Gorgeous Drew loves the ladies. One hot New Orleans summer his life of fun and romance is about to change.
Marianne owns and runs a new age shop. She sells her spells and potions
aware of Drew's conquests, sometimes wishing he'd look her way.
Magic is in the air. A series of events will unfold that changes everything.
An erotic romance, full of sex, romance and magic, this short PNR story will delight.
Formerly available on the now closed All Romance
New edit and format for 2017
Available January 5 Amazon KindleUnlimited only
Please be aware this is erotic romance and 18+ story only
Clip my Wings
Drew Devereux stared at his reflection. The mirror was speckled with age and surrounded with an ornate, antique frame. Condensation built on it again, and he swiped a space to look into his eyes.
You know you won’t do it. Throw the leaflet away. Why care? After years, will you change? Do you really want to?
Last night, Marianne had accused him of being addicted to sex, and handed him information about an addiction group. He’d considered her words. He loved sex. He couldn’t wait for the next time. He savored every second, and yet sometimes recently it left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Does that mean I’m addicted? He’d researched the addiction online before going to sleep and definitely some of the symptoms fit.
He turned from the mirror, ran his hands through his thick dark hair, and padded to his armoire. Drew flicked the hangers along absently. He paid no attention to the clothes hanging there. His mind tumbled with luscious memories of the night before, to a young woman, whose name he couldn’t remember, with her thighs open to his hungry gaze and his fingertips. Her panties, just a scrap of black lace, revealed the contours of her sex as they caught in her damp slit. He loved the scent of arousal as he peeled the panties from her, loved the bare, wet welcome of her pussy as he bent to lap at her folds, and suck on her delicious clit.
Drew sighed, recalling how he’d soaked up the accelerating sighs and throaty sounds of pleasure as he pumped his fingers in her. God damn, I love sex, love the smell, the rush, the overwhelming waves of pleasure … it’s not an addiction … I just love sex is all. His cock stirred at the pictures in his head.
He grabbed a pair of jeans from the hanger that had slid to a halt in front of him. He dragged them on. T-shirts fresh from the laundry, folded in a neat stack on the built-in shelf, crumpled and rucked up as he yanked one from midway down the pile.
Hell, I don’t even know if I’ll ever love again. He pulled the T-shirt on. I want pussy, want the slow grip as it envelops my cock. I want the crush of breasts against my chest and the taste of satin skin on my tongue as I suck. Fuck … I’m getting an erection.
Drew ran down the two flights of stairs to the enormous kitchen. The strong aroma of coffee greeted him.
Marianne was already at work in one corner, weighing, mixing, stirring, and filling the colored vials for the shop. She bent over the table. Her shapely ass clothed in denim shorts immediately captured his attention. Sexual need slammed into him. His stomach clenched and his cock jerked. The spasm completed his erection. Drew’s gaze roamed over her shapely thighs—the way a V-shaped space formed between them at the top, the soft part at the bottom of her ass…
I could slide my fingers into that space. A handful of that ass is just what I need. Damn, she’s my oldest friend, and—not interested.
He turned and ran back up the stairs. His cock strained behind his zipper. He hadn’t reached the sanctuary of his own bedroom before he opened his jeans and sheathed his erection in one hand. He closed the bedroom door already gasping, working his cock to orgasm. He leaned on the door and gave himself what he knew he must. The orgasm ripped through him and buckled his knees. He slid down the door, his T-shirt rumpling up at the back, but catching on his chest muscles at the front, his breathing heavy. Fucking hell…Drew squatted there to calm himself. Sometimes the peace of having an orgasm didn’t last long these days, and he’d be looking forward to the next in minutes.
Drew stood and strode to his bathroom. He cleaned up and looked into the mirror again. Get a fucking grip. With that thought, he walked over to his bedroom window, a wide double door that led to a balcony. It was still early enough for the street below to lack the throng of tourists, or the writhing participants of a festival. Drew leaned on the pale green wrought iron balustrade and looked down. He’d fucked a young woman against the rail two nights ago. He pictured her hanging onto the rail moaning, as he fucked her from behind. Drew shook his head, trying to clear it. They love it … they always come … I’m tender … caring…He left the balcony and went slowly down the stairs to the kitchen.
Empty now of the enticement that was Marianne, Drew poured a cup of coffee and wandered over to check out the diary. They had a tour to conduct at midday in the cemetery. It would be full of potential conquests, young women throwing caution to the wind as they vacationed in the warm, historic city. Lovely sexy women in tiny shorts, or dresses that floated to the floor, as he took them off, they never said no to him. They sometimes asked to see him again, but no way was he going there. No woman wants to know she’s a one-night stand, a fuck. He’d smile his charming smile, nod a little, and tell them he’d find them. He knew the vague promise was enough in the heady atmosphere of New Orleans.
Drew sat down heavily on one of the carved wooden kitchen chairs. Lots of the furniture was antique. Marianne’s mom had left her not just the shop, but also the house, and everything in it. Her mom had provided the recipes for the spells they sold to tourists. These days, they sold other things too, Tie-dyed silk scarves, candles, watercolor paintings by some of the local artists, trinkets, and they conducted “spooky tours.”
Drew and Marianne had known each other since they met in junior high school. When he came home from NYU with degrees in music technology, she was there to welcome him. A frown creased his forehead. Was I addicted to sex then? I can’t remember it. When did it first start? He threw the remains of his coffee in the sink and placed the cup in the dishwasher. Maybe Marianne knows … maybe she noticed.
Copyright Elodie Parkes 2017