Might be away for a bit….

Life has taken a bit of a spin for me.  I’m not sure what exactly the future holds, but it’s definitely holding something new.  So.  Writing, blogging, and tweeting, for that matter, I do believe will be on sabbatical for a bit.  Bear with me, okay?

The Dirtyville Project goes YouTube!

Courtesy of the talented Willsin Row The Dirtville Project, Dirtyville/Kinkyville, now has a promo trailer!  So check it out, and if you haven’t gotten your copies of the books do it!  They’re hot, sexy, awesome collections from some amazing authors 🙂

And just in case you need direction to where to get these lovely anthologies, some linkage!

For all things Dirtyville, including links, inside stories and merchandise visit the official Dirtyville Blog

Flash Serial:The New Canvas ~ Part 13

This is a continuation of a serial piece of erotic fiction.  You may wish to start at the beginning,here.

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The week passed far too quickly for Victor’s comfort.  Before he was prepared Friday was upon him and he was forced to enter his studio and prepare for Alexandra’s arrival.  He had to finish her piece; finish it and get her the hell out of his life.  The screen with her artwork taunted him, the form suddenly looking unfinished.  He snarled and turned his back on it, thankful the line work was complete.  He knew, far too intimately, what happened when arousal began to interfere with his vision.

Victor refused to turn when the distinct, cursedly familiar cadence of Alexandra’s footsteps sounded down the hall, pausing for a brief moment in the door way.  He forced his muscles to obey, to resist tensing under her gaze, and swallowed a sigh of relief when she resumed her progress.  The vinyl of the table creaked and he found himself far too aware of her quiet exhale as she laid down.  His stomach tightened, full of lead winged butterflies, as he thought of the work necessary.  The piece was complete up to her kneecap; tonight he would work on her thigh.  His cock twitched and he closed his eyes against the surge of memory.  He could still remember the hot taste of her mouth, the easy way she fit against him.

The artist steeled himself, preparing for the sight of her, pulling his table into position before turning around.  His breath would have escaped in a gasp if his chest hadn’t locked up in bands of constricting muscles.  Alexandra lay waiting, fingers laced across her stomach, eyes closed, face devoid of expression.  Her skirt lay in a disarray pulled up to her hips revealing the lengths of her legs, long and tan; his fingers twitched.  Get it together, Victor, he snarled at himself and forced his body into motion.

Alexandra’s skin jumped like a fly-bitten horse’s when his hands arranged her leg with careful touches.  Her silken flesh stirred his blood again and he swallowed hard.  He could do this.  He could finish the piece and erase this woman from his life.

Unlike the last one who got under his skin, who still haunted him.

It started as flowers.  A simple chain of jasmine that tumbled from Sasha’s left shoulder to her right hip, crossing the graceful curve of her spine.  Victor had nearly finished it when she turned and kissed him, her tongue hot and promising in his mouth.  When he woke the next morning, watched the rising sun stretch across her back he knew something else was needed.

A sinuous cherry branch joined the jasmine, delicate pink blossoms supported by dark twigs, etched into her skin over the course of two months, much longer than it should have taken.  He simply couldn’t keep his hands off her, couldn’t focus on the work.

When he began inking the prickling vine of Eglantine rose he knew he had to finish the tattoo and end the affair.  Every day she twisted him into a painful knot, sharp barbs of her words drawing blood, leaving invisible wounds that never seemed to heal.  And still her body lay claim to his, her teeth marked his skin, nails dug furrows in his flesh.  It had taken finding her with someone else, seeing Sasha twined around another man, whispering in his ear, hand cupped over his groin, to catalyze Victor’s determination.  He finished the tattoo in one night, resisting her attempts at seduction, driving the ink into her skin as he detailed each painful thorn.

When she left, casting a last volley of razor edged words to slice his heart, he swore he’d never let it happen again, never let another woman get under his skin.

Victor’s hands trembled briefly as he set his sausau in place, taking a deep breath, refusing to let his eyes linger on the shadowy junction of her thigh.  He could do this.  He had to.

~*~

Come back next week for the continuation…

A front row seat…

A front row seat is not always a good thing…especially when you’re waiting for a writer to post the next chapter.

Bear with me folks.

I’m in a staring contest with my muse(read:writer’s block). So far she’s winning.  As soon as I can get past the wall and get her back on track we’ll be back to our regularly scheduled programming of The New Canvas.