Shh! I'm writing.

Please don't be quiet. I need the television on, the music playing, or maybe I just need to be on a crowded bus or train. I've had several careers most of them involved crazy feats in "multi-tasking."
I started as an I.T. professional who had to simultaneously monitor sixteen monitors in addition to my own work. Next, I clerked for a judge where I entered the minutes of one case while listening to the next. A few stops later I became a 911 operator. I listened to the fire band, the police band, and a hysterical caller answering everyone's questions simultaneously. Now, I can't concentrate without noise.
I am aware of how in the minority I am on this matter, but bring on the chaos and watch me smile. Amidst the chaos, a few books are emerging. I release Rockstar Going Down at the end of this month. At the end of June, I will be releasing the first Fisher Men book (cups my cheeks and screams Home Alone style). I have settled on names and covers and I can't wait to share them with you.
Book I. is X My Heart,
Book II. Xing Lines,
Book III. On the X. and
Book IV. is The X Factor.
My next series is the Sextually Ever After Series. I broke my wrist last summer and wrote two books on the Microsoft Word App on my phone as it was easier to type one-handed. The problem was the auto-correct on my phone kept correcting what it thinks I mean. I created titles and basic story ideas for some of my favorite fails. Each book will have a meet-cute that happens after a technology mishap. The titles are:
Rock Hard Clock,
Kiss my Click, and
Ducking Brilliant.
I admit, my previous career choices have made me the type of person who thrives under pressure. So, not only have I taken on way more than I can chew, but I also started writing a Young Adult Fantasy series. I know what you're thinking, but Rebel you don't write YA Fantasy? You would be correct, but this story has been simmering in my head for years and my younger kids asked me to write something that they can read, so I jumped into my world building. It's an Outlander meets Host with a whole other twist to it. I won't get into the details but I'll need a new pen name for that one. I'm open to suggestions.
This concludes your exclusive peek at the Rebel Insider.
Stay tuned for our next episode.
XOXO
Rebel Nicks O'Dey

The Dinosaur Dress

I pitched the Fisher Men series to an editor. Yep, I did that thing I said I would never do. I had a very good reason. It was the dinosaur dress. The dinosaur dress made me do it.

Perhaps I should start from the beginning. You see, I love being an independent author. I love that nobody gets a say in what I write or how quickly I finish it. If I go to print with a typo, It’s my typo and I own it with my human-ness. My career began with a simple notion. Life is too short to do anything less than what I love. I know, spoken like a true cancer survivor. I design my covers, and I am unapologetic about their imperfections, because it’s mine. If only one person bought my book, that is fabulous.

My goals are small, because writing is this thing I do for my soul. I shake off the stress of my life as a first responder by giving the patients of my really tough cases a rich back story, and the happily ever after I wish for them. I used to delete my novels after I wrote them because I got what I needed from them. One day with little to no guidance I hit publish on a really terrible version of my first book. Seriously, I learned all the ways not to do it. In the end, I wrote and published four books and a novella in one year. The fourth being my favorited best. My soul has a lot to say so I was already “plantsing” my next series.

I met her in my Romance Writers of America meeting. She did a presentation on pitches. I supported my sister writers, but I had no intention of ever pitching my soul to an editor. As she discussed what she was looking for I thought, oh that’s what I write. She described the heros she likes to see and I was like I know, right? I love a well-rounded beta male over an asshole alpha. She talked about her nerd fetishes which were also mine, and I thought if only I could be eight years old. If I was eight, I could grab her arm and claim her as my best friend. It’s creepy when adults try this. So I’ve been told.

The next time I saw her was at Chicago North Spring Fling. I was an attendant and a volunteer so I bumped into my secret best friend a time or two. I realize this girl crush is weird, but hey, so am I. The fact that we have never spoken doesn’t mean I couldn’t meet her for dinner sometime. The fact that I’m an introvert does. No, no. Dinner dates with my girl crush, they happen only in my head.

I sat a banquet table scrolling my phone because hello, introvert with strangers. The world of cocky-gate is unfolding at my fingertips. At this time the indie community is being beaten with new Amazon algorithms (I had a book banned for questionable content for about a week), the spotlight on page turn scammers, book stuffing, word patenting, and subpar content was slowly becoming the face of the Indie Author. My heart hurt. A voice stepped out of the darkness on our behalf. A lovely author decided to streamline the voices and represent our interests to Amazon.

I can’t disagree with the concept. The lovely author is like a pit-bull once she sinks her teeth into the kong, she isn’t going to let it go. Every organization needs a person like her. It’s the only way shit gets done. There is a reason that person is never the face of the organization though. Harsh and brash mannerisms aren’t always well received. I don’t know her personally and maybe she has a professional face I’m not aware of, but either way, I didn’t choose her. If someone is going to represent me, my work, my soul, to not only my publisher, but my readers, and the world, shouldn’t I get a say in who that person is?

Enter my girl crush in the most adorable blue dress printed with colorful dinosaurs. For the love of Joe, could this woman be any more perfect. A dinosaur dress! As she took the stage for a panel Q&A she beamed a beautiful smile that crinkled her eyes under her gorgeously large glasses. She dropped her head and giggled like the quirky characters I write. I stared at the lost member of my tribe. She is my people. That’s when it clicked, that is a woman who gets me. That beautiful smile adorns the face of someone who could adequately represent me. If my representation is inevitable, then the Independent Author in me, is making a choice. I slapped my hand on the table much to the alarm of the other authors and announced “I’m pitching my next series.” I turned my heart shaped eyes on the woman in the dinosaur dress and thought quietly, to her. To ONLY her.

I might have mildly stalked her twitter looking for a place she is doing in-person pitch appointments, because I need to do this face to face. Then the email arrives from Midwest Fiction Writers she’s taking pitches. Never mind her office is forty-five minutes from my home, I’m driving seven hours with my husband and kids to Minnesota, because who wouldn’t?

I attended her presentation on how to pitch but I didn’t pay attention. I wasn’t pitching then. I went with no notes or real plan for words. I wasn’t even sure if I’d go through with it. I mean, I thought I would. I’m a determined person but I could still bolt. I walked in with my head held high. Then I saw her.

She stood at the front of the room in her DINOSAUR DRESS. Her hands were clutching the sides of it and she swayed back and forth like a little girl in line for ice cream. I drove straight through all night. I smelled like the bad decisions one makes on road trips. It smells like Funyons and feet in case you didn’t know. Every sleepless moment was worth it. She was wearing the dinosaurs like a beacon to my soul. Later that evening when my smell multiplied with nervous sweat, I swallowed the lump on my throat and rambled incoherently to my girl crush about all the words my soul needed to speak.

She handed me her card and said, “I think you’ve got something here.” AHHHHH!

See the thing is, even if she reads it and decides it’s not for her, that’s okay. If she loves it but can’t market it, that’s okay, too. She will still be my "in my mind" best friend and we will have imaginary dinner and superhero movie dates in my head. Because at that moment she gave me everything I needed.

Stay tuned my Rebellious Readers, winter is coming.

In the wake of cockygate

#Cockygate

The unintended consequence

     By now we have all heard about #Cockygate. Even those outside the romance world are chiming in. Faleena Hopkins attempted to trade mark her series name “Cocky” and miraculously succeeded.

     The ramifications for allowing the trademark of a single common use word are unending. It has been an all-out war of pro-bono lawyers, collectives, memes and hashtags. It’s important and everybody needs to pay attention. I admit it’s easy to get lost in reading the fallout of outraged authors, readers, and lawyers. Who needs soap operas?

     Here is where it is taking on a life outside the courtroom. Ms. Hopkins is a self-published author. She is not the face, personality, or professional example of what the Indie community represents, but she is self-published.

     For brand-new authors like me… well, we are entering the arena with a black eye and bruised ribs. For many, entering the arena in the current climate is too daunting.

     The best way to separate yourself is talent. That’s a fabulous notion but I can tell you it’s bullshit. Nobody will ever read your books, nobody will know your name, and nobody will see your talent unless you put yourself out there.

     The way that social media platforms work is by increasing the visibility of the most interacted posts or concepts. In short if everybody else likes this, so will you, therefore we will increase this relevant to you, visibility. Before you know it, that thing you’ve seen everybody is posting is trending worldwide.

     When a conflict like #cockygate gets a lot of attention it floods our feeds, and when it is negatively associated with an Indie Author, so does the impression it leaves. I appreciate the collectives formed to separate this negative situation from the community as a whole. I appreciate the posts encouraging would be Indies to not be swayed by this negativity. I also appreciate how come together those that remain standing have been. Sadly, that necessary support, necessary education, and necessary call to action had an unintended consequence.

     It is impossible for a new author on a low budget to get traction in this climate.

     In my immediate world it started with my BFF Robin Leaf. She released an amazing book. A romance novel unlike any other I’ve read and I’ve read thousands! A roller-coaster plot with so many twists you aren’t sure who to root for and just when you think you know… you’re wrong. It has the happily ever after you thought was off the table and is satisfying on so many levels.

     Sounds amazing, right? With a review like that you want to “one-click” it right freaking now! Sadly, Robin had the misfortune of releasing the day #cockygate broke the internet. All of her release news was buried at the bottom of your feed. It’s hard to get traction on a good day.

     Enter CockTales. This is an important book. I highly recommend buying it, because it will fund the initiative to protect the English language from being trademarked. You better believe I backed my book release up a week to not be overshadowed by this (as it should be) powerhouse. If you released the same day, I’m so sorry.

     Today, I’m feeling the burn. I released book number four. It’s a huge deal for me, because it concludes my first series. I’m so stoked. I love this book! It’s the story of two players who meet in therapy. They are quirky, sexy, crazy, and oh yes, she’s pregnant. You don’t want to love either character, but slowly you can’t help it. My ARC readers were blown away by how funny it was and I truly enjoyed writing it.

     In other more prevalent news, #cockygate has gone judicial and a court hearing is scheduled tomorrow.

     Better luck next series?

Keep fighting the good fight.

I’ll have my time when this is fixed.

Rebel Nicks O’Dey

Interview with an author.

I had a local college student contact me for an assignment. She had to interview an author. I thought I'd share the Q&A with all of you.

When did you start writing?

Well, I think I’ve always been a writer. I was a National Young Author contest winner in grade school. I wrote stories in junior high and high school to pass around to my friends who enjoyed reading them. I used it as a stress relief as an adult. I kept a blog for a number of years. I published my debut novel in September of 2017.

Why self-publish rather than go with a traditional publisher?

I had a negative experience with a traditional publisher that revolved around contracts. I prefer to write on my own timeline, about the subjects I choose, and it remains a love that I share. Deadlines, expectations, and requirements can be stressful, as an Indie writer, I am my own boss.

Which book in your series do you like the most, and which do you like the least?

Oh, tough one. I like Sanity’s Side the most. That story is about two people who fall in love slowly without ever meeting. They are two truly messed up individuals with normal lives who just make love work. I appreciate two raw real people who still get to have a sunshine and rainbows ending.
My least favorite is my recently released Sanity’s Sake. It was a story that needed to be told in this series, but the two characters aggravated the snot out of me. They were riddled with misunderstandings, hurt feelings, and time and time again couldn’t get it right. Sadly, we as humans behave this way. I think everyone will find a little bit of themselves in one of the characters and not the part we want highlighted. It is additionally a virgin trope which is typically a turn off for me as a reader. I wanted to write a realistic virgin experience, not the fantasized version typically found in romance novels.

What was your inspiration for this series?

The series is about loving and living after trauma. I am retired from a career in EMS. I experienced people in their worst moments at the height of a traumatic event. My responsibility was to get them help. I was never allowed to experience the outcome. A career of day in and day out trauma, with no closure at all, is trying on the psyche. I dealt with the stress by retreating to my imagination. I gave my patients rich back stories and a happily ever after. This is how the Circle of Sanity was born. The traumatic events in the series are actual events that I gave closure to.

Do you write about your own experiences with love and sex?

 Love, yes. I am very much in love with my husband. I want every character to have their happy ending. As far as sex, sometimes that requires research. Matt and Chrissy from Sanity’s Side have genital piercings. I do not have genital or nipple piercings and neither does my husband. I spent a great deal of time in a local tattoo shop asking wildly inappropriate and personal questions. Luckily, everyone was uncomfortably forthcoming. Although I insisted I didn’t need to see, I found myself tilting my head in admiration. I left promising to never speak of this experience, but alas…

What are you working on now?

I am working on the fourth, and final book, in the series Sanity’s Edge. This is a sex and the single mom, steamy, romantic comedy. It is hysterically funny. It has moments that will make you cry, but not nearly as much as you will laugh. It will knock Sanity’s Side out of the water as my favorite. The couple meets in therapy. They are socially awkward, lack boundaries, and all respect for personal space. In short, they are loveably crazy and perfect for one another. I’m excited to share it with my readers.

What will you do when the series is complete?

Take a couple of weeks summer break. I will have released four books and a novella in eight months. The next series is The Fisher Men. It will catalog four brothers as they fall in love. They are Chrissy’s (Book 2 heroine) brothers. I am still playing with titles, so don’t pout if it changes. Book one The Fisher Men. Book two Hooked. Book three Towing the Line. Book four Sunk.

What advice would you give an aspiring author?

Write the book, save the book, and then figure things out. Most aspiring authors get so overwhelmed by the prospect of finding publishers, agents, editors, promoters, and designers they forget their first love. Write the book. Heck, write three books then jump into the world of what comes next. I also recommend local writing groups. I am a member of Romance Writers of America. If you aren’t sure where to start, there are several groups on Facebook.

What would you have done differently?

I would have taken my own advice. I would have written the entire series before releasing. I would have joined all the groups and gotten advice from the authors before me. I learned a lot by doing it wrong the first time. I might have had an easier time if I knew better.

If you could have the career of your choice and be guaranteed success, would you still choose to be a writer?

Heck no, I’d be a superhero. Anytime you can be a superhero… Be a freaking superhero! A writer is my second choice though *wink*

I may not be your cup of tea.

My books are too dark to be Romantic Comedies, too funny to be Dark Romance, too old to be new adult (although books 2 and 3 my characters start as children). I'm a little bit of everything and so there is going to be some unlikeable aspects. My point in this series is to have characters who can fall in love after a life-defining moment of darkness.

Why do I write about the lower facets of humanity? Before I published books, I worked a career in EMS. Your worst day, was my work day. I saw the vile and terrible things that humans did to one another day in and day out. I dealt with the aftermath of a fifteen year old girl who was gang raped at a party while onlookers pulled out their phones to video. One of those onlookers was her sister. I went home and hugged my own fifteen year old daughter, making sure my girls know they have a responsibility to protect one another. Before retiring to bed that night, I wrote about that broken girl. I described her stoic face, her dead eyes. The green blanket she was wrapped in while she shook violently. I wrote about her clothes being inside out, her underwear missing, and her attackers throwing her in a field from a moving van.

My story was about overcoming the darkness of that life-altering night. A superhero who despite having had the images of her unconscious body, being violated, circulate the interwebs, she would be okay. My own psyche needed her to be okay. In my version of her life she fell in love and lived happily ever after. In my imagination, she is my Chrissy. I named her after a women who also has a quiet strength she never recognizes. I named her after a woman who tells me, I am the person she pictures when asked who the strong person in her life is. A woman that doesn't see she is, too.

In my career My duty to my patients ended at the Emergency Room door. I was helpless in the prevention of their pain. I was helpless in their recovery. My imagination though, my imagination was powerful. In the book InSanity all of Jacob's patients were one day on the job for me. The adorable little girl that got into grandma's medicine, the engagement ring choker, and the smell one doesn't forget, are all actual people. That night ended with a paramedic stabbed by his patient. For the woman wandering around nearly naked, with bare feet and a baby doll, I filled in some blanks. I gave you a plausible reason for telling me your name was bad kitten. I gave you a story. Nobody saved you in real life, in my imagination you found someone to love you and take care of you, but you were too broken. I had to give your happily ever after to the neglected children we found in your home.

I realize not everyone is comfortable delving into that kind of darkness. I respect the squirm and no thanks of some readers. Please know, that some aspects of my stories stem from real life situations in which I was helpless. I changed the outcome. For the superheros that need to know life can be what you make it. Understand, that my writing about your nightmares, was therapeutic for me. I wrote my wishes for you. For my readers, these are the stories I needed to tell. Just like in real life the darkness in my stories is lifting. Sanity's Edge is still true to the intent of the series. Two people defying their circumstances to fall in love, it is done hilariously. The series will end with a laugh.

If I am not your cup of tea, I'm happy for you. I hope you never know anybody skating the lines of Sanity. I hope your love is uncomplicated. I hope you never have to survive. I hope you never have to hold someone so they don't fall apart. If you're not that lucky, I hope you find a way.

XOXO

Rebel

Zan, Jacob, and the Boss.

Six-month anniversary

 Jacob: The garage door won’t open?

Zan: I know (=

Jacob: Are you being evil?

Zan: In all the best ways, Baby!

Jacob: Should I leave?

Zan: Fuck no! Use the other garage.

Jacob

   Confession, I’m having a mild heart attack. We may have two garages but we use one. All the tools and the car my father left me are in the second garage. I have the most amazing wife but she has boundary issues. I don’t love her in spite of them, I love her because of them. Her full heart, honesty, quirky, crazy self takes my breath away.

Slowly, the garage door opens and my heart stops. The tarp is off my Dad’s 1970 Mustang Boss 302. He bought the car so that one day he and I could restore it together. He died before I was old enough to start. She washed it. It looks shiny and new, a sweet gesture, but I don’t want her to touch it.

   “Zan, what are you doing?”

   “Giving you our anniversary present.” She links her hands behind her back swaying back and forth mischievously.

   “You needed to do that in here?”

   “Yep!” She approaches me slowly with sexy cat like prowess. “I decided to check out your car one day. I found your dads original plans for the two of you. He had already done the body work and had bought a ton of original parts. They were all in the trunk. I found a rolodex of business cards from parts dealers, friends, and other enthusiasts. Together we went through his plans and they walked me step by step through everything that needed to be done. We made a video diary. They shared stories about your dad along the way.”

I swallow hard. “You restored my Dad’s car?” It is the most beautiful and painful thing she has ever done for me. I should have been the one to restore it. How do I tell her I’m angry, when she spent all this time on a gift for me?

   “I did, but it isn’t what you think. I kept the video diary. I took everything apart and put it back where it was. You now have a step by step guide on how to restore the car, with a little help from me and antidotes from the people your dad looked up to. While you put this back together, you will learn who your dad was and all of his hopes for you. Chrissy helped me and she even spliced in photos of him in high school and college with the very guys that helped. Each video segment is two hours’ worth of work. Schedule your time accordingly.”

I have no words. This is the most thoughtful, beautiful thing, any person could do for me. I don’t need words for this. Pulling my beautiful wife to me, my fingers threading through her hair at the base of her neck, I kiss her like it’s the last time. I kiss her like it’s the first time. I kiss her with all the good stuff in the middle, because she is my everything.

   Placing her hand on my chest, she nudges me back a step. “But wait, there’s more.” She smiles that evil smile again. “I bought a second Boss. It’s at our cabin. Once you know how to restore this one, you can take care of that one with our son or daughter someday. I think your dad would be honored to have his tradition carried on.”

   I’m going to break into a million pieces if I don’t devour my wife right now. Since there is a gap between us, I use it to rip her shirt off over her head, and begin working on her pants. She lets out a sexy moan and asks, “Backseat?”

   Bending over to remove her shoes and pants, I lift her. “Fuck no!” I mean, what guy hasn’t fantasized about fucking a hot woman on the hood of a jaw dropping car? If you find him, it isn’t me. I lay her across the hood her hair splayed beautifully. She looks like one of those gas station calendar cover girls. “Tell Chrissy I want sexy pictures of you on this car. You are so fucking beautiful, Baby.”

   Running my fingertips up her legs I part them as I climb. What kind of a douche would I be if I didn’t stop and say hello to her fine pussy. “Hello sweetness.” I take my time with a slow, languid, lick. I’m not sure who moans louder. When Zan and I met she thought making noise during sex was embarrassing. Not anymore. I couldn’t be happier. I swirl my tongue in her opening, grabbing her wetness, and dragging it to her clit. Her body jolts at the excitement.

   “Oh, fuck yes, Jacob!”

   Her fingers dig into my hair and her back arches at the pleasure. I always make my wife come first. Sliding two fingers in her tight pussy, I begin that beckoning call. Milking that tiny bundle of nerves with a come-hither finger flick, causes her hips to gyrate. I am a fan of the triple play. My finger ravaging her, my tongue melts her, and my free hand reaches up to pinch and flick her nipple until she howls. She doesn’t just orgasm, she explodes, coming apart under my assault on her sweet body, panting my name through labored breaths. I drop my pants yanking her closer to me, sliding into her soaking pussy, I throw my head back with the relief, the pleasure, the awe of the beautiful woman under me. “Zan Marie, I will never tire of your perfect pussy.” I kiss her hungrily. “I love you sweetheart.”

   “I love you, too. You remember how angry you were when I said I restored your Dad’s car.”

   “Well yes, but I…”

   “Tap into that, and fuck me righteously, Jacob.”

Fuck she’s perfect. I pull out, flip her over, and slam back into her in one fluid motion. Taking a hold of her hips, I slam her body back on me with each thrust. No mercy, she asked for it. The way her body contracts, releases, and orgasms repeatedly at the harshness is hot. My girl knows what she wants and never refrains from asking for it. She throws her head back with a growl and I take a hold of her hair, yanking her back to me. I whisper in her ear.

   “Come for me again baby.” I cup her pussy rolling her clit between my fingers with one hand and tweaking her nipple with the hand I’ve released from her hair. “Come right fucking now beautiful.” Her pussy clamps down on my cock with a delicious grip. Fuck. My balls tighten, and the heat from my core violently expels into the heat of her. A pleasure so intense it is dizzying. I tighten my arms around Zan to keep her from collapsing. Kissing her neck, I murmur my praise and adoration. I am the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet.

   
   Reaching into the bottom drawer of the tool chest, I pull out a moving pad blanket. Wrapping us tightly, I open the door from the garage to the hallway. The coast is clear. Running to the elevator while fumbling over a giggling Zan, I hope we can make it up to our condo unseen. Confession, it would not be the first time Zan and I were caught misbehaving in the elevator. Most of the neighbors just shake their head at us.

   Once safely inside our home, I drop the blanket and carry my wife off to the shower. I’m nowhere near finished with her yet. I plan to suck, fuck, and kiss her into an oblivion tonight. After all, it’s our anniversary.

Until next time Loves,

XOXO

Rebel

Jacob and Zan are from InSanity.

Book 1 in the Circle of Sanity series.

Available in eBook and paperback on Amazon

(Kindle Unlimited)

My Naughty Valentine

For my Valentine

Flowers, candy, stuffed animals… fuck that!

Standing in the pink and red isle of my local Target, I really have thought this through. Flowers die and stink. Candy is unhealthy, and stuffed animals are for children. I want my woman to know I plan to be here for longer than a few days. I want to take care of her and I am not her daddy. Who decided this was a good idea anyway? Greeting card companies needing some cash after Christmas created this holiday. I should leave this isle on principal, you know, stick it to the man! Running my fingers through my hair, I sigh. Sadly, I am not an asshole. If my girl wants to take pictures and flood her social media with giddy adoration, I had better be the man she wants to adore.

We haven’t been dating long enough for jewelry and if I could get away with a gift bag full of condoms and lube, I’d be all over that. Fuck! Maybe condoms and lube are just a step too far, but maybe if I bring it back a step… I grab condoms and lube anyway because, hello. I fill my basket instead with bath bombs, silk pajamas, strawberries, whip cream, cupcakes, and dial up my pizza app for todays heart shape pizza special. On my way to checkout I find a flameless candle display on an endcap. Huh, eh, what the hell I grab those too. The Valentine card I came in for just rang up to almost $120 and dammit if I didn’t forget the fucking card. I totally get that Target “look into my eye” meme, now. Once I go back for the card, the gift bag, and the thin colored paper you have to put inside the bag as punishment for not using wrapping paper I am free to pick up the pizza.

Nervously, I step inside her apartment hoping Netflix and pizza is romantic because I couldn’t get a reservation to save my life. Yes, men all across America plan their laziness. If you spring for a nice dinner, a drug store valentine gift is appropriate. If you work and go to school, like me, you can’t plan to be lazy. My lack of planning has me swallowing hard as I hand over the Target shopping spree, that I really can’t afford. “Happy Valentine’s Day Beautiful.” I kiss her cheek. The way her face lights up when she takes the bag, makes everything worth it. God, she’s beautiful.

As soon as she unwraps all the trinkets from the obligatory colored paper, her genuine smile takes on a mischievous look. Dragging me and her treasures to the bathroom, she begins stripping on the way. Fuck yeah! Perched on the edge of the bathtub, she runs the water over her hand, feeling for the perfect temperature. Over her shoulder, her heated gaze lands on me. “You are wearing entirely too many clothes.” Would you look at that, I am. I don’t need to be told twice. I tear my clothes from my body as if they were on fire. From her seat on the bathtub’s edge, she eye fucks me head to toe with a lingering stare at my cock. He likes the attention and springs to life with a hearty "Hello!" Her nipples pebble, her breath catches, and thighs clench. Fuck that’s hot. She can take a bath after I get her dirty! Yanking her up from her pedestal, I crash my lips violently on hers. Hungrily, my tongue seeks out hers and as they tangle in a sensuous dance. My fingers grip her hair pulling her deeper into my kiss. She tastes sweet and the soft curves of her body fill the hard ripples of mine. Two perfect puzzle pieces. My cock twitches pressed against her abdomen causing her to groan. The mesmerizing sound makes me heady with need. Reaching back to the Target bag on the bathroom vanity, she breaks our kiss to pull out the box of condoms. Pretty fucking happy I got those because her bedside table is too far from here. With the foil packet between her teeth, she rips open the package and sheaths me with wanton urgency. I’m not complaining.

Grabbing her wrists, I press her to the bathroom door with a thud. I didn’t slam her hard enough to hurt her but her saucer size eyes let me know it was hard enough to get her attention. She bites down on her bottom lip, and I smirk at how turned on she appears. I plant my lips on the nape of her neck, kissing, sucking, and nipping my way down to her pretty tits. Keeping her hands suspended, I pull her pearled nipple into my mouth rolling it between my teeth. Fueled by her gasping and moaning, I suck, lick, and tease her until she is begging for my cock. I step back keeping her hands bound. Running a finger down the side of her face, to her chin, over her throat, across her collar bone, I whisper. “What do you want sweet thing?”
“Please, I want to come.”
“My good girl said ‘please?’ Too bad it’s my naughty girl that gets to play today.”

Giving her nipple a little pull, pinch, and twist the way she likes it; the way she does it to herself. She moans my name and it feels amazing to hear it roll out of her mouth on a pant. I push her bound hands tighter against the door while I run a single finger down the valley between her pretty tits. I see her chest rise and fall with her labored breathing as I trace her sternum over her belly button and to her pussy. At the first touch, her hips thrust toward me, and I use my hip to push and pin her back to the door while I slide my finger down her slit. “You are so fucking wet, baby.” Tracing the slickness, I thrust two fingers deep inside her and slide them in and out a few times; drawing her wetness out. Raising my glistening fingers to her hooded eyes, I drawl innocently. “Is this all for me, baby? Are you wet for me?” She throws her head back against the door moaning in frustration. “Look at me, Beautiful.” Her stare is pure lust and it makes my cock jump again. I take my fingers, still glistening, and shove them in my mouth. Slowly, I pull them out sucking every last bit of her off of them, until they leave my lips with an audible pop. “You’re fucking delicious.”

Returning my fingers to the slick heat of her perfect pussy, I separate her lips and dive my fingers back inside. Her hands are going to go numb soon with the pressure I use to keep them glued to the door. She begins to writhe and clench. “No, no, Sweetheart, you don’t come until I say you do.” She protests on a moan, but she is too aroused to form words. I like her like this. I tilt my fingers to find that spot that makes her lose her shit, and press down massaging the bundle of nerves while my thumb rubs circles into her clit. “Don’t come, Baby.”  I pull her nipple into my mouth and she bucks off the door fucking my hand. Her muscles clamp down on my fingers. A light sheen of sweat flushes her body while she tries to maintain control. It’s getting harder for her to not come apart. It’s clear she’s holding back. Time to let her fall. “Now, Baby, come for me.” I cover her mouth with mine, swallowing all of her screams as she lets go. My hand is covered in her come but before she can ride out the last waves of her orgasm, I drop her tethered hands and pull her legs around my waist slamming my cock into her. She cries out my name and tightens around my cock. Fuck that feels good. “How would you like me to fuck you, Baby?”
“Hard. I want you to fuck me hard. I want you to tear me apart. I want to feel your cock still hammering me a week later when you’re at work.” I gladly oblige.

By the time I finally let go and fill the condom, my cock deep inside her beautiful pussy, her whole body shakes with exhaustion. Holding her spent body to me, I lift her bridal style and place her gently in the now luke warm bathtub. I run the hot water attempting to warm it again for her. Once it’s warm, I drop in a bath bomb and kiss her forehead. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Baby. Relax while you can, because round two includes whip cream, and my face buried in that delicious pussy.” I strut out of the bathroom to prepare, and wink at her wide eyes over my shoulder.

Happy Valentines Day my naughty but nice readers.

XOXO
Rebel