Because the Night Belongs to Lovers
Dear friends,
As the weekend winds down and the stars light up the night sky, there’s something undeniably thrilling about bridging the miles with a loved one through a steamy, whispered conversation. For couples separated by distance, a Saturday night phone call can ignite sparks that rival any in-person rendezvous—full of anticipation, vulnerability, and unbridled passion. Just as the iconic song “Because the Night” reminds us, the darkness belongs to lovers, a sacred time where desire burns like an unquenchable fire, hunger turns to feast, and doubts dissolve into trust. In those shadowy hours, love claims its territory, urging us to seize the moment, pull close, and surrender to the rhythm of shared longing.
This week, I’m sharing a tantalizing excerpt from my erotic tale, Tampa Gold, that echoes this theme, where Alison takes “working late” to bold new heights. In her office after hours, under the cloak of night, she sheds her inhibitions (and more) for an unforgettable call with Christian, turning professional boundaries into playgrounds of desire. As the world outside fades, their connection pulses with the urgency of lovers owning the darkness—exploring fantasies, building tension, and culminating in a release that defies the miles between them. Dive into this sizzling scene that captures the essence of long-distance intimacy at its most daring, a testament to how the night transforms ordinary separations into banquets of passion.
Read an excerpt below and let it inspire your own weekend adventures, whether you’re whispering secrets across time zones or simply reveling in the power of nocturnal connection. For more stories that explore the art of love in the shadows—from afar or up close—visit www.scheyplacebooks.com and explore the series collection today!
Warm regards,
Dr G
“You got the message about the cleaners, right?” Sarah asked.
“Yes,” Alison lied. It was only half a lie, but Alison hadn’t read the note. She had been so excited about her plans for that evening that nothing else that day had seemed worth her attention. Even now, she had spent the last five minutes trying to usher her co-worker out the door so she could begin. But Alison was so impatient that those five minutes seemed to take an hour.
“Well, I’ll see you in the morning,” Sarah said.
“Yep, see you then,” Alison replied flatly, her sincerity failing her.
Alison closed the door as Sarah left. A satisfying click told her it was firmly locked. The only way someone could get inside now was with the key code, which precious few had, or a brick through the reinforced glass. Sarah turned and waved, and Alison returned the gesture, but she inwardly wished Sarah would piss off.
As Sarah walked away, Alison sighed, “Finally.” At last, she was alone in the office, as she’d planned. Alone in the office after work, just like she’d wanted. Finally, it was time to play.
Alison did a quick check of all the consulting rooms and the reception area, looking underneath desks and tables for stragglers who couldn’t possibly be hiding there. She knew it was paranoid, but she did it anyway.
After the patient areas, she checked the staff-only areas; the lunch and the cleaner’s rooms. She looked for people behind the fridge, in cupboards and under the sink. Ridiculous to be sure, but she did not want to take any chances. In the cleaner’s room, she checked the lock on the only other door; the fire escape. Locked and inaccessible from the outside, so much so that she regularly had to scold the staff who used it to get into the adjacent alley for a break and left it propped open with a brick or newspaper.
When she had checked everywhere, she stood in the middle of the office, closed her eyes and just thought. Thought about anything that she might have forgotten. It wasn’t too late; she could still back out. Christian wouldn’t be expecting anything like this, and Alison was determined to do it tonight. Not just as a sign to herself that she had changed, but also for the intense pleasure she thought it would bring.
Deciding that she had covered all bases, Alison opened her eyes and smiled. “Showtime!”
She went to the reception area, easily the most observable space in the clinic. Clients could easily see the reception as soon as they entered. All the consulting rooms opened onto the waiting area, so reception was also directly in their line of sight. The only space that did not directly look into reception was the cleaner’s room. Tucked away in a corner, with its door always shut.
Once in reception, Alison pulled out the chair from under the receptionist’s desk and placed it against the coat cupboard. Bathurst got cold winters-it hovered just over freezing most nights in winter-so she’d had a cloak cupboard installed in reception for her staff. She climbed up and tested it. The chair was stable, so she could reach the top if she stretched a little. All good so far.
From her office, she retrieved her backpack. Alison rarely fussed with a handbag unless she was out socialising. A backpack seemed more suitable for her industry image as well. Stooping, she picked up the pack and carried it to the middle of the waiting area and placed it down on a chair.
Next, Alison took out her phone and switched the camera on. Selecting selfie mode, she positioned herself in front of reception. Aligning herself so that her company logo was visible, Alison took care in composing the shot so that she, her uniform and the logo were all in. Satisfied, she flashed her best smile and clicked. She checked the results and took two more photos until she was happy. The third was perfect, so she deleted the first two. She drafted a text to Christian and attached the photo, but did not send it.
Returning to her backpack, she pulled out the can of shaving cream from the night before. No longer just a cold white can anymore; it was more than that. It was her accomplice. An accomplice who had witnessed her crimes. One that had, in fact, been intimately involved.
She placed the can on the reception counter and photographed it in front of the logo. Checking the result, she smiled, then put the can behind the counter.
Acknowledging that was the last step before the plunge, Alison twisted her lower lip and nibbled it. Deciding to forge ahead, she breathed in deeply and checked again that the door was locked.
Testing the handle, it held tight as she gave it an extra shove down to make sure. Still locked as she knew it had to be, she glanced through the glass to reassure herself that she had no unexpected visitors waiting outside and went back to reception.
Setting her camera down on a chair, Alison sat down and removed her shoes. White runners with twin chevrons of blue on each side. She doubted whether she had noticed that detail since the day she’d bought them. She placed them at her side, then stood up. Taking them to the bench, she arranged them so the logo was visible and took another photo. She smiled at the memory that it was her shoes that had first given her the idea for tonight’s phone call. The shoes that had given her so much trouble the previous night but which had ultimately led to her gratification.
Alison turned her head and looked down for the pull at the back of her navy blue skirt. Locating it, she took it between her right thumb and forefinger and pulled it down. With a gentle and satisfying hum, it opened, revealing a sliver of her spotted pink cotton undies. She gave a slight tug and, unlike the previous day, the skirt fell easily to the floor.
Stepping out of it, Alison bent over, picked up her skirt and arranged it on the bench. She draped it so that it hung but noticed when set against the dark bench it was difficult to tell what it was in the photo. No matter, she thought, the next photo should solve that problem.
Moving back and putting the camera down again, Alison crossed her arms over and grabbed the opposite hems of her polo shirt. Again, unlike yesterday’s drama, the shirt came off easily this time, revealing her midriff, cleavage and non-matching white bra. She untangled it and placed it next to her skirt. After taking two more photos, she decided she was satisfied and deleted all the previous failed compositions.
Standing in her mismatched underwear and white socks, Alison delved into her pack again and pulled out two packages. The first was a newly bought white sports bra and the second, matching pants. She thought it best to have brand-new undergarments for this photoshoot. Heaven forbid anyone ever saw these. They would at least think she was clean.
Arranging the bra and the pants, she took two photos. Happy, she congratulated herself on remembering Christian’s fetish for sports bras. Not really a fetish, just a thing. A thing she was more than happy to indulge in tonight.
And tonight was going to be such a night. Lying in bed the previous evening, exploring her newly shaved mound, and thinking about fucking, the penny dropped. Alison knew she could say “fuck, cum, cock and hard (er)” when she was getting it on, so why couldn’t she when she was talking on the phone? The difference was on the phone; she was cold and expecting to get hot from the talk. As opposed to now, when she was already two fingers deep and the thoughts and words flowed effortlessly. Like leaving her shoes on till last, she knew now that she’d been doing phone sex backward.
And with that thought, Alison was finally ready. She picked up her bag and collected her clothes. Shoes, skirt, shirt, fake undies — all went in the pack. Stepping behind the reception counter, she placed the pack down and slipped out of her knickers and bra. The coolness of the sudden exposure caused her to shiver briefly. Zipping the pack closed, she stepped onto the chair and, on tiptoes, placed the bag high on the cupboard. Up there, in that pack, were her purse, keys and safety net. Down here, she was naked and vulnerable. Just as she’d planned.
Stepping down, Alison dragged the chair away from the cupboard and back toward the counter. Each of her moves made her feel more vulnerable, as she had planned. To Alison, more vulnerable meant more excited. Putting her clothes out of reach and moving the chair away made it more dangerous. More chance of getting caught. Less chance of escape.
Grabbing the can of shaving cream, she sat down on the chair. She rested her feet on the little shelves behind the counter, legs apart. Only then did she notice her white socks. Closing her eyes, she cursed her oversight. What else had she forgotten? But remembering that danger was the point of this evening, she opened them and smiled.
“Fuck it,” she said. “Bobby socks are hot!”
As she dialled Christian’s number, she ran her left hand over her torso while regarding her body. All still tight and trim. When he answered on the third ring, she already had her fingers on her clit and was perfectly at ease for what was to come.
“Dr Benaud, are you sure this is necessary?” Christian asked.
Alison arched back in the chair and raked her fingers and palm up her left breast. Guiding her nipple between two fingers, she pinched it, squeezing and dragging it upward as they went. She desperately wanted to do both together, but she still had to hold on to the phone.
“Whatever could you mean, Mr Holland?” she replied in mock innocence.
Alison and Christian had been raising the stakes in their phone call for ten minutes now, and their game was reaching its climax.
“This physiotherapy clinic of yours. Your methods seem quite, what is the word, unorthodox?”
“Can you be more precise?” Alison coxed, squeezing her breast tighter.
“Well, your uniform for a start.”
“What about it?”
“Um, you aren’t wearing one!”
“But I explained that when you first arrived.”
“Again, please,” he replied. “Indulge me.”
“As a physiotherapist, I have to use my hands to massage my patient’s limbs and aching muscles. This requires me to exert the precise amount of pressure at just the right spot. Sometimes softly and sometimes … firmly, but always in a steady rhythm, back and forth, back and forth.”
“I’m listening …”
“To ensure a patient’s comfort, and mine, I must use lubricant as I work on each muscle. Some call it massage oil or medical gel, but it is really just lube.”
“Yes, Doctor, I understand, but that doesn’t explain why you aren’t wearing any clothes?”
“But Mr Holland, I would have thought that was obvious! The lube would get all over my uniform, and that wouldn’t look very professional now, would it?”
“No, no. I don’t suppose that it would,” he paused. “So why not just wear your underwear, then?”
Alison giggled. “Now, Mr Holland, really. Only wearing underwear to work! What kind of business do you think this is?”
“Well, that is another good question. Your massage technique. I know I am not qualified, but I’m not sure I agree with your approach.”
“What is the problem?
“Well, my referral stated that I had a shoulder complaint, did it not?”
“Yes, quite a common complaint for a man in your profession, Mr Holland. I’m most expert in dealing with those!”
“Yes, sure, but do you ask all your patients to remove their pants?”
Alison could barely contain her laughter at Christian’s improvisation. Their spontaneous game of cat and mouse might degenerate into a farce if she couldn’t get it back on track.
“Well, sir, it’s just that it is such a big complaint that I thought I might have to try my latest technique.”
“And what is that?”
“Well, sir, can you feel my hand on your shoulder?”
“Yes?”
“No, can you REALLY feel it?”
“Yes,” Christian said, grabbing his cock.
“Good. Now feel how I am massaging it?”
“Up and down?” he begged.
“Yes, up and down,” she urged. “A slow and steady rhythm.”
“Yes, that is working,” he sighed. “Oh, I am so sorry. That was an accident.”
“What was?”
“My hand … I didn’t mean to … I bumped against your …”
Alison’s fingers slid down to her mound. “Don’t worry,” she said. “It happens all the time.”
“So you don’t mind that I touched your … accidentally?”
“Not at all. It happens because I have to lean in so close.” Alison shuddered at the thought of him brushing her mound, wishing it were true. Beginning to circle slowly, she whispered, “Whatever helps you relax.”
Christian stroked the underside of his cock as Alison circled and probed. They stopped their banter and games to grunt and to beg each other for permission to feel more. Alison demanded Christian edge himself while he urged her to speed up. They were so keyed up that they knew that neither of them could last much longer, but it was Christian who spoke first.
“Alison, I’m almost there.”
“Me too,” she sighed. “Any moment now. Wait for me …”
“Alison, I’m going to …”
“Wait,” she hushed.
“I can’t!”
“No,” Alison hissed. “I mean, ‘wait’. I think I hear something!”
Read the entire story here.
Shop all Stories
Leave a Reply