Who loves free spicy stories?
I sure the hell do. Read on for a sneak peek of my new, spicy short story--dropping exclusively on Substack!
Hey, Beloveds.
It’s been a challenging few days, weeks, months, and to be completely transparent, I’ve been woefully creatively blocked. I don’t often get writer’s block, but when I do, the best and first solution is to find the root cause.
I talk more about how else I shake my sillies out in this post:
Is this why van Gogh cut off his ear?
I’m not one to make light of mental illness, and anyone who knows me knows that.
Still, I've been writing my ass off to the tune of 250,000 new words since November 5th, and I have nothing to show for it.
Well, not nothing. I have 250,000 words on paper across five different books. But I don’t have a finished book to show for it.
Basically, I’ve been all screwed up since November 5th.
Which, seeing as I had all these plans for 2025, including publishing my Black romance, Love and its Consequences in February (spoiler: I blew that deadline, so it’s now coming out on Juneteenth), kinda sucks.
So I was deep in the “this sucks” mode for months…until last night.
Last night over the course of a few hours, I pounded out a 9,000-word funny, angty, spicy short story drawn from book one in The Shadowplay Trilogy and featuring the main characters Hunter Brigham and Winter Vaughan.
I’d actually planned to put my laptop down for a week, but I guess saying that I was going to take a break shook loose that Gallup StrengthsFinder #1 Competition within me.
Here’s a sneak peek. (SN: I won’t say it’s a spicy scene. It’s not even a hot scene, but it’s maybe…lukewarm?)
If Only For The Night (an excerpt)
by Angel M. Shaw
“Are you happy, Sunbeam?” Hunter whispers in my ear, and lust starts to replace the hum of anxiety beneath my skin. He stands behind me, his broad hand spanning my stomach and pressing me into him.
The lights dim as the emcee exits the stage, and a sultry drum beat fills the space.
“Yes,” I say, turning my head until our lips are inches apart. “I am.”
Blue and red lights reflect off his face, shining from the stage.
“Good,” he murmurs, and I feel the word in the vibrations against my lips rather than hear them.
I look away as the volume of the crowd rises, and Oya saunters onto the stage in all white, a stark contrast to her deep brown skin. Her hair sticks out in a gravity-defying afro with faux butterflies pinned throughout, and her waist beads twinkle against the spotlights.
I turn back to Hunter. His smile grows slowly, but his gaze remains transfixed on my mouth while it does.
Oya begins to vocalize, her voice dancing from her lower register to a whistle tone she’s known for. The guitar and piano start to duel, weaving together with the singer’s voice in an almost corporeal way. The sounds merge and blend and take on shape and color.
Dark red like the crushed velvet of roses: That’s what the music looks like right now, and within it, gossamer strands of gold.
Hunter’s hand slides from my stomach, over my heart, and to the side of my head. Tilting my face toward his, he looks into my eyes as he sings.
“I’ll burn for you, but we’ll never be through. I’ll burn for you if it’s what you need me to do.”
Fire. I’m on fire.
His lips are on mine. The kiss he gives me is obscene, given that we’re in public, but in the hidden shadows of the club, I can’t find it in myself to care. Around us, bodies sway and move and are taken away by the music.
We’re no different—but instead of being caught up in Oya’s crooning, we’re caught up in each other.
If Only for The Night © Angel M. Shaw
The full short story will be live here on Subtack before I promote it anywhere else—but to receive it, you have to be subscribed to my Substack. Don’t miss out on this spicy read. The full story drops on Friday, January 30th.