SOLOMON'S SECRET by billierosie FREE READ!

If you want to read a great story - by an even greater person - then head over to by fantastic friend billierosie's blog to read her free story, "SOLOMON'S SECRET"

Here's a tease:

Only mid-afternoon and already it was dusk outside. And it was snowing again. Solomon watched the flakes falling faintly against the window pane. Faintly falling and falling faintly. A few flickering flakes were blown onto the glass in the freezing, gusting wind and stuck to the leaded criss crosses.

They were snowed in. Solomon’s heart sank. His stomach churned. He was trapped. There would be no getting away from it this time.

Amber was naked and moving gracefully around his large bedroom. She had disrobed playfully, like a burlesque dancer performing a naughty striptease. She was comfortable in her nudity, throwing him mischievous glances, tossing her hair. She was lighting candles, their flickering light casting shadows across the soft swell of her belly, her heavy, swaying breasts. Her skin glowed golden in the candlelight. Her long curly auburn hair glimmered with golden highlights, one hand gracefully behind her neck holding her hair back. She was a Pre-Raphaelite dream. Rossetti would have killed to have painted her.

The falling snow outside was mesmerising and Solomon stilled his fear and allowed his mind to drift.
He barely noticed Amber as she moved seductively around his bedroom. Any other guy would be turned on by the view. Solomon was not.

In a short while she would come to him and expect to have wonderful sex.

The snowy window, Amber; his gaze meandered around his bedroom settling on a large blue china bowl on a small wooden table. He used it as a place to keep keys, credit cards, replacement batteries, a cigarette lighter from his days as a smoker, a cork screw; all the random stuff that had no home, but you might need to put your hands on quickly. He watched as she scattered the contents of the bowl out onto the polished table and sprinkled in what looked like a heap of pot pourri. She struck a match and set fire to it, wafting out the flames with a fanning hand. She looked like a witch casting a spell.

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