A week earlier I proved that I would do anything for my dad. In order to convince my horrible uncle to allow my dad have Tammy again, it meant I had to let him have his way with me. As much as my dad appreciated being able to have sex again with his cute niece, he felt guilty about what I had to do to make it happen. Well, if this is how he makes up to me, maybe I need to make him feel guilty more often!
Once a year, the gate opens—for Aisha and Elior alone. The garden remembers them, and as vines part and figs split, they answer its call with sweat, laughter, and a hunger sharpened by absence. Among trembling leaves and blooming fire, their bodies meet in a ritual of rhythm and release. What begins with a pomegranate becomes worship and undoing. This is no paradise. It’s something wilder—sacred, erotic, and entirely theirs.
Two young women go to college in search of excellence in life and sex. They form a study group with four men. It's a long, slow story about how people learn to live together and share their special genius. They have problems, but they solve them. Fair Warning!: There's lots of sex, but it's mostly off stage, so you need to use your imagination. / (Reviews)
An Erotic Vineyard Mystery A romantic thriller that starts slowly, but the passion builds as the plot unfolds. Sandy Craig is a busy young woman. Her life is all about her work as a reconstructive surgeon and medical partnership. She doesn't have time for a personal life, much less love. Keven Braddock is a well-to-do artist on the rise. Life is his oyster, but something is missing. When they meet, something in their lives change. Now if only things would stop going wrong and getting in the way of them finding happiness. / (Reviews)
A Jazz Club Story A Jazz Club Story - With her back to the door, her eyes sparkled as she slowly unfastened each brass button. She stopped as the soft inner curves of her breasts were revealed, and laughed richly when she saw my expression. (This is the fifth of five Jazz Club stories.)
*** Silver Clit Finalist, January 2003. ***
The time, March 1918, the place, the middle of the North sea. Sitting becalmed in the middle of a fogbank Eliza Simpson, just 18, doesn't know who might drop by.