40-Love is here!

books, Writing

40-Love, my new short & sexy book is officially released on Amazon. If you’d like a copy, click HERE.

Thank you so much for the support. Please don’t hesitate to reach out to me if you’d like to chat, or if you want me to review or feature your writing/book. Let’s all support each other!

As always, keep reading.

xo Elizabeth

40-Love Excerpt

In the grand scheme of things, is obsessing over Kasey actually wrong? We’re not related, but I still find myself feeling guilty when I masturbate thinking about her each night. 

What’s worse, is sometimes I get off even harder by repeating in my head over and over that she is my stepsister. 


Down boy.

Kasey is stepping out of the pool, showing off the maddening fact that she is glistening wet and highlighted in all the right places (ala Phoebe Cates “Fast Times at Ridgemont High”). The guys glance back to me and laugh while I practically pant in lust from the deep end of the pool.

Stay down boy, stay down. 

I dunk under water to cool off. 

Sure, everyone’s checking out Kasey just as much as I am, but it’s perfectly fine for them to do it. 

Not me.

I can’t help myself. I try not to look, but she’s just … there.  

Kasey’s breasts are rounded and big—not too big—but big enough so that they bounce and jiggle with her every movement, tantalizing onlookers with the question of am I going to stay in my place? Or will I pop out?


remembrance, sex

Other Author's Writings, Writing

“I would ask myself what o’clock it could be; I could hear the whistling of trains, which, now nearer and now farther off, punctuating the distance like the note of a bird in a forest, shewed me in perspective the deserted countryside through which a traveller would be hurrying towards the nearest station: the path that he followed being fixed for ever in his memory by the general excitement due to being in a strange place, to doing unusual things, to the last words of conversation, to farewells exchanged beneath an unfamiliar lamp which echoed still in his ears amid the silence of the night; and to the delightful prospect of being once again at home.”

Marcel Proust, Remembrance of Things Past: Swann’s Way

“He came. He left. Nothing else had changed. I had not changed. The world hadn’t changed. Yet nothing would be the same. All that remains is dreammaking and strange remembrance.” 

André Aciman, Call Me By Your Name

madeleine, macaron, peach

papillae faded, remembrance no more.

Tasted sweeter than above, I remember.

Below, the taste,

my dearest clit.


Merry, Merry, LOVE!!


Hey everyone, I hope all of you are safe and enjoying the holidays.

I just wanted to let you guys know (in case you have a hankering to read about sex, romance, professor-student hot scandal, etc. etc.) that “Taking Wilde” is FREE right now on Amazon! It’s going to be free for three more days, then back to regular price. If you’re interested in downloading, click HERE.

Thanks again for the support. As always, keep reading!

xo Elizabeth


Other Author's Writings

ANAÏS NIN was one of the great, understated writers. According to her diaries (after being commissioned to write erotica for a client), she was ashamed of how much sex her client wanted from her stories, with very little poetry. More sex, less poetry was essentially what her client asked of her. She couldn’t imagine how anyone could possibly get off from what she thought was trite and mechanical sex-writing.

Yet, she wrote some of the most well-written, highly engaging erotica to date.

This passage is fromMarcel”, which is a short story that is a part of Delta of Venus.

“Marcel was suffering. I was enjoying the Russian, who was big and powerful and who could hold out for a long time. As Marcel watched us, he took his penis out of his pants, and it was erect. When I felt the orgasm coming in unison with the Russian’s, Marcel wanted to put his penis in my mouth but I would not let him. I said, ‘You must keep it for later. I have other things to ask you. I won’t let you come!’ The Russian was taking his pleasure. After the orgasm he stayed inside and wanted more, but I moved away. He said, ‘I wish you would let me watch.’
Marcel objected. We let him go. He thanked me, very ironically and feverishly. He would have liked to stay with us.
Marcel fell at my feet. ‘That was cruel. You know that I love you. That was very cruel.’
‘But it made you passionate, didn’t it, it made you passionate.’
‘Yes, but it hurt me too, I would not have done that to you.’
‘I did not ask you to be cruel to me, did I? When people are cruel to me it makes me cold, but you wanted it, it excited you.”

Random Thoughts


Hello everyone …

I just want to say that I appreciate each and every one of you out there. Contrary to what some may think, books are not dead, and writers are not hacks.

Whatever somebody’s motivations are for writing is through their own personal truth. I want to support any and all of you out there in any way I can through this site, my writings/books, and if you’d like me to read/review your work. As you can see, I am quite new on this particular blogging site, and I have a great deal more to come … it’s a slow burn.

Let us all look to one another with compassionate eyes.

xo Elizabeth

Excerpt from “40-Love”


Coming soon, my new short story that is a part of my short and sexy series of books!


Kasey is in the stands, well, standing out. 

In a bloody hot way. 

What else is new? 

She’s wearing that short, almost see-through white dress that drives me nuts, topped with red blocky high-heels. Her long brownish-blonde hair drifts casually over her shoulders.

Really. Who looks like that at a tennis match? 

I wish she’d just pack up and leave. This is the match of a lifetime; the deciding factor between going to regionals, or not. The team is tied in won and lost matches—it’s up to me to pull off the victory. And here Kasey is distracting me with her cheers of encouragement and those bouncing, bountiful breasts. I can’t forget her smile and eyes, either. Despite what most may think, it was her emerald green eyes and perfectly kind smile with those peach-like lips that I couldn’t stop thinking about when I first met her. 

And to this day, I still can’t stop obsessing over. 

I know it’s wrong.

In all actuality, is it really? We’re not related, but I still find myself feeling guilty when I stroke my cock each night thinking about my stepsister. 

You’re going to get a boner right now if you don’t stop. 

Not only that, but she’s also my best friend—sort of my only friend. The guys on the team are like brothers to me, and sure, we hang out and have fun, but I’m not close to any of them like I am with Kasey. She gets every part of me, not just the tennis part. She knows what makes me tick, what I love, my fears, hopes, and favorite anything. She remembers what kind of coffee and cream I prefer, and can usually guess what I’ll order at a restaurant. 

It’s like we share the same mind. 

To top it all off, our conversation is so natural that I don’t even think about it as “conversing”. We simply talk and know what to talk about, though we’re just fine with sitting in silence, too. 

Kasey has this way of driving me to the brink. The way she teased me—pushed me—on purpose that day after she fell on the tennis court and drove me to do the unthinkable …

Excerpt #1 from “Taking Wilde”


“I’m trying to be good, Clarence,” I say, my voice pleading with him so that he’ll look at me. I can’t bear it when I don’t know what he’s thinking or feeling. 

“Well, don’t be.” Clarence says, turning his head completely toward me, holding my eyes with his. He doesn’t let me go—no, not that easily. We drink one another up. “Take a risk with me. Be bad, be good, whatever it is … just do it with me.” 

I am his. He is mine. 

“Adele,” he starts, then pushes a lock of my hair behind my ear, “in all the time I’ve known you, I haven’t once judged you. And as long as I keep knowing you, I never will.”

Just as I feel my lips turning upward into a smile, my eyes spring out tears. The more I try to stop the tears, the more they come out. I must look like a weepy mess. 

Clarence holds my body into his. 

My ear is pressed against his chest. I hear the rapid thudding of his heart. It quickens, matching the speed of mine. 

“Why are you crying?”

I open my mouth to speak, but instead, I heave. Clarence, thankfully, is quiet as he allows me to let out this emotional thing that has been pent up in me. His soft fingers twirl strands of my hair. His other hand rests on my back, assuring me that it’ll always be there no matter what. 

“Can I consider this our second date?” 

“What,” I start laughing through my tears, “dinner with your family?”

“I know, it’s a strange premise for a second date … you’ll have to let me take you on a proper one after this winter vacation, okay?” 

I think on what he says.

The taxi comes to a halt. I lift my head, feeling my hair sticking up and out. 

“Here,” the taxi driver says. 

“Okay, give us one minute,” Clarence says. He turns the overhead light on and looks at me, then giggles. 


“Here, let me fix you up. I personally think you look hot, but I’m sure you don’t want to walk in there looking like you have raccoon eyes.” 

“Like I’ve cried the whole way.”

Clarence shapes my hair. He dabs the end of his finger with his tongue, looks at his finger, then says, “Do you mind?” 

I shake my head ‘no’. He proceeds to wipe his wet finger underneath my eyes to smudge away my running mascara and eyeliner.