Happy New Year!
So, I don’t make resolutions. For some reason, if I call it a resolution, I break it. However, if I start a new habit (a good one, not a bad one, at least hopefully), and I DON’T start it on New Year’s Day, it just seems to go easier for me. So this year, my DH and I started a new habit on Dec 17! And so far, except for Christmas Day, we’ve stuck to it! We are now walking 20,000 steps a day, which equates to 10 miles. Before that I was averaging about 6.5 miles per day. I’ve been a walker for about 30 years, especially when I saw how it helped my Mom’s arthritis from becoming debilitating. But my DH wasn’t in the habit. So now we’re doing it together and we’re both getting huge benefits out of it. It does take a chunk of time. We take 3 walks per day for a total of approximately 2.5 hours. And we’ve started eating more fruits and veggies. It’s funny but as you start to get older and there’s more aches and pains, you begin trying to get healthier. Too bad we didn’t do it years ago! But better late than never. So, I hope the fact that we’re cultivating a habit rather than making a resolution will help us stick with it!
So, are you like me and hate resolutions? Or do you love them and always keep them?
And trying new things brings me to my latest e-release from Berkley, Undone. This is a fun little story that I wrote for the Unlaced anthology which came out in 2008. The anthology won a Capa Award and my novella won the National Readers Choice Award for best novella. Now Undone is available on its own for the first time. Margo needs to break out of her old mold, try something new, put herself out there, and maybe get real kinky, too. Here’s a blurb and excerpt for you to enjoy.
Margo Faraday has been off her game ever since her last breakup. She needs help losing her inhibitions and exploring her sensual freedom. So when she sees an ad looking for models to pose for erotic pictures, she knows she’s found the solution. But opening herself up to an amateur photographer who has no limits—and an uncensored appreciation for the female body—will undoubtedly lead to something naughtier than her wildest fantasies…
By Jasmine Haynes
Previously published as part of the Unlaced Anthology
Amateur Photographer Looking for the Perfect Model.
Ever thought about posing for erotic pictures? We can start out with you clothed, then various stages of undress until total nudity. Pose as erotically as you’re comfortable with, perhaps even touch yourself, use a toy or two. Let your inhibitions go, I want you completely undone for the camera. The disposition of the pictures is up to you; if you don’t want me to keep any, I won’t. I’m not looking for a professional model, I want a real woman. I know you’re out there.
“Now get on the divan and show me that beautiful leg.” A small, wholly male smile creased his lips, and a hot light blazed in his shockingly blue eyes. “And keep the shoes on.”
Back-seamed thigh-highs and lacy thong panties, that was all she wore under the calf-length skirt. In her fantasies, she’d revealed the sexy lingerie one bit at a time, not a strip tease so much as leisurely dropping her barriers.
Margo put the sole of one pump on the burgundy chaise, slowly raised the skirt to her knee, then bent over to slide her hand down her calf, smoothing the seam of her stocking straight. The camera clicked beneath Dirk’s finger.
“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” he asked.
“Only in my fantasies,” she answered, her voice husky.
Christ, she was hot. He hadn’t expected that. He hadn’t cared. He’d needed the technical exercise to ready himself for the competition, but he’d also wanted the pleasure of a lady’s company, the eroticism of taking her picture as she lay naked for him. He hadn’t wanted a model, he’d wanted a real woman whose beauty wasn’t manufactured as if she were a commodity to be sold. He worked in the entertainment industry, where sometimes the only real thing about a woman was her breast enhancements. Though that was a pretty shitty thing to think. In his career, he was just as shallow and self-absorbed as the women he met. It was the bane of the business. You were an object, not a person. You could never be yourself. Which was why he wanted someone real for this session. A real woman was a beautiful creature in all her incarnations, no matter her hair length, eye color, facial structure, size, or age, as long as she felt beautiful. True beauty was strictly attitude.
This lady had it all, with a tantalizing hint of vulnerability in her gaze.
“Take a sip of wine,” he murmured, “and wet your lips.”
She leaned over, giving him a sweet view of her ass. When she turned back, her red lipstick shone lush and rich with the shimmer of wine.
“Now look at me while you pull the skirt high enough to give me a taste of thigh.”
She raised the fabric to the tops of her stockings, baring lace but no skin. Holy hell, a woman of surprises, all elegant business on the outside, but underneath, luscious lingerie. Blond hair past her shoulders, small breasts, toned muscles, and a pert ass, she was ageless to him. With a slight tilt to her nose, green eyes, and sculpted cheekbones, she was one fine lady.
She smiled, then stroked a hand beneath the skirt to her butt, the wool covering the act, but affording the camera a provocative hint.
He hadn’t specified in the ad, but he’d been looking for someone older. The taut skin and natural beauty of younger women came across well through the lens, but somehow they lacked confidence. As if they weren’t sure of their inner beauty as much as the outer trappings. Older women’s sense of style shone through. They’d accepted who they were, had gotten past their inhibitions, and came across the camera with grace.
“Smile for me again.”
He wanted a picture of that smile. It lit her face, showed the hint of laugh lines at her eyes, her mouth. She laughed a lot, perhaps frowned a little, a woman who’d lived her life. Another reason he wanted to photograph a real woman versus a paid model. No Botox, no surgery.
“Lie down,” he whispered, and she obeyed.
His heart beat faster as she spread herself out on the divan, one high-heeled shoe on the floor, her skirt primly covering her knees as she flung her hands above her head. She fluttered her eyelashes coquettishly. “How’s this?” she asked.
“Perfect.” Her small breasts–ones he’d figured for the real thing–thrust high against her sweater, her nipples hard beneath the soft wool. If she was wearing a bra, it was thin, maybe lacy. He snapped a shot.
“More?” she queried with a sexy rise to her brow. She didn’t wait for him to answer, tugging on the skirt, bunching the material in her fingers, raising it slowly, teasing the camera.
The black stockings were sheer, her legs toned. She’d cared for herself without going overboard. The lace of her thigh-high appeared, then creamy skin, and finally a black satin thong.
“Are you going to take a picture?”
He met her pretty green eyes. She was laughing at him. He had to laugh at himself. She had him mesmerized.
“Maybe I should start worrying that you’re a pervert.”
“Of course I’m a pervert. I advertised for a woman to do nasty things for my camera.” The most beautiful thing in the world was a woman in ecstasy. He’d wanted to capture the sight. But he was still a pervert. “I swear I’m harmless, though.”
He could only imagine what Lorie had said about him. She was a kicker, always teasing him, about his height, his size, his career choice. He was thankful she hadn’t scared Margo away.
Again Margo raised the sexy brow and let her eye travel the length of him. It was almost a touch the way that look made his cock jump. He’d known he’d get hot watching, just not this hot, where he’d forget to grab the shot.
“I’m going to show the other leg, so don’t miss this time.”
He sensed that his fascination put her at ease. Or maybe it was the fact that she enjoyed how attractive he found her. He still couldn’t believe she’d understood that photography wasn’t a hobby to him, but a dream. He’d longed for a woman who would believe in his dream and his ability to achieve it. Most of the people he knew thought he was crazy to consider giving up his lucrative career for taking pictures. Then again, “taking pictures” was a close reminder of the paparazzi, who, while they were disdained, could also make or break a career.
He raised the camera and for once didn’t like the distance it put between him and his subject. She gave him a tantalizing satin-thong view, reveling in the power of a desirable woman, which was exactly what he wanted to encapsulate on camera.
Without prompting, she turned over and tucked the skirt to her waist. One foot firmly on the floor and a knee on the chaise, she leaned forward on her hand, revealing her gorgeous ass in the barely there thong. The woman had excellent taste in lingerie. Then she rose, her blond hair tumbling around her shoulders, skirt falling to cover her, and stretched like a cat, one arm in the air, fingers kneading as if they were claws.
“I want to get naked,” she purred.
This was the woman he’d hoped to release once she stepped in front of the camera. Hot. Ready. As if she were anticipating a man between her legs. It hadn’t taken her long to feel the lure of being naughty for an inanimate object.
He was so damn hard he needed a slug of beer to cool off.
I want to remind you that Revenge Sex, West Coast Book 1 is free for the holidays! Here’s all the places you can find it free right now: Amazon Kobo Smashwords All Romance and iBookstore. So go out and download, download, download, and feel free to tell all your friends!
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