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About the author:
I’m from California, currently living in Las Vegas. Writing is a way for me to relive experiences and make some up along the way, so if you want to know about me, just grab a book. A Thin Line Between Love and Lust is loosely based on my life and those I know. You should recognize a realness that allows you to relate to at least one of the characters you’ll meet. If you’d like to share what spoke to you, I’m open to comments, criticism, and feedback. Just message me at [email protected] and I’ll be sure to respond. I hope you give yourself the pleasure of enjoying my work. Much Love.
What inspired you to write your book?
People from my past inspired it. I wanted to relive all the wonderful moments I've had, and then throw in some of my fantasies and dreams to create a story that speaks from me.
Here is a short sample from the book:
She quickly turned from an innocent little girl playing in her ice cream to an experienced grown woman looking for something else to play with.
I couldn’t help it. I blushed. I hid my face by bending down to kiss her hand. Her skin was baby soft and my lips became glued to it at once. I lingered for a long time, felt electricity traveling through me that kept me magnetized to the back of her hand.
After a long while, I finally pulled my lips away. In my mind, it looked different. It held a new glow. I worshipped its radiance, turning her hand over in mine to appreciate it from different angles.
“Damn,” she said, snapping me out of my reverence. She sounded like she just realized how much I was in awe of her, and she was in awe of that. “Why you so different?” she asked while analyzing me with her eyes.
“I don’t know. I’m just me. Why are you?”
She laughed. “I don’t know. I’m just me.” She taunted back.
“And today we’re us,” I said, interlocking our fingers.
“Hmm” she breathed in agreement, joining me in sliding our fingers back and forth between each other.
I kissed her hand again, planting tiny pecks along each finger and her fingertips. Between each one, I pulled away and looked at the spot I left to see if I changed it. As if each kiss was true loves and every spot would awaken like Snow White being kissed by her prince.
I felt something rub against me under the table. The touch crawled up my leg and landed in my lap. I looked down and saw she’d kicked off her sandals. The side of her foot was rubbing against my crotch and bringing me to full attention.
Since we were in a corner, I turned my chair to block her flirtatious experiment from voyeurs. She leaned back in her chair, stretching her foot out towards me and rubbing harder against my crotch. She watched me with no effort to hide what she was thinking about.
I reached toward her from underneath the table, letting my hand travel up her leg and reach between her thighs. She sank down in her seat, trying to get her body close enough for me to touch her wetness, but the table kept us too far apart.
“You should stop,” she whispered.
“Why?” I looked up from her hand.
“Because I might do something to you,” she said with flirty but grave seriousness.
I laughed. “There’s nothing you could do to me I wouldn’t like.”
“Is that right?” she challenged. “Je peux donner une bonne pipe. Tu mourrais.”
“Oh, you speak French for real? What does that mean?”