Erotica by Shannon

🍦 A Summer Storm, Ice Cream, and Him The humid hush of a summer rainstorm had just passed. After a long hike and a shared ice cream cone at a bustling roadside stand, we retreated to my Mazda, parked beneath a canopy of maple and oak trees. The air was thick with warmth and the scent of wet leaves. We weren't ready to part ways just yet. He opened the driver's side door to invite in a breeze, peeled off his sweat-soaked blue microfiber sunshirt, and reclined his seat with a sigh of contentment. His bare chest glistened slightly, his long, tanned arms stretched behind his head. I couldn't resist tracing my fingers through the soft white hair on his chest, down to the auburn trail just above his belly button. As I whispered, "I really love your body hair," I watched his face soften, his body relax with every gentle pass of my hand. In that quiet moment, I realized just how much his body hair means to me—not just visually, but emotionally and physically as well. Her...

Saturday Seduction   She fit against me like a secret I'd been waiting to tell. The rain outside blurred the world, but in this moment, everything was sharp—her scent, her warmth, the way her breath hitched when I pulled her closer. She’s here. She wants this. Just like I do. I whispered, “Let’s go up to my nest,” and felt her body respond before her lips did. That little shift in her weight, the way her fingers lingered on my arm—it was all the answer I needed. As we slipped beneath the covers, I wrapped myself around her, my face buried in the curve of her neck. God, she smells like rain and something sweeter. I could stay here forever. Her body molded into mine, and I felt the slow thrum of desire building between us. I pressed against her, not to rush, but to remind her: I’m here. I feel you. I want you. She turned onto her stomach, and I reached for the oil, watching her with a hunger I didn’t need to name. She knows. She always knows. I stroked myself slowly, delibera...

💞 Loving a Bearded Man: The Scruff That Steals Your Heart Intro: There's something about a man with a beard that makes your heart skip—whether it’s the rugged edge, the soft nuzzle, or the quiet confidence he carries. But for those of us who get to love one up close, that beard becomes part of the romance.  It’s not just sexy—it’s personal. 💋 The Intimate Appeal: That moment when his beard brushes your cheek during a kiss? Instant butterflies. The way it feels against your skin when you’re curled up together—comforting, familiar, a little wild. It’s a texture you know by heart, and a scent that feels like home. 🧴 Beard Rituals, Shared Moments: You help him choose his balm, and he lets you run your fingers through it after. You tease him about the occasional crumb, but secretly love how real it makes him. Watching him groom is oddly mesmerizing—like he’s preparing for you, not the world. 🔥 A Touch of Spice: That scruff against your neck when he leans in close? Enough...

Sunday Morning Heat The world was still asleep when I slipped from the bed, the air in the house cool and hushed. Downstairs, the coffee pot murmured to life, and outside, the gravel crunched beneath my boots. The dawn air was sharp enough to sting my cheeks, but it woke something inside me — a quiet thrill, a sense that the day might hold more than it seemed. I wandered the edge of the property, letting the cold bite at my skin, until the thought of his warmth pulled me back. The house was dark, the stairs creaking softly under my weight. I eased open the bedroom door, and there he was — tangled in the sheets, his breathing slow and even. I slid in beside him, the sunrise spilling across the room in ribbons of gold. He stirred, eyes finding mine with that boyish, half‑asleep smile that always undid me. A stretch, a yawn, and then he was gone to the bathroom, returning moments later with the easy grace of a man who knew exactly where he belonged. Without a word, he drew me close, his b...