New Work in Progress

A snippet from my newest WIP, Pyrokinesis, specifically a flashback scene. Hope you enjoy.

His body was pressing against her, his chest facing hers, one arm wrapped around her waist, loose enough it allowed her to move, close enough it signified that she was, at least for the moment, currently with him. 

He’d whispered something she didn’t quite understand, three months here and her French was still terrible, but she got the premise enough that she’d followed him from the bar to the dancefloor. A trickle of sweat was running down her back, his cheap cologne gluing itself to the inside of her nostrils. 

His hips moved with hers, the lights of the nightclub pulsing, switching between purples and blues and greens and reds. His head dipped, lips brushing against her throat, and she wrapped an arm around his neck, allowing him to come closer, welcoming the gesture. 

But she hadn’t been welcoming it. Not really. Kathryn’s body was functioning on autopilot. This is what you did, at clubs. 

“Tu es savoureux,”

She couldn’t really hear the words. But she could tell it was meaningless; nonsense.

“Merci,” It felt appropriate. He probably couldn’t hear her either. But he smiled at her, in that blurry way drunken people smile at other drunken people. 

He craned his neck down to kiss her, and she let him, still responding in a mechanical sort of way. 

Who he was didn’t matter. His name, what he looked like, how he felt, none of it.

It was an apathy that had settled in about two days after her arrival in Paris. She had been so excited to get here, had dreamed for years about spending time in France. Then she finally got here and…nothing. The emotions weren’t there. Daily function for the sake of function; nothing was exciting. It was like she was constantly driving through fog with headlamps that weren’t working right. Trying to see more than a foot in front of her face and being constantly exhausted with the effort. 

She had taken to wandering around the city streets, walking hours at a time without stopping. At times, she would become enamored with a building, or a view, or finally sit at a café and see something, a hat she liked or someone’s stance, and start drawing. She would have ordered a coffee that sat untouched until it was cold and ruined, or find a bench to sit on and not move until the sun had descended beyond the horizon. And then she would look up, confused at where the time had gone, and descend back into the monotone sensation of existence. 

Kathryn almost longed for the manic periods. She wished she could feel that intense focus on this boy, instead of wondering if he’d make her spill all of her drink before he broke away. 

“Tu me plais,”

No, he didn’t. He didn’t like her. He wanted to fuck her. There was a difference. 

“Tu es saoul,”

“Non, je suis juste ivre de toi,”

She laughed, she couldn’t help it. It was a terrible line. How could you be drunk on a person? Let alone one you’d met mere minutes ago. 

Kathryn turned away from him, guiding his hands to her hips as they danced, the bass from the speakers reverberating through her body, thumping like a heartbeat as his arm wound its way around her waist, feeling him against her in more ways than one. He kept trying to whisper in her ear, bending down to kiss her neck, and she wanted to scream at him to shut up. To be quiet. To let her have a moment of mindless indulgence. 

But he was, seemingly, incapable of such an act. And then, what was there to do? 

“Viens avec moi,” He said, for what must have been the second or third time. His hand traced down her arms, trying to intertwine his fingers with hers. She didn’t look at him, but she nodded against his chest. 

He pulled her back through the crowd, trying to lead her…where? The bathrooms? The bar? His place? She had a moment, just a moment, a flash in her mind envisioning it. Of his lifting her so the edge of her ass sat on a bathroom sink, or pressing her against a building on the way back to wherever he lived, the taste of a tongue that had been soaked in beer all night, whatever skill he had dampened by exhaustion and booze and impatience. She imagined him rolling over and telling her to go in a language she didn’t truly speak. Or worse, trying to make more plans so they could stare awkwardly at each other, using google translate and awkward laughs to accompany a stilted, forced conversation, in which they realized they had nothing more in common mutual enjoyment of intoxication. 

She saw the light of the front door, new people coming in, the scent of cigarettes faint from where she stood. Kathryn stopped, and when he tried to move, let his hand slip from her fingers. She walked out the door, into the night beyond. 

She could hear him calling for her, but he stayed at the club entrance, not wanting to chase her. She looked crazy, she knew it, her tangled, makeup surely melting under her eyes. Absolutely not the girl anyone would, or should, be chasing down, and she preferred it that way.

She looked to the side, to the crowd of smokers outside the club, and walked towards a girl standing by herself. 

“Puis-je en avoir un, s’il vous plaît?” 

The girl looked up, startled. 

“Kathryn?” 

“Anna? Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t-” 

“No, it’s okay, yeah sure, have one,” Anna, another exchange student from a school in Washington, offered Kathryn the pack of cigarettes she was holding, and, when Kathryn had one between her lips, flicked on the lighter. Kathryn cupped her hand around the flame, making sure it was lit, and then stood back up. 

“You weren’t at the lecture today,” Anna frowned at her.

“I…” Kathryn tried to remember. What had she done today? 

“It was boring, you didn’t miss much. But I can send you the notes, if you want,” Anna looked at her, more concerned than curious. 

“Reviens, bébé,” She could hear the voice behind her and had no desire to turn around. 

“I would really appreciate that, thanks,” Kathryn said, “I think I just lost track of time today, I was working on this sketch, this story idea I had, I didn’t mean to miss it.” 

“No sweat, I’ve done that. You just get so into it, into a project, it’s hard to pull yourself away.” 

Kathryn nodded, and took a drag of the cigarette. 

“Bébé!” The boy called again, his tone gaining a sharp edge of frustration bordering on anger. She could see him starting to make his way to her through the crowd of smokers. 

“You know him?” Anna raised an eyebrow. 

Kathryn let out a snort. “Thanks, for this, and for the notes, I’ll see you in class.” 

“You want me to walk home with you?” Anna asked, “I don’t mind,” 

“No, no, you stay! I’ll be fine, I’ll catch up with you soon,” Kathryn was already walking up the street, away from the noise and the crowd and the boy. 

“Let me know when you’re home!” Anna called to her, and Kathryn shot her a quick wave of acknowledgement.

Three blocks down, and she was met with an empty street. She looked up, towards the sky. She didn’t expect to see stars, the lights of the city were far too overpowering, but staring at the blank expanse of sky was still comforting. Her eyes took in the shades of black, the pattern of the street lamps against the night. 

She took a deep breath, in and out, and closed her eyes, letting the quiet consume her. 

Maybe, she thought, starting to walk again, she’d start designing a new tattoo. Something to commemorate the months here. 

She looked down at her skin, perpetually covered in ink stains, and thought of birds, of flying through the sky. And with her mind freshly preoccupied, she took off again, heading back towards her apartment.

Then You Say Please

“Sir,

If I told you I wrote you a story
Of everything I wanted us to do,
Would you read it?

Asking for a friend.

Pet”



From the intimacy and trust of “Quicksand,” to a sprint through the trees “In the Woods,” to video game practice in “Mario Kart,” follow the depraved, wicked, amorous adventures of Sir & Pet. Tease your imagination, and come to where pleasure, emotion, and experience collide.


Contains BDSM themes.

New book under the Zoe Dean handle!!

Short stories intertwined with Prelude, Interlude, and When He Calls Your Name.

Hope you guys enjoy ❤ ❤

On Dog-eared Pages

You still have my book.

I remember when I was waiting for this book to be released, years ago, when I was working at a bookstore. The stock manager, or whatever her actual title was, set one copy aside specially for me. Its lived in various bags far more than it’s designated place on my shelf, with a beat up cover and water stained pages to prove it.

I was on a vacation the last time I was reading it, while we were together. And lying in the sun, studying its contents, I thought of you. We’d discussed the author before, I’d discussed the book with you before. So when I came back, I gave it to you.

Temporarily, at least in intention.

The time before the last time I saw you, you had it in your bag. You were bringing it to work with you – you were definitely reading it. And that made me happier than I could say.

Do I bring this up now? How? It feels seems petty and unnecessary. Reopening a wound that should be closed by now, and I’m still picking and re-picking at the scab. It feels both like an excuse to talk to you and an excuse to make sure we never talk again. So long as you have that book, I have an excuse to message you. Have a reason to reach out.

And again, it also feels petty and childish as all hell to ask for it back now, after so much time has passed. And I’m afraid of what would happen if I did. If I’m ready for the closure of you.

But really, honestly, I want my book back. I want it back on my shelf and the ability to carry it with me again. I want to revisit sections and reread favorite parts.

I don’t want to want to reach out to you. I don’t want to have this idea in the back of my mind. I simultaneously want you to leave it where I can grab it without seeing you, and sit down for a drink with you, and have the discussion we should have had months ago.

The discussion about more than just the book. About the things you still admit to me you don’t know, or rather, haven’t let yourself think about long enough to figure out.

I suppose, at some point, I’ll simply buy another copy. Let you be, and accept in my heart these are the things I must let go. But I’d bet it will stay pristine for far longer than the original.

On A Shameless Self Promotion

Hello!

So a while back (On Writing a Sex Scene) I wrote about a book I was writing/working through and how weird both receiving and using feedback can be.

That specific project is still ongoing, however, I have managed to complete a different book. This book is now up on Amazon, and is free always if you have Amazon Prime, and for the next two days if you don’t.

If any of you fantastic lovely people wanted to download the book, hell, maybe even leave a review?? I would love you ’til the ends of the earth.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07HLH58PH 

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Two versions of the summary – the one that’s on Amazon

Rory tells herself it’s a trick of the light. That she can’t actually see the spirits of living beings as they die. Until one night, when a starving demon comes across her path, and the mysterious blue and yellow lights are suddenly given a name. Asa can’t understand how a human can see mana, let alone possess it and use it, but wants to help Rory find a way to control her abilities and find out more about her. But he’s not the only one who’s intrigued by the mystery. Others begin to take an interest in Rory’s growing powers, and her potential as a shield, or a weapon, for forces in the demon realm.

and the one I use to describe it in all of my self-deprecating glory.

So, it’s basically a plot-driven romance with demons and sorcerers, with a potential uprising/war and all sorts of lovely darkness. But also humor and sexy times. Also, my editor described it as “this isn’t horrible to go through!” which is the highest praise I feel you can get.

Hopefully one of those convinced you to give it a go. I’m also happy to do the same thing in return if anyone needs.

^_^