Soliel De Bella
- Apr 1, 2019
- 24 min read

The amazing author Reed James- Our April spotlight

INTIMATE AUTHOR SPOLIGHT INTERVIEW WITH REED JAMES

Bio

Reed James is a thirty-year-old guy living in Tacoma, WA. “I love to write, I find it freeing to immerse myself in a world and tell its stories and then share them with others.” He's been writing naughty stories since high school, furiously polishing his craft, and finally feels ready to share his fantasies with the world.

“I love writing about women who want to be a little (or a lot) naughty, people expressing their love for each other as physically and kinkily as possible, and women loving other women. Whether it's a virgin experiencing her/his first time or a long-term couple exploring the bounds of their relationships, it will be a hot, erotic story!”

S- What is the first book that made you cry?

RJ- Not sure. I've read a lot of books.

S- What is the most unethical practice in the publishing industry?

RJ- Amazon's KU program. Paying by pages has caused all manner of scams to be implemented and encourages authors to pad books. In addition, it makes you as an idle author have to choose between being published only with Amazon or going wide.

S- Does writing energize or exhaust you?

RJ- Both. It energizes me to write, but it's still mental activity and will tire you out if you write 20,000 words in one day.

S- What are common traps for aspiring writers?

RJ- It'll never be perfect. Don't edit until you've finished writing your book. It's not as bad you think it is. You can fix anything in rewrites.

S- Does a big ego help or hurt writers?

RJ- A bit of ego helps. You have to believe that your writing is good, or you'll get stuck in forever revising it.

S- Have you ever gotten reader’s block?

RJ- No. I have had days where I writing didn't want to come easily, but you just have to get something on the page. “You can fix anything but a blank page.” Nora Roberts

S-Did you ever consider writing under a pseudonym?

RJ- I write under many. It can let you separate various genres you write in.

S- Do you try more to be original or to deliver to readers what they want?

RJ- I write what I want to write. Tell the stories that I want to tell.

S- Do you think someone could be a writer if they don’t feel emotions strongly?

RJ- I think empathy is the most important trait for a fiction author. If you can't understand someone else's point of view, you won't make a character but a caricature. Especially if that character has beliefs diametrically opposed to your own.

S- What other authors are you friends with, and how do they help you become a better writer?

RJ- I'm friends with numerous authors. I have a few that we critique each other and point out ways to make our writing better. You can always improve.

S-Doyou want each book to stand on its own, or are you trying to build a body of work with connections between each book?

RJ- I have built a body of work. My Aphrodite Sisterhood Universe is a sprawling collection of short stories that interconnect with each others and have storylines that can be advanced in minor ways from series to series.

S- If you could tell your younger writing self anything, what would it be?

RJ- Play less video games and write more often.

S- How did publishing your first book change your process of writing?

RJ- I had to find ways to streamline the process and treat it like a job.

S- What did you do with your first advance?

RJ- I'm an indie author. Never got one.

S- What’s your favorite under-appreciated novel?

RJ- The Darkness that Comes Before by R. Scott Bakker S- How many unpublished and half-finished books do you have?

RJ- I don't have many half-finished books. I FINISH them, I just have a lot of things I am working on and something I wrote as a rough draft might not be edited and published for months.

S- What does literary success look like to you?

RJ- Did I pay my bills. If yes, success.

S- What’s the best way to market your books?

RJ- I wish I knew.

S- What kind of research do you do, and how long do you spend researchingbefore beginning a book?

RJ-Depends on the book. I'll delve into mythology, into profession, into any subject that might be needed.

S- Do you view writing as a kind of spiritual practice?

RJ- Yes and no. I don't see it as a I think the question means, as something that makes me feel more in-tune with the universe, but that humans are made in the image of God. Creativity and imagination are some of the things that have let us rise above the animals.

S- How long were you a part-time writer before you became a full-time one?

RJ- I was an amateur writer starting in September of 2013, posting on free story sites. By March of 2014 I published my first erotica on Amazon. In October of 2014, I quit my job and went full time.

S- How many hours a day do you write?

RJ- I write/edit/market full time. 14 hours a day.

S- What did you edit out of this book?”

RJ- Anything that didn't serve character, plot, or world building.

S- How do you select the names of your characters?

RJ- Depends. I pluck them from my mind (though that tends to cause the same fifty or so names to percolate), I use a random baby name generator, or (if it's fantasy) I'll create rules for a fictitious people's phonemes and build names from them.

S- If you didn’t write, what would you do for work?

RJ- No idea.

S- Do you read your book reviews? How do you deal with bad or good ones?

RJ- I try not to. I can have a dozen good ones and a bad one, and I'll be thinking about the bad one for a weekend. I don't mind feedback, but seeing a one star really messes with me.

S- Do you hide any secrets in your books that only a few people will find?

RJ- Yep.

S- What was your hardest scene to write?

RJ- It's hard every time I kill a character I really like. Especially if I'm writing their POV or the POV of someone close to them.

S- Do you Google yourself?

RJ- Nope

S- What one thing would you give up to become a better writer?

RJ- Sleep.

S- What are your favorite literary journals?

RJ- Never read them.

S- What is your favorite childhood book?

RJ- Shark Boy

S- What is the most difficult part of your artistic process?

RJ- Marketing.

S- Does your family support your career as a writer?

RJ- Yes.

S- If you had to do something differently as a child or teenager to become a better writer as an adult, what would you do?

RJ- Set aside time to actually write than think about what I would write. Not allow myself to get distracted by life.

S- How long on average does it take you to write a book?

RJ- I write mostly short stories. It takes about 2 ½ hours to write a 7k short.

S- Do you believe in writer’s block?

RJ- No. Writer's block is an author getting in their own way. Either from pressure, from impostor syndrome, or burn out. I've had days when writing felt painful, but you get the words written and fix it in rewrites. Stressing over your rough draft is a poor idea. “The first draft of everything is shit.”~ Hemingway

Thank you kindly for letting us into your creative mind today Reed James.

A dark incubus ignites Kyrie's passions!

Kyrie is recovering, making a new life for herself. The cute, young woman has no idea how everything will change when he walks into the club where she works.

Tall, handsome, overwhelming. Dean Walker captures her passions. The nubile woman can't stop thinking about him. He fills her dreams with wild passion. She wants him more than she can say.

She burns for the hot incubus.

Around the flirty beauty, a world of shadowy passions lurks. Danger swirls. Is Dean an incubus she can love, or a dangerous man on the prowl for dark pleasures. He promises ecstasy.

Can Kyrie handle it?

You have to read this naughty, supernatural erotica to find out what happens next!

This naughty erotic novel contains: supernatural, incubus, devil, oral, anal, creampie, menage, lesbian, spanking, domination, exhibitionism, voyeurism, menage erotica that is not for the faint of heart!

EXCERPT:

CHAPTER ONE -

DREAM LOVER

Kyrie Hope My feet were killing me as I trudged up the outside stairs of my apartment building in my heeled boots. The Coat of Arms Apartments weren't the worst in the city, but they weren't as good as I'd like. It was the best I could afford on my wages and tips working as a bartender. It was close to my job, The Green Eye Delight, a popular club. A short walk was important at three in the morning. I was always tense coming home, my shoulders hunched, so aware of anything that could be lurking in the shadows. Like him. I pushed my bastard ex out of my thoughts as I fumbled to get my keys out of my purse. I found them as I reached the well-lit walkway that lined the second floor of the building. My door was three down, apartment 211. The jingling of my keys lifted the head of the black cat sitting on my doormat. I blinked as her green, slitted eyes met mine. I frowned at the cat, wondering why she was sleeping on my doormat. She rose with that feline grace, back arching as her mouth opened in a slow yawn. I considered the cat as she faced me, eyes unblinking. She sat down on her haunches, her tail flicking behind her. She was all black, almost a shadow even beneath the light shining above my door. “Well, hi there,” I said, my voice full of the fake-brightness I used when tending bar. I would never let my patrons know I was tired. I was a professional. The cat flicked her ears. “Guess I got a comfy welcome mat, huh?” I asked, moving towards her. I was surprised that the cat didn't bolt. There was nothing skittish about her pose. She held her ground, forcing me to move carefully so I didn't step on her twitching tail as I positioned myself in front of my door. To my shock, she rubbed her whiskered cheek against my skinny jeans, the whisking sound of her fur on denim filling the early morning air. “Aren't you a friendly thing?” I said as my key clicked home into the deadbolt lock. “Are you one of my neighbor's?” I hadn't got a chance to know anyone else in the three weeks I'd lived here. I was busy working, trying to survive. I wasn't here to make friends. I was here to... A shiver ran down my spine. I glanced over my shoulders, searching the shadows of the courtyard. I felt like someone was watching me. A quick scan revealed nothing. I shook my head again, knowing it was just my paranoia. Tyrone had no idea where I was. I'd left everything behind. I opened my door and, before I could stop her, the cat darted inside. I groaned, stumbling in after her, not in the mood for this. The cat hopped up onto my couch, curled up into a ball, and rested her muzzle on her front paws. Her tail half-dangled over the side, her fur standing out against the beige cushion. It was a little faded with age, but the couch was a good buy I'd found at the local thrift store. It matched the rest of my small living room. That wasn't an easy feat when you prowled second-hand stores to decorate. I was proud of the life I was building here. It wasn't what I expected when I was that bright-eyed eighteen-year-old girl heading off to college. Nearly six years had changed a lot. I had a fresh start, a chance to do things better. To not make that mistake again... You'd think a year of moving around would ease that tension at the base of my spine. “Come on,” I said, pointing at my open front door. “You can't stay here, cat.” She purred. That deep, rumbling sound rose from her. Her green eyes closed. I let out a sigh, tired. I just wanted to go to bed. I pushed at her side, trying to nudge her off the couch. She kept purring. My push turned into a stroke somehow as I marveled at how soft and warm her fur was. She felt like silk. I petted her, loving the feel of her beneath my fingers. Her purrs grew louder, filling my empty living room with life. A smile crossed my lips as my fingers slid up between her ears, scratching them. The triangular points twitched. Her tail flicked from side to side. “Fine,” I said, too tired to deal with this. “You stay the night, but you better not make a mess or claw my furniture.” The cat's green eyes opened with a lazy glide. Our gazes met, and I almost felt like she understood my words. Then they closed, and she drifted off into feline sleep. I shut my front door, locked the deadbolt, then took off my heeled boots, sighing in relief. I stumbled through my living room to the short hallway that led to my bedroom and the small bathroom. I forced myself to remove my makeup. No matter how tired I was, I wouldn't let myself fall asleep like that. Stripped of foundation, lipstick, eye shadow, and blush, with the faint scent of rubbing alcohol lingering around me, I tottered to my bedroom. I pulled off my halter top and removed my bra. My round breasts jiggled, still firm at twenty-four. My coppery red hair, which I considered to be my best feature, swayed about my shoulders as I wiggled out of my skinny jeans. Panties were off next, then I was drawing on my nightgown before I crawled into my bed. I had to work again tomorrow. Ten hour shift. The moment my head hit the pillows, I was out. I fell into dreams. I drifted through nonsense for a while, those abstract imaginations that flowed from one impossible thing that you just accept as normal to another. The type of dreams that left only the barest impressions upon your thoughts when you woke up. And then something real entered the dreams. Something solid. Heat quivered through me. It galvanized my loins, my pussy growing wet as I opened eyes to gaze upon him. Not Tyrone, my abusive ex, but that dark, handsome man I saw flirting with all the women at the club tonight. He had the look of a Frenchman, brooding and passionate. Shaggy, near-black hair fell about a broad face, those heavy brows and soulful eyes melting every pair of panties in the bar. Blue eyes. Deep and mesmerizing. The type of eyes you could just stare into for eternity. When I first saw him enter, I thought he was cut straight off the cover of a romance novel. He stood tall and broad shouldered; a commanding presence that demanded the attention of everyone in the club. Dancers grinding together paused to glance in his direction, the women melting at the sight of him, the men scowling at the competition. He didn't have a swagger about him, but a confidence to his stride. He was a man who knew just the effect he had on women. His eyes were hungry, hunting. He didn't dress with extravagance like some of the peacocks who strutted around trying to attract the hens. No silk blazers or gold Rolexes. He was almost blue-collar in his simplicity. Jeans that fit his muscular thighs and hugged the firm, toned shape of his ass. A white t-shirt that clung to his sculpted pecs and rippling abs. He wore a leather jacket that completed the look, almost like a bomber jacket, dark as him, intriguing. I remembered when he glanced at me tending bar, his eyes kindling at the sight of me. My nipples had puckered, the heat swelling my pussy. My coworker, Cyndi, had cooed in delight, “Oh, my God, I'm creaming my panties just looking at him, Kyrie.” Cyndi always was an outrageous gossip. Always glancing at the patrons of the club and pointing out hot guys, and the occasional sexy girl, to me. She was always talking about what she'd do with them. She was fun and flirty and open. When there was no one buying drinks, we'd chat about this or that girl's outfit, how that girl's purse didn't match her dress, that those shoes didn't go with that skirt, things like that. She was always noticing. Now in my dream, I was noticing him. Those eyes stared at me like they had at the bar, drinking me in. He was at the door, not the door to my apartment, but somewhere else. He was so close to me I could feel the heat washing off his body. I could smell the leather of his jacket. There was another musk beneath it, that manly scent. He didn't wear cologne; didn't need it. My thighs pressed together as that liquid warmth swelled in me. An ache formed at the tips of both my breasts, my body shivering in the long t-shirt I wore. “I wasn't sure if you'd take me up on my invitation,” I purred, my voice huskier than normal. A smoky contralto. I stood before my open apartment door, staring at him filling the portal. “Well, it was such a welcoming invite,” the man said, his eyes flicking up and down my body. “You promised... such interesting delights.” “With all those other women around you...” I shuddered. “I didn't think you'd even notice me. You were looking at her all night.” “But I'm looking at you, now.” He reached through the doorway to cup my cheek. His fingers were warm, rough. His thumb rubbed across my chin, brushing my lower lip. I quivered. An excited rush of heat boiled out of my pussy. I squeezed my thighs together, loving this dream. It felt so real. When his thumb swept up to my lips, I didn't hesitate to suck him in. My cheeks hollowed as he worked his fat digit in and out of my mouth. My tongue caressed the end, tasting him. I groaned, such a wanton sound. He made me feel so womanly. So desired. His blue eyes sparkled, deep and intense. He slipped into my apartment almost like a shadow, the door closing behind him as his other hand slid around my hip to my lower back. Then he was cupping my ass, pulling me to him as his eyes held mine. My breasts pressed against his chest, feeling the strength of him through his white t-shirt. My nipples throbbed. I wished our clothing wasn't in the way so I could feel him against me. My panties were soaked with my excitement. My hands quivered, and then they were slipping beneath his jacket to feel the hard strength of his muscles. My fingernails scratched at his shirt. I tugged and pulled, untucking his shirt out of his jeans so I could reach beneath and touch his warmth directly. I moaned around his thumb. “You're just brimming with it,” he groaned. “That wonderful ache. You were so envious of her, weren't you?” I moaned and whimpered, not sure who this her was. I didn't care right now. He was here with me. He had come to my dream. “It was you I wanted all night,” he continued, his voice a deep, rumbling delight. It was soothing and passionate all at the same time, stoking the fires between my thighs and making me whimper. He pulled his thumb from my mouth and claimed my lips with his before I could utter a word. His tongue thrust into my mouth as he kissed me with such passion, his hand squeezing me through my long t-shirt. He pulled me tight against him, letting me feel his passion through his jeans. A quiver ran through me. He was hung. I hadn't had many lovers, especially not with three years spent as that bastard's girlfriend. This man—this masculine god poured into rock-hard flesh–put them all to shame. I clutched him, my hands sliding higher and higher up his back beneath his t-shirt. My fingernails clawed at him as he awakened such passions in me. How long had it been since I'd been with a man? Months? I was so busy trying to survive. I kissed him back with such hunger, his tongue dueling with mine as he pressed me back into the living room. I let him guide me. Control me. I felt like putty in his strong hands. One kneaded my rump while the other rubbed up and down my supple back. My nipples ached and throbbed against the cotton of my t-shirt. I felt his strength through our clothing. I wanted to be naked. My nightshirt itched at me. Clung to me. I needed it off of me. I whimpered. As if he understood, his hands shifted. They seized the hem of my long t-shirt and pulled it up my body. I broke from his embrace and took a breathless step back as he drew the cloth higher and higher. It passed my upper thighs then revealed the dark-red panties I wore. I'd never seen this pair before. They were adorned with black lace around the waistband; cut narrow as it plunged down to cup my pussy. A sensual delight worn for a lover. For him. He dragged up my long t-shirt until he reached my breasts. His grin grew as he lifted my top higher so my tits spilled out. Not the round, firm ones I was used to, but larger ones. Soft and pillowy, with a heavy feel to them. My nipples were fat and dark-red, not my smaller, pink nubs. I shivered. This dream was so strange. It felt so real, and yet so alien. I groaned as I lifted my arms high, letting him pull the t-shirt off my body. My hair spilled around my shoulders. I caught a glimpse of brown strands, not my fiery red. Who was I in this dream? His hands engulfed my breasts, squeezing these large, soft mounds. His fingers were able to dig into them deeper than they would with my own. It was such a wild treat to have tits as big as my friend Cyndi's. Wasn't there a brunette who showed up at the club tonight? A busty girl who was swaying on the dance floor and trying to catch this hunk's attention all night. Was I her? “These breasts,” groaned the man, blue eyes deep as the ocean. He pressed his face between them, the shadow of his whiskers rough against my sensitive flesh. I quivered, glad he enjoyed my tits. This was my body for the dream. I took such pride in the lust I inspired in him. He squeezed and kneaded my breasts, digging his fingers into my flesh. I groaned as he rubbed his face back and forth between my heavy tits. His fingers swept up to find my fat nipples, pinching and rolling them. They were so sensitive, shooting delight straight down to my pussy. I whimpered, trembling. My poor panties were struggling to soak up all the passion flooding out of me. “Yes,” I whimpered, aching to express the emotions building in me. “Your touch... Oh, yes, your touch.” “I want to worship these breasts all night,” groaned the man. He squeezed my tits around his face, whiskers rasping against my sensitive flesh. His blue eyes stared up at me from their valley. “To worship them. They are the breasts of a goddess.” Such joy quivered through me. This god thought I was worthy of worship. His lips kissed and nuzzled and sucked at the inner swell of my tits. He climbed up my right breast, kissing higher and higher, reaching towards my aching nipple. I groaned as his lips drew near the edge of my areola. I quivered as he engulfed my nipple. He sucked it into his hungry mouth, cheeks hollowing as he worshiped me. My pussy clenched and my entire body shuddered. His mouth was so warm about my nub, his lips so hungry. He squeezed and kneaded both my tits as he sucked and worshiped me. “I wanted this all night,” I moaned. It was the truth. The moment I laid eyes on him when he strolled in, I wanted him. Like every other woman at the club, my friend included, I had ached for his attention. Every time he glanced at me, I trembled. I felt his eyes caressing me. Now he touched me for real. I loved this dream. His mouth popped off my right nipple. His hot lips kissed down into the valley of my breasts again, his whiskered face rasping against my silky flesh. Then he climbed up my left breast, approaching that aching pinnacle. I quivered, gasped. He engulfed my nipple. “Oh, I'm so glad you chose me,” I moaned. He sucked with that fervent hunger. “Me!” His lips popped off my nipple as he growled, “How could I choose anyone else but you? You're my goddess. My muse. You've inspired me.” He fell to his knees before me. His fingers hooked the waistband of my dark-red panties. With a single jerk, he yanked. I felt the pinch at my waist as the cloth dug into my flesh before the dainty garment tore free. He wrenched the panties from me and threw the scrap to the ground. He was strong. So powerful. I was laid bare before him, my pussy exposed. He kissed my pudenda then nuzzled down the thin line of brown hair leading to the shaved folds of my snatch. I hadn't been shaved since him. I pushed thoughts of Tyrone away. I wouldn't think about that bastard now. Not when I had the man feasting on me. I felt so womanly as the stranger, the hunk, kissed down my landing strip to my shaved vulva. My thighs parted to let him have access to my womanhood. My molten sex. His lips nuzzled at the top folds of my pussy. His tongue flicked through my labia, caressing my clit already peeking out of its hood. He groaned in delight, savoring the flavor of my passion. I quivered, my large breasts swaying with my every movement. His hand slid around, grabbing my rump. He gripped me tight as he worshiped my pussy. He feasted on my passion. His blue eyes stared up at me, devouring my soul while he ate my snatch. His tongue churned through my folds, caressing my labia. My clit. He touched every bit of me with his agile tongue. He knew how to please a woman. I could see it in his eyes, a dark hunger that was savoring the bliss of eating me out. He wanted to love me. To make me explode. My hands shot down to grip his hair. I gasped, spotting the snarling tiger tattooed on my inner right forearm. This was definitely not my body, but that busty brunette's. I would never mar my perfect flesh with a tattoo. I held his thick mane of hair as the pleasure rippled through my body. I ground on him, whimpering delight as every stroke of his tongue built my orgasm. It grew and grew inside of me, his tongue caressing my petals. His fingers dug into my rump, holding me against his hungry mouth while his tongue jammed deep inside of me. “Yes,” I moaned, shuddering beneath the hungry caress of his tongue. He swirled it through me, reaching as deep into me as he could. I didn't know his name. It didn't matter. This was a dream. A wonderful delight. I clutched his hair and ground on his hungry mouth as he feasted on me. He sent such pleasure shuddering through me. My juices flowed into his mouth. He devoured me. His hands caressed my rump, pulling me tight against him. His tongue fluttered through me, stirring me up. Such pleasure darted through me. Such a bliss to enjoy. I groaned, grinding against him, feeling his whiskers rasp on my shaved vulva. It was an incredible delight. My large tits heaved. I gasped as he found my clit, sucking on it. Nibbling on the sensitive bud. It drove me wild. I let myself go, enjoying every moment of it. He sucked so hard, my bud aching between his lips. His tongue batted it, stroking it. Every caress made me quiver. My breasts swayed before me as the bliss swelled and swelled in my depths. “I'm going to drown,” I moaned, reveling in the passion swelling in me. “We're both going to drown!” “Good,” he growled. “Flood me with your passion. I want to drink your bounty, Goddess!” Goddess... I exploded. My pussy convulsed as he sucked on my clit again. I felt the juices gushing out of me, and a spicy musk filled my nose. It was so different from the sweet scent I was used to. It was a different sort of passion. I gasped and groaned, my head tossing back and forth as he feasted on me. He licked up the juices flooding out of me, sending new waves of delight washing through me. Bliss spilled through my body, splashing across my thoughts. I groaned, my eyes squeezing shut as I savored every bit of it. I loved the euphoria rushing through me. My mind drank it in, sparks bursting before my eyes. It was incredible. I lost all control of my body, clutching to his hair to keep from falling over. A dizzying euphoria swept through me. I couldn't keep my balance. I tottered backward, pulling away from him. I crashed onto a dark-maroon couch, my tits heaving as I trembled. I stared down at him through a universe of bursting stars. He licked his chops, face coated in my passion. He peeled off his leather jacket as I squirmed, coming down from my orgasmic high. Then he tore off the t-shirt, revealing his sculpted physique. I moaned as he rose, towering over me. My eyes fell on his jeans. On that bulge. He was so hung. “I want you in me,” I whimpered, delirious with passion. He'd given me so much when he ate me, but it wasn't enough. I needed more. “Look how you inspired me,” he growled, ripping open his fly and shoving down his jeans. His cock sprang out, thrusting thick and long from a tangled mess of dark pubic hair. His balls swung heavy beneath his dick, full of his passion. He was so hard, so aching. For me. Not for her. Me! “Thank you,” I moaned, reaching for him. I grasped his cock, feeling his girth throbbing in my grip. Those other women wanted him, but he brought this gift to me. “I need to worship inside of you,” he moaned as I pulled him towards me. “Yes!” I panted, my thighs opened so wide. My pussy lips pulled apart, ready for him to enter me. He leaned down, his lips claiming mine. He kissed me hard, thrusting his tongue into my mouth. I tasted my spicy juices on his mouth. A different flavor than I remembered. I was someone else, but it was hard to hold onto that thought. His body felt so right pressing on me. He was the one I wanted. Needed. I guided his cock between my thighs. His tip nuzzled against my shaved folds, teasing me. He thrust into me. A single plunge that buried him to the hilt in my depths. My cunt clenched around his girth while my thighs held him tight. My hands slid up his rippling abs, scratching at his barrel-deep chest. I whimpered into the kiss. His shaft reached deeper in me than any man had ever gone. He spread me so open. He filled me. I had never felt so full before. No man had ever taken my pussy to its limits. Never given me such passion and pleasure. I needed this. I whimpered and quivered, savoring him in me. I squeezed down on him, shifting my hips, ready for him to start pumping away in me. I groaned into our kiss as he drew back his cock. My pussy clung to him, squeezing, not wanting to lose him. I felt so empty as he drew back more and more. I quivered when barely any of him was left in me. He thrust back into me. A wave of rapture washed through me, spawned by the surge of euphoria he churned in my pussy. I kissed him with such hunger, my fingernails biting into his rock-hard muscles. My thighs clenched about him as he pumped his cock in and out of me. It was a slow rhythm, teasing. He made me quiver and I groaned, enjoying every moment. I could feel my passion growing, swelling. He was where he belonged. “Yes, yes, I'm almost there,” I moaned as he drove that magnificent cock into the depths of my pussy again and again. “Just surrender to my worship, Goddess,” he growled, looming over me. His blue eyes penetrated my soul. My fingernails scratched and clawed at his chest, raking burning furrows down his flesh. His dick slammed into me, filling my pussy to the hilt. His pubic bone ground into my clit. Sparks of wondrous delight burst from my nub and showered through me. My orgasm erupted inside of me. My pussy convulsed around his dick as he drew back. I writhed about him, celebrating the feel of him sliding through me. I groaned, my body trembling. My hips twitched, and my arms spasmed. The tattoo of the tiger on my inner forearm flashed before me as stars burst across my vision. Pleasure surged through me as my pussy convulsed, clutching at his dick as he buried over and over in me. He grunted and growled, the beast in him unleashed by my climax. He slammed so hard into me, a bruising ache forming upon my labia. It was incredible feeling the strength of his passion for me. I heaved and gasped, bucking on the couch. My head arched, my neck rubbing against the cushion. My body twitched as the pleasure washed through me. His dick churned up my cumming pussy to a blissful froth, sending burst after burst of rapture through my body. “Oh, my god, yes!” I squealed in delirious passion. “I feel your worship! Your fervor!” He churned orgasm after orgasm through me. He gave me more pleasure than any man had ever delivered to me in my life. My thighs squeezed about his torso, gripping him as he plunged into my depths. My pussy sucked at his cock, aching to feel his seed spurting into me. I didn't care about protection. This was a dream; he could spill all his seed in me. I never felt that before. I wanted him flooding me. “Cum in me!” I howled. “Fill me with your love! Your worship!” “My Goddess!” he growled. His lips seized mine. He kissed me with such hunger, thrusting his tongue deep into my mouth as his cock buried into my convulsing snatch. His cum fired hot into me. Powerful blasts that splashed against my cervix. I reveled in his seed filling me. I groaned, savoring this wonderful treat flooding my snatch. I didn't know that it would feel this good. It felt so right to have his cum spilling in me. I felt complete. My orgasm melted my mind. The bliss intensified, my thoughts blurring into rapturous mush. Stars exploded across my vision. I gasped and convulsed, drowning as my pussy worked out every drop of cum he had in his heavy balls. “I will remember you just like this, my Goddess!” he growled, all the passion burning in his voice. “Yes!” I screamed and— My eyes shot open. I was lying on my side, my pillow between my legs, my pussy soaking my panties. I groaned, quivering from the intense orgasm my dream-lover gave me. My entire body burned from the pleasure. My round breasts rose and fell in my long nightshirt. I panted as I rolled onto my back, staring at the inner slope of my right forearm. There was no tattoo. I was awake, back in my body. “Damn,” I muttered to myself, my eyes fluttering. That dwarfed anything Tyrone ever gave me before he turned into an abusive asshole. I felt so alive. Like I'd truly woken up from the dream of my life. I felt something amazing from the stranger. I never felt a dream that real before. It was like I had actually become that busty brunette. Part of me wondered if somewhere in the city she wasn't quivering on her couch right now, cumming on that hot hunk's big dick. I moaned in wanton envy. Then I noticed the cat watching me. She was perched on the foot of my bed, her green eyes staring at me. Her tongue flicked lazily across her chops. Then she hopped off and scampered out to my living room. “Hope you enjoyed the show,” I muttered. “Because I loved every minute of it.”

The amazing author Reed James- Our April spotlight

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