Which one will you choose?
In chronological order.
The Dom – Silent Screams
My Inner Goddess, perhaps too eager, began her celebratory dance a bit prematurely. She swirled in excitement, her glee bubbling over, certain that I had already claimed my victory as his breath came in short, labored breaths.
Lair of the Wolf
And then—wait—what was that unfolding at her neck? A molten breath, a whisper of teeth, the shiver of danger tracing her pulse as shadows of pleasure and peril entwined. Wolf’s full mouth encased her throat, his rough tongue flicking over her skin, sending jolts of fire through her.
The Canterbury Affair
Chaucer studied the sight of me with the precision of a writer choosing his words, his gaze lingering as if the moment itself were a sentence poised to be finished.
Beneath the Stripes: A carnival of Temptation
All around me, goddesses undulated, their forms entwined in the indulgent celebration of each other’s company. Soft whispers of laughter and throaty moans of pleasure echoed in the air, blending with the music of the carnival as they moved together—fluid, sensuous, and unashamed in their hedonistic revelry.
The serpent’s Embrace
Like Eve’s brush with temptation, the rope wound around me—satin, seductive, and inevitable. It slid over my collarbone, its touch gentle yet unmistakably deliberate, like the serpent’s velvety murmurs in the Garden of Eden.
Fevered Valentine, Part I
His eyes darkened as they traced the curves the lace attempted to conceal. With a low growl, he descended, his lips dancing along my neck, igniting trails of fire with each salacious kiss. I writhed beneath him, fingers curling into his back, nails threatening to break the surface as I fought to restrain the primal urge to mark him as my suitor.
Fevered Valentine, Part II
I became a mere plaything. I became a queen commanding her generals. I became the dark moon, waxing in forbidden rites. As the stars looked down from their lofty perches, my small form was contorted between them, tangled in a maze of flesh and desire.
I can hardly We’re All A Little Mad Here
I tilted my head, feline amusement curling at the corners of my lips, my fingers hovering just above hers—close enough to feel the heat of her skin, the pulse that leapt at my proximity. A second stretched, then another. The Queen’s hand was steady, but the way her throat bobbed in a slow, measured swallow betrayed her. A temptation resisted. Or was it considered? (9)
Her Name Is HungerHer Name Is Hunger
I rose from the bed like a ghost of heat and hunger, limbs draped in shadow. With the grace of a nocturne come to life, I straddled him, knees sinking into the mattress, hips hovering above his slumbering form. I told myself lies—soothing, ladylike lies.
Guinevere and the Knights of the Round Table
The knights remained resolute in their sacred mission—like titans bound to the trembling altar of womanhood. Mighty hands, scarred by a thousand battles, encircled the delicate ivory column of her neck, caressed her breasts, and slipped inside, lifting her—not to harm, never to harm—but to exalt.
Anguish of an Inner Goddess
I am trapped deep in a pit of my owner’s mortal form. I languish, forgotten. The abyss around me is a grave, its darkness thick and barren, a living shroud.
Unraveled by a Warrior
Bared teeth grazed tender flesh, a wicked drag that held just shy of pressure, of puncture. Not feral, not animal. But decadent. Salacious. A gesture crafted not for dominance but for delight. For mine.
Twilight Goodbye
He moved then, liturgical as a priest in his monastery, pressing his chest to mine, eliminating all air, all distance between us. His lips and hands turned to benediction once more, crossing the soft rise of my right breast.
The Temple Beneath the Tides
My mouth fell open in surprise, and she took it as an invitation, sliding those wicked fingers over my tongue, obeying her silent command to lick. And then…she kissed me.
The Prairie and the Storm
Obscenities tore from my lips like lightning flaying the sky, and my nails clawed desperate hieroglyphs into the sculpted terrain of his back, jagged, sacred, raw.
Just A Friday Night
But the molten ache between my thighs, the constellation of bite-marks blooming along my skin, and the smug purr of my Inner Goddess told me this wasn’t fantasy. It wasn’t a myth or metaphor. It was my life.
Crowned in Laurel, And Little Else
Laughter rose in glimmering notes, followed by low murmurs and languid exhalations, like satin slipping off a shoulder.
Fingers trailed over ribs, down thighs, across bellies. Lips pressed into the slope of a back or the hollow of a throat. Nothing rushed. Nothing concealed. They touched a whisper of forbidden worship.
The Theatre of Velvet Requiem
He bent low, breath hot against my ear, and gave an immortal, brutal thrust that drove the moan right out of my lungs. My fingers raked at the sheets. My spine curved like the crescent moon above. And still he did not relent, hunting my surrender like a predator tasting my weakening fight.
A New Rite of Memory
I turned, displaying the unapologetic swell of my derriere barely veiled in sapphire. My eyes gleaming, my breath quick. I don’t remember if I spoke aloud or if desire alone moved me, but I reached out, my fingers crooking in silent command, a lascivious little invitation. And he followed.
Scheming
I arranged myself with calculated abandon upon the couch, draped in nothing but that wicked scrap of lace and the sin of longing. Ankles demurely crossed, arms looped behind me, my spine a perfect line of poised defiance, I perched on the couch, just in sight of the front door.
The Compass Queen
She was not born to a crown.
But when kings charted their way to her bed, their paths clear and their hearts bare, the world took note and began to whisper a name.
The Compass Queen.
Fireworks Over Olympus
Amphictyonis laughed in a low and golden voice into the shell of my ear, her mischief wicked as ripe fruit. In tandem with the God-Priest’s worship, she sank her teeth again, sharp and tender, into the alabastrine curve of my neck.
Spin The Bottle
Hardly the sort of trifling amusement one might expect amidst oak-hewn pillars and divinely sculpted forms. Surely, the celestials of Olympus would not deign to play something as juvenile as Spin the Bottle.
And yet…
Temple of Pleasure and Pain
Her hand drew one end of the intertwined rope, cinching it closer to my throat. Not pitiless, but commanding. My eyes fluttered closed. Her other palm found the nape of my neck, grounding me in the rising tide of sensuous pulsations. Her mouth descended in an ardent, opulent kiss, the kind that liquefies reason.
Nothing
I should have felt split open by now, undone. I should have felt the stretch, the sacred sting, the firecrackers already ignited and bursting behind my eyelids.
But instead…
Awakening
I was desperate for the restoration of my Inner Goddess and hoped, with every fiber of me, that she could be lured by such forbidden temptation.
The Dread Olympians
Their bodies crashed into mine in a cadence of feral ecstasy, an oscillation both herculean and violent, each collision striking sparks through my marrow. Their growls were low, ominous, inexorable, and rolled like war drums through the chamber of my chest, causing my breath to catch and my Inner Goddess to stagger. (30)
The Hunger Between Us
His smirk carried the unmistakable arrogance of a man who had orchestrated every nuance, as though even the furniture had conspired in his design. And oh, the denial!
Moonlight & Olympians
Their murmurs tore the air, lips on lips, nails raking leather as the goddess scrabbled for purchase, her ribboned laughter shredded into ragged sighs. Their rites bled into mine, fanning a feral hunger that gnawed at every fiber, consuming thought and restraint alike.
Yes…It Was
He woke, god-smile sharp…
Wasn’t me.
Eyes blazing, knowing all my secrets…
Wasn’t me.
Sliding down, tongue and teeth on fire…
Wasn’t me.
The Argent Voyeur
The Moon Goddess shivered, biting at her pale thumb in anticipation. The sight was too intoxicating: Silver’s muscles taut with trembling restraint, Bronze panting, his hips slamming harder, lost in animal devotion.
A Stolen Night
An imperious Cleopatra in my solitude, reveling in her freedom, savoring her choices, delighting in every triumph. The water cradled me, my lashes fluttering closed, memory coiling sweet and venomous beneath the bubbles.
Communion and Ritual
My blood thundered in my ears, a wild cadence to the bed’s groaning beneath the brutal rhythm. Thwack, Thwack, thwack, caress, thwack again, each strike an immortal invocation, threatening to fling me forward, yet my elbows held, iron-strong. I would not falter. (36)
Tormented
My familiar quivers at the bedside, a false priest, bowing in mock devotion. I seize it, cupping it within my palm, rousing it before pressing it to my quivering pearl, until sparks hiss behind my eyes. Even then, I know: it is not him, nor her, that I desire. It is something unspeakable.
Saturday Indulgence
I sit at my desk, bathed in the argent glow of my twin monitors, the outside world a distant murmur. Monday’s whispers are powerless to disturb me. My fingers fly across the keyboard, yet the curve of my lips is a clandestine smile, a quiet testament to mischief and memory.
Morning Devotion
The dark still held the scent of night when his hand found my inner thigh. The world was silent, suspended in that fragile breath before dawn when the stars hesitated between burning and fading.
Fallen Sister
The demons’ smiles were diabolical, gleaming with the certainty of creatures who knew Heaven had lost. In that instant, the room exhaled flame, not of candle or altar, but of something older, sentient, and utterly voracious.
And then she was on her knees.
Sixty-Nine
So there I was, my arms trembling, splintering under the strain of my weight, muscles fraying at the edges as I strove to give as fiercely as I received, resisting the unholy urge to thrust into his face, hips betraying me with the pleasure he so ruthlessly conjured.
Beg (On Your Knees)
I drift, suspended between earth and sky, lost somewhere in the cosmos. Two onyx bands cradle me – one beneath my hips, one just under my arms – holding me aloft like a sacrifice offered to the heavens. Moaning, my body sways weightlessly, a pendulum of desire. (42)
Sabbath Embers
The three of us joined Caius and Eos upon the bed. Soon we were fully entwined across the vast expanse, bodies overlapping, senses fraying at the edges. Eos and I moved in licentious, unspoken accord, our mouths and fingers mapping every inch of Caius, coaxing, bending him to our will.
Nightwalker
I was caught between them, locked in an antideluvian vise of masculine force; Jack’s sheer physical command above me, the Nightwalker’s murkbound gravitas rising from below…two colossal presences pulling at me like rival deities fighting for a single soul.
Restoration
Not all nights unfurl in unbridled abandon. There are nights when pleasure is capricious, temperamental, delicate. Nights shadowed by bruised feelings, by the metallic sting of jealousy, by tenderness not yet fully sutured shut. (45)
By The Sea
I take up my pen with a foolish, telltale smile…yet the palm trees conspire against me. They murmur. They sway their heads in warning. Ink hesitates above parchment, arrested by heat and memory, as though the island itself has lifted an elegant finger to my lips.
Unsated
I could feel the ache still coiled in my belly – raw, insistent, unsated. It tugged at my attention, violent in its refusal to be reasoned with. She was not sated, not glowing or playful. She had become an abyss – ancient, roaring, unsatisfied – howling like some primordial beast denied its due.
Sovereign
Beneath my skin, my Inner Goddess stirred again…not triumphant, not whole, but achingly awake. Lust for flesh pulsed in my veins. For creatures of injury are often the most voracious and, though bruised, she prowled the corridors of my flesh with her fierce, unrelenting appetite.
Champagne Bubbles
Each moment swelled, quivered, and broke, memory rising like bubbles along a golden stream, vanishing before it could be held. The night fizzed and shimmered into being…sumptuous, intoxicating…already melting even as it took shape.
Frost Fairy & The Very Last Evening
Each lock gleamed like spun midnight frost, my body fully revealed: the outline of my throat, the audacious tilt of my cheek as his length filled my mouth, the slow, provocating flicks of my tongue, a spectacle wrought for those bold enough to witness it.
Year of the Inner Goddess 