from Buttons

8c-SeriousMoonlight-buttons-smAn excerpt from this Friday’s uncharacteristically melancholy release:

He had left the shirt behind because of the missing buttons. One of their first nights together she had straddled him, loosed his tie, and then ripped his shirt open, the buttons popping off as she bit his chest. He rolled over on top of her, quickly peeling off his shirt as she watched with glee, the buttons scattering into the dark corners of her room, never to be found. She had looked, many times.

It became a joke between them, how she was going to sew the buttons back on one day. She was a horrible seamstress.

And the buttons were long gone.

Leviathan: Serious Moonight 5

Buy J G Cain’s Leviathan on Amazon

Leviathan: Serious Moonlight 5

They tossed flame-thrower glances at each other all through dinner, and began fucking as soon as they got back to the room, from the floor to the couch to the bed, through the evening into late night, then early morning.

He lay on the bed, utterly spent, remote on his chest, watching Seinfeld.  She was on her side, head propped on her hand, watching him. She had plans of her own that did not involve television.

She leaned into his ear. She whispered in a voice he had never heard before.

Read the rest of Leviathan

from Leviathan

An excerpt from Serious Moonlight’s Friday release.

5SeriousMoonlight-leviathan-sm They tossed flame-thrower glances at each other all through dinner, and began fucking as soon as they got back to the room. They fucked their way from the floor to the couch to the bed, through the evening into late night, then early morning.

He was now lying on the bed, utterly spent, remote on his chest, watching an ancient rerun of Seinfeld. It was a show they both knew by heart. Every line, every episode.

She was on her side, head propped on her hand, watching him.

You’ve made me a slut, you know.”

He turned to her, smiling lazily. “Yes.”

Your slut. Your filthy, wanton slut”

He smiled inwardly at her use of the word “wanton.” Such a delightful word, and one only she would use. He loved listening to her talk. The words she chose.

I’m so needy, baby,” she said. “I’m such a needy little slut now. It’s all your fault. You’ve turned me. I’m so wet. Such a wet, needy slut.”

He turned from the television, reached out to her, caressed her cheek with his thumb. “And such a pretty one too. You are so pretty. My pretty slut.”

I need more, baby.”

He laughed. “You can try.” He looked down the bed to his fully flaccid cock. “I’m all fucked out, my love. I’m not twenty anymore. I don’t have that much in me.”

Really?” She said this in a tone so unexpectedly seductive something within him stirred. He sensed his desire as a dark shape, lying dormant on the sea floor of his consciousness, buried beneath heavy miles of water, too distant to be coaxed into the open.

– from Leviathan, by J G Cain

 

Serious Moonlight: Serious Moonlight 4

Every relationship has an origin myth; this is theirs.

Buy it on Amazon

This award-winning short story spawned the entire Serious Moonlight series. Together in an anonymous hotel room, bathed in moonlight, he slips a looped belt around her neck and their life and love is forever changed.

“She swallowed him deep into her mouth so that he could feel the back of her throat, and he focused, no longer lost in his gathering orgasm, and it was as if reality itself shifted, the world gone from black to glorious splashes of fireworks, from silence into the deafening thunder of his blood, from gentle sleep into a furious wakefulness so sharply defined it was as if he had been sleeping for decades, sleepwalking through his entire life.

Perhaps he had.”

from Serious Moonlight

4c-SeriousMoonlight-serious-moonlight-smThis Friday’s release is the short story, Serious Moonlight, the tale that started the series. Think of it as the origin myth of the relationship. All relationships have origin myths, this is theirs.

An excerpt:

He lowered the loop of leather around her neck. He did not pull on the belt but left the loop loose as he walked around to stand in front of her again. He felt on the verge of some new world.

She raised her head to look up at him. Her face was aglow, as if lit from within. Her mouth was slightly agape, her eyes round with wonder.

When he remembered the moment years later, and he would, he would recall her expression as not even specifically sexual. He would remember the openness of her gaze, the complete lack of boundaries, the trust in knowing anything might happen next. It was the awestruck look of a child; it was the worshipful look of a parishioner deep in prayer. The look of an athlete milliseconds before the firing of the starting gun. The look of a girl about to receive her first kiss.

Their eyes locked. The air shimmered. The space around their bodies grew electric. The moon broke out into clear sky, and moonlight spilled through the window, baptizing them.

Silence.

And then he sneered and pulled the belt tight and the air went red and everything seemed to happen at once. He lifted her off the ground with the belt, kissing her roughly as she gasped and choked and moaned, biting at her lips and tongue. He lowered her back to the ground. His cock was inches from her face.

– from J G Cain’s Serious Moonlight