Read Letters Around Midnight Online

Authors: Carla Croft

Tags: #hetero, #chick-lit, #erotica, #romance, #sex, #fun, #music, #book, #library, #oral, #flower, #florist, #Italian, #teacher, #maths, #school, #lawyer, #office, #stockings, #Valentine, #coffee, #cycling, #cyclist, #shower, #motorbike, #leather, #jazz, #basque, #stockings, #lingerie, #music, #uniform, #policeman, #policewoman, #fireman, #soldier, #nurse, #doctor

Letters Around Midnight

BOOK: Letters Around Midnight

Title Page





Carla Croft


Publisher Information


Letters Around Midnight published in 2011 by

Andrews UK Limited


This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.


The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.


Copyright © Carla Croft


The right of Carla Croft to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.


Cover images courtesy of Shazeen Samad (lips) and Infrogmation of New Orleans (clockface)




Based in the UK, Letters Around Midnight is a blogsite relating sexual experiences from a woman's perspective but equally open to be read by men. Whether it is an intimate encounter at work, rest or play the tales are guaranteed to set your pulse racing.


In this first volume of collected encounters we meet:

  • Chrissy, a librarian whose love of books overflows into the reading room;
  • Aleisha, a florist who blossoms in her back room with her Italian lover as he practices his linguistic skills;
  • Jean, a teacher whose parent-teacher evening turns out to be just that;
  • Alexa, a power-dressing lawyer with everything but the law in mind;
  • Amanda, a boss who falls for her secretary;
  • Anya, a barista who takes her cyclist lover for a spin;
  • Cass, a die-hard biker chick with her eye and hand on the throttle;
  • Karen, whose boyfriend prefers porn until she shows him what she can really do;
  • Paula, a lover of jazz who gets more than she bargained for at a jazz session;
  • Susie, a passionate lingerista who finds that a client can always leave her breathless;
  • Emily, a cellist who loses her way on the score but scores when she's away; and
  • Ros, whose fantasies become reality when her boyfriend comes knocking.


So why don't you pour yourself a glass of wine, turn down the lights, grab some company, kick up your heels and join Letters Around Midnight in some truly erotic fun.


Don't forget if you're going to bare it, wear it! Always practice safe sex.


Whatever you do, you shouldn't miss out on the blog -
where you will find more stories, more teasers, commentaries and a whole lot of other goodies to titillate all your buds...tastefully.


Best Wishes,

Letters Around Midnight

Chrissy - The Librarian


Chrissy is a long-time friend of mine. She works in a library outside London, so we don't often get together for drinks. Occasionally, we watch chick-flicks together. When she found out I wanted to start a collection of stories on sexual encounters, she was only too happy to be the first to speak to me. Well, what are friends for?

To be honest I was relieved that my first story was going to be Chrissy's. I was probably more nervous than she was. Obviously, we had told each other confidences before but this was going to be different. I needed her to open up and go into much more detail than she normally would do. So it was with some trepidation that I called on her at her flat with a bunch of flowers for her and a bottle of wine for us to steady our nerves.

Chrissy answered the door in her bathrobe. She looked harassed,

“Oh God I'm so sorry, the Tube was delayed and I'm running so late,”

“Hey don't worry, it's no big deal,” I said

“Anything I can do?” She didn't hear the question she was in such a rush.

Chrissy ran around tidying up until I managed to persuade her not to bother. She disappeared off to get changed. I have to say I find her extremely pretty with long curly red hair, fair skin and vivid green eyes. She came back into the lounge in T-shirt and jeans, I handed her a large glass of wine and she flopped into the sofa.

“Right, how are we going to do this?” She asked.

“I haven't the first idea. Probably best if you start at the beginning.”

I took a gulp of wine, sat back and tried to look professional. Inside, my stomach was churning with excitement.

Chrissy told me she had been working the lunchtime shift at the library for over a week and had noticed the regulars: well, perhaps I should let Chrissy take over her own story.




There was this one guy who came in every lunchtime. Dark hair, dark eyes and a sensual smile. He flashed it at me whenever he came in. He made me feel good, so I began to look out for him. He arrived at the same time each day and disappeared upstairs to the music lending section on the first floor. The library has a large, airy central atrium and the floors wrap around the inside of the building with walkways all around. I was always posted on the front desk when he arrived and got a good chance to look at his bum as he went up to the stairs. He looked fit and very sexy. I tried to catch glimpses of him in the piano section. As he browsed the shelves, he would let the fingers of his hand run along the spines of the titles. It sent a thrill through me to watch him. All librarians have a love of books. I don't know of anyone in the profession who doesn't have this tactile thing for books. The way a book feels in the hand is important to whether people will enjoy reading it. If it's too big or too small to hold or it's too thick to keep open with one hand, it's not a pleasurable reading experience. People make this great thing over marketing and cover photos blah blah blah; but, ultimately , it's like a penis, if it doesn't feel good in your hand, you won't want to touch it again. So, to see him running his hands along the books as he did was thrilling. I was imagining those fingertips brushing over me. I guessed, being a musician, his fingers would be experienced.

One day, I got the opportunity to find out how good his fingers were. I knew on that day, I would be in the Reference Section on the first floor and would be able to engineer an encounter. I made sure I looked my best. I wore a green wraparound dress with lacy bra and knickers. No matter how much I tried I couldn't stop negative thoughts going through my head. Was this a good idea or not? I had never done anything like it before. If I got caught, I didn't know what people would think. I'm a trifle old-fashioned. Although I was apprehensive, I felt turned on all morning; but as lunchtime approached, I began to worry he may not turn up. I couldn't keep my mind on my work and off him. I had butterflies in my stomach as the hands of the clock ticked towards lunchtime.

I didn't have to worry. At 12.30 on the dot, I was looking down to the ground floor and I saw him as he came in and passed the front desk. He looked around and appeared disappointed I wasn't at the front desk. I was pleased. I had positioned myself at the end of the row of shelves directly in front of the staircase and would be right in his eyeline as he came up. It wasn't long before I saw his head appearing as he climbed the stairs and then he saw me. He fixed his eyes on me and smiled that smile. I could feel my pulse racing as I knew what I was going to do. Boy, was I feeling hot right then, I was so glad to see him.

He walked to the end of the shelves and ran his fingers along the spines of the books, holding my gaze as he walked towards me. My nipples were aching and I could feel them stiffening. I wanted those fingers on me. He stopped halfway along the row when someone else appeared and he looked away. The contact between us broke; but I knew I had him hooked. As the other man walked past me, I turned to face the shelves and stood so my dress fell open, showing the inside of my thigh. I pretended to file books looking up sideways at him and smiling. When the man left, my music man walked right up to me. I was beside myself, my heart was racing so fast. Chills raced up and down my spine.

When he spoke, his voice was deep and had a lilt to it.

“I was wondering” he asked me

“If you had any Debussy?”

I've got some Debussy for you all right I thought, but managed to say there might be some in the Reference Section. I offered to show him. He followed me through from the stairs. I could feel his eyes on me. I am proud of my body as I work out a lot. I knew he was looking at my bum. So I shimmied it as best I could and ran my fingers through my hair. He must have known I was flirting with him and it made me feel naughty to be so forward. I had the beautiful feeling of urgency building up in the pit of my stomach that you get when you think you are going to have sex.

I took him to the back of the section and showed him where the additional music shelves are.

“If you like” I said,

“I can let you have the use of one of our private study rooms.”

I stood against the door of the closest room with the handle in my hand behind my back. I could feel the hardness of it and wished it could be something else.

“Sure, that would be...really helpful.”

There was a slight hesitation in his voice. It was so sexy. I opened the door and walked backwards into the room keeping my eyes fixed on his. The room was the size of a broom cupboard and gives students some peace and quiet, away from the general visitors. He paused looking around him before he moved in to join me.

As he came in, I ended up pressed against the desk and perched myself up on it. In the light spilling in through the half-open door, he could see my dress had fallen open, revealing my thighs. He closed the door behind him and shot the bolt, plunging us into total darkness. I leaned back against the wall to allow him further into the room and put one foot up on the chair. I felt his erection against my tummy as he pressed himself up against me. He put his lips to mine and kissed me deeply. It was a long slow, lingering kiss. My head was spinning. He tasted so sweet. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back. His aftershave was heady in the small, tight space of the room. I was completely high on him. Then, as I had been imagining all along, he brushed those fingertips along the insides of my thighs right up to my knickers. The sensation gave me goosebumps all over. I was so hot, I could have had him right there and then. His fingers felt so good on my skin. It was sheer ecstasy. He swayed away from me and I felt him moisten his fingers. Then, with one hand he pulled the top of my knickers away from my tummy and slid the fingers of his other hand ever so slowly down against me and, pausing, slid them onto my pussy. I wrapped my legs around him as he pleasured me, working his fingers in slow circles and figures of eight around the top of my clit. He got me right on the button and the pressure was perfect. He punctuated the massaging of my clit by dipping his fingers into my pussy to moisten them. The slippery feeling of them was sending me crazy. As we kissed, my breathing got deeper and more ragged. My skin glistened with tiny beads of perspiration. He kissed me again. I could taste the salt of me on his lips and then he kissed my neck. My ear tingled with his breath: that was it. He had pushed me over the edge. As the first waves of tension broke, spreading out from my pussy, I began to buck against his fingers as hard as possible. My jaw ached from burying my face into his collar to stop myself from screaming. He didn't stop with his fingers but kept up the same steady pressure. It's a sure-fire way to bring me off; and although it felt like ages, it could only have been a few seconds before I came again. This one was more intense than the first and, as I arched my back, he kissed my neck and moved his fingers right inside me and caught me right on my g spot. He had moved his other hand around the small of my back and was pushing me back on to his fingers. It was impossible to keep quiet no matter how hard I tried and a squeal escaped my lips. Ever so gradually, he began to release the pressure of his fingers inside me and when he came out he avoided stroking them over my clit so as not to hurt me. It was fantastic. Everything he did was perfect. I've never known a man to be so good with his fingers. He knew where I was going and what to do to keep me there. If I had been looking for a permanent thing he would have been a keeper, for sure.


He held me as I came down, and put his fingers in his mouth, sucking my moisture from them. He kissed me a final time but only brushing his lips lightly against mine, one hand cupping the back of my neck supporting my head. I didn't get a chance to reciprocate for him straight away, but I sure made up for it later when we met after work.

Needless to say, we had a few more lunchtime liaisons as well as a few weekends. Unfortunately, he was only visiting the area and moved away shortly after; but we still keep in touch. You never know, one day my tall, dark musician may walk back into the library wanting some more Debussy.




“Well,” I said

“That certainly beats watching a chick-flick.”


Aleisha - The Florist


Aleisha is a friend of a friend and a real character. She runs a small florist's stall in a covered market in a busy part of London. We all thought she was working too hard, and were concerned she was turning into a workaholic. We needn't have worried. She called me the other day to let me know things were going better than great and to arrange to meet up to give me the details. I couldn't resist; well, what are friends for?

We met in the storeroom of Aleisha's shop over a cup of steaming hot coffee. I found myself wondering why most of my meetings revolve around alcohol or coffee. It must be the happy, chatty factor, I decided. Make it too much of an interview and they clam up tighter than a virgin at an orgy; relax, and well, it all pours out. Whilst I pondered this unfathomable question, Aleisha busied herself with a tied arrangement for a customer who had turned up on spec.

Aleisha started her story with a piece of florist's twine held between her teeth. I watched her well-practised fingers tying off the arrangement. Great mouth-hand co-ordination I thought. After a few moments she looked up, finished; the arrangement was perfect. She flashed an equally perfect grin.




I've loved flowers ever since I was little and can't remember a time when I didn't want to run my own florist's. You can keep the fancy, complicated flowers like orchids; give me the happy flowers; daisies, daffodils or tulips any day. I prefer their simpler shapes. When the chance came up to buy the business, I jumped at it and my parents helped me with the business loan. It takes all my time and energy which leaves little time for myself, let alone any romance, but, the advantages are there; I am my own boss and no-one tells me what to do or how to do it. It's me and my flowers.

Across the market from my stall is an Italian deli run by three generations of the same family. The grandfather sits all day in the glass-fronted office and the father and sons work behind the counter. The place is popular amongst the local Italian community. They make all their own pastas and the cabinets are stuffed with cheeses and fresh meats. It's busy, especially at lunch time when they have baked pasta dishes, pizzas and panini; it's a real riot. The best thing is they brew the best morning coffee in the area and the smell of it mixes with the scent from my flowers. It's a heady mix. I always get my morning coffee from them and have it as I set up my stall. By the time I finish, I have been up for several hours getting blooms from the flower markets, checking orders coming in by phone or over the net. By then, the whole market is in full early morning swing.

Several months ago, I noticed a new guy at the deli: Marco. I'm not going to tell you he was an Italian Stallion; but I fancied him the moment I saw him. After a few days, he made sure he was free to serve me and I practised my excruciating holiday Italian on him. He always said my pronunciation was perfect and I was a natural linguist. I knew he was only saying it, but it made me laugh and brightened my day. You didn't have to be an Einstein to realise there was a chemistry between us. We both felt it.

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