When approached to write this guest blog, I was asked to write about my home town, which made me realize something odd.
I don’t have a home town.
I was born in Ft. Smith, AR, but my parents moved around so much I don’t claim an actual hometown—and that was before my dad joined the military. Yet despite being constantly uprooted, I’ve always lived in the South. From the great state of Misery, er Missouri…my bad, to the costal beauty of South Carolina, and then finally back home to The Natural State, I’ve always unapologetically been a Southern gal.
Therefore, I present to you (in no particular order)…
10 Reasons Why Living in the South ROCKS
1. Sweet tea.
2. I don’t have to explain how far “yonder” is.
4. I can use the word “fixin’” as a noun, verb or adjective.
5. I’m surrounded by others who understand BBQ is NOT a condiment…it’s a state of mind.
6. Cowboys (or cowgirls if that’s your thing).
7. You can deep-fry anything, even butter.
8. Front porches.
9. I can pretty much wear the same clothes all year ‘round.
10. I don't have to explain or defend my accent!
P.S. In honor of my sexy Ellora’s Cave release, Lust, Lace & Lingerie, anyone who leaves a comment will be entered in a drawing to win these steamy sex coupons!
I love managing the sexy Dallas boutique, Red Light Lingerie—talking to people about sex, toys and bedroom wear. One of my favorite erotic benefits? My boss, Maxwell Penn, is a Matthew McConaughey lookalike—but with a hot British accent. Okay, he can be domineering and I spend most of my time on the clock fluctuating between “I want to bed him” and “I want to strangle him.” But still…yum.
Tonight, however, everything will change.
An old friend of Max’s from Britain, a lingerie designer, has flown in to show Max a couple possible pieces for our new Risqué line of bedroom wear—but their model canceled. Can you see where this is going? Yep. I go from manager to model, and before I can say G-string, this spur-of-the-moment modeling gig ignites in passion and little ’ol me finds herself sandwiched between Max and his dark-n-sexy best friend.
“As you can see,” Garrett said to Max, “the fishnet offers the viewer a very visual picture while giving the wearer some sense of coverage.”
Sense of coverage? I tried not to roll my eyes. My damn pubic hairs were showing.
“And the black color,” Garrett continued, “combined with the extra-firm elasticity of the fishnet, help minimize bodily imperfections. Not that this one needs any help in that arena, hey, Max?”
“No, not at all. She’s…breathtaking.”
My nipples hardened at his words, and Max’s gaze zoned in on my breasts like heat-seeking missiles locking onto a target. He adjusted himself.
“And…” Garrett spun me around so my breasts pressed against the hard planes of his chest and swept my long hair over one shoulder, exposing my back to Max. “As you can see, the view from the back is exquisite as well. The dipping backline draws the eye and plays with the senses.”
As if accentuating his words, he teased his fingertips along the small of my back. Shivers followed where he touched me and I bit back a moan. My mind went wild with images of his big, gentle hands touching other parts of my body.
Christ, this was not happening.
“And the thick crisscrossing ropes,” Garrett said, his breath hot on my neck, “are not just decorative, my friend. They’re great for anchoring ties too. Now I know what you’re thinking. ‘It’s fishnet. One good tug, and it’s gonna rip.’ But I assure you that’s not the case. The synthetic fabric has some give, yes, but it’ll take a lot of force to rip. It will give you absolute control over your woman. And I know how much you like that.”