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Boat, Sun, Champagne, Sex

Boat, Sun, Champagne, Sex

Posted by on Aug 2, 2013 in SLH Excerpts | 0 comments

From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 3, Summer Season (CHAPTER 21: RISKY BUSINESS)

I finish my mimosa and set my glass down on the deck, again taking in my surroundings. I’ve never dated a wealthy man before. Not wealthy like Phillip Ferrari. And it was never a priority—contrary to Jack’s beliefs. Not that I didn’t think I was attractive enough, or sophisticated enough; I’d just always considered my sister’s situation an anomaly, accident, or pure dumb luck. And I’ve always been able to take care of myself, so I never went out of my way to dig into those circles, hoping to hit some jackpot…

Still, a girl could get used to this. I lean my head back, relishing the hot rays of the sun. And I’m sure the whole “snipped” thing will work itself out.

I look back at Phillip. I touch the edge of his shirt gently, touch him gently, and then lean down to kiss his smooth chest.

He stirs. I undo the drawstring of his pants, and then the buttons. I reach in and feel his firm dick. I think about tantalizing it with the tip of my tongue, but he sits up before I can enact my plan, draws me up, and occupies my mouth with something completely different.

He gets on his knees and flips me over—doggy-style…in the daylight.

Shit. I try to squirm upright, but his hands are firm: one on my shoulder, another on my lower back…

I feel his hardness at my thigh as he pulls down my bikini bottoms and takes me, right there, in the middle of all the boats, and the sun, and the squawking of the seagulls, and the shimmering of the ocean, and the champagne buzz in my brain.

To Be Continued…

COPYRIGHT
Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 3, Spring Season by Dorota Skrzypek.
Copyright 2012 by Dorota Skrzypek.
ISBN 0-9768869-2-1
All Rights Reserved.

Read the entire Sex, Life, & Hannah Summer Season on Amazon now!

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Christian Knight

Christian Knight

Posted by on Jul 25, 2013 in SLH Excerpts | 0 comments

From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 3, Summer Season (CHAPTER 20: DINNER AT A STRIP CLUB)

“Jack!” I twist open the gas cap. “Phillip, the new head of our company, my new boss—the man I’m also having sex with—he’s back in town and wants to spend Fourth of July with me, and now I have another man’s initials tattooed on my ass!”

Jack laughs. And laughs. And laughs. I press Regular Unleaded and remind him several times that this isn’t funny.

“You must have been really drunk, or high, or both, Miss I-Would-Never-Purposely-Scar-My-Body-For-Life.” His voice is muffled, like he’s brushing his teeth. “And you’d better not have gotten The Ex’s initials tattooed on your ass—”

“Of course not!” I start pumping gas. “Christian Knight is back in town.”

Jack laughs. And laughs. And laughs. I hear him turn the water on. “The other man. What an apropos ending.”

Jack always thought that my affair with Christian was the best thing I’d ever done. But that’s because he didn’t think I’d ever really end up with The Ex. The entire year I was with Christian, I’d whine about how confused I was; but Jack would just keep telling me I was finally taking control of my womanhood and my sexuality. He told me that suppressing my desires was only going to leave me a bitter housewife, unsure if she’d ended up with the right man. According to Jack, there were a lot of things you needed to do before you got married, and they all started with the adverb “more.” I told Jack he just didn’t believe in monogamy or marriage. He didn’t disagree, but he still liked the idea of Christian.

I liked the idea of Christian too. Then again, what girl doesn’t like the idea of dating an Ethan Hunt type? It’s sexy—except for the lonely nights, weeks without contact, and constant changing of plans. This is why as much as I wanted Christian to whisk me away to a better life, I had a hard time believing it would ever happen. Until last night.

“He introduced me to his mom!” I walk over and grab the squeegee. “And then we had sex in a peep-show booth, and he told me he loved me, which he’s never said before, so when we walked by a tattoo parlor, I said, ‘Prove it!’”

Jack stops swishing. “Oh my god! You are such a sucker for the ‘L’ word.” He spits again. “But at least you’re getting more adventurous. What kinda porn does he like to have sex to?”

“The straight kind. Jack, what should I do? Should I remove it?” Part of me wishes I could remove it as easily as I’m removing the bird shit from my windshield right now.

“You know what you should do? Enjoy yourself. Your boss is not your boyfriend and neither is Christian. And you should keep it that way! Learn from your mistakes, Hannah. Keep things casual, be single for more than a day, and stop jumping into love so much.”

I know Jack is right. I put the squeegee back and replace the nozzle.

To Be Continued…

COPYRIGHT
Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 3, Spring Season by Dorota Skrzypek.
Copyright 2012 by Dorota Skrzypek.
ISBN 0-9768869-2-1
All Rights Reserved.

Read the entire Sex, Life, & Hannah Summer Season on Amazon now!

Read More

Sex Logistics

Sex Logistics

Posted by on Jul 19, 2013 in SLH Excerpts | 0 comments

From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 3, Summer Season (CHAPTER 19: DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS)

I feel one strong hand run up the side of my leg, linger at my hip, play at the curve of my waist, and then move up my ribcage to the back of my neck.

He tugs at me and I feel him, hard, pressing up against me, his breathing deeper. He reaches around for my sex. It’s already wet. How could it not be? I’m lying in the soft, warm hues of his cool sheets, in a California king, overlooking the aquamarine of a pool through floor-to-ceiling windows, in the middle of the desert.

I move my hips up against his, until I know he can’t stand it any longer, then he rolls me onto my stomach, pinning me down with his weight, parting my thighs, and slowly sliding inside.

It sucks that we have to leave tonight, I think, biting at the pillow under me, arching my back to let him in further. I could stay here all week—even though I still don’t really know where “here” is. All he said when I asked where we were going for the tenth time last night after leaving Ireland’s boy toy’s party—and then again, as we pulled up to some hangar at Van Nuys Airport and were met by a portly pilot—was, “I have a place about an hour outside Las Vegas.”

And then I squealed. Like a little girl. Or like a drunk woman who just realized she was about to take her first ride in a private jet, with her new lover, and boss, Phillip Ferrari.

He smacks my ass. Hard. I grasp the edge of the bed with one hand and move my other hand where I can pleasure myself. His dick gets fuller, stiffer, until I feel him shudder. Did he just come inside me? I’m thrown off—but only for a millisecond, because in some bizarre way it makes me hot, and I’m able to finish myself before he rolls off. Even though he never asks.

Just like he didn’t ask if it was all right to come inside me just now, which surprises me since after our third fuck in his office, he opened up the credenza and took out a piece of paper.

“I don’t like using condoms,” he said, sliding the sheet in front of me.

I examined it for a moment, his clean bill of health, and realized that Phillip Ferrari was going to be a very…different relationship.

The day before the party, I dropped an envelope on his desk. “Neither do I.”

To Be Continued…

COPYRIGHT
Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 3, Spring Season by Dorota Skrzypek.
Copyright 2012 by Dorota Skrzypek.
ISBN 0-9768869-2-1
All Rights Reserved.

Read the Sex, Life, & Hannah Summer Season on Amazon now!

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The Cock, the Pool Boy, and the Cardinal

The Cock, the Pool Boy, and the Cardinal

Posted by on Oct 18, 2010 in SLH Excerpts | 0 comments

From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 2, Spring Season (CHAPTER 18: KNIGHT IN DARK ARMOR)

Ireland, Celeste, and I are sipping cocktails on large deck chairs at the pool. Well, except for Celeste, who is sipping mineral water.

“Special lady friend?” I tease, taking a sip of my cocktail, which is a lot vodka and a little soda.

Ireland hikes up her dress again because it’s barely covering her massive assets—a testament to why a twenty-year-old Hollywood producer wants to play house with her while his parents are out of town.

“I think it means he likes me,” she says winking.

“My dad calls some of my mom’s friends his ‘special lady friends,’” says Celeste. “But she doesn’t seem to like that.”

“Doesn’t it imply someone you just like to get your rocks off with?” I feel Jack and I have talked about this term of not-so-endearment.

Celeste scowls at me.

Ireland lights up a cigarette. “How would he know what anything means? He’s twenty.” She adjusts her top again and points across the pool from us. “See that guy in the ponytail and white jeans?”

Celeste and I scan the crowd and spot the only pair of white jeans; so tight you can see the muscles in the guy’s ass clenching. He notices all three of us staring at him, and smiles and winks. He looks like…a Chippendale’s dancer.

Ireland thinks he used to be one, she says, and then starts telling us about another afternoon when she and Justin were drunk off their asses. They were running around the house naked, trying to set some record for sex in the most places in one day, until Ireland said she was thirsty and jumped off Justin’s boner and ran into the kitchen. She bent over the kitchen sink to quench her thirst, like you would over a water fountain, when suddenly she felt someone press up against her backside.

He started rubbing her ass and tits, and slid one hand between her thighs to feel her wet sex. “When you ready for a real man,” said a husky voice with a Latin accent, “I be waiting.” And he let go of her.

She slowly turned around to see, walking away…the pool boy. Except there was nothing “boy” about him; he was all man.

Despite feeling slightly violated, confesses Ireland, “I’ve been fantasizing about fucking him ever since.” She re-crosses her legs and adjusts her top—again.

Celeste clears her throat—like she always does when the conversation turns from PG-13 to R rated.

“I’m going to Arizona in a couple weeks,” she announces, before carefully lifting a chocolate-covered strawberry to her lips. Celeste can take five minutes to chew a piece of fruit.

“What’s in Arizona, Missy?” Ireland asks, exhaling.

I cough—maybe from Ireland’s smoke going up my nose, maybe from my cocktail going down the wrong pipe, or more realistically, from shock. There is only one reason Celeste would be flying to Arizona.

“Holy shit! You’re going to visit Jake Benson!” I turn to Ireland. “The professional football player Jake Benson!” I down the rest of my drink, not noticing the vodka so much anymore. “Oh my god—did you have sex with him?”

Celeste sucks on her strawberry. “No.” She finally takes a bite.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Ireland jumps in. “What professional football player did you not have sex with, and why?”

“He’s a receiver for the Cardinals.” I tell her. “He’s hot.”

Ireland turns to Celeste, clearly confused. “And you’re not having sex with him?”

Celeste chews slowly. “He’s Christian. Christians don’t have sex until they’re married.” She gets up—because Celeste is not comfortable talking about sex—and tells us she’s going to get another strawberry.

I ponder what could have been my fate. I don’t know whether to feel happy for Celeste right now, or hate her.

To Be Continued…

COPYRIGHT
Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 2, Spring Season by Dorota Skrzypek.
Copyright 2009 by Dorota Skrzypek.
ISBN 0-9768869-0-7
All Rights Reserved.

Read the entire Sex, Life, & Hannah Spring Season on Amazon now!

Read More

Sleeping your way to…something.

Sleeping your way to…something.

Posted by on Oct 13, 2010 in SLH Excerpts | 0 comments

From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 2, Spring Season (CHAPTER 17: THE BUSINESS OF PLEASURE)

The blue electronic clock lights up 9:33 p.m. on my dash as I drive home from the office. I turn the volume up on a good beat coming from KCRW. I crack my sunroof and breathe in the stiff air.

In a town like Los Angeles, you hear a lot about women and men sleeping their way to the top. The streets are littered with posers, and everybody wants to be a celebrity. Sex-and sex tapes—seem to be the golden ticket—Jack has often vouched for that and Holly seems to be living proof. But I was never one of those people. There was no “top” I wanted to sleep to—not here anyway. Sure, I enjoyed the paychecks; and I’d gotten good promotions and the paychecks had gotten bigger. But that was about the only thing I enjoyed. I was just biding my time. Waiting for The Ex and I to get married and then for me to get knocked up and quit. And then…I never planned that far ahead.

The sultry sounds of “I Put a Spell on You” come through the airwaves, and I can’t help but find it apropos for what happened tonight. I had crossed a line I never thought I would. I can’t even explain what came over me. It was like I was somebody different, someone…empowered—or completely screwed in the head. I’m not exactly sure what I slept my way into, but it was exactly how I always envisioned it would be.

I crank the volume louder.

To Be Continued…

COPYRIGHT
Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 2, Spring Season by Dorota Skrzypek.
Copyright 2009 by Dorota Skrzypek.
ISBN 0-9768869-0-7
All Rights Reserved.

Read the entire Sex, Life, & Hannah Spring Season on Amazon now!

Read More

Sparks fly in a steam room.

Sparks fly in a steam room.

Posted by on Sep 29, 2010 in SLH Excerpts | 0 comments

From Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 2, Spring Season (CHAPTER 16: RACY FICTION)

A ball flies past my head.

“Forty-thirty.” Mr. Smyth calls out the score from the opposite side of the tennis court.

The last time I played tennis was at USC with Ace. And since we’d spent as much time fornicating off the court as practicing on the court, my game was mediocre at best—which is why Mr. Smyth was currently beating me six games to zero.

The ball comes at me and I give it a solid whack…right past the back line of the court.

Mr. Smyth runs up, having obviously enjoyed whipping me at his game. “You look pretty beat up, kid,” he says, smacking my ass in congenial sportsmanlike fashion.

I stick my tongue out at him in snooty unsportsmanlike fashion.

Mr. Smyth gives me a sweaty kiss. “What do you say we rinse off and I meet you in the steam room?”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Don’t worry, we’re not doing anything bad—it’s unisex.”

Doing something “bad” with Mr. Smyth wasn’t what I was worried about…

I’m rubbing cream into my cheeks in front of the large changing room mirror because I’ve read somewhere that moisturizing before steaming makes your skin glow like a sixteen-year-old virgin.

Things between Mr. Smyth and me have gotten better recently. We’ve gotten closer.

I switch to dabbing anti-wrinkle eye cream under each eye because I’m only seventeen months away from thirty.

We’ve seen each other five times in the last two weeks, and we now talk on the phone almost every night. He’s basically my boyfriend, even though I know he’s still hesitant to classify our relationship under that category. I grab the big white fluffy towel from the bench in front of my locker, wrap it around myself, and head out of the changing room.

I crack open the steam room door. “Hello?” I whisper cautiously. “David? Are you in here?” The steam is so thick I can’t see anything or anyone.

“I’m sitting on the first step to your right,” I hear his voice answer back. “And I’m pretty sure I’m the only one in here.”

“Pretty sure?” I start walking and…stub my toe. “Shit!” I propel forward, hoping I find something to grab onto.

Mr. Smyth catches me. “Did I overdo it on the steam?” He lifts me up and starts chuckling.

I look up, practically nose to nose with Mr. Smyth, bracing myself on his legs for support. “Oh, I don’t know…I can’t see a foot in front of me and it’s so hot my skin might melt off—in case you can’t tell.”

Mr. Smyth grabs my towel and drops it. “Oh, I can definitely tell how hot it is.”

He draws me toward him, and I crawl on his lap. I hear him moan in approval. He grabs my hair and tugs it back, running his tongue around my chest…I rotate my hips on top of his until I can feel him get rock hard. He lifts me up…

Our bodies are slick, and the heat has suffocated our reason. I forget about the possibility of anyone walking in, as well as the non-classification of our relationship; climaxing all the non-classified-relationship concerns right out of my system…

To Be Continued…

COPYRIGHT
Sex, Life, & Hannah::Volume 2, Spring Season by Dorota Skrzypek.
Copyright 2009 by Dorota Skrzypek.
ISBN 0-9768869-0-7
All Rights Reserved.

Read the entire Sex, Life, & Hannah Spring Season on Amazon now!

Read More