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March 15 , 2009

The Write Lovers, Story One: Prologue


The Write Lovers is an erotic short story series that follows two writers and how their lives become bound together by their passion for writing and each other.

Damien Hunter was once a successful NY Times bestselling author, but hasn’t produced a sellable manuscript since the death of his lover three years ago.

Kaydence Bennroth is an up and coming writer who is offered the opportunity of a lifetime; a chance to work side by side with the highly acclaimed, Damien Hunter.

Brought together by their conniving literary agent, Eileen Dione, they will combine their creative juices and ignite the world with their stories and their passion.


“Will you read it to me?” I ask as I feather the tips of my fingers through the nape of your hair.
You stop typing and your shoulders relax as you sigh and lean back in your chair. “It’s not quite done yet,” you say, turning to look at me. "I'm just getting the rough draft fleshed out so it's not really great yet. Even we professional writers have to start somewhere.
“You don’t want to read to me?” I ask with a feigned pout, knowing full well your stories stimulate you as much as they do me.
A secretive smile softens your lips, letting me know you are in the mood to play. You look up at me. “Then I want your dress off. I want to watch your reactions and see how your body responds as I read you my story.”
The twinkle in your eyes melts any resolve I may have. "Will you help me?"
Standing up to meet me, you gaze into my eyes as you gather the hem of my long silk gown in your hands. You slide the fabric slowly up my lower body; the tips of your fingers and small wisps of silken fabric trail over each section of newly exposed flesh, sending shivers up my spine. The bells tinkle out their seductive tune as you release them from under my dress.
A small sigh escapes my lips as you pull the dress over my breasts, then lift it free of my body. The silken material slithers to the floor and comes to rest on the midnight carpeting in a pool of opaline splendor.
“Those too,” you tell me, indicating my bra and panties.

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