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So, this is a little late, I’m afraid, but I wasn’t on the ball and I missed my big debut in Scarlet Magazine! My story, “Grand Finale,” is in the February issue of Scarlet — but don’t worry if you missed it, because thankfully you can buy it in digital format for just a couple of pounds. Plus, you get more than just me — you get a bunch of great erotic writers, including Sommer Marsden.

Plus, the illustration for my story just makes me all yummy inside. I love it, and I’m so proud to be part of Scarlet’s long history of presenting fabulous erotica to the UK (and internet) masses!

And a little excerpt from Grand Finale to entice you:

“Don’t scream,” I whisper. “Don’t make a sound. Not even a sigh, or they’ll hear you.”

I feel Sera’s nod more than I see it. From the back where we sit, the lights don’t cast much more than shadows. And we’re both facing the stage, as though we’re just a couple here to watch the opera. As though I don’t have my hand up Sera’s skirt. As though my fingers aren’t sandwiched between her underwear and her freshly-shaved skin.

Sera squeezes her thighs around my wrist. She doesn’t like this. She likes to be home, in bed, for sex. She thinks that where it belongs. Or at least, where she belongs.

Because she is loud, too loud for public sex. Sera’s a screamer. Not just the “oh, oh, oh!” kind of screams, although that’s her fall-back. That’s the one that lets me know she’s close to coming. But she’s got a scream for all of the vowels, ohs and ahs and ees. All of the vowels, some of the consonants and most of the gods. She probably could have been up there on stage, with the other opera singers—she’s got that kind of a set of lungs on her—but she’s afraid of performing. She doesn’t let anyone but me hear her.

Tonight, I’m going to change that.

Kiss kiss bang bang, s.