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About the author:
Hi, my name is Cammie Cummins, my friends call me C.C. Late at night when everyone's gone off to bed and the house gets quiet, I brew a cup of hot tea and indulge in my favorite past time; writing erotica.As I sit and tap out my stories, my greatest hope is that what I write turns you on as much as it does me.
Here is a short sample from the book:
“Yes, that’s right…An hour? That’s fine…All right, thank you.”
I had the phone on my lap. I sat cross-legged, Indian-style, in the middle of the king-size bed in my two-room hotel suite. I put the receiver down, which made the bell on the phone jangle. I stared at it. I asked myself, Viv, are you sure about this?
Eight-thirty on a Friday night, what else was there for me to do? The conference was over. Everyone had caught their flights out of town. Everyone, except me. I didn’t know anyone in all of Texas, much less frigging Dallas. There was nothing for me to do until morning, absolutely nothing.
I put the phone back on the nightstand. My stomach fluttered with doubt. What’s done is done, I told myself. But that did little to calm my nerves.
The slick, city magazine where I’d gotten the number, the idea, lay on the bed beside me, still open to the classified pages in the back. I’d circled the ad in thick, red, felt-tip ink. The marker was still in the fold, holding the page open. From the circled ad a sexy, young girl stared up at me. She had dark hair, flawless skin, and alluring eyes. Come on eyes.
Would the girl they send be as beautiful?
In my hand I held my credit card.
With my glass of wine in hand I thought about calling back and canceling. I’d never done anything like this before. I was nervous, but I was curious.
After a sip of red wine I put the glass on the nightstand and lay back against the plumped up pillows and padded headboard. I stared at my reflection in the mirror over the low chest of drawer across the room. Only one light was on. I’d set it to the lowest setting. Mood lighting.
An hour to kill. More wasted time. What to do with the time?
I had on a blousy top, loose and cool after my shower. Sleeveless, the deep scoop neckline showed off my ample boobs nicely. I pushed them together with my arms as I raked my fingers through my hair. I gave my reflection a seductive, sideways glance. She did the same.
My panties? A red pair of plain cotton. Should I change out of them? I spread my legs and fingered the frilly piping. They’d be fine, I decided, and let my fingers glide over the soft material. I pressed down on the puff of thick triangular pubic hair underneath. I caressed the pillow softness of my sex. Using two fingers. Over my panties, pressing gentle yet firmly.
I slipped them underneath. I pushed down, parted the delicate petals of my vulva. I rubbed myself. My breath caught in my throat.