Lacy Danes

Jun 14
Erotic Author Shelli Stevens Has A New Release! Bad Girls Do.

My good friend Shelli Stevens recently released a new, naughty, short story. I was lucky enough to read this before its release, and it is a great erotic read. I think you will enjoy it! Below is the blurb, and a short excerpt.

Bernadette has been kicked around one too many times in life. And when her politician-aspiring ex ditches her for some rags to riches girl, she sets out for revenge. One last screw to prove she can bring Winston to his knees and make him beg for her back.

But when she arrives at Winston’s penthouse, he’s got company in the form of a very sexy Pro Quarterback named Matt. Things start heating up and her party for two is starting to look like a party for three. As the night progresses, it just shows lust and sex can make it anybody’s game.


I always knew Patty Lourella had Grade-A bitch tendencies, but it wasn’t until a week ago that I realized she was a man-stealing whore. Sure, she’s got a great reputation and everyone thinks she’s sweet as pie, but I’m here to tell everyone that’s all smoke and mirrors. She’s stacked like a brick house and willing to open her doors to anyone with the right knock.

Delving through my makeup bag, I pulled out my I-can-suck-cock-like-nobody’s-business shade of red lipstick and carefully applied it to my full pout.

Today, Patty was going to get a taste of her own medicine, and so was her new man—my now ex-boyfriend—Winston Charling.

After smacking my lips together, I ran my tongue over my pearly white teeth to make sure I hadn’t smudged lipstick there.

My breasts bounced in the demi bra, nipples scraping against the purple lace and tightening into hard little points as I strode to my closet. The string of my thong slid deeper into the folds between my legs, teasing the moisture that had already gathered.

Oh, yes, I was horny. Not just horny, fucking horny. I’d been planning this for days now. This little screw fest. It was my big fuck you and adios to Patty and Winston.

My vibrator was in hibernation and my body completely off limits to pleasure. I wanted to explode the minute he touched me.

And yes, I get that some people might think I’m nuts for wanting to sleep one last time with the man who’d cheated and then dumped me for some socialite wannabe.

I won’t stand here and proclaim to be a Timid Tammy who blushes at the idea of sex, nor am I necessarily the nice girl. I love sex and am not afraid to ask for—or take—what I want. Bottom line? I’m just not your average woman.

And Winston wasn’t your average man. The guy has a cock that could make a porn star jealous, and a tongue that could inspire a romance novel.

Flinging open my closet, I scanned the contents and gave a sad cluck of my tongue. I had plenty to wear, but the one thing I wanted was gone.

You see, Patty stole more than just my man. She also stole my Roberto Cavalli pumps. Frankly, it was a toss up on which was more irritating. But I’d get them back. The pumps. I didn’t want Winston back. That boat had sailed. I just wanted a farewell fuck. I just wanted to give him one last memory of exactly what he’d given up.

It just didn’t make sense to me. Being the son of a senator, Winston could’ve had any woman he wanted. And for two years, I seemed to be the chick in the running. He’d let me believe I was that woman.

But the one thing I’d learned about Winston during our time together that he was a master manipulator. I’m a little embarrassed to admit it took me getting dumped by him for me to realize I was just another one of his victims.

I should have been the perfect match for Winston. I had loads of money, mingled in all the right circles, and—to be honest—had sexual skills matching that of any high-class whore.

But no, he’d up and left me for some white-trash bimbo from Brooklyn who spent her days scrubbing toilets at the Marriot.

I can’t really blame Patty for wanting to move up the money food chain, but using our friendship—yes, we used to be friends—to achieve her new status was just downright shoddy.

With a sigh, I settled on the Manolo Blahnik stilettos that I knew would make Winston just about come in his pants. He loved me in Manolos. Or I should say, he loved fucking me in

Manolos, because obviously loving me was never part of the equation.

With a grim smile, I slipped on a tiny sundress that showed off all my curvy bits. Tonight, sweet revenge would be mine. And hell yes was I going to enjoy it.

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