I wake up this morning missing him.

Craving the way he smells, tastes, the way he spoons against my back and slings a heavy, sleepy arm over my hip every morning. Sniffs my neck, bites me on the shoulder hard enough to leave a mark each day to let me know he owns me, as if I need the reminder. He reaches for my morning erection, every day like clockwork, murmurs how hard and hot my cock feels in his hand. Some days he jerks me off but most days he doesn't. Teases me, squeezes me, leaves me hard and dripping for him, making me think about him bringing me off all fucking day.

I could jerk off and relieve the pressure, fib and tell him I didn't, but it's just too fucking good when he finally comes home. Pushes me to the bed without saying hello, rips off what little clothing I'm wearing to get at my cock that's still hard and dripping for him. Grips my dick with a rough, demanding hand and I whimper. He cackles, inordinately pleased with the needy state I'm in, the evil bastard.

Slow strokes, base to tip, tip to base, base to tip, digs his thumbnail into my piss slit and he cackles again when I spurt pre-cum onto his fingers. Tells me I'm a horny, dirty, nasty little boy in an amused, mock-chiding tone. Leans over and licks the mess off the head of my cock. I shiver, moan and whimper, knowing I can't come until he's good and ready.

Some days he hikes my knees up to my chest and fucks me stupid right then and there—no words, just stares me in the eyes, drills me hard and fast. Some days he flips me over and fucks me from behind, talks filth to me, drones on and on in wicked terms about how hot and tight my asshole feels to him. Other days he jerks me off to spatter cum on my own belly, cleans me up afterward with his tongue.

Most days, though, he walks away and leaves me hard and dripping for him. Tells me I'm a whore for him, which I am, tells me he'll fuck me good and proper when he gets home from work, which he does. I don't get a lot done at home on those days.

Going to be a long week, me hard and dripping for him.

--Jaye

And the randomly selected winner of a copy of LET THEM TRY is:

Congratulations, Davey! If you would send your email address to jaye.valentine@macleodvalentine.com, I'll make sure you get a copy of the novella this evening. 

Thanks to everyone who stopped by to help us christen our new blog. 

--Jaye

In in an effort to move away from services that are a major time-suck for me with little tangible return (e.g., LiveJournal), while doing some sprucing up on our website today, I decided to create this nifty little blog. So nifty is this blog, I may indeed make use of it on a potentially semi-regular basis.

That's not to claim anything of importance will show up here (except for book announcements, of course), but then again . . . you never know.

Feel free to comment. All we ask is that you treat this place like you're in our living room and keep the atmosphere civil. Even the Devil appreciates good manners. 

Right, Reno?  :-)

--Jaye