Thursday, January 18, 2018
Colt Remington (yes, it's his real name) has just gotten a job as the male lead in a new play that is opening at a privately owned theatre. He's not needed on stage, so he heads down to the costume shop to be measured. His buff body causes a great deal of comment among the staff, several of whom argue about who gets to measure him.
"Got to measure your rise," Trish said quietly, awed somewhat by the inseam adventure.
One end of the tape went on his belt buckle as the tape went between his legs and up his butt to his belt. Trish's hand caressed his ass while she held the tape, letting her fingers drop in front. She read off a number, slowly pulling the tape back out. Colt clenched his buttocks so the tape stopped partway. Trish tugged, but the tape wouldn't budge.
"You smart ass, bastard," she teased. "Gimme my tape."
Colt released and the tape measure popped out between his legs.
"Want to measure anything else down there?"
"You're sure? I can arrange that."
"Not unless you intend to pleasure me," she replied with a saucy smirk.
"Sorry, baby. Spoken for. Dammit, Shaine, where were all these women when I was hurtin'?"
"You were hurtin'? Big, gorgeous hunk of man meat like you?" Sookie was incredulous. "Hell, I'd do you myself, and I like chicks! Something that gorgeous has to be appreciated," she explained to her startled colleagues.
"The prior girlfriend was being inconsiderate," he replied. "The new one appreciates this gorgeous hunk of man meat."
"Smart woman," Kennedy said with an exaggerated groan. "God! Can I please measure something? Anything! Name a body part!"
Colt felt sorry for her, but didn't want her to touch him if she was too young.
"How old are you, Kennedy?"
"Almost twenty. Birthday's next week."
He raised an appealing eyebrow at Trish. "Come on. Let her measure my chest. An early birthday?"
"Okay, but no lower. She's still a baby. I didn't get to do my first inseam until I was twenty-one."
"Really? His chest? Oh, my God! Can he take off his shirt? Please?" She begged.
Colt obliged, unbuttoning his shirt slowly. All the women, including Sterling and Shaine, stared at him as he handed his shirt to Trish. Holding his arms out from his sides, he presented a finely sculpted chest to Kennedy.
She took the tape measure from Trish, her hands trembling. "I think I forgot how!"
"Just wrap your arms around me, darlin' and let nature do the rest."
She put her arms around him, bringing the tape under his arms. As her fingers brushed his chest, his nipples hardened and he flexed his muscles.
"Oh, my God! Fifty-four and a half! No way! I can't breathe," she said, sitting heavily. She fanned herself, letting the tape drop to the floor.
Colt went down on one knee, picking it up. He gave it to her, putting it in her hand as he kissed her fingers. "Happy Birthday, Kennedy," he whispered huskily.
"Eep!" She hopped up, running from the room, fanning herself. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!"
© 2018 Dellani Oakes
Tuesday, January 16, 2018
Cynthia Marshal is newly appointed as the head reporter for the social page at one of the city's major papers. She's been assigned to do a series of articles on Ian Yarrow, a reclusive billionaire. She had no idea, when they met, that he was in a wheelchair. Their first meeting doesn't go very well, but they soon warm up to one another.
"When did you lose your virginity?" he asked suddenly, then held up his hands. "Sorry. Not my business. I was just—"
"Thinking like a man. I have brothers." She giggled, blushing slightly.
"More than one?"
"Lonnie's the eldest, but I've got three more, one older, two younger."
"Not a one. Mama used to tease that I was the redheaded step-child."
He laughed, brushing her red hair from her face. "I like redheads."
"Your friends do too. Both Hal and Brodie are married to redheads."
"Something about you girls with the fiery locks that makes a man weak," he sighed.
"All me." She tossed her short hair. "Well, some highlights, but the red is all me."
He wasn't staring at her hair. She was wearing a flimsy T-shirt and no bra. He could tell by the way her breasts jiggled when she moved. He was mesmerized.
"Hello? The face is up here," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
Instead of covering her breasts up, the crossed arms popped them up and outward. Her nipples seemed to chastise him for looking at them. He couldn't help it, he was fascinated. She was beautiful, intelligent, confident and very much her own woman. She'd put up with him when he was acting like a spoiled child, then turned around and gave him one of the best nights of his life.
Cynthia snapped her fingers in front of Ian's face. "Excuse me! When I need you to stare at my tits, I'll tell you. I think you'll do a bang-up job. You seem to be talented in that area already."
"Sorry," Yarrow grinned apologetically. "They're very nice tits, Cynthia. Extraordinary, in fact."
"One pair is tits is like another."
"You say that because you have them. See, when you're on the receiving end of tits, not sporting a pair, you notice the differences. Some are perky and pert, round and firm—the compact model. Others are saggy and well worn, the sedan model. Then there are those that are extra round, excessively pert, ultra soft, and firmly delicious—the sporty model. And those are what you have."
"I've got sporty tits?" She didn't know whether to be flattered or horrified.
"Thank you. I think? Is that a compliment?"
"It sure is from my perspective."
"Which is what?"
"The perspective of a man who's strongly attracted to you."
"Why do you date married women?"
"Why would you ask me a question like that? I just told you I'm attracted to you."
"Why what? Why am I attracted to you or why do I date married women?"
Yarrow sighed heavily, rolling his eyes. "They don't expect a commitment. They don't want anything but the sex and to feel desirable for a little while."
"And me? You told me Thursday, you'd do anything with the right equipment."
"An exaggeration. Once in awhile, I indulge in some naughty, meaningless sex with a willing female—married or not. It's not every night, not even every week. We have a mutually satisfying encounter. Is that a crime?"
"But why me? I mean, you've done super models and trophy wives. I'm not like any of those women. For one thing, my parts are all original."
"I don't know, Cynthia. There's something about you. . . ."
"What? What is there about me?"
Frustrated, he leaned back on the chaise, arms crossed. "I don't know. You excite me like no other woman I've met. I don't understand it. There's just something. . . ." He was angry that he couldn't put his feelings into words. That had never happened to him before. He could always say what he thought.
"What is there about me? What? I need to know, Yarrow, before this can go any further."
"You look past the chair and you see—me! You don't pretend to like me because I'm rich. You argue with me and make me angrier than anyone else I've ever met, then you show me that somewhere under this worthless set of legs, there's still a whole man."
© 2018 Dellani Oakes
Thursday, January 11, 2018
Alton & Velda is my first venture into Medieval fantasy with elves, nymphs and so on. Alton is a Wood Sprite, Velda is a Naiad. Astrid is a human, but her betrothed, Revanth, has an unfortunate problem. He was turned into a horse by an evil witch. His plight worsens when he is stolen by a couple of cruel horse thieves. Alton follows after, determined to get his friend back.
Revanth had not been well treated in his captivity. He was covered with mud and black fly bites. A stone had lodged in his hoof and he walked with a limp. The men weren't interested in that, though they did stop and wash him before entering town.
Horse and men made their slow way to the town. The men decided to look for a buyer before approaching the auction. If that didn't pan out, they could still put Revanth on the auction block.
The first potential buyer was a wealthy merchant from the Southern Continent. He was lavishly dressed in flowing robes in bright colors.
Revanth did his best to look disconsolate and down trodden. Unfortunately, his noble bearing (as horse or man) couldn't be hidden. He did his best to exaggerate his limp, but it wasn't until the man tried to examine his teeth, that his opportunity came. The fellow reached soft, pampered hands to Revanth's mouth. The horse-man bared strong, white teeth. A snarl curled his upper lip and he snapped.
The hands approached once more. Revanth opened his jaws, biting firmly, though not as much as he could have. He was still a gentleman and the merchant hadn't wronged him. Besides, he sensed his captors would beat him senseless if he seriously injured a potential buyer.
The merchant hopped back, squawking in panic. "Vicious beast!" He swatted at Revanth.
A horse's body doesn't lend itself to laughter, but he could snort and twitch his ears. Revanth's attitude certainly conveyed mirth.
"Get away from me, you beast! How can you ask someone to buy a horse like that?"
Other attempted sales went much the same way. The thieves decided to stop at a seedy tavern for a cup of cheap ale.
"If we can't find a wealthy buyer, any will do," the leader growled.
"Sly, we should take him to the auction."
"Where the entire city can see how badly he behaves? Are you mad, Grit? If we don't sell him in the next hour, we'll kill him and cut our loses."
"I hate doing that, Sly. He's a beautiful beast."
"Pretty or not, he's a burden. We can't keep him. He's too distinctive. What would a pair of drifters like us be doing with a warhorse?"
Sly picked up his tankard, draining it. With a click, he set it on the table and signaled for another.
Alton wandered into view. He spotted the men and Revanth nearby. He swaggered over to the tavern, ordering a cup of mead. Once it was served, he made a show of examining the crowd. His eyes slowly drifted to where the two thieves sat, heedless of his presence. His eyes narrowed and he plunked down his tankard.
"That's—my horse!" He pointed to Revanth. "What are you blackguards doing with him?" He put his hand on his sword hilt, advancing on the hapless pair.
The crowd spread quickly, giving him space to approach the men. They froze, cups of ale suspended halfway to gaping mouths.
"I've been after you bastards for two days. Call the watch!" he bellowed. "Hold them," he commanded.
The men finally decided it was time to flee. They rose from their seats, turning to run away. Bystanders surrounded them, closing the spaces between them. Horse theft was a serious crime in these parts. The wouldn't get away.
The city watch arrived moments later and the sergeant quickly ascertained the situation with a few carefully worded questions of the crowd. He addressed particular individuals, whose word he seemed to consider reliable. When he was done, he granted Alton leave to question the thieves.
Alton advanced on the leader, standing mere inches from Sly. Before he could speak, the man started babbling.
"We didn't steal him, young master. We found him wandering the road. We brought him here to see if we could find his owner."
"Then why did you try to sell him to anyone as would look at him?" the tavern wench spoke up. "If you was trying so hard to find his owner?"
"He were wandering, like," Sly persisted.
"Liar! My horse is battle trained. He doesn't wander off. He disappeared from the tavern where we stayed two nights hence."
"Would that be Tom Joyce's tavern?" the sergeant asked.
"I don't recall his name, but he passes himself off as magistrate there."
"That's the one," the sergeant said. "Lock them up," he ordered. "You may get away with theft in Tom Joyce's jurisdiction, but you won't do so here. You're in Baylor Fallow's territory now, and he won't hold with horse theft. Take 'em away."
He turned to Alton. "Now, sir. Prove to me that's your horse."
"Gladly." The Wood Sprite stepped forward. "Revanth, come."
Revanth snorted, lifting his head. He stepped forward, limping.
© 2018 Dellani Oakes
Tuesday, January 09, 2018
After the death of Chase's father, his Uncle Neil comes home. He's going to take the place of Dora, Chase's mother. Cliff's place has been taken by his younger sister, Cynthia. Neil was in love with Cynthia when they were teenagers. Seeing her again after almost 20 years, he realizes the old feelings never died. The two of them have just spent some quality time getting reacquainted.
They said goodnight. Chase was ready for bed, so Neil took a quick shower and brushed his teeth. He could smell Cynthia's cologne on his clothing and it made him want her again. He remembered, with a lurch, he'd promised to call when he got home. Picking up his phone, he saw a missed call. It was from Cynthia. She merely said to call as soon as he got the message. He called back immediately.
“You must think I'm a real dick,” he said when she picked up.
Cynthia laughed. “No, but I was worried.”
“I'm sorry. Chase was up when I got here. Kid needed to talk.”
“He's going through a lot right now.”
“Yeah. I know. I hope that I can help.”
“I don't know about Chase, but you sure helped me.”
“Yeah?” He couldn't keep the delight from his voice. “You helped me, too, Cindy Lou.”
“Uhh, I wish I'd never told you my middle name is Louise.”
“Really? I'd forgotten that. I just always thought of Cindy Lou Who.”
“Now I really want to smack you.”
“Promise? Some gentle abuse, light bondage.... I'm up for it, but are you sure that's how you roll, babe?”
“You are semi-impossible, Mr. Braxton.”
“Only semi? I think I should be offended. Really, the more accurate assessment is semi-improbable and nearly impossible.”
“Oh, I apologize for irregular use of adjectives.”
“I do love you, Cindy Lou.” He paused. “Shit, is it too early in this budding romance to say I love you?”
“Took you twenty years to say it. I think it's allowed. Had we just met, Mr. Braxton, it would be entirely too soon.”
“Yeah, if we'd just met, I betcha we wouldn't have done what we just did, either.”
“Safe bet. But we didn't and Boy DID we!” She giggled light heartedly. “I think it's semi-improbable that I feel this good.”
“It's nearly impossible that you feel as good as I do.”
“Superlative Game, Mr. Braxton? Should I be offended?”
“No games, Cindy Lou, just the God's honest truth. I feel better than I can ever remember. See what happens when I get to make love to the most beautiful woman in Miracle, Mississippi?”
“Not to mention the entire county.”
“Venture to say, the state.”
“The whole Southeast.”
“Babe, you are the most beautiful girl in the world, to me.”
Her reply was a sniffle. “I've missed you so much, Neil.”
“I'm back, Cynthia. I'm not going anywhere.” He yawned, loudly. “Except to bed. Jeez, is it really almost three? I've been awake nearly twenty-four hours!”
“Call me when you wake up.”
“How about you call me? I don't want to wake you.”
“Shoot me a text or I will shoot you one. Whichever one of us gets the text first, calls.”
“Works. Goodnight, Cindy Lou.”
“Goodnight, Neilio,” she teased, hanging up quickly.
© 2018 Dellani Oakes
Sunday, January 07, 2018
It's the New Year! Time to make (and break) your resolutions! As we've done for several years, the first show of the year, Christina and Dellani chat with one another. There's no telling where the conversation will go, because these ladies have a lot to say!
Christina writes under the name Rachel Rueben. She has one published YA novel, Hag. She's also written a variety of author self-help articles and books. Check out her work at Amazon, and her website, Writing By the Seat of My Pants.
Dellani has a wide variety of novels available. Mostly an author of romantic suspense, she also has historical romances, sci-fi, erotic romances, and an adult coloring book. Check out her work at Amazon, and her blog on Word Press.
Both authors post monthly on Cereal Authors blog on Word Press.
Thursday, January 04, 2018
Savage Heart is the sequel to Indian Summer, my historical romance. Sailfish, is on his way to St. Augustine for Gabriella's birthday. During the night, a wounded person stumbles into his camp, followed by an equally injured panther. He kills the panther, then turns to the person to treat the wounds. He's busily washing and bandaging when he gets a shock.
With a cry of surprise, Sailfish sat hard on the ground, legs flying upward. The person lying on the ground wasn't a young man at all. Puzzled, he gazed into the silent face.
"Who are you, little one, and where do you come from?"
The day neared mid-afternoon when the young woman stirred, opening eyes the color of new palm fronds. The gentle green was flecked with specks of gold. Sailfish's dark, penetrating gaze met hers as he smiled. Two spots of color rose in her cheeks when she realized her chest was swathed in bandages and nothing else. Scrabbling weakly with the edges of Sailfish's matchcoat, she tried to pull it over her. He kindly averted his eyes, concealing his smile.
"Forgive me for pointing out I've already seen you." He spoke softly in Spanish, hoping she understood.
She babbled quickly in response. It took him a moment to realize she was speaking French, her accent was slightly different from what he was used to. He repeated himself, in French this time, raising the edge of the cloth to her chin.
"Merci," she replied, mortified by her nakedness. Turning her head as far as she could from his gaze, her blush deepened.
"How do you happen to be out here alone?" he asked.
"My family," she sighed, picking at the frayed, singed edge of his matchcoat. "They were killed. I was the only one to get away. I don't even know where I am."
"Where are you from?"
She wouldn't speak.
"Who killed them?"
"Men like you."
"Like me? You mean Indian men?"
She nodded, her eyes full of tears.
"Exactly like me?" His tribe was distinctive. All the men were very tall and tattooed from head to foot, their hair decorated with beads, bits of shell and metal. No other tribes bred such tall warriors.
The young woman shrugged, gasping as her flesh pulled uncomfortably against her wounds. "They were not as tall as you, but were dark and angry men. They killed Papa, shot him through the chest. My mother—" She shuddered. "She was not so lucky. My sisters either. My baby brother, they took him away. I don't know how they killed him. He was screaming, then suddenly he stopped."
"How did you escape?"
"I was in the woods with my friend. He made me hide until it was over."
"He was wise to do so."
"He tried to help my mother, but they killed him too. It was awful." She burst into tears, sobbing piteously.
Sailfish wanted to comfort her, but didn't know how. A girl who had seen her family brutalized and murdered by Indians would hardly turn to another for solace. Instead, he gave her some broth he he'd made from jerked meat.
She drank hungrily, asking for more when she was through. "I haven't eaten for so long."
"Then that is all you may have for now. If you eat too much, you will lose it."
Conceding the truth of his statement, the girl fell into an uneasy sleep. Sailfish finished a simple shelter to keep the sun off her and caught fish for their evening meal. She still hadn't woken by the time it was ready.
He ate his meal in silence, waiting for the girl to wake. She woke as he cleaned up. Sailfish served her some food, hoping she would make the next move. Unused to the company of women not of his tribe, he had no idea what to speak to her about. There wasn't that problem with Gabriella. She always had plenty to say. His face clouded.
The bright, green eyes missed little. Touching him fleetingly, she drew his attention. "What makes you sad?" It was strange how she said it, emphasis strong on the pronoun. She knew her own grief, but his sorrow puzzled her.
"Something very hard to explain," he said.
Instead of elaborating, he walked to the river and washed his dishes. He cleaned up around the camp, checked the fire and lay down with his pack for a pillow.
"She must be someone very beautiful," the girl stated quietly, staring at the growing darkness.
"The woman you carry in your heart."
"What makes you think it's that?" Sailfish's tone turned defensive.
"Because the only time I saw that expression on my older brother's face, was when a woman broke his heart."
© 2017 Dellani Oakes
Tuesday, January 02, 2018
In order to spy on the British, Manuel and Sailfish intend to present themselves as a renegade Indian and a Portuguese sailor. A Spaniard would be captured and tortured for information. They are able to take a canoe up the coast, but must make the rest of the way on foot. Against Sailfish's advice and protests, Manuel has insisted that they take the coastal route. Now, he's regretting it.
The sun was high in the sky as Sailfish and Manuel trudged through the tall river grass along the shore. This part of the country was much less traveled than some others. Mosquitoes rose from the brush and rushes, feasting on them. Stinging black flies swarmed around them, landing on the exposed skin that wasn't covered by mosquitoes. Midges clouded their eyes and flew up their noses, making them sneeze.
Swatting uselessly, Manuel led the way. "I'll be covered in welts and drained of blood before we arrive!"
"I did say not to come this way," Sailfish replied tersely.
"I had hoped to cut a little time off our walk."
"I recall that argument being put forth at the time of our discussion. And what did I say in response?"
"The other way was better. You failed to elucidate how," Manuel snapped.
"I thought my assessment was enough for you, Brother."
"Yes, yes...." Manuel waved his words away impatiently.
"You usually take my advice without second guessing me."
"You're certainly a nag today. Perhaps it's lack of sleep?"
"Perhaps it's blood loss! Bear more to the right." Sailfish's tone turned peevish.
"I thought you weren't familiar with this path."
"I didn't say that. I said the other way is better. How would I know unless I'd also come this way? Take to the water. If we swim part of the way, the insects will be less troublesome."
"Are we going to argue all the way?"
"It's a distinct possibility unless you let me lead."
"Fine! If that will make you happy and less of an old woman, by all means!" Manuel bowed, urging his brother forward.
"Shh!" Sailfish held up his hand.
Although Manuel was mid-cry, he halted, biting back his words. Listening carefully, he heard sounds that could only be made by men. The creak of leather, clank of metal and gruff commentary filled the air.
"At least we've found them," Manuel whispered.
They eased to a crouch. Not even swatting the insects now, they listened. A flash of red no more than a score of yards ahead reminded them that the British knew how to secure an area. Backing slowly, they made their way toward the river. Slipping silently into the water, they swam a half mile or so away before hauling themselves onto the bank.
"Now what?" Manuel asked as he squeezed the water out of his hair.
"This was your brilliant plan, Brother."
"I hate when you're a smug Indian."
"And I hate when you're an arrogant Spaniard, so we're even."
Sailfish dug around in his waterproof pack for something to eat. He pulled out a packet of dried meat, sharing some with his brother. Manuel took the food automatically, with a nod of thanks.
"We can still approach them," Manuel sounded dubious.
"Oh, aye. We'll not draw any attention marching toward a landing force. We'll be shot before we go a bow's length."
"How's your Creek?"
"Terrible. You knew that already," Sailfish replied.
Manuel nodded, gazing over the water. Chewing and swallowing, he continued to think. "If we had a good story, a strong opening—"
"We would still get shot before—"
© 2018 Dellani Oakes
Colt Remington (yes, it's his real name) has just gotten a job as the male lead in a new play that is opening at a privately owned th...
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Moira Crane teaches high school English, lives a quiet life and is enjoying her new home. At least she is until her phone is stolen. It d...