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Hump Day Hook: I Still Remember (3)

October 23, 2013 by Harper Bliss 1 Comment

I Still Remember

This week’s Hump Day Hook is yet another snippet from I Still Remember. It takes place on the massage table, just as things start to heat up… 😉

Her fingers knead the flesh of my back and shoulders. Up and down they roam for minutes on end and—despite myself and the feverish thoughts crashing through my brain—I’m about to reach that state of zen-like calm, of shutting off the world and just returning to myself. But then it happens. Her finger brushes against the side of my breast, which protrudes a bit as I lay on my belly.

Amy doesn’t apologise, she simply continues, but it feels as if my life has just changed considerably. As if the world has shifted and new possibilities have been born. This happens all the time during massage therapy, of course. The number of times Raj has accidentally brushed his fingers along my breast equals the number of times I haven’t cared an iota about it. But the furtive skating of Amy’s finger along my skin there feels more like a promise. An opening. Maybe a declaration.

Both of her pinkies glide along on either side now, and I never before realised how sensitive my skin is there. Maybe this is just the way she does her job. Or maybe she has a few buried emotions rising to the surface as well.

Every time her fingers dip a little too low, a flash of heat tumbles through my bones, all the way from my spine to my toes. Goosebumps have made way for hot flashes and then—oh no—an involuntary moan escapes me. I snap my mouth shut as soon as it happens, but it’s too late. I’ve given myself away. I lay there dying a little bit, my face pressed into a hole, my eyes fixed on Amy’s toes. Her nails are painted a deep red and—I may be losing my mind by now—it’s the most beautiful colour I’ve ever seen.

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Hump Day Hook: I Still Remember (2)

October 16, 2013 by Harper Bliss 3 Comments

I Still Remember This week’s Hump Day Hook is another snippet from my newly released novelette I Still Remember. As this story deals with revisiting a teenage crush, it contains a few flashback scenes and this is one of them.

We’d been swimming in a small pond behind Amy’s house. It was cordoned off from their garden by a bunch of pine trees and, as the afternoon progressed, the sun dipped away behind the trees, leaving us with early evening shadows. We were wet from the water and the sky was the colour of summer: blue streaked with soft yellows and dashes of pink I never understood. The colours that would forever remind me of Amy.

It was the height of my crush on her, a few weeks before we’d leave high school forever. All my energy went into trying to keep my eyes off her as she adjusted her bathing suit while we let the last of the heat dry our skin. I tried so hard not to look at her that all I did was stare in the distance.

“What’s wrong, Eli?” Amy playfully pinched me in the side, catching me by surprise. I swathed her hand away as if it were a vile mosquito, quickly regretting my impulsive reaction. To mask the turmoil ripping me apart inside, I shot her a quick grin before rolling on top of her and pinning her arms above her head.

I stared down at her, every cell in my body tingling. Her dark eyes smiled up at me and a surge of something I couldn’t control swelled inside my gut. I closed my eyes for a second and saw what was going to happen next. I was going to lean down and kiss her. I saw myself do it on the back of my eyelids. I could almost taste her lips and smell beyond the heady mixture of sun and lotion on her skin.

When I opened my eyes, it seemed as if hours had passed, but it was still the same Amy squirming below me on the grass. It was the same pond giving away its summery sparkle to the falling darkness. Amy’s eyes were still the same mocha brown and her hair the same shock of wild curls, but I had changed. I’d never come so close and suddenly I realised it was the closest I would ever get.

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Hump Day Hook: I Still Remember

October 9, 2013 by Harper Bliss 5 Comments

I Still Remember

Obviously, I’m very fond of all the stories I write but, sometimes, when it feels as if I don’t have to write it, as if the story is basically creating itself and all I have to do is pound my fingers on the keyboard and let it flow out, a special one comes along. That’s how it felt when I was writing I Still Remember. It’s nostalgic and hot (I broke my record of lady-loving scenes per story!) and it’s my wife’s new favourite. Here’s a snippet for today’s Hump Day Hook. I Still Remember will be released next week. (Send me an e-mail if you want an ARC in return for an Amazon review.)

“Eli?” Amy’s voice never really suited her until now. It was always the voice of a grown woman with endless legs, strong hands, and pronounced collar bones.

“Sorry. Miles away.” I take the cup of tea she hands me and, awkward as I feel, sip from it immediately. The tea is scalding hot and I burn the tip of my tongue but I don’t say anything.

Amy looks at me over the rim of her cup while she, wisely, blows on it to cool the liquid. Her eyes radiate a softness I don’t recognise. But we are different people now, even though I feel myself slipping into my teenage skin again—and adoring Amy silently. Me, of the endless chatter on TV, the never-ending banter I’ve made a career of. A few minutes with Amy and I’m sixteen again.

“Why don’t we get on with it.” She places her cup on a small table next to the chair she sits in, one leg folded over the other. She looks at me, her eyes almost watery now, and in that one glance I see it. In that instant, I realise she always knew. “I give a mean massage, even if I do say so myself.” She erases the moment with a quip and a smile and I don’t know what to think.

The words ‘massage’ and ‘Amy’ seem to flash in my mind in big red letters. My brain can’t process the two of them together, as if it has neatly shelved any physicality away from the memory of Amy.

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Hump Day Hook: Match Point

September 4, 2013 by Harper Bliss 4 Comments

SweatThis week’s Hump Day Hook is from my short story Match Point, which appears in Sweat. Sweat’s subtitle is Five Sporty Tales of Lesbian Lust, and basically, it’s my dream come true. If you’ve read any of my books, you know that nothing turns me on more than a sweaty woman in a tank top. It’s my thing. I can’t help it, but women with toned arms dressed in nothing but a tight tank top keep on popping up whenever I’m writing. So, I thought I’d ask four of my favourite authors to indulge me with a sporty tale and Sweat is the result. The official release date is on Friday, but I have ARCs available in return for an honest Amazon review. (Just e-mail me.)

Match Point is about quickly coming to grasp with the fact that you’re a lesbian on the tennis court. 😉

Before I even hit the ball, I know it will land in the net again. I’ve lost my mojo and, glancing at the other side of the court, it’s not hard to see why. I used to be the star player of our club, almost effortlessly winning every championship—until Ruby came along. On paper, we’re a match. But when we face off on the court, she always wins.

Thank god this is not the final, I think as I prepare for my next serve. In my mind’s eye, I can already see the ball whizz limply over the net—no spin, no glory. Ruby will cross it with that mean forehand of hers and I won’t even feel disappointment. Only awe. And the incessant thumping between my legs.

Ruby joined our club six months ago, amidst a scurry of whispered gossip in the dressing room before games and—alcohol-fuelled and more daring—at the bar afterwards.

“She’s renovating the old Slater house all by herself,” my friend Sarah, who’s always the first to know, told me after we watched Ruby park her black BMW Z4 at the club’s parking lot one day. “She moved here from the city after a bad break-up… with another woman.”

I’ll never forget how my heart seemed to jump all the way to the back of my throat. When Ruby first arrived I was still very much in denial. Now, six months later, it has never been more clear. It crystallised in my mind, in my heart and in my blood after our first match against each other. I lost that one too, and no one could explain why I missed all those easy balls except me—and maybe Ruby. She held my gaze a bit too long before each serve—the way the pros do it to intimidate their opponent, her light blue eyes sparkling with something so confusing, yet enthralling. My gaze was still fixed on hers when the first ball zipped past my head. I didn’t even lift my racket.

I gather my thoughts and tear my eyes away from Ruby’s tan skin. I need to win at least a few points to avoid too many questions. Ruby usually gives me a few. She’s kind like that. And good with her hands. And she’s a lesbian.

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Hump Day Hook: A Hard Day’s Work

August 21, 2013 by Harper Bliss 3 Comments

A Hard Day's WorkThis week is all about A Hard Day’s Work, which means this week’s Hump Day Hook will again be from my brand new novelette. Sorry for the repeat, but there are plenty of hooks to choose from. 😉

Every day, at five on the dot, Ann and Kenneth rise from their desk and finish their work day. They have spouses to consider and children who need to be fed before bed. I usually linger on in the office the three of us share, enjoying the solitude and silence their absence brings. It also allows me the opportunity, every time I hear Amanda’s footsteps clatter on the hallway floor outside, to imagine she’ll walk in and say, “At last, they’ve gone,” before hurling herself at me.

But Amanda is straight and she’s my boss. I can pretend to play tennis all I want, she’ll never be interested in me that way. It doesn’t stop me from dreaming.

“You’re on your own, Jo,” Kenneth says and closes the door of our office behind him.

“Leave it open,” I yell behind him—just like every night—but he lets it bang shut with the most annoying thud possible.

I push myself out of my chair but my toes catch behind the foot of my desk. My hip crashes into it, sending a half-empty coffee cup to the floor, its tepid contents spilling over my sweater.

“Fuck,” I scream at no one but myself. I quickly grab a tissue from the box on Ann’s desk and try to stop the stain from soaking all the way into the delicate fabric of my sweater. It doesn’t help so I dash out of the office to the break room, which is closer than the wash room. I hoist my sweater over my head before yanking a tea towel off its hook and dousing it in water.

Engrossed in removing the stain from my sweater, I don’t hear the footsteps approach from behind.

“Is it casual Friday already?” Amanda’s voice beams.

Thank god I’m wearing a tank top, I think as I turn around. To my surprise, Amanda’s eyes appear glued to my arms. Countless upper cuts and hooks a week haven’t missed their effect.

“I didn’t finish my lunch,” she mumbles, completely out of character.

While she hides behind the refrigerator door, I stifle a chuckle. Instead of cursing Kenneth and his stupid game of slamming the door shut every night, I secretly thank him for landing me in this situation.

When Amanda re-emerges she has put herself together again. “You must have quite a serve with biceps like that.”

This time, I’m the one nearly blushing. “I get by.”

“What happened?” She nods in the direction of my sweater.

“Office clumsiness.” Flustered, I hold my palms up, dropping the tea towel to the floor. It really isn’t my day.

She scoots closer and crouches down to pick it up. As she hands it back to me, the tips of our fingers lightly touch. She redirects her attention to my sweater.

“You may want to use some vinegar on that when you get home.” I hadn’t pegged her for someone with detailed knowledge on removing stains. “Doug is terribly clumsy. It seems all I do is run after him and clean up his mess.”

The mention of her husband’s name zaps me back into reality. I doubt Amanda is the sort of woman who does a lot of running around for her husband—the mysterious Doug whose name gets dropped occasionally, but who never shows up for office parties or other work-related social events. I want to quiz her about him, but the circumstances don’t strike me as ideal. It’s also none of my business.

“Thanks for the tip.” I smile and glance at my sweater, which I fear might now be ruined.

“Here’s another one,” she says as she heads for the door. “You should wear short sleeves more often.”

I have to keep my jaw from dropping. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear she was flirting.

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Hump Day Hook: A Hard Day’s Work

August 14, 2013 by Harper Bliss 4 Comments

A Hard Day's WorkAt last, a new release! 😉 A Hard Day’s Work will be available from all retailers next week. Meanwhile, here’s a little excerpt for this week’s Hump Day Hook to (hopefully) get you all hot and bothered. Also, if you’d like an ARC in return for an honest review on Amazon, send me an e-mail and we’ll arrange it.

It’s Friday so I’m dressed casually in a pair of dark, tight jeans and a sleeveless blouse. I make sure the blouse is neatly tucked into my trousers before knocking on Amanda’s door.

“Come in.” The different versions of this scenario that have played in my head are countless, but they always ended up with both of us half-naked on the floor. “Close the door behind you and take a seat.”

I’ve never had any reason to believe Amanda hates the other women on her team. Most of the rivalry between her and Ann takes place solely in Ann’s head, just as Kenneth’s firm belief that Amanda has a soft spot for him is merely a figment of his imagination.

I sit down in the chair opposite Amanda’s desk. She glances at a sheet of paper in her hands. I stop myself from tapping my fingers on the arm rest of the chair, but I can’t consciously slow down the mad pitter-patter of my heart.

Amanda wears a tight black blouse today—one of my favourites on her. It’s open at the throat and it’s hard to keep my eyes off the exquisite hollow of her neck.

“I only have one question for you.” Amanda leans back in her plush leather chair. It’s as if I can feel her glance move over the skin of my arms. She shoots me a quick smile before continuing. Moments alone with Amanda are so rare—I can count the times I’ve been alone with her in her office behind a closed door on the fingers of one hand—and the situation makes my stomach knot. I shuffle in my seat, expecting a query on why I handled a case a certain way or how I feel I fit into the team. “Why are you single?”

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