Fall into Winter

fall into winter

four erotic novellas

eden baylee

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Learn more about the author and her work at:

http://www.edenbayleebooks.com

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Cover design by JB Graphics

Cover photographs courtesy of iStockphoto

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Copyright

Published by lowercase publishing

Copyright 2012 eden baylee

Smashwords edition. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Author's note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

For more information, contact eden.baylee@rogers.com

contents

introduction

fall

seduced by the blues

act three

winter

the norwegian

the austrian and the asian

titles by eden baylee

about the author

For my husband, who makes it all possible

introduction

When I set out to write my first book of erotic fiction, it came after a lengthy period of introspection, indecision, and intimidation. Intimidation, you ask? Of what … or by whom?

Many people dream of quitting their day jobs to pursue different paths. I was one of them, and my dream was to write. After more than thirty years of writing for my own pleasure, I took the leap to doing it full time. I could no longer meet the demands on my left brain during the day and expect to have anything of creative value for my right brain at night. When I finally made the decision to leave my job, it was surprising how right it felt.

Of course, when giving up something secure and familiar to follow a dream, there are consequences. I suppose that’s what I meant by intimidation. There’s something quite intimidating about those damn consequences! The thoughts of failure, looking foolish, or not being able to support oneself are only the obvious ones. I was the one who had intimidated myself out of pursuing a life as a writer, and now I had to embrace it. But what of this life? Could it be as easy as waking up and writing every day, and was it possible for me to work in isolation and be so disciplined? For now, I am happy to say yes, but one book does not a writer make. At least not in my books—pun intended. Time will tell.

Erotica has been part of my library since before I reached puberty, so it’s no surprise it left an indelible mark on my psyche. Don’t ask me how I got away with reading such stuff as a kid—I just did. I’m sure it’s why I have always had an active fantasy life—one I now intend to share with you through my writing. Much of the inspiration for my book began as sparks from past experiences, but there also exists a huge element from mundane events. The simplest things can be so sensual. I encourage you to consider that when you go about your daily life—getting dressed to go out, drinking a glass of water, or engaging in conversation with a stranger. It’s my belief that everyday life is rich with the seeds for erotica when we are in tune with our bodies and minds.

Fall into Winter is a collection of four tales designed to stimulate and heighten your senses. Though common elements unify the stories, each one is unique and stands alone—feel free to read them out of order. With plenty of sex to tie the plots and characters together, my hope is that these stories will make you feel sensuous and sexier for having read them.

Re-creating oneself is never easy; however, I’ve been able to do it with the help of some amazing people in my life. You’re the ones I’ve stayed in touch with and go to for support, whose advice I value, and who I’m proud to include in my circle of family and friends. It is encouraging to see this circle grow wider with each passing season.

The one person who deserves special mention is the man who inspires me daily with his own creative spirit. I am now, and will forever be, in your debt.

eden

fall

~ seduced by the blues

~ act three

seduced by the blues

Ella Jamieson took a sip of her scotch and glanced over at the man to her left. They stood at the bar of X-tasy, the newest nightclub in town. It was billed as the next hot spot in New York since Marquee went under a few months ago, and Ella had received comps for the club’s opening night. It was a Saturday evening in October, and the weather was starting to cool off after a sweltering summer. She had taken in the scene for the past hour and was just about to leave when he walked up beside her. It had been boring up to that point, and she craved some excitement. For some reason, the young man standing next to her made her feel particularly wicked.

Did you come here to get laid? she asked, not even looking in his direction, though it was obvious her question was intended for no one else.

Pardon me? He turned to her—his eyes narrowing to focus in the dark room.

I asked if you came here to get laid.

I don’t know what you mean.

The music was loud, and she knew he was having difficulty hearing her. She moved to face him. I mean, I hope you’re not here for the music.

Why, what’s wrong with it? he asked.

Nothing’s wrong, but you can’t call this music—a DJ playing shitty remixes of eighties’ hits is just bad.

This isn’t an eighties song.

She heard defiance in his voice and immediately felt aroused. How much do you want to bet?

What are we betting for?

A drink. Ella sipped the last of her scotch.

Deal.

They shook on it, and now Ella took a long hard look at him. She guessed him to be in his midtwenties, probably still in diapers when this song came out. He was cute, though—definitely her type—boyish, tall, and lean.

Over the last few decades, some of the best music from the sixties and seventies were sampled and remixed in clubs. She didn’t even include eighties music, as disco had already sucked a lot of originality out of that era, being the decade littered with one-hit wonders. Ella felt there was so little originality in any of the new music released today, and with few exceptions, most artists had no staying power. She much preferred the music of earlier generations.

"Do you even know this song?" she asked.

No, but I’m looking it up on my iPhone. Tell you in a sec.

Don’t bother. It’s called ‘Everything She Wants.’

He glared at her with his baby blues. How’d you know that?

I’ve been around music for a while.

He fidgeted with his phone, inputting her information.

Trust me, she said, amused he wasn’t taking her word for it. I’m right. The song is by Wham.

"Shit, you are right. ‘Everything She Wants’ came out in nineteen eighty-five."

Yes, so why are we listening to a bad remix of a twenty-five-year-old song?

You have a point.

The bartender came by, and she ordered a double. He’s paying, she said, nodding in her young man’s direction. She turned and walked to a nearby table.

She could tell he was intrigued—they usually were. At thirty-eight, she had been on the singles’ scene for longer than she cared to remember and was resigned to staying that way. Ella stood five feet seven with heels and had the supple, slim body of a woman in her midtwenties. Her curly auburn hair fell just below her shoulders, highlighting her dark brown eyes. Tonight, she wore a black lambskin pencil skirt with a slit up the back and a matching jacket. She loved leather and wore it often in the fall. It made her feel powerful and seductive. Underneath, she was dressed only in red silk lingerie. Her bare legs were exposed, wearing a pair of scarlet pumps.

Working as a promoter for a rock radio station had provided her with plenty of opportunities to go to clubs, but the hours had meant other areas of her life had suffered. Though she met many men, and suspected she had more sex than any of her married girlfriends did, finding that special someone had eluded her.

He brought their drinks and sat down next to her. So … are you here on your own?

Yes.

My name’s John.

I’m Ella. Nice to meet you, John.

Ella? Named after the ‘First Lady of Song’?

If you mean Ella Fitzgerald, that’s right. You’re familiar with her music?

I dabble in jazz. Are you a fan?

Not at all. Classic rock is my specialty.

Just then, a remix of David Bowie’s 1983 hit China Girl came on.

Another eighties song? he asked.

Yes, do you want to bet again?

No, no, I get the feeling I’m out of my league here.

A sense of humor, polite, and cute—he was definitely fuckable material. Aside from his messy mop of dark brown hair, he was extremely clean-cut. He wore a light dress shirt with a jacket and black jeans. She guessed him to be some Wall Street banker, possibly a lawyer, less likely an accountant. He appeared well built and obviously went to the gym—that was a given. Like most of the men she met who enjoyed coming to the clubs, he probably didn’t have a clue about music prior to the nineties. By contrast, Ella grew up in the seventies with two older siblings. From early on, she was immersed in the British Invasion and Motown, and she had a collection of vinyl that would probably make her seem ancient to someone John’s age.

So, John, how did you get into this place?

I came with a friend, but he had to leave early. You?

I’m on the job.

Oh? What do you do?

Radio promoter.

Aha! No wonder you know so much about music. You must have taken me for a sucker right away.

No, she didn’t, but she wouldn’t mind being sucked by him.

Actually, that’s not true, she said. I got into radio because of my interest in music, not the other way around.

Still, I’m not sure our bet was made in good faith. You had an unfair advantage.

Yes, I did, but that’s the nature of making a bet, isn’t it? I’m not required to disclose all the facts.

Okay, how about you give me a chance to even things up?

What did you have in mind? Ella was always up for a flirtatious sparring match.

Now that I know what you do, how about you guess what I do for a living? If you’re wrong, you buy the next round.

And if I’m right?

I don’t think you’ll be right.

He was cocky, something she attributed to his young age. She guessed he had no idea how old she was.

Okay John, you’re on. How many guesses do I get?

I’ll be a gentleman and give you two.

Very generous of you. She went with her gut instinct. My guess is you’re a banker.

Nope, he said, smirking.

All right, then … a lawyer.

He eyed her with defeat, but only for a second before he let out an exuberant laugh. The lady’s getting the next round!

Ella was shocked. It was rare she was wrong about these things, having had ample experience with younger men. John was sly—she had to give him that.

Give me one more guess. She hated to lose.

Okay, but you’re still buying me a drink.

All right, all right. She liked that he didn’t give in to her. I almost said this as my second choice—an accountant.

Survey says … so sorry!

Damn! she said.

John motioned for the waitress. I’ll have a vodka martini with a twist please. He looked over to Ella. And another double scotch for the lady— neat, right?

Yes, thanks. I need it. Ella was having fun despite losing the bet.

The noise of the club suddenly became unbearable with the Britney Spears version of Joan Jett and the Blackhearts’ I Love Rock ’n Roll. That was about all she could take. When X-tasy billed itself as the next big club with a retro feel, she had thought she would be listening to some old classics, not bad remakes of them.

It’s getting louder in here, if that’s even possible, he yelled into her ear.

Ella found the perfect opening for her next move. I know. Let’s leave after this drink.

* * * *

They hailed a cab to Madame Z, an established bar and lounge club she had frequented in her twenties—John suggested it. She heard it was turned into a jazz and blues club several years ago, but the name had remained.

Exactly how old are you? she asked him in the cab.

Twenty-six. Why?

Just curious. I didn’t think you would know of Madame Z. It’s a bit old for you, isn’t it?

I have eclectic tastes—that includes my music.

Really? And what else?

Women, he said, staring straight at her. She felt her pussy flutter and found him quite adorable.

So, John, are you going to tell me what you do?

No, I want to keep you guessing. He was a flirt—and a very good one at that.

It was close to ten thirty when they arrived at the club, and she was beginning to feel the effects of the drinks she had. When they got out of the cab, she casually glanced at who the headliner was for the coming week and saw a poster of John on the front window. It read JOHN COOK—BLUES GUITARIST. SELECTED EVENING SHOWS.

What’s this? She turned to him, her mouth agape.

Just something I do when I’m not playing a banker or a lawyer.

You’re performing here?

I wouldn’t believe everything you read. Just because the sign says …

Ella punched him on the shoulder. Damn it! You led me to think you knew nothing about music, and you’re a bloody musician!

He laughed loudly and guided her into the club. Ella, you never asked, and I didn’t lead you on. True, I may not be familiar with rock or pop music, but there’s probably little about jazz and blues I don’t know.

Ella had to admit this was the biggest surprise she’d had in a long time.

You’ve played here before?

Once or twice.

Everyone seemed to know you when we came in.

One of the perks of being part owner.

Really? Ella was impressed, and that didn’t happen often, certainly not when it came to younger men and what they did for a living.

John brought her upstairs to his private office, and they sat facing each other on a plush, velvety red couch. Ella surveyed the surroundings and found the room functional and cozy. The lighting was dim and the decor contemporary. There was a desk with a computer on it, and a stand with three guitars in the corner. The walls were bare except for a large black-and-white print of John Lee Hooker. The room had a sexy vibe to it, and it was comfortable—too much so. She couldn’t remember the last time a man took charge with her, almost forgetting that she had intended to make the conquest. For someone only in his twenties, he had an air of sophistication she had never encountered.

Do you bring all your young women here?

John looked at her seriously with his pale blue eyes. I don’t bring women here. This is where I work.

Oh, so you brought me up here for business?

No, but sometimes it’s good to mix business with pleasure.

She liked how he played with words. His calm intelligence turned her on.

Why me, then?

I liked you from the moment I saw you, and when you asked me if I was at X-tasy to get laid … I must admit, I found that impossible to resist.

Ella now felt embarrassed for saying it. That was pretty forward of me.

Yes, it was, and to answer your question … I didn’t go there to get laid, but the night is still young.

He leaned in to kiss her. Though she was used to being in control, she thought she might give up some of it—just for tonight.

He licked around her mouth and gently bit her lips. She liked that he was in no hurry. With his fingers tangled in her curls, John drew her in. Ella met his tongue with hers, wrestling with it and tasting the smoky-sweet combination of his martini and her scotch. He cradled her back and nuzzled behind her ears, sending chills up her spine. It didn’t take her long to feel hot moisture seep between her slit.

At that moment, she decided she had to have more of him and got up from the couch. Removing her jacket and hiking up her skirt, she sat on John’s lap facing him, kneeling with her calves spread out on either side of his thighs. She could tell he was surprised by her aggressiveness, but he was obviously turned on—the bulge in his pants proved it. Ella thrust against him in an erotic grinding motion. He groaned, and she pressed her lips on top of his. They battled inside each other’s mouths. John held her ass while she gyrated. He slipped his right hand