Samantha Pearson

"Would you give me your heart?" she asks, voice high and breathy. She's pressed against his side, lithe body naked and glistening, still warm from the heat of their lovemaking. Her fingers trace the shape of a heart on his left chest and he turns his head, looking at her through sleep-laden eyes. "You already have it," he says. He's groggy, not processing well, and the dark gleam of her eyes is somewhat lost on... Read more

Sometimes, she has nothing to say. Only it's not nothing--it's never nothing. She always has something to say, feelings to express. It's just that there are days when he looks at her a certain way, or they aren't speaking, or her mother is in the hospital and she's scared. On those days, she knows what she wants to say, but not how to say it. The words are lost on her, descriptions she's been comfortable... Read more

What do I want for my birthday? For starters, a black pug named Arthur, a flask full of good chardonnay, a new bra, and a hug. I'd also like kisses, lots of kisses, deep and soft and lingering. I'll take twenty-two of them, one for each year of my life so far, and if you'd like you can even give me another for good luck -- that would be most wonderful, my dear. I'd like... Read more