Rebirth

This post is long overdue. Thanks to the dedication of a reader who has been checking back periodically I received a much needed nudge today. I said goodbye, privately, to Scarlett Greyson as my pen name quite some time ago. Because the name wasn’t entirely of my choosing I didn’t feel that it was one I wanted to carry forward. So when my life went through a gigantic upheaval in the spring of 2010 I put Scarlett on ice.

Since that time I divorced my husband, moved to another state and really have found myself living quite a different life.

But I’m still writing.

To find me now check out http://www.aislingweaver.com. I’ve announced the new pen name a few times on Twitter(@AislingWeaver) but I admit, I’m a terrible blogger….I kept forgetting to come back and do the post.

So stop by and check things out if you’re still keeping and eye on this site and wondering where I went to and I somehow didn’t manage to get you in the know.

Interview with Lux Zakari

I sat down with Lux Zakari a bit ago….go check out the interview!

Trapped By An Edge ~ Final Smutathon Entry

Well, I didn’t make it any further than round three of the Smutathon.  My apologies for the delay in sharing this here(I honestly thought I had already!)

Trapped By An Edge

I waited behind black satin.  Somewhere he watched, spider pondering prey, his gaze palpable as a touch.

I evaded him, avoiding his traps, all attempts to capture me. Still, here I waited, bound and blindfolded.

“You’ve eluded me long enough, little dove,” a metal snick jerked my head, “I’m going to enjoy this.”

A cold line traced my spine, fabric sighing apart, exposing my skin.  The touch paused at my hips; the shiver following suffused my whole body with heat.

“Ah, that’s better.”  The flat of the blade swept lines across my back, along the curves of my ribs.  With each pass the steel warmed, each touch sent a ripple down my body.

He dissected my negligee until it hung, shredded, about my frame.  My chest froze with sharp touch.  Drunk on fear my nipples tightened, my skin flushed.

“Perfect,” he exhaled, dragging the stiletto’s point in a spiral on my soft stomach.  “Would you like to see?”  His breath teased my lips; I nodded, mute.

“Hold still.”  A blade traced my cheekbone, another my jaw.  In unison they slipped under the satin I froze; the fabric rent with deft twists of his blades.

Sight returned my eyes devoured him.  I licked my lips; he grinned.  With a knifepoint he tipped my chin, dragging my gaze from his erection.  “It won’t be that easy,” he teased, flipping the other stiletto in his palm; pressing the handle to my lips. “Show me,” he growled, ” how much you regret evading me.”

Do make sure you stop by Alison Tyler’s Smutathon to continue voting in the ongoing competition and to enjoy some truly fine work!

4 Stars for Slipping Time!

I just love it when I check my email and there’s a review in it! (Shhh.  Yes, I know…I’ve not had many reviews yet.  Makes it all the nicer!)  But even nicer is the review that I found waiting for my novella, Slipping Time!  The lovely Kelli Collins wrote:

I had a question or two about one aspect of the premise, but that’s nearly insignificant in the face of beautiful emotion, palpable suspense and an almost magical quality that draws you in and holds you tight from first page to last. The sex scenes were lovely in their sadness, in the face of the women’s circumstances, but the author gives them the ending you desperately want them to have. I didn’t want the story to end.

Which of course just made my morning!  I really love this story and it makes me smile to see other people enjoy it!

Smutathon entry ~ Missive ~ I’m still in it!

Barely, but I’m still in the Smutathon!  There was a three way tie at the bottom, so just one was knocked out this go round.   So…my piece was ‘Missive’…did you guess right?

Missive

Stop. Don’t touch another thing. Are you listening, my pet? I’ve a challenge for you, a secret task. Are you up for it? Nod if you’re willing.

Good. I knew you would be. Pick up your purse, keep your phone in your hand and go to the end of the hall. Go now.

Don’t hesitate.

You blush so deliciously when you’re flustered. Go into the conference room. Yes. That one.

Shut the door. Ah, ah, I didn’t say to lock the door.

Did you do as I said this morning?

Show me.

Perfect. The red garter belt is a nice touch.

Oh yes, you are loving this, aren’t you my sweet slut? Drop your skirt to the floor.

Now your shirt.

No, leave the bra. Go open the blinds. It’s a beautiful day. Perfectly overcast so there’s no reflection on the windows.

Can you see all those offices across the street? Can you see people in them?

Oh yes, my dear, absolutely perfect.

Pull a chair over and present yourself to them just as you would to me.

Yes. Just like that.

Prop your feet on the glass.

Now touch yourself.

Shh. No sounds now…remember? This little interlude is a secret.

~fin~

Can you keep a secret?

I can…at least for a little while longer.  The Smutathon continues, so take yourself over, read some delicious, sweet secret filth and vote!  I can’t tell you which one is mine yet, but don’t worry, at the end we’ll all spill our secrets!

Ok…not all of them…but we’ll at least tell you who wrote what!

P.S. Yes…I know I’ve been quiet…I’m hunting rabbits you know!  oh..alright, I’m not, you got me.  Bear with me though, okay?

The Painter ~ The Smutathon

I made it through the first elimination!  There were a definite couple of runaway favorites but I did manage enough votes for my story ‘The Painter’ to move on to the next round.  We’ve already received our next challenge and I’m pondering it…hopefully the muse will cooperate soon!

But, in case you missed the first round here’s my entry…

The Painter

She watches my hands, always.  Whenever I work I know I’ll find her near, peeking through the sweep of her hair, eyes tracking my movements.  Lindsay was one of the first visitors to my studio; now the most frequent.The painting is near complete.  I can feel her gaze on me as I add the smallest of final touches with small twists of my paintbrush.  Never before has she stayed so long.  I wonder if she realizes it’s her portrait.  “It’s beautiful,” she whispers; she’s so close my heart lurches.  When our gazes meet my stomach takes a lazy tumble.  I realize for the first time she’s gold flecks in her ultramarine irises and there’s a splash of raw sienna freckles across the bridge of her nose.  A scent, crisp and bright as cadmium yellow twists through the sharp bite of turpentine.  Lips find lips; hands discover the shape of waist and hip.  The hollow of her throat tastes of sweet sweat, her nipples tightening into peaks of Persian Red.  Inch by inch I paint her body with my tongue just as I painted her image, filling my other senses with her.  Her lust I taste and label as the rage of Scheveningen reds, my tongue delving, drinking, stroking.  And when she twists her fingers into my hair, urgent, voice calling, I lose all thought of color, lost in the taste, the feel, the sound of her.  My senses opened and caught, imagination ensnared.

  • Top Posts

  • December 2014
    M T W T F S S
    « May    
    1234567
    891011121314
    15161718192021
    22232425262728
    293031  


  • sex forums
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.