inside her. The heat, musky smells and salty tastes.

She couldn’t forget Rob’s promise, her body wouldn’t let her. However she didn’t have his phone number or any way to contact him. He knew where she lived, but would he come to see her? Her body clenched at the thought of him returning. She had started to change the dirty sheets but instead lay down, her hand between her legs as she recalled the torrid night.


Rob had been teased when he’d arrived late for training. The coach punished him with extra circuits which nearly killed his sleep-deprived body. Finally, he was allowed to go for a shower, just in time for the last of the team to come out. As he stripped off in the changing room, a wolf whistle came from behind him.

‘Now we know why he was late, boys. Look at those scratches.’

In his weary fug, Rob had completely forgotten how Sian had dug her nails in as he had ploughed inside her. Even the memory sent a jolt to his loins.

‘So, who’s the vixen, ‘Bertie Boy? The youngest, most annoying player on the team slid down the bench, his freckled face alight with mischief. ‘Or pussycat? Did you make her purrrrr? he rolled, ‘Or hisssss?’

Rob smirked as he remembered a particularly salacious moment from the early morning. ‘Damo, a gentleman never tells.’

Another player piped up from the other side of the changing rooms, ‘Well, you owe us for the taxi we took home. Imagine leaving your mates stranded,’ he tutted loudly. ‘Only the brief text, “Had to go, have an emergency.” Emergency?’

‘First time I’ve heard pulling a bird described like that, butt.’ A gruff Welsh voice joined in. ‘Emergency hard-on perhaps.’ The bluff redhead grabbed his groin lewdly. ‘So who was the tart?’

‘She’s not a tart,’ defended Rob.

‘Rob, mun: you’re single, you’ve scratches all over your back and the look of a man who’s spent the night fucking his arse off.’

Rob felt a wave of heat wash over him as another flashback hit him: taking her from behind, him slapping her peach of a rear and leaning forward to pull the gloriously tempting nipples of her generous breasts.

‘And yet you’re nearly ready to go again.’ Cackles of laughter filled more of the room than the steam billowing from the showers into which Rob escaped.

Christ, she was a hot one. He’d never really looked her way before, not like that anyway. Since he had returned to playing rugby the previous year, when he went out there were always girls surrounding him and wanting his attention. Mostly skinny girls who weren’t keen on mussing their hair or spoiling their make-up, and with his extra bulk he was afraid he’d hurt them when the sex got boisterous. Sian had really let loose, not holding back for a second, and it was great to have some curves to hold on to. She really got into sucking him, her hands massaging his balls and even further back. She tasted so good and he hadn’t had a chance to return the favour and eat her up. He licked his lips at the thought.

And he really must stop thinking about her, do that compartmentalisation thing men were supposedly good at. He smirked to himself as he looked down at his erect, eager cock. ‘Down, boy.’

He did really want to see her again soon, see if the sexual chemistry was as hot with a repeat performance. But he didn’t have her phone number. Who was she friends with? He frowned as he continued washing, trying to ignore his inconvenient hard-on so it would subside without assistance.


He came out of the shower rubbing his calmed body dry and headed back towards his belongings. The room had emptied apart from a couple of stragglers, including the head coach, Chris, who was waiting by his bag.

Rob nodded at him and started pulling his shorts on, aware of the shrewd blue eyes watching as the room emptied.

Chris cleared his throat, ‘You know the group of regular supporters that usually stand on the terrace? The one with several women who are keen on the game and not just the players?’

‘Kind of.’

‘Well, you know one of the former players messed around one of the women a while back. Behaved like a complete fuckwit.’


‘Yeah, it made things awkward, Clare kept it quiet but one of the sponsors heard Luke boasting about it in particularly coarse terms. She’s a loyal supporter so he wasn’t happy.’

‘That’s understandable.’

‘Luke moved on shortly after. This wasn’t the right place for him.’

The way the coach’s mouth twitched at that, Rob knew he’d had a hand in ensuring the player was disposed of. Under the rumpled, slightly bedraggled exterior that the coach portrayed was a mind adept at finding a player’s strengths and weaknesses and exposing them ruthlessly, for the good or bad. Rob knew talent-limited Luke had rapidly dropped down the leagues without the guidance of Chris.

‘Don’t treat Sian badly. Don’t talk about her, don’t denigrate her to the squad. She doesn’t sleep around, so don’t assume she’s easy. Or else… You’ve only been here a short time, haven’t you?’

‘Message received and understood. Now could I have her number please?’

Chris laughed, ‘You’ve got some nerve.’

‘I forgot to ask her for it.’

‘You were busy?’

Rob gave Chris a measured look, ‘You testing me? I don’t shag and tell.’ He mimed zipping his lips shut.

Chris grinned ruefully, ‘Just joking. I’ll check with Clare that Sian would want you to have it and text later.’ He patted Rob on the shoulder and left.

Rob sighed, how on earth had Chris found out about it? Instead of no-strings-attached sex it turned out that he’d have to run the gauntlet for a repeat performance. Though if it was anything like the previous night, it would be worth it.


‘He did what?’

‘Made sure Rob wouldn’t run his mouth off. He did ask for your number though, I told Chris to give it to him.’

Sian laughed harshly, ‘Thanks but he’s never going to call, not if Chris has scared him off. Shit!’ she cursed. ‘It was a great night but he probably thinks I’m easy.’

‘That’s been covered too.’ Clare gave her a sympathetic smile, ‘Chris did it off his own bat; he still feels guilty about the Luke thing. He’s just clueless sometimes, like many men.’

They were sitting in a pub in Harford having a late Sunday lunch. Sian had called Clare to apologise for disappearing the previous night but Clare had seen her and Rob disappearing together and correctly added two plus two.

Sian’s phone started beeping, she glanced at the display screen but the number was unfamiliar.

‘Is it him?’ asked Clare, hands clasped hopefully beneath her chin.

‘Maybe,’ admitted Sian, hitting the answer button and trying to ignore the butterflies swarming in her stomach. ‘Hello?’

‘Hi,’ a familiar, deep voice rumbled. ‘Taken any spills today?’

For a moment Sian’s brow creased in puzzlement, ‘Oh, I haven’t even teetered if that’s what you mean.’

‘Not without me there to catch you,’ rumbled the voice. ‘Fancy a drink?’


‘Tonight, eight at…’ There was an expectant pause.

‘What about the White Lion, it’s off Harford High Street?’



‘See you later, then.’

‘See you later.’


‘Ta-ra.’ Sian carefully terminated the call before looking up at Clare with a stupid grin. ‘He called.’

Clare grinned back, ‘He did. What are you going to wear?’

‘I’ve no idea what I’m wearing on top but I’ll have my best underwear on underneath.’

‘Great plan, I highly approve. What about long boots and that wrap dress?’

‘The red one?’ Sian contemplated it for a moment, ‘The one which I usually have to pin at the top?’

‘That’s the one. But leave the pin off, or remove it sometime in the evening.’




As the train rattled closer to Harford, Sian nervously fiddled with the skirt of her dress and tried to resist tugging at the deep v showing her cleavage. She had always been rather voluptuous and could definitely hold more than her own on the curves front, but didn’t often show them to this extent. The colour was flattering to her, warming her skin and bringing out auburn highlights in her hair. It was her confidence dress, and she’d worn it for a couple of first dates before. Sadly, the dress had lasted a lot longer than any of the relationships.

The train drew up at the station and Sian hopped off. She was a little early so decided to have a glance in some of the estate agents’ windows. She was just bending over to take a closer look at a multi-million-pound when she felt something brush her buttocks and started in shock.

‘Nice view. Unless you have millions stashed away, I’d have thought that would be slightly out of most people’s budgets.’

Sian laughed and turned around, ‘Hey there. It’s definitely out of mine, anyway.’

Rob grinned, ‘That’s a shame; I was planning to fleece you for all I could get. Another nice view.’ His eyes had been drawn to her cleavage; due to leaning forward, her breasts were making a bid to escape the dress.

Sian gasped and pulled her bra and dress straight, ‘Oops, sorry.’

‘I’m not complaining.’

They stood and looked at each other, Sian could feel the heat in his gaze. ‘So, you managed to get here OK?’

‘It’s not far. I share a flat with Gavin and Marcus down the road.’


‘I don’t know the area though; I don’t go out around here.’


There was another slightly awkward silence. Rob was the first to break it, ‘So, shall we go to this pub?’

‘OK. It‘s just over the road and down that passageway.’

They headed off towards the White Lion, Sian stealing glances at the man beside her. He was dressed all in black, his jacket covering a soft-looking sweater. His hair had been neatly combed, enough so that she had an urge to muss it up. Like it had been when she rode on top of him. The memory kindled heat between her legs, if she hadn’t been walking, she would have had to rub her thighs together to ease it.

Rob and Sian came to a halt by lights, just in time for the crossing signal. As they stepped onto the road, they both glanced at each other and grinned ruefully as their eyes met.

Unfortunately, they missed the lights changing. The sudden call came from the right, ‘Watch out!’

A cyclist zoomed past their noses. They both started in shock, and Rob’s arm shot up around Sian to pull her back to the pavement.

‘Bloody hell!’ cursed Rob. ‘’Scuse my language. Sorry.’

Sian laughed, ‘We should’ve kept a better eye out. Come on, it’s clear now.’

As they crossed, Rob’s arm didn’t drop from her waist, Sian could feel his warm fingers through her coat and dress. The shot of adrenalin and his hand on her was making her body buzz, feel light-headed. Heat began building again between her legs and her breath shortened. Trying to regulate her breathing only made her more aware of his woodsy aftershave and the scent of him underneath, how he smelled and tasted. She knew he was talking but struggled to focus.

She glanced at him again and his hand squeezed on her waist. Barely restraining a moan, she turned towards him and their eyes locked. The flickering heat between them exploded into wildfire.

‘Shall we go…?’ He didn’t need to say anything more, both his hands coming around her waist.

‘Yes please.’

‘Your place or mine?’

‘Whichever’s closest?’

‘Mine then.’

Back across the road, to the taxi rank. Luckily, nothing got in their way this time. Sian didn’t hear what he said to the driver, just allowing herself to be bundled in the back of the black cab. The door slammed and his hands hauled her towards him. Or did she grasp him?

Hands fought against clothing as they ate each other up, only separating to draw breath. Hands dropped to her legs, ran upwards to the bare skin at the tops of her thighs.

His head dropped to her neck and he moaned, ‘Stockings?’

His hot breath and licking kiss made her gasp, ‘Hold-ups.’

‘Sexy.’ His fingers tightened urgently and he pulled her partially across his lap. Her arms went around his shoulders.

She could feel his erection through the soft wool of his trousers, the hard flesh pulsing towards her. One hand danced around and down, she rubbed him and he moaned again.

‘Oi, you two, we’re here.’ The taxi driver’s voice interrupted their heated clinch and they both groaned.

Somehow they manoeuvred out of the cab without letting go of each other, Rob chucking a note to the driver and fumbling with his keys. ‘Two seconds,’ he gasped, ‘We just need to get indoors.

Sian was vaguely aware of voices as they mounted some stairs and entered a flat. He propelled her to a door, opening it and kicking it closed behind them.

He ruthlessly stripped off her coat. She helped him with his, the sweater and shirt disappearing too within seconds. She laughed in triumph at his revealed chest, and attacked his belt and fly.

Before his trousers dropped down, he shoved a condom in her hands and left her to it as he yanked her dress open, scooped her breasts out and pulled up her dress as she tried to keep hands on him.

Feeling his ready erection was too much. ‘Now,’ she gasped, ‘I need you now.’

He fumbled briefly for the protection and he tugged her knickers to one side, lifted her up and down over him.

Sian cooed her pleasure as she stretched around him and he thrust them together. Standing was too much; he staggered backwards and sat on a soft mattress. Sian straddled him. Her breasts bounced above his face, he grasped and squeezed them firmly as she took over.

Down and up, down and up, she rode him for her as her body demanded, thrusting her hips as they rubbed slickly together. The pressure built and exploded through her, she gasped, panted and squealed as heat consumed her. He groaned and she felt him pulsing inside her.

‘Oh. My. God.’ Sian collapsed on him, her breasts mashing up to his lightly furred chest. They panted together for minutes. She felt him soften, and regretfully started moving. He let her, his sensually half-opened eyes eating her up.

‘You look so great,’ he grinned weakly as she stood up.

Sian’s dress was twisted up around her waist with her breasts bulging out. Her knickers were soaking and she began awkwardly pulling them straight.

Without warning, the bedroom door flew open and a stack of clothes entered, walking itself across the room towards the bed. It bumped into Sian and toppled away, revealing a vaguely familiar face.

Sian squeaked and hurriedly covered her bare chest with one hand, pulling the skirt of her dress down with the other.

The lanky, redheaded former-clothes-carrier yelped and jumped back, shock plain on his reddening face. ‘Oh fuck, I didn’t know anyone was here. I was listening to….’ He let the rest of the clothes drop and pulled white earphones out, tinny music filling the awkward silence. He tore his gaze away from a blushing Sian to Rob on the bed who had quickly made his trousers decent. ‘I’m sorry, mate. I had to…your clothes were dry and…’

Stammering his apology he began picking up the scattered clothes, shoving them into a pile.

‘Gav?’ asked Rob quietly, ‘I’m really grateful but can you do the domestic servant bit another time please? Give me a couple of minutes.’

Gavin’s head bobbed up and down. He scuttled out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

‘I’m really sorry, Sian,’ Rob apologised, sitting up and awkward adjusting his trousers. ‘Are you OK?’

Sian’s head was bowed and her hands covered her face. ‘I’m fine,’ her muffled voice assured.

Rob frowned and got up, gently pulling her hands down. Sian lifted her head, her eyes were shining with mirth and a snort of laughter escaped.

‘That was hilarious, the poor lad,’ she gurgled.

Rob began smiling, ‘You’re right, that was amusing. I’m sorry.’

Sian looked around for her handbag, spying it by the door. She dug out a tissue and wiped her streaming eyes. ‘I should be embarrassed but he was mortified.’

Rob chuckled again, his eyes running over her, ‘I’ll go and have a quick word with him. Do you want to freshen up?’ He nodded at another door, ‘The bathroom’s en suite and there’s a clean towel…here that you can use.’ He rummaged in the pile Gavin had brought in and pulled out a strip of green fabric.

Sian nodded, taking the towel and escaping to the loo. She didn’t know whether to right her outfit properly or strip off, in the end just pulling off her soaked knickers and removing traces of their exertions. The underwear she wrapped in some tissues and stuck in her handbag, going to sit down on the bed to wait. There was nowhere else to sit apart from at his desk, and she didn’t want to go near the pile of expensive-looking machines she saw there. Clare had texted her to ask how things were going and she stared at the screen, contemplating a reply.

Sian could barely make out muffled voices of Rob and Gavin talking, she didn‘t really want to but the walls were paper thin and the headboard was right up against the wall. There were some bursts of laughter, but Rob was doing most of the talking.

‘…Goes no further, don’t tell anyone it’s her…not my usual…no, no, it won’t last long…’

‘Nice one…tell the boys…the scratches…keep it quiet.’

Another gust of laughter, a door slamming and Rob re-entered the bedroom. Sian continued fiddling with her phone for a few moments, chucked it into her bag and stood. ‘I’m sorry, I should be going.’

‘Not yet. I thought…Gav’s gone out and let us have the place to ourselves.’

Sian didn’t respond, her feelings torn between wanting to escape and wanting to spend more time with him. What could he possibly think of her? Should she be worried about what she’d overheard?

He gently took her bag from her and grasped her hand, ‘Come on, I have a bottle of wine in the kitchen and we can at least have a chat before…’ He trailed off, ‘Well, before you need to leave or we can…’

She decided to give him another chance and nodded, following him out of the room and into a sparse, modern living area. While she looked out of the window which opened out on to the quad in the middle of the new-build complex, he started opening a bottle of red wine.

‘We don’t have much storage space, that’s why Gav had to bring in the clothes. He’s a good flatmate, tidy but not anally so. He’s on loan for a few months, he plays…’

‘Second row, he’s another one of the new guys. It’s nice you get on,’ she commented neutrally.

‘Marcus isn’t so bad either, he keeps himself to himself, we hardly know he’s here.’

‘Not like on the pitch, he’s always shouting there. Or when he coaches the women. I heard they quite taken aback when he gave them their first bollocking,’ Sian added with a grin. The familiar topic helped her relax.

‘That’s true, when he gets worked up, he’s quite fearsome. Must be the combination of Irish and South African in him. I think he likes Clare but he’s not sure about approaching her, due to the Luke thing and her and Sarah swearing off rugby players…’ Rob trailed off awkwardly.

Sian gasped, ‘How on earth do you know about that?’

‘Some of the boys are bigger gossips than most old women.’

‘Good grief.’ Sian suspected that Clare and Sarah’s vow wouldn’t last but she wasn’t sure about saying as much. ‘Marcus seems a good guy; he’ll meet someone soon,’ she assured him.

The ice was broken and they chatted for several minutes, finding out more about each other. He brought the glasses across and they sat on the sofa, bodies angled together.

‘What do you do, apart from rugby?’

‘Some computer geekery. I was in the Army for a while before returning to play rugby, I got a degree while I was in there.’

‘Yeah, I noticed some pretty impressive hardware in your room.’

Rob shrugged, ‘Nothing that powerful, they won’t allow me the toys I used to play with. What about you?’

‘Me? I’m a civil servant.’

‘You work with Clare then?’

‘Oh no, different department; we met on a training course. Got talking about rugby and she persuaded me to come along to watch Harford. I’m not as committed as her and Sarah though, they hardly miss a game.’ Sian sipped the wine, it was surprisingly good, ‘Nice, I thought you’d have more beer in.’

He laughed, ‘I enjoy different things.’

‘What else do you enjoy?’ she purred playfully before taking another mouthful of wine.

Rob shot her a sizzling look, ‘I’d enjoy eating you out.’

For several moments she didn’t react. Until she gasped for breath and wine shot out of her mouth. While Sian spluttered, Rob fetched a roll of paper towels and dried them both off.

She started giggling as he mopped her breasts and traced the neckline, ‘Well, that was unexpected.’

‘That I want to eat you out?’ His hands moved to hefting her breasts, lightly pinching her nipples. Sian’s back arched into his hands as hot wires zapped around her body. ‘I’ve been thinking about it since that morning. When I tasted you here.’ He ducked down to lick her cleavage.

Sian felt a shot of sensation as if his warm, wet tongue had actually licked between her legs. Her bones turned to jelly and she sagged back into the soft cushions. The thought of him servicing her like that exploded the simmering pressure and heat between her legs. She could feel the slipperiness beginning to ooze out of her again. He slid down to kneel on the floor, his hands running up and down thighs, taking her dress with them so it crumpled at her hips.

‘No knickers?’ he asked bemusedly.

‘They were wet,’ panted Sian. A thumb started lightly stroking short, wet curls, teasing her and lifting away whenever her hips followed it. She mewled as she felt herself become slicker.

‘Wet from what?’ Amusement streaked Rob’s voice as his breath tickled her inner thighs.


‘Like this?’ Rob swirled his fingers, ‘You’re even wetter now. I’m looking forward to tasting you properly, licking up your juices.’ One finger began inching further back, smoothing the wetness around. ‘And there’s still more we haven’t tried yet.’

Sweet fire blasted up her spine and she yelped at the new sensation. In the back of her mind she realised she was in the middle of the flat and anyone could walk in any time. ‘Shouldn’t we…move?’ She struggled to voice her dwindling concern.

In response, Rob picked her up, threw her over his shoulder and returned them to his bedroom. She landed on the bed and even before she stopped bouncing, he was stripping off her boots and remaining clothes. Flinching at how the strong light must reflect her every bump and dimple, she tried covering her body with her hands.

Rob paused in taking his shirt off, his hot eyes taking in her efforts at shielding her body, ‘Is this the same woman who rode me ruthlessly earlier? You can’t be shy now.’

He prised her arms away from her body, holding her arms down as he shouldered himself between her legs, mastering her body. Somehow, with the assistance of some pillows, he manoeuvred her hips into the air. She had to use her released arms and free legs to balance.

‘I can look at all of you now,’ Rob grinned, ‘but I’m not just looking.’

His domination made Sian even wetter; she could feel her juices trickling down to dampen the sheets. He moved down her body to hold both her thighs wide open, locking her in place. His breath gusted across her and she half-screamed in anticipation as her breath grew shorter and shorter.

The shock of his hot tongue right on her button made her arch, the heat spearing up her body, then he licked and suckled her and she forgot who she was. The sounds coming from her lips were unrecognisable as human speech. He alternated hot, broad licks with sucking her up and she could feel him humming into her.

The licks slowed and he loosened his grip around her hips. She felt a finger gently stroking her sopping entrance, it pushed slowly inside and she clenched it tightly. He didn’t keep it still, rubbing somewhere inside her which short-circuited her remaining faculties. With an ear piercing scream, blinding white light blew her up.

She came around minutes later to find Rob still licking her insistently. She felt so tender down there, but it still felt good. Her hands touched the back of his head, pulling his short hair in a half-thought to stop him. A tightening of his grip on her discouraged her.

She felt the touch of more fingers, dipping into her and swirling around her wetness. Not just wet, she could hear the squelching.

‘You don’t have to…’

‘Shush, I’m learning you.’ Another twist of his fingers silenced her,

He continued to press inside her and find her most sensitive areas, and the ones she shied away from. His tongue continued to irregularly dab at her, and suck inside her. One muscular arm controlled her writhing.

Her free arms flailed for moments, she had to resist holding his head to her. Her hands touched her hips and ran up to her breasts. Until that moment she hadn’t realised how much they had swollen, the nipples tight and protruding. Cupping them, she squeezed and rubbed, the sensations multiplying the heat lower down her body.

Rob lifted his head slightly, seeing her hands and her flushed face, spaced-out and unfocussed eyes. ‘That’s what I want to see,’ he chuckled hoarsely, licking his lips.

She had a moment of respite as he pulled off his clothes. He didn’t have to hold her now, she had settled on the pillows, her legs sawing uselessly against the mattress, prevented from closing by his body towering over her.

He ran his fingers around her soaked, swollen centre, and moved the dampness around her body, coolness following his touch. Briefly he touched the centre of her nipples with one hand, next returning for more fluid and swiping his fingers over her mouth. Sian couldn’t stop herself lifting her head, sucking at his slick digits. The salty taste made her murmur with want.

Heat had begun to build between her legs again, he returned there, his hands moving over her like before. Fingers entered her again, joined by a quick tongue, which remained as his fingers moved out and down and back, spreading her wetness further. They breached her clenching buttocks to touch her darker hole, and one finger pushed in.

Sian yelped and cried, the new feeling adding to the tumult of sensations in her body.

He pushed in further, the sliding juices aiding him, ‘I think you like that,’ he murmured, ‘You like being filled?’

Not waiting for the response she was incapable of giving, he removed his hand and pulled her towards him, his cock rubbing over and entering her. He groaned in pleasure as she closed around him. ‘You’re so hot, wet and tight, but I think a change of position would work.’

He sat back on his heels, pulling her upright so she fell across him. One hand scooped up more of her slick juices and with alarming ease, re-penetrated between her buttocks.

The double, dark pleasure of his cock and finger filling both her holes lifted Sian on to another plane. Under the control of his finger, he directed her hips to circle him. Her damp breasts rubbed against his chest, the slight scratching of the hairs adding to the pleasure. Her arms alternately held him to her, and squeezed her breasts. He sucked at her neck, hot breath tickled her ear.

He flexed inside her and she tightened her grip on him, thrusting her hips and riding him.

She began chanting, ‘More, more, more, give it to me.’ She clenched tighter, loving the friction in both entrances.

He moaned, ‘You’re so tight, I need to…’

The finger in her backside pressed further, she felt another trying to gain entry. She froze as it pushed in, pinching her nerves and stretching her. Her chest bellowed as she tried to gain breath. It was pain, but incredible pleasure at the same time. The two fingers stretching her pushed further in, seated inside her, felt like they were joining his cock, rubbing together, redirecting her hips but it was all too much.

Her body exploded, she howled into his neck as heat and cold flashed through her. The world swirled and his hips hammered, pushing all of himself inside.

She vaguely heard his roar of release and him subsiding around her.

As she slid into a pleasure coma, he whispered in her ear, ‘Another time, I’m going to take you there.’ She could only whimper back.


The slamming of a door brought Sian round from the after-effects. She was lying on her side, Rob holding her to him, the sheets sticky around them both. All she could smell was sex, and felt their drying secretions over her body.

As she started to move, Rob licked her ear, ‘Not quite yet.’

She could feel him against her buttocks and her heart stopped, he wouldn’t…? She had never done any backdoor play with a man before, she didn’t know…

He pulled her onto hands and knees, her reluctance making her clumsy.

‘Rob, I’m not ready…’

He spanked her arse and a shock of heat went through her. ‘I told you, not yet.’ He pushed inside her wet hole and murmured with satisfaction as she tightened around him, ‘I think we need to know each other better before that.’ Rob finished his sentence with a hard thrust.

His movements were renewing the heat inside her, the want which only seemed to be temporarily satisfied after she had come. She didn’t have to do anything as he hammered at her, although she pushed back at him.

There was something she needed. She tried to move a hand down to caress herself and he caught her wrist, ‘Naughty. What shall we do now?’

Still inside her, he grabbed both her wrists and loosely tied them to the bed frame with a couple of long socks and recommenced his hip movements.

Sian could only gasp and shake her head, she needed a touch there, or on her breasts to come, it was going on forever as he slowed his strokes in and out, pulling her hips as he wanted her. It just went on and on, she was so high but after coming so much, couldn‘t make the last step. ‘Please, touch me,’ she begged.

‘All in due course,’ he soothed her, ‘Just a few minutes more.’ He somehow found another long rugby sock and fastened it around her mouth, blunting her pleas.

He was taking so much pleasure, but she was receiving it too. She wanted to sit back on him, take him deeper but he controlled her totally.

Eventually he quickened again behind her, and leant forward, a hand grasped a breast, another scissored around her clit. The combination shot her over the edge and she screamed into a convenient pillow and he grunted into her, several times, collapsing on her and rolling to the side.


‘Wow,’ said Sian around her loose gag.

‘Wow indeed,’ agreed Rob. ‘Here, let me untie you.’

He efficiently removed the gag and the ties holding her wrists. ‘Sorry about that, they are clean though.’

She laughed, ‘From the washing pile?’

‘Yep.’ They both snickered and looked at the clothes still strewn on the floor.

A growl from her stomach interrupted, ‘Oh, excuse me,’ she blushed.

Rob groaned, ‘I can’t believe I haven’t fed you.’

Sian laughed, ‘I think I need to clean up first.’ She felt sticky all over. Great, but sticky all over. She wriggled and stretched, hands running down her body.

‘Oh god, please don’t start me off again.’ He pushed against her and she felt renewed interest. ‘I’m like a bloody teenager again. Move whenever you’re able to.’

Surprisingly, Sian felt like jumping up and did so. She bustled into the bathroom, grabbing the green towel from earlier and within seconds was soaping up under the hot spray. The shower gel she smoothed over her breasts smelled like Rob, and reminded her of earlier moments. It took several lathers and taking the shower off the hook to clean off her tender parts. Once clean, she leant back against the wall and let the spray relax her.

‘Room for two?’ Rob was bemusedly watching her from the door, a navy towel slung over his shoulder. At her nod, he stepped into the bathtub to join her, sliding past and grabbing the gel. He squeezed a dollop out and began lathering up his chest.

The tub wasn’t very wide, with every sweep he brushed against her. She liked it, watching him, following the tracks of water down his body. He took particular care soaping his cock and balls.

‘Do my back? Please?’

She silently acquiesced, taking the gel from him and rubbing his back. Her hands ran over his muscles, loving the solidness of him. He turned back to face her and her hands continued to soap his chest.

‘Glad I tied you; you scraped the hell out of my back last time.’

Sian stared at her soapy errant fingers and blushed, ‘Oops.’

‘I’ll certainly have to tie you up and gag again, you looked so hot. Bondage, anal, spanking, you enjoy it all.’ There was a hint of cruelty to his smile.

Sian‘s heart dropped, ‘You make me sound like a…’ All of a sudden she felt terribly exposed, utterly naked in body and mind. And stupid, so terribly stupid.

As he stuck his face under the shared spray, she turned away, stepping out of the bath and grabbing a towel to swiftly dry off.

‘I didn’t mean…’ Rob must have realised he’d said the wrong thing, but was stuck rinsing soap from his face.

Sian plastered a rueful grin on her face, ‘Don’t worry, I know what you mean.’

She escaped the steamy bathroom and pulled her bra and dress back on. Fiddling with her phone didn’t alleviate her nerves. She was straightening the sheets on the bed when it occurred to her, what was keeping her there? He was still in the shower. How was the evening going to end? Nerves hit and before she knew it, she had grabbed her belongings, yanked on the boots and was tiptoeing out of the door just as the shower cut off.

By sheer luck, there was a bus stop right by the entrance to the block of flats, and a bus was drawing up outside. She jumped on, scanned her pass and scuttled down the aisle to grasp a rail. She didn’t even know where the bus was going, but would figure it out. Harford. What a relief.

Her phone beeped, and her heart leapt, but the text wasn’t from him. Her hands shook as she replaced the phone into her bag.

‘You all right, darling?’ The East End voice came from in front of her.

Sian looked up to see an attractively rough builder-type gazing down at her. ‘I’m fine, thanks,’ she responded, and smiled warily.

He scanned her face, glancing briefly at her cleavage, ‘I’d say you’re more than fine, gorgeous.’ His eyes confirmed his thoughts, a very flirtatious grin on his face.

She couldn’t help but grin back. What was she doing? She’d just had the most fabulous, NSA sex, discovered she enjoyed a lot more than plain vanilla and felt rather good. She swayed slightly as the bus went round a bend. Yep, pleasurably sore and satisfied.

The bus drew up at Harford station which broke the moment between her and the stranger, she laughed her thanks and winked at him, lightly stepping from the bus and jogging towards the station. That was it, the last train home. Excellent.


Rob didn’t expect to find the bedroom empty. He pulled on jeans as he rubbed his hair dry. He could hear someone moving in the kitchen, and his stomach rumbled.

‘What do you fancy to eat then?’ he called.

A male voice answered, ‘I’ve eaten already.’

‘Not you…’ Rob’s head came up. Had she…? ‘Is anyone with you?’

‘Nah, bra. I only got in a few seconds ago. Hey, I thought I saw one of the women from the club walking away from here.’

The only other person in the flat was Marcus. Where had Sian gone? He pulled on a jumper and shoes, grabbing his jacket and went out the door. He was just in time to see the bus pulling away, with Sian walking down the aisle.

Oh, shit, what had he said to her? Was she upset?

Another bus pulled up and without thinking, he jumped on. His bus shadowed hers until the station, where he saw her jump off. He followed her as far as the ticket barrier, staying several yards behind. She lightly skipped down to the platform, and he glimpsed her face as she turned and sashayed on to the waiting train. She was beaming, a huge satisfied smile on her face.

‘Got a ticket, mate?’

He shook his head, not bothering to look at the person asking.

‘Shove over an’ let us pass then. She’s a fucking hot bird, mate. You know her?’

He shook his head as the train pulled away.

‘Aww, fucking shame. I should’ve got her number on the bus. Those curves’d kill a man happy. Gave me a huge smile, a cheeky wink and a hard-on. Never mind; more fish an’ all that.’

Rob turned away, confused. What the hell was she up to? He wandered back to his flat, the walk doing nothing to clear his head.

So, he’d been a bit rude in the shower, she’d decided to leave but she wasn’t upset. They were getting on really well until then. What the fuck was going on?

Chapter 3

‘Let me get this right, you shagged him, three times in one evening, and then walked out?’

Sian playfully pursed her lips and nodded, ‘Yep, that’s about right.’

‘Three times. Hot sex, a bit of a kink? Less vanilla, more…’ Clare fanned her face.

Sian grinned, ‘Depends where you draw the line at kinky. Light bondage?’

‘Tied to a bed, or does he have any specialist equipment like a frame or one of those horse things that you-’

‘Whoa, stop right there. Definitely TMI. Well, when I’m sober…’

‘So, bondage-lite for a start, a little domination. Sado-masochism?’

‘Spanking. That was go-ooood.’ Sian wriggled in her seat. ‘Which reminds me, his fingers went where they-’

‘No!’ Clare started giggling, ‘On a first date?’

‘He really seemed to enjoy giving. He was so masterful.’

Sian and Clare were enjoying a lunchtime coffee in one of the cafes lining Harford Green. Sian had texted Clare on her way home on the train, while she was still on a sexually gratified high. Clare insisted on meeting the next day.

‘So, what do I tell Chris, if he asks? Is Rob messing you around or not?’
Sian sat back and contemplated the situation, ‘Tell him nothing. Nothing happened.’

‘Mindfucking? Keeping him hanging?’

‘Perhaps. I just haven’t decided how I feel yet.’

‘So, what will you do next time you see Rob?’

‘I’ve no idea. There’s a chance he thinks I’m a bit of a nutter, which would be embarrassing. I didn’t know how to react when he went all…I don’t know, cruel?’


‘Maybe more crude? A bit blunt. I wasn’t expecting to be romanced, things went a bit fast for that, but the way he spoke about what we’d done. I felt a bit hurt. And used.’ Sian stared into her coffee. ‘There’s also something I overheard, I don’t know whether getting involved is a good idea.’

‘Home game this weekend. You can’t miss that match, it’s a big cup game.’

Sian grimaced, ‘I’ll…I’ll just behave like it never happened. Neither time. Polite but friendly. Not think about jumping him again. Really not.’

‘You really think you can do that?’ asked Clare, raising an eyebrow.

‘I can try.’


This time Rob wasn’t teased for scratch marks down his back, instead they noticed a bite mark on his neck. The banter in the changing room after the showers wasn’t any better than before.

‘She must be a fox, mun. First scratches, now bites. OK boys, do we know who this vixen is?’

Marcus could only shake his head honestly; he hadn’t yet connected the woman he’d seen with Sian’s hasty exit. Gavin had his head buried in his kit bag so no one picked up his slight blush. A passing Chris only glared at Rob, daring him to say something.

A younger voice piped up from the other end of the changing room, ‘From my place, I did see a woman in a red dress strutting out of his flat. Didn’t see her face but she looked vaguely familiar from behind. Hot too.’

Another voice groaned quietly, ‘What is it about scrum halves that made them so bloody irritating? If it wasn’t Sam on a wind-up last year, it’s now Damo the fucking kid. Why won’t he shut the fuck up?’

Damian giggled on regardless, ‘I’d so do her, on her hands and knees, so it didn’t matter what her face looked like.’

Rob wasn’t expecting the flash of anger he experienced. He wanted to keep Sian to himself, how dare Damian! To cover his feelings, he turned his back to the rest of the players and towelled himself off.

He’d awoken that morning still confused by Sian’s exit, unsure what to do next and embarrassed by his behaviour. Should he call her again after last night, or was that too much like stalking? Sent a text to say sorry for being rude? He should have sent one last night, maybe the time had passed?

He wanted to have a word with Chris, but he’d just shrugged his shoulders at him and mimed that he knew nothing. Fuck.

Even more worrying was that he was hardening every time he remembered his exploits with Sian. When he remembered when she must have bitten him, that first time that night as she straddled him, squeezing him tightly as she came. Screaming into his neck.

Last night he’d started changing the sheets but the smell of them together had got him so hard, he had to stop for a wank, which felt confusingly unsatisfying without her there. She definitely would have lent a hand or two, or even a mouth. Her mouth, with that flicking tongue, sucking and licking him like a lollipop. He wanted to see her on her hands and knees, completely absorbed in enjoying his body. That first time where she used her boobs and swallowed everything? He thought that was so hot and natural. She really loved to lick him all over too, her obvious enjoyment feeding his own arousal.

It was a good thing Rob had continued dressing while thinking of her, otherwise he couldn’t have closed his jeans for the erection now straining against the heavy denim. He grabbed his bag, slinging the long shoulder strap so it covered his groin area and departed, waving a hand towards the catcalls and flying comments.


Heavily muscled legs surged and worked together with purpose as opposing legs and hands grappled for purchase. Slowly, the heaving mass of bodies rolled forward and down. Shouts and cries rang around the field as the home crowd cheered the action in front of them.

Sian gasped along with the rest and cheered, ‘Yes! We scored! Woohoo!’ She grinned happily, nudging Clare next to her, ‘Nice pushover try.’

Instead of the exposed, drizzle-swept terrace, for a change Sian was keeping Clare company up in the covered stand. Sarah was somewhere overseas for work; it was very unlike her to miss a home match but she’d said it couldn’t be helped.

They watched as the players untangled themselves and patted each other on the back. One mud-covered hulk got more pats than the rest, a filthy Rob. Only his clean, white smile stood out from the rest of his face until he grabbed a water bottle and doused himself so his features began to emerge.

In the gap between one of the opposition players needing attention and restarting the match, Sian watched him put fresh tape around his ears, globs of Vaseline on and around his head. She wasn’t the only one watching him.

A girlish giggle intruded into her thoughts, ‘That Rob’s a bit of all right, isn’t he?’

There were several younger girls a couple of rows below, shivering in their fashionable jackets and gossiping about most of the players. Sian had initially found them quite amusing, but after a while their tinny laughs and hair swishing had started to irritate.

Another hair toss, ‘I dunno, my dad says he’s a bit of a journeyman, going from club to club and filling in. Nothing special.’

‘Durr, you idiot, I was talking about him being a bit cute, in a rough and muscley way.’

‘You’re the idiot; it’s muscular, not muscley. You’re supposed to studying for an English A-level!’

‘I’d rather study Rob. In my A-level Art Life Drawing class.’

The girls dissolved into giggles and Sian allowed herself a wry smile, tamping down the snakes of doubt. She didn’t care, did she? ‘Drink, anyone?’


‘Oh, bollocks,’ swore Sian as her tipsy fingers knocked the change off the bar. She steadied herself against a stool and bent over, picking up the coins.


Despite being knackered after another eighty-minute match and full of post-match grub, Rob’s body was still on sexual high-alert. The sight of Sian’s curvy jean-clad arse wiggling as he walked into the bar made him groan aloud and curse as his cock plumped up.

Luckily the only person in the vicinity was Gavin who handed him a beer and grinned at his predicament, ‘You have got it bad, haven’t you?’

‘Fuck, yes.’ Rob dragged his gaze away from the fascinating view, and stared into his pint.

‘So, what happened? You looked like you were getting on so well when I…interrupted.’

‘I blew it. Said the wrong thing the wrong way.’

Gavin nodded, ‘Been there, done that. Birds can be sensitive after you’ve shagged them. Need to give ‘em a bit of a cwtch not smack ‘em in the chops, no matter what those shady books say.  You fucked up, mun.’

Rob raised his eyebrows at his young flatmate sounding so knowledgeable, ‘Ok, I know I’m going to regret this but what would you do now?’

‘Ignore her for a bit, mun. Play it cool. Get her coming after you once she’s no longer pissed off. You’ve already asked her out, why’s it up to you to do all the running?’

Rob frowned; not while he was still so horny. He glanced back towards Sian. She really looked good that day. For a change, her curly hair was twisted up in a knot, the slender, pale nape of her neck exposed above her dark red top. He wanted to kiss her there gently as he screwed her from behind.

Gavin carried on, ‘But before you’re able to do that tonight, you’ll have to go and knock one out. Calm down your hormones.’


Before he could continue further, the two of them were surrounded by several young girls, all swishing hair, high heels and giggles. ‘Hiya, I’m Tania, my dad’s on the committee. So…is either of you single?’


A couple of hours and several beers later, Rob was seriously considering Gavin’s advice. They’d moved on from the club to a local upmarket bar and Sian’s crowd were there also, on the other side of the room.

He was trying not to look her way at all, afraid that he wouldn’t stop in time. Now he knew what obsession was like. Incessant need to touch, to hold and to taste, he kept remembering events from the nights with her. When she had sucked him inside, ridden him like a horse as she searched for her own pleasure, or let him take control. Fuck, he was horny.

He had to stop it, before he embarrassed himself over her.

The nearest gents were on the other side of the bar, on his way past he saw her laughing and smiling at two besotted chaps from a rival team. He scowled and hastened to the sleekly decorated loo area, managing to nab a larger stall in the corner which even had a small window to the side covered with heavy damask curtains. Locking the door and leaning back against it, he unzipped immediately, his hands going to his already-hardening cock and tightening balls. He only just held back a groan from the temporary relief of touch.

A pool of spit and he easily started working himself. Up, down, squeeze, twist. Oh, that was so good. His mind replayed images of the two of them together. Sian smiling up at him as she held his cock, and her tongue on him that first morning. God, he was hard. Coming between her gorgeous tits. In her mouth. Her swallowing him up. Him restraining her, and her moans as he did what he wanted to her luscious body.

Pre-come oozed from the head, running down, mixing with his hand, making him more slippery. But not as slippery as her… Rob bit his lip and groaned as he came, spurting over the floor and narrowly missing his clothes. He breathed deeply as the last tremors shook him. Done.

In those few minutes, the loos had become busier which luckily had covered any noise he made. Unfortunately, impatience banged on the door, ‘Hurry up on the throne mate, there’s blokes dyin’ for a piss ‘ere.’

Rob panicked, looking around for something to wipe his cock and hands off on. He patted futilely at the empty toilet paper holder. There weren’t any spare rolls either. A light breeze from the small window gave him an idea. He waddled over to the curtains, selected an area hidden from view and carefully wiped himself enough to close his trousers. He rearranged the fabric, hiding the evidence apart from what was hardly visible on the floor.

A quick wash of his hands in the sink and he was presentable again, and a lot less horny. Thank fuck for that!


It was a strange evening. Sian pretended she was enjoying herself, certainly flirted with more men than she usually did. Rob was around, she thought she had caught a few hot gazes before he had looked away and turned his broad, club-shirt-covered back to her.

With her hair up, she couldn’t rely on her normal tendency to hide behind it. The crimson silk top with the deep cleavage and cinched waist paired with her jeans and red strappy heels made her feel girly and confident. And perhaps the vodka had helped a little with her confidence? She felt sexy and indestructible.

‘Wanna join us at a club? We’ll treat you,’ offered the taller of the two youngsters chatting her up.

She laughed and shook her head, ‘Nah, thanks. You’re both charming but I’m not in a clubbing mood tonight.’ And the last time she went clubbing, who did she meet? She caught a dark glower from the man in question as he barrelled past.

The boys took her refusal with good grace, leaving her with kisses on both cheeks and promises to go for a drink another time.

A short time later while she was leaning back against a pillar on the periphery of a conversation, Rob came out of the loos, moving a lot slower that time. She watched as he rejoined the Harford players in their red matching shirts. One of them she knew, Gavin, shot a glance her way, said something and bumped knuckles with Rob.

Hmmm, what was going on? While she was pondering, Rob turned to face her way. He laughed at something one of the others said, clinked his bottle and looked around.

His gaze passed over her without stopping, without acknowledgement. Ouch. Sian felt as if someone had physically slapped her. Ice trickled down her spine. Was he embarrassed to be seen with her? Even looking at her?

Fury grew within her at the thought, her inhibitions swept away by the alcohol she’d consumed. Fuck him and his attitude. A few steps was all it took. ‘Hi, Rob.’

Rob’s face was nonplussed, ‘What do you want?’

Sian leant in to murmur in his ear, ‘I want you. I want to lick and swallow you down like an ice-cream, to suck you like a lolly. I want you inside me, for you to fuck me and come until you feel like you’re turning inside out. I want you hard and fast, and slow and deep. And after we finish once, I want you to fuck me again, and again, and again.’ She nearly moaned but held it back. ‘But I know you don’t want me, and what I want…well, as my mother used to say, “Want, want, doesn’t get”. So I‘ll go to bed alone and think of how good you smell and how you felt inside me.’

She slowly straightened, avoiding his eyes. If she hadn’t aroused him, she’d aroused herself. She headed for the Ladies’, intent on tidying her make-up and using the loo before catching the train for the trip back to her flat.

Leaning over the mirror, she noted the flush in her cheeks, excitement glittering in her eyes. Just seeing Rob and remembering what they had shared was enough to do that. She rinsed her hands under the cool water, quelling the impulse to hide in there all night.

Time to go. Sian girded her loins and opened the door, seeing the exit clear for her escape. A few steps and she would be-

A strong arm circled her waist and she was pulled into a corner. She clutched at Rob’s biceps and squeaked in shock.

‘What the fuck made you think I didn’t want you? What do you think this is?’ Rob pulled her hips into his, forcing her against his bulging jeans. ‘I’ve only just come, then you whisper that litany of sex in my ear and I’m ready like a schoolboy again.’

Sian couldn’t stop herself rubbing against him, the ache increasing. She sucked in her breath with a gasp, trying to focus on why this was such a bad idea but Rob’s continuing torment was reminding her body of how good he felt.

‘Well?’ Rob was breathing heavily too. ‘Look, I’m sorry I was so rude to you, I really didn’t mean for you to take offence. I like you.’

‘I thought you were embarrassed to be seen with me?’

‘I thought you wanted things to be kept quiet?’

Another push of his hips and she gasped, ‘I don’t fucking care, just don’t stop!’

The bellowing voice of the landlord rang out, ‘Oi! You two, keep it family friendly or take it home!’

Half the bar, including the Harford boys, turned around to look for whoever was misbehaving.

‘Aye up boys, we’ve found the mystery woman.’

‘What’s up with that? They look good together. Can I watch this time?’ Damian grinned expectantly.

Sian hid her face in his neck with embarrassment.

Rob whispered mischievously in her ear, ‘Remember biting me there? As you sat across my cock, my hands-­’

‘Shut the fuck up before I come on the spot,’ growled Sian back.

‘I was serious, you know I’ve been ready for you all day, I’d only just calmed myself down shortly before you whispered in my ear and I was off again like a teenager. You don’t play fair.’ He punctuated that with another press of his hips into her, and a surreptitious squeeze of a breast.

‘Neither do you!’ she gasped.

‘Well, you’ll just have to wait.’ His hands moved to gently cup her face and he stared into her eyes, smiling lightly but seriously. ‘We need to have a proper chat, get to know each other before we jump into bed again.

Sian nodded in agreement as her arousal calmed to a simmer.

He lightly kissed her, ‘Let’s say a few words before we head off. Ready?’

She nodded and he took her hand and led her over to his friends as her confidence spiked. He wanted her to be by his side! He wasn’t embarrassed to be seen with her! She felt like a freeing weight had been lifted from her shoulders.


‘So much for your advice, Gav.’

‘It worked, didn’t it?’ Gavin grinned at them both. ‘Kill or cure, I was hoping she’d have a bit of a tiger in her.’

Rob scowled, ‘You twat.’

Bravery had obviously been an additive to Gavin’s beer, ‘Before I forget to say, nice tits honey.’

‘Glad you liked them, you’re not seeing them again. I’ll rip your balls off if you dare.’ Sian glanced at his crotch as Gavin winced.

Damian overheard that, ‘Ooh, feisty. I like ‘em hot. Fancy a threesome, Rob?’

‘Damian, I have one thing to say to you.’ Sian crooked a finger.

Damian grinned as he leant in towards her, his eyes dropping down to her cleavage, ‘Yes, sexy babe.’

Sian rolled her eyes, ‘A small matter you can help me with.’

‘Anything for you, gorgeous. I have plenty to spare, and not so small at that.’

‘Oh, do…fuck…off.’ She smiled angelically at him.

He blushed as all the rest of the boys guffawed at his embarrassment.

Rob chuckled and kissed her lightly, ‘I think that’s said it. Let’s be off.’

She waved happily to her friends as they exited the bar, hand-in-hand.

‘Want to go for that meal I never treated you to?’

Sian couldn’t hide her surprise, ‘I thought we’d be heading back to either of our places?’

‘I meant it about slowing things down. Let’s have a go at it. A few proper dates, maybe some that don’t end or even start in bed. See if we get on as well as I think we will.’

‘Great plan, agreed.’ She beamed.

‘As long as we shag often enough that you wear me out, I’ve been climbing the walls since I saw you last. Been rock hard most of the time with the need to be inside you.’

Sian gasped, and pinkened with arousal. ‘Rob!’

He held open a restaurant door for her, ‘Tapas, talking and teasing for the next hour. See if I can get you as hot for me as I’ve been for you.’

‘Hmmm, I’m already there so that shouldn’t be difficult,’ Sian promised, whispering. She glanced down as they were led to a secluded table, ‘There’s one more thing I need you to tell me though.’

‘What might that be?’

‘Is that stuff on your shoes what I think it is?’

*The End*…for now…

Will fervently single Sarah get her comeuppance when she’s reunited with a blast from her past? Playing for Keeps: Harford Scarlet Series #1 is out now, published by Xcite Books.