by Radclyffe
In the still dark of the night, a woman writes her desire and dares, at last, to send her words to the woman who inspired them.
Previously published in Erotic Interludes 3: Lessons in Love, edited by Radclyffe and Stacia Seaman (Bold Strokes Books, 2006).
Acclaim for Radclyffe’s Fiction
“Dangerous Waters is a bumpy ride through a devastating time with powerful events and resolute characters. Radclyffe gives us the strong, dedicated women we love to read in a story that keeps us turning pages until the end.”—Lambda Literary Review
“Radclyffe’s Dangerous Waters has the feel of a tense television drama, as the narrative interchanges between hurricane trackers and first responders. Sawyer and Dara butt heads in the beginning as each moves for some level of control during the storm’s approach, and the interference of a lovely television reporter adds an engaging love triangle threat to the sexual tension brewing between them.”—RT Book Reviews
“Love After Hours, the fourth in Radclyffe’s Rivers Community series, evokes the sense of a continuing drama as Gina and Carrie’s slow-burning romance intertwines with details of other Rivers residents. They become part of a greater picture where friends and family support each other in personal and recreational endeavors. Vivid settings and characters draw in the reader…”—RT Book Reviews
Secret Hearts “delivers exactly what it says on the tin: poignant story, sweet romance, great characters, chemistry and hot sex scenes. Radclyffe knows how to pen a good lesbian romance.”—LezReviewBooks Blog
Wild Shores “will hook you early. Radclyffe weaves a chance encounter into all-out steamy romance. These strong, dynamic women have great conversations, and fantastic chemistry.”—The Romantic Reader Blog
In 2016 RWA/OCC Book Buyers Best award winner for suspense and mystery with romantic elements Price of Honor “Radclyffe is master of the action-thriller series…The old familiar characters are there, but enough new blood is introduced to give it a fresh feel and open new avenues for intrigue.”—Curve Magazine
In Prescription for Love “Radclyffe populates her small town with colorful characters, among the most memorable being Flann’s little sister, Margie, and Abby’s 15-year-old trans son, Blake…This romantic drama has plenty of heart and soul.”—Publishers Weekly
2013 RWA/New England Bean Pot award winner for contemporary romance Crossroads “will draw the reader in and make her heart ache, willing the two main characters to find love and a life together. It’s a story that lingers long after coming to ‘the end.’”—Lambda Literary
In 2012 RWA / FTHRW Lories and RWA HODRW Aspen Gold award winner Firestorm “Radclyffe brings another hot lesbian romance for her readers.”—The Lesbrary
Foreword Review Book of the Year finalist and IPPY silver medalist Trauma Alert “is hard to put down and it will sizzle in the reader’s hands. The characters are hot, the sex scenes explicit and explosive, and the book is moved along by an interesting plot with well drawn secondary characters. The real star of this show is the attraction between the two characters, both of whom resist and then fall head over heels.”—Lambda Literary Reviews
Lambda Literary Award Finalist Best Lesbian Romance 2010 features “stories [that] are diverse in tone, style, and subject, making for more variety than in many, similar anthologies…well written, each containing a satisfying, surprising twist. Best Lesbian Romance series editor Radclyffe has assembled a respectable crop of 17 authors for this year’s offering.”—Curve Magazine
2010 Prism award winner and ForeWord Review Book of the Year Award finalist Secrets in the Stone is “so powerfully [written] that the worlds of these three women shimmer between reality and dreams…A strong, must read novel that will linger in the minds of readers long after the last page is turned.”—Just About Write
In Benjamin Franklin Award finalist Desire by Starlight “Radclyffe writes romance with such heart and her down-to-earth characters not only come to life but leap off the page until you feel like you know them. What Jenna and Gard feel for each other is not only a spark but an inferno and, as a reader, you will be washed away in this tumultuous romance until you can do nothing but succumb to it.”—Queer Magazine Online
Lambda Literary Award winner Stolen Moments “is a collection of steamy stories about women who just couldn’t wait. It’s sex when desire overrides reason, and it’s incredibly hot!”—On Our Backs
Lambda Literary Award winner Distant Shores, Silent Thunder “weaves an intricate tapestry about passion and commitment between lovers. The story explores the fragile nature of trust and the sanctuary provided by loving relationships.”—Sapphic Reader
Lambda Literary Award Finalist Justice Served delivers a “crisply written, fast-paced story with twists and turns and keeps us guessing until the final explosive ending.”—Independent Gay Writer
Lambda Literary Award finalist Turn Back Time “is filled with wonderful love scenes, which are both tender and hot.”—MegaScene
Applause for L.L. Raand’s Midnight Hunters Series
The Midnight Hunt
RWA 2012 VCRW Laurel Wreath winner Blood Hunt
Night Hunt
The Lone Hunt
“Raand has built a complex world inhabited by werewolves, vampires, and other paranormal beings…Raand has given her readers a complex plot filled with wonderful characters as well as insight into the hierarchy of Sylvan’s pack and vampire clans. There are many plot twists and turns, as well as erotic sex scenes in this riveting novel that keep the pages flying until its satisfying conclusion.”—Just About Write
“Once again, I am amazed at the storytelling ability of L.L. Raand aka Radclyffe. In Blood Hunt, she mixes high levels of sheer eroticism that will leave you squirming in your seat with an impeccable multi-character storyline all streaming together to form one great read.”—Queer Magazine Online
“The Midnight Hunt has a gripping story to tell, and while there are also some truly erotic sex scenes, the story always takes precedence. This is a great read which is not easily put down nor easily forgotten.”—Just About Write
“Are you sick of the same old hetero vampire/werewolf story plastered in every bookstore and at every movie theater? Well, I’ve got the cure to your werewolf fever. The Midnight Hunt is first in, what I hope is, a long-running series of fantasy erotica for L.L. Raand (aka Radclyffe).”—Queer Magazine Online
“Any reader familiar with Radclyffe’s writing will recognize the author’s style within The Midnight Hunt, yet at the same time it is most definitely a new direction. The author delivers an excellent story here, one that is engrossing from the very beginning. Raand has pieced together an intricate world, and provided just enough details for the reader to become enmeshed in the new world. The action moves quickly throughout the book and it’s hard to put down.”—Three Dollar Bill Reviews
Word Play
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Word Play
© 2006 By Radclyffe. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13:978-1-63555-610-0
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Bold Strokes Books eBook Edition: May 2019
Previously published in Erotic Interludes 3: Lessons in Love, edited by Radclyffe and Stacia Seaman (Bold Strokes Books, 2006).
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imaginatio
n or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editors: Radclyffe and Stacia Seaman
Production Design: Bold Strokes Graphics
Cover Design By Melody Pond
By Radclyffe
The Provincetown Tales
Safe Harbor
Beyond the Breakwater
Distant Shores, Silent Thunder
Storms of Change
Winds of Fortune
Returning Tides
Sheltering Dunes
PMC Hospital Romances
Passion’s Bright Fury (prequel)
Fated Love
Night Call
Crossroads
Passionate Rivals
River Community Romances
Against Doctor’s Orders
Prescription for Love
Love on Call
Love After Hours
Love to the Rescue
Honor Series
Above All, Honor
Honor Bound
Love & Honor
Honor Guards
Honor Reclaimed
Honor Under Siege
Word of Honor
Oath of Honor (First Responders)
Code of Honor
Price of Honor
Justice Series
A Matter of Trust (prequel)
Shield of Justice
In Pursuit of Justice
Justice in the Shadows
Justice Served
Justice For All
First Responders Novels
Trauma Alert
Firestorm
Taking Fire
Wild Shores
Heart Stop
Dangerous Waters
Romances
Innocent Hearts
Promising Hearts
Love’s Melody Lost
Love’s Tender Warriors
Tomorrow’s Promise
Love’s Masquerade
shadowland
Turn Back Time
When Dreams Tremble
The Lonely Hearts Club
Secrets in the Stone
Desire by Starlight
Homestead
The Color of Love
Secret Hearts
Short Fiction
Collected Stories by Radclyffe
Erotic Interludes: Change of Pace
Radical Encounters
Stacia Seaman and Radclyffe, eds.
Erotic Interludes Vol 2—5
Romantic Interludes 1—2
Breathless: Tales of Celebration
Women of the Dark Streets
Amor and More: Love Everafter
Myth & Magic: Queer Fairy Tales
Word Play
When you edit someone’s work, it gets to be pretty personal. You touch on a lot of private places, catch glimpses of so many secrets. I mean, we all know that anything worth writing, or reading for that matter, has to have a little of the author in it, right? Sometimes maybe even a lot. I don’t mean an autobiographical “how I first got laid” blow-by-blow, but the underlying experiences and emotions that inspire the prose—the fantasies and fears, and sometimes—between the lines—the needs and desires.
It’s always a challenge, offering criticism without damaging an oft-fragile ego, but after a while, there’s an ebb and flow, a give and take, that feels more like a tango than a tussle. At least, with luck, it does.
So, when I sat down to work, my mind wasn’t on the pacing of the final action sequence in my latest thriller. The deadline was closing in fast, and I prided myself on never missing a deadline. But I wasn’t in the mood for writing; I’d been thinking about her all day. About her last book, I mean, the one I was editing. About the love scenes that I couldn’t read without seeing her as the star. And, okay, seeing myself there, too—the co-star to her dark hero. I resisted, just barely, pulling up one of her e-mail messages to reread, not that I didn’t have them all memorized. We’d gotten close, maybe a little bit inside each other’s skin. It happens, when you share a passion.
The last message from her had been different—filled with taunting phrases and teasing innuendo. I had resisted rereading it for days, afraid that the longing, already so close to pain, would paralyze me for good. Mostly, I was haunted by the fear that everything I thought I’d read beneath and in between her words was merely a projection of my own furtive desire. As with fiction, I would discover that I had created the reflection of my own desire.
I couldn’t deny the attraction, but I was far from certain of the source. Despite what the theoreticians and critics say, I firmly believe it’s impossible to separate art from the artist. So how could I know if it was the heat of her words or the cool, amused distance she projected in the flesh that was so compelling? At first, I decided it didn’t matter—that twinge of discomfort that masked unwanted arousal—because it could not, would not, lead anywhere at all. We had to work together, and while a little lust might stir the creative juices, too much just clouded the mind. Like the last drink that would have been better left on the bar. And if that weren’t enough, there were rumors she was heavily involved. I don’t share, not even my casual fucks.
But then somehow, when I wasn’t paying attention, or maybe just when I was pretending not to look, we’d exchanged a few e-mails that morphed into something far more than one writer pushing another to the edge. We’d crossed a line; extended the invitation. Try me. I’m ready.
Finally, after rewriting the opening paragraph four times and ultimately hitting delete, I relented and opened the folder of e-mail messages to the last message. To the last sweet suggestion that could have meant nothing, or everything.
I read it and heard her murmur the words in my ear, her breath warm and teasing. I reread it, and felt her fingers skim my jaw.
I stared at the screen and felt the tremble of desire. And then I wrote.
When I wake in the night, I reach for you, the smell and feel of your body so near drenching my senses.
First sentences define the world, paragraphs the universe. For a writer, the tone and flavor and rhythm of the lines create texture, sensation, heat playing over skin, fire simmering in the belly.
I stared at the words, knowing I could not take back the truth. I had awakened in the dark, wanting coiled deep inside. I had reached out a hand, so desperate for the feel of her, craving the touch of her fingers to relieve the aching need that had ascended while I slept. When her image shattered like promises tossed into the wind, I stroked myself, imagining it was her.
I am always wet, always so ready for you then, when I have shed control and surrendered my defenses.
I read what I had written, my body tight, throbbing to the rhythm of my fingers on the keys. All because of a few words on the screen. Just a few words that crossed time and space, slipping through, over, around every barrier I had ever constructed—like the slick slide of fingers through the channels of my engorged flesh. I read, and remembered—the silvery sheen of passion streaking my thighs.
I whispered your name, a desperate plea in the night. I parted my thighs, baring my soul.
“What is it you need?”
“You know. You know. Please. Please just touch me.”
I saw her so clearly as the words filled my vision, the curve of her mouth, the length of her fingers, the intensity of her gaze. I remembered laughter and a quick toss of thick, unruly hair. I recalled a moment’s hesitation, and that instant when she wondered if she had revealed too much. I saw her hands, lifting as she spoke, certain and sure. I saw them now, traveling up the inside of my legs, a slow taunting journey of pleasures waiting to be called. My fingers hovered above the keys, my clitoris hard, a reminder I was flesh. Her fingertips only a breath away. I ached. I ached.
I forced my hands to move.
“What is it
that you need?”
“You. Only you.”
“Tell me.”
“Touch me. Feel what you’ve done to me in my dreams.”
You trace a single line down the center of my abdomen, your fingertip burning my skin. I wait, breathless, until you reach my weeping clitoris, exposed and vulnerable, wet with the tears of my desire. You hesitate, cruelly probing-the flick of your nail steals my breath on a whimper.
As I typed my sex twitched, and without thinking, I stopped and slid my hand under the restraining layers of clothes. I squeezed, pressure screaming along jittery nerve endings, annihilation a breath away. I worked my clit, faster, harder, my vision blurring for an instant, and I lost the words. I stilled my hand, bearing down with brutal fury, trapping my wild need in impotent rage. If I could not find the words, I would lose her.
I let go, leaving my desire to beat helplessly alone.
“Please…”
“Not until I say.”
“I need…”
“No.”
“Oh…you’re making me…”
“No.”
Fingers clamped around the pulsing shaft, the pleasure-pain driving my hips into the air.
