Thursday, 17 March 2016

until then...

funny how we set a plan in motion sometimes, just by speaking it out loud. So I was thinking, and the think got bigger, and the plans got bigger….

and the book is starting to take shape.

so, rather than waiting until the summer, I will grab these characters while they're hot and take a step away from here, for now.

I'll be back to introduce you to Flynn, the Irishman with the shaggy blond hair, the surfer's body and the  iron determination of a truly dominant man, and Jenny, the sparky young English woman who can more than match him, in and out of the bedroom.
Flynn may have thought he knew what he wanted, but that was before he met Jenny.
Jenny always knew what she wanted.

so, until then,

miss me,

Ivy xx

Saturday, 12 March 2016

Martini at midnight

His voice was deep, the thick scottish curl in every vowel as he ordered his drink. His dark suit was cut to make the most of his long legs and wide shoulders and could not hide the muscles it covered, any more than he could hide the scar that ran along one cheek.
She stepped up, out of the shadows. She wore silk: the darkest midnight blue gown, down to the ground, split to the top of her thigh. Her sky high heels were like pincers but as he looked into the mirror and caught her eye in the reflection, she might have walked on air.
He said her name. Not the name she would have given, but her true name. She froze, her confidence knocked, and he lifted one eyebrow, noting. Without asking, he took her wrist in his hand and led her away from the bar.
Outside, the heat of the day was still playing in the couples that wandered the softly lit Mediterranean town. Music played, something low and sweet she hadn't heard before, that spoke to her heart. She turned to tell him, to ask him what it was, when, without warning, he swept her into her arms and crushed her mouth with his. Like a match to a flame, she felt her own fire set alight under his and as he started to break away, as he moved back, a slow smile already on his lips, she hurled herself at him, her hands in his hair, her body in his arms, her heart in his play.
She couldn't say which one of them led the way to the soft grassy hillock beside the bar any more than she could say which one of them unclasped her dress, or which one ripped his jacket away, or his shirt, but as her skin met his, as her hands clasped him and brought him to her, she closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of their love.
All around them, unseen, the little town played its usual song, but there, under the heavy, swollen moon,  it was just them. Guiding him to his back, she sat astride him. Her breasts shone like ebony in the pale light, her dress lay discarded on the grass, and she wore nothing but her high, high heels. He set his hands on her waist and lifted her up, teasing her, holding her over his cock, until neither of them could wait any longer.

Tuesday, 8 March 2016


so I got to thinking, about how much I enjoy writing this little blog and how sweet you all have been in  reading my snippets of erotica and letting me know you like my writing. I only originally started this because I found a few bits of naughty writing here and there and I thought they'd be fun to share, but as time has gone on, I have found myself more and more caught up with my day-life and less and less able to commit to writing other things, and then… as I say, I got to thinking… and thinking…. and my thoughts got a little naughty… and I was thinking how much more fun it would be to write like this -

and not to finish the story at the end of the page.

you have me, here, writing weekly teases until June. In June, I will take what I have and start playing with it, see where it grows, where it leads me, and if it works out I'd aim to have finished my first erotic novel by spring 2016. 

between now and then, please do let me know what you like in my writing, so I can please you.

I do so love to please…


Sunday, 6 March 2016


My skin looks incredible. I shine. The basque clings to my body. The fit is everything I could ask for and I feel a flutter of excitement as I pick up the card, again.


Suddenly, I know who has sent me the stunning lingerie.

I look into the mirror and the woman who looks back isn’t the woman who worries if her skirt is long enough, or if her hair is straight enough. The woman in the mirror doesn’t care if it is eight in the morning or eight in the evening. I smile, the slow, knowing smile of a woman who knows she already has what she wants.

The woman in the mirror, is me.

I take time with my make up, sweep my hair away from my face. I want him to see me. I already know what else I’m going to wear but at the last minute, I hesitate.

Then I remind my self: surrender.

I run my hands through my hair and let my fingers travel down, over the sheer fabric, tracing the pretty feather embroidery, touching the little rose-gold ‘s’ charm. I close my eyes as my hands cover my body, as I luxuriate in the smooth silky fabric, following the lines of the basque that celebrates every curve. My fingers savour the softness of my skin, and as I trace the suspenders, as I feel the tug of the naughty peep-hole briefs, I know I can do this.

I slide my feet into my heels and pluck one single item from my wardrobe: my long black coat.

At the door, I check my lipstick, but I don’t need to check my body again. I know I look good. The soft silk of my coat is cold against my skin and outside on the street, the light breeze plays around the hem of my coat. I pull the belt a little tighter. My heels click on the pavement and I walk with my head high, knowing my own power. At the entrance to Macari’s, I stop.

After all these years, would it be the same? Did he still know my mind, my heart, like he knew my body?

I already knew the answer. The huge dance floor was empty except for one man.

Tom. His uniform spotless, he turns to face me. Our eyes meet.

I let my coat fall to the floor.