“¡Qué mujerón…” he whispers in my ear with his raspy voice.

I feel sick to my stomach, knowing I don’t desire him but only want to be desired by someone other than Peter. I hate my body, and he’s the first man besides Peter who will see me in all my fluffiness.

I press my hands against his hard chest to slow him down, trying to counter this uncharacteristically spontaneous moment. I don’t take chances, especially not when it comes to sex. One of the reasons I can’t let go of Peter is because our sex is toe-curling, gasping, good. He knows every curve and nook and cranny, and I feel comfortable with him—unlike with Domingo, as he unbuttons my pants. He’ll see it all, right here, in broad daylight: my chichos, fupa, C-section scar…

“No sé…” I say, holding back a gasp as Domingo’s fingers enter me.

“¿Qué, no sabes, linda? Está ready…”

Domingo pumps his fingers into me and I close my eyes, imagining it’s Peter. I let go because I need this. Because it feels fucking good. God, he’s good.

“Oh, ah…” I whimper beneath his touch. Two fingers inside me now, pumping steadily, as his thumb massages my nub. My legs begin to tremble. My chest heaves as he keeps working my flower and nibbles my neck.

“Ooh… I’m so close…”

“Así, linda…” Domingo whispers, working me to the bone.

“Oooooooh!” I scream, loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

My pussy throbs and I feel a rush… and then a pounding at the door. I’m still pressed against it and jump forward as I hear him yelling.

“Reina! Is that you?” Peter pounds harder and I push Domingo away, but he wants more.

Get the back story of Reina and Peter in this steamy read…

Yoanna takes the heat to another level. The prestigious OBGYN finally lets go of her inhibitions and gives in to her desires when she meets Ben, a mysterious server who turns up the heat at her birthday/Christmas holiday party. This opposites-attract, hidden-identity romance is the second book in The Heights of Love series, packed with steamy scenes, twists, and turns. Grab your copy now on Amazon in Kindle or paperback!

Get Yoanna

Now back to the story…

“¡Déjalo que sufra!” Domingo wants Peter to hear me cum. To suffer.

The thought is tempting. All the times Peter cheated on me, betrayed me, hurt me…I could hurt him back in a way I never have: by being with someone else. By screaming another man’s name so loud he’ll know exactly how I’ve felt all these years.

I pull Domingo back into my arms and his fingers slip back in. “Vamos. Sigue,” I say.

He smirks and laughs. “¡Qué mala eres!”

Me, a bad girl? I’ve never been, but maybe it’s time I am. Maybe I should just have fun with someone other than Peter. It feels good. Literally. I moan as he keeps pumping and I whimper louder.

“Reina, please don’t do this!” Peter yells, still standing outside Domingo’s door.

“Oh, Domingo… that’s it!” I yell louder, wanting Peter to hear me clearly, to hurt him like he’s hurt me.

Domingo follows suit and starts grunting and moaning as I grab his member and stroke it.

“Ah, I’m coming, oh God!” I yell, my flower’s sap flowing all over Domingo’s fingers. He massages my nub faster and I know I am about to burst—right there, as Peter listens on the other side of the door.

And then I release. I scream so loud the neighbors can hear. So loud Peter pounds the door one more time and yells, “You’ll pay for this.”

I know I will. He will flaunt every woman in front of me and even threaten to stop paying child support, but in that moment, delirious with ecstasy and revenge, I don’t give a damn.

If you missed part 1…

“I thought my ancestors would save me from this shit,” I mutter under my breath, grabbing a brush to comb my temporary jet-black hair. My grays are already growing since my last appointment with my colorist six weeks ago.

I place the comb away in the top drawer and stare at my reflection. “Who’s going to want me all wrinkly and gray?”

My eyes well up with tears as the reality sinks in: I’m a single, 45-year-old woman who isn’t getting—or looking—any younger. I shake off the dread and the fear that I’ll be single for the rest of my life. That I’ll grow old…alone. I take a deep breath, look in the mirror, and prepare to hype myself up with a mirror work exercise that I learned from a TikTok mindfulness creator.

Bzzz!

My phone lights up. Peter.

“Is he crazy? It’s 1 am!” I turn back to the mirror, ignoring the phone buzzing on the counter.

“I am chosen. I am worthy. I am enough as I am,” I whisper.

Bzzz!

I glance at my phone again, dread creeping up as I see my ex’s name flash on the screen. He’s been calling off and on for the past hour, which can only mean one thing—he’s drunk.

“I am not your booty call,” I hiss under my breath, careful not to wake our son, Michael.

I return to the mirror to recite my affirmations. Since I’ve started affirming consistently, I feel stronger, and it’s been easier to say no to Peter. But he has such a strong hold on me. The sex with that asshole is just so fucking good. It’s the best I’ve ever had.

Your Next Even Steamier Obsession 🔥🔥🔥

Yoanna takes the heat to another level. The prestigious OBGYN finally lets go of her inhibitions and gives in to her desires when she meets Ben, a mysterious server who turns up the heat at her birthday/Christmas holiday party. This opposites-attract, hidden-identity romance is the second book in The Heights of Love series, packed with steamy scenes, twists, and turns. Grab your copy now on Amazon in Kindle or paperback!

Get Yoanna

Now back to the story…

“No.” I close my eyes, trying to reconnect to my power and ignore the heat rising inside me at the thought of him.

“I am stronger than this,” I say with conviction, willing the fire to cool.

Beep!

The sound of the intercom startles me. I pass Michael’s room, praying he’s still asleep. Thankfully, the soft hum of his white noise machine keeps him knocked out. I’ve used it since he was a baby to drown out the city noises.

Beep!

I rush to the kitchen intercom and press the button.

“Reina…babe…please…I have to see you…”

I let go of the button and close my eyes. This is what Peter does. He cheats and disappears to entertain his Ho of the Month, then shows up drunk when he’s had his fun. Promises to change, and we end up back in the same shitty cycle.

“I am chosen. I am worthy. I am enough as I am,” I repeat to myself.

Louder this time. “I am chosen. I am worthy. I am enough as I am!”

And then I scream it—fueled by the fury of a thousand scorned women.

“Mom?!”

I clap a hand over my mouth. “Sorry, papi! Go back to bed!”

Beep!

“Shit. This pendejo isn’t going to stop!”

I pick up my phone and text him, I’m coming down, before slipping into my white Reebok Classics. I grab my keys from the counter, tiptoe to the door, and lock it quietly behind me. As I turn the corner toward the stairs, my double D’s slam into a wall of muscle.

“Ay!” I yelp.

“Ay Dios! Reina, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you!”

Domingo. Six feet tall, all muscle, and those deep chocolate eyes full of concern.

“It’s… okay…” I pant, cupping my breasts. They throb from the impact. I hear him grunting every evening after five, the weights he drops rattling our shared wall.

“Let me get you some ice,” he says, placing a hand on my waist to guide me toward his apartment.

“No…” I wince. “It’s fine. I have to deal with Peter.”

“Peter,” he repeats, his voice filled with disgust. “You deserve better.”

He closes the door behind us and steps closer. My back presses against it. He gazes into my hazel eyes, inches away, his rough mechanic’s fingertips tracing my cheek and lips.

“Mereces que te traten como una reina…”

He presses his chest gently against mine, careful not to hurt me further.

“I’ve always seen tu belleza…” he whispers, brushing his lips lightly against mine.

My skin warms at his touch. It’s been so long since a man has called me beautiful and treated me with tenderness. Even though I don’t see Domingo that way, it feels good to be seen—to be chosen—even if just for a moment.

“Domingo, I…”

The words stick in my throat. I don’t want this feeling to end, even though I don’t want him. My mind drifts back to Peter waiting downstairs. I want him to make me feel this way.

I am chosen. I am worthy. I am enough just as I am, I repeat silently.

Domingo stands before me, eyes heavy with desire. His gaze devours every inch of me—sagging cheeks, wrinkles, love handles, grays, and all. I feel the fire return. A fire to be loved and wanted for exactly who I am.

I throw my arms around his neck, pull him in, and part my lips to let him in. Our hips grind together, and Domingo moans into my mouth, kissing me deeper.

Stay tuned for Part 2!

RELATED ROMANCE STORY

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Do you feel that crisp air? Smell the pumpkin spice lattes (although I’ll take my Café Bustelo any day)? See the leaves turning? That can only mean one thing, mi gente—fall is here, and cuffing season is coming in hot.

I’ve had a cuffing season boo every year—’cause a girl has needs! If you’re ready to cozy up when nights get cooler and sweaters get thicker, keep reading. I’ve got the tips you need to snag a boo thang this cuffing season.

How to Find a Partner for Cuffing Season

Be honest about your intentions

Honesty is the best policy! If commitment isn’t on your fall menu, let whoever you’re dating know upfront. And if you’re still single, be clear with anyone new: this is a no-strings-attached situationship to keep you warm through hibernation season.

One last tip: make sure you actually don’t want a committed relationship. ‘Cause if you catch feelings for your cuffing season partner, they just might remind you of the rules you set.

Flip through your contacts

You might have a former cuffing season partner or other situationship that’s open to play. Just make sure they aren’t an ex-flame that broke your heart. Cuffling season should be drama-free and fun, fun, fun!

Dating apps

Some people get lucky on dating apps and actually meet their forever mate. Others swipe right and just end up with duds who only want one thing! Well, guess what? Cuffing season is the perfect time to fire up Tinder or your dating app of choice. Just be real on your profile: you’re looking to vibe, not get booed up. And swipe intentionally—if their profile screams “looking for commitment,” swipe left!

Your Next Steamy Obsession🔥

Can’t get enough of Candi’s sassy spice? Take her home! Candi, the first book in the Heights of Love series, is a friends-to-lovers romance packed with flirty fun, steamy scenes, and friendship vibes you’ll love. Grab your copy now on Amazon in Kindle or paperback!

Get Candi

Now back to tips…

Slide into a few DMs

Ah, the magic of social media! One minute you're looking at funny astrology videos, and the next you stumble upon a cutie’s profile. Choose your social media platform of choice, drop a few likes, and leave some playful comments. But not too many — you're bold, not needy! Once they engage, you’ve got two options: manifest them straight into your DMs or take charge and slide in yourself.

A friend of a friend

Sometimes the perfect cuffing season boo is right under your nose. Ask your friends about their friends, coworkers, or that fine acquaintance they casually mentioned. You’d be surprised how many singles you can meet just by opening your mouth. Just one warning—make sure your cuffing season situationship doesn’t get messy enough to mess with your friendship.

Be out and about

Get social. You’re not meeting anyone at home in your cozy pjs. Hang out with friends, hit up events, and go where singles are. Remember: you’re not looking to connect with your soulmate, just a cutie to keep you warm when nights get chilly. Now, go out there and get cuffed!

Keep Reading…

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It’s getting hot outside, mi gente! That means it’s time for your girl, Candi (that’s me!), to slap on some booty shorts and give up some of the spiciest scenes from the Heights of Love romance novel series. I already applied my favorite long-lasting, coral, shiny lippy, so…

That’s right, I’m ready! So, sit down, pull over, if you’re driving, and get ready to dive into the sexiness that is Heights of Love: Candi and Heights of Love: Yoanna. (You can also sit on your boo thang and read him these scenes to get things going!)

Without further ado (look at me sounding all fancy), here are 6 of the spiciest scenes from the Heights of Love romance novel series. Psst. It’s not suitable for work. You have been warned!

8 Spicy Romance Scenes from Heights of Love You Can’t Miss

Heights of Love: Candi by Sujeiry Gonzalez

He licks his lips. His hand moves south slowly. I arch my back and open my legs wide, permitting him to enter.

He ravages my neck and licks me from earlobe to clavicle, his fingers going deeper and deeper, faster and faster.

Throbbing now, I insert two wet fingers deep inside, thrusting as I imagine Joel inside of me. Oh, how I long to feel him. To taste him.

I feel him closer. His hard pecs press against my chest. He slides his fingers around my waist, low enough to touch the crack of my ass.

Heights of Love: Yoanna

Ben moves his tongue from my mouth to my neck, sucking every inch as he moves down to my clavicle. He buries his head in my Double D’s.

I writhe like a cat in heat. He stands up, flips me over, and I get on all fours.

“You aren’t getting rid of me that easily,” Ben groans as he inserts a second digit, pumping them inside of me.

I feel a fire within. A fire in my abdomen and in between my legs, burning hotter and hotter.

Love these spicy romance novel scenes?

Grab a copy of Heights of Love: Candi and Heights of Love: Yoanna on Amazon. Available in ebook and paperback. Also, if you prefer a signed copy, hit reply and let us know!

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“Open wide…wider!”

My mouth fills up, and I almost gag.

“Come on. Swallow!”

I take a big gulp and wince. Ugh. I hate chugging alcohol, even if it is Prosecco. Whose idea was it to get an ice luge shaped like a shot glass?

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand just as George takes my other hand, pulling me against his solid chest.

“Good girl,” he whispers seductively, licking some Prosecco off my neck. His wet, warm tongue makes me shiver.

Oh, the things he can do with his tongue. That’s why I let him into my birthday party—despite Yoanna’s crossed arms and dagger-like glares. She hired security, told them to stick to the list, and insisted I take him off. I did. But when I saw him at the door—his chiseled jaw, five o’clock shadow, tan skin, broad shoulders, and those deep russet eyes—I caved. I grabbed him, ignoring Yo’s lethal stare, and pulled him through the crowd at the entrance. And now, here I am, ready to get devoured at Vivere.

“Come with me,” George says, leading the way. I follow close behind, my hand on his waist so I don’t lose him in the crowd. We weave through the party toward Vivere’s outdoor garden—still locked until summer.

“We can find another spot,” I say to him, pulling him away from the door.

“Ye of little faith.”

George goes into his pocket and reveals a pick. He inserts the pick into the lock and wiggles it around to open the door.

“What are you doing?” I squeal, glancing over my shoulder and praying no one noticed.

“Live a little.”

Click. He pushes the door open, grabs my hand, and pulls me into the darkness of the garden. The door shuts behind us. I can’t see a thing, but I can feel everything—my heart pounding, adrenaline surging, his large, masculine hands gripping my waist, and the cold brick wall pressing against my back.

“Now,” George growls in my ear, his warm breath on my skin setting me abaze. “Open wide, birthday girl.”

Loving this story? Buy Heights of Love: Candi, a spicy romance novel by Sujeiry Gonzalez. Available on Amazon (ebook and paperback).

He spreads my legs with his own, commanding and sure. His hand glides from my waist, past my belly button, until it finds the aching pulse between my thighs. I moan as he circles my swollen bud, then sinks a finger inside my wet heat, making me gasp. He pumps slowly at first, readying me for his manhood, before speeding up steadily. George is always in full control. I hate it and love it all at once.

My eyes flutter with ecstasy. My muscles tighten, and I whimper his name into the night. “George, oh, George…I want you inside of me.”

He lets out a deep, seductive laugh, almost villainous. He knows he has me right where he wants me, begging like a desperate dog in heat.

“Not yet.”

His hands keep working, driving me wild.

“Please…please…” I plead.

I sense a light sweeping over us, but George keeps thrusting into my sweetness, his head buried in the curve of my neck, kissing and sucking inch by inch. I wail, teetering on the edge.

“Break it up!”

My eyes flutter open, blinded by a sudden beam of light. George, focused on one thing and one thing only, doesn’t even acknowledge the man standing in front of us.

“George,” I breathe, my voice unsteady. “Stooop… oh—stop.”

He chuckles darkly. “Let him watch,” he says, still determined to finish what he started.

“NYPD! Hands where I can see them. Step away from the lady—now.”

George takes a step back, runs his wet, sticky fingers through his hair, and smirks. “Officer.”

I stare in horror as he’s handcuffed, and a second officer approaches me.

“Hands behind your back,” she commands.

“Wait—what?!” I cry, my eyes filling with tears. “Ma’am… officer… it’s my birthday, and, you know, things got a little crazy. We were just having fun! We didn’t hurt anyone!”

“You trespassed on private property. Picked a lock. That’s illegal,” the male officer states flatly.

Tears stream down my cheeks as the female officer cuffs me. The male officer leads George toward the exit. Just before they disappear through the gate, George glances back at me with those intense, bad-boy eyes and grins.

“Happy birthday, Candi.”

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I smear my signature, fire engine red lipstick on my full, luscious lips. With a fluff of my 3A curls, revived thanks to Rizos Curls Refresh and Define Spray, I stare into my large, almond-shaped eyes and coo, “Happy birthday to youuuuuuuu!”

I laugh, excited to celebrate my solar return with a birthday bash at Vivere, our local hangout in Washington Heights. It’s my birthday, guys! And this chica is ready to paint the town fuchsia with my bestie, Yo, her annoying yet tempting twin brother, Joel, and the rest of the gang.

This year will be different. No more toxic men. No more unrequited love. Just me, myself, and I... and my friends, of course... and the man I am manifesting to come into my life and treat me like a Queen! I am in my Birthday Queen Era! It’s time to attract the love and relationship I’ve always wanted.

I ruffle my curls one last time before grabbing my pink pleather jacket and heading out the door.

“Bzzz!”

I hear my cell, ignoring the buzz momentarily while I step onto the NYC street. The sound of birds chirping lifts my spirits even higher. It’s like they're singing a melody just for me!

“That’s right, birdies!” I shout, my arms wide open. “It’s my birthday! Thank you so much!” No one pays me any mind. It’s NYC. We mind our business.

“Bzzz!” My phone buzzes again, snapping me out of my birthday diva behavior.

“See you tonight, sexy.”

I bite my lip. “Shit.” I forgot I invited my off-and-on…well, more off than on…situationship to my birthday two weeks ago. That was before I caught him picking up a girl at the 168th Street stop on the 1 train. I jumped out of the hot ass elevator, hoping to catch the downtown 1 train so I wouldn’t be late for my audition. As the doors shut in my face—despite the conductor witnessing my sprint—I saw George’s lips inches away from the skinny lips of this dirty blonde, skinny bitch. Freaking gentrification.

We got into it, of course. We may not be official. But after two years of this bullshit I desevered…something, right?

I stare at his text, unsure of what to do or say. “Yo will help.”

“Hey, babe! Happy birthday!” My bestie answers the phone drowsily.

“Thank you! Did I wake you? I know you were up all night with a delivery, but I need advice.”

Yo yawns. “Yes. That baby refused to evacuate the premises. I am beat, but I’m here. What’s going on?”

“It’s George.”

“Babe. Not this again. Leave his noncommittal ass alone. You deserve better. And I’ll keep telling you until you believe it.”

I sigh. She’s right. In this personal new year, I decided to leave all this bullshit behind. I love love, but I should love myself more than I crave it. I’m in my Birthday Queen era, dammit!

“You’re right. It’s just that I invited him before what happened.” My cheeks grow hot, anger rising, as I remember that girl inches from his lips.

“Who cares. Take him off the list.” Yo states bluntly. She’s all logic, a great balance to my hopeful romanticism.

“And just leave him outside?” I squeak.

“Just like that, babe. Adios, asshole.”

I lean against the side of my building, unsure of what to do about the situation. If I leave him off the list, he may never speak to me again. That would close the door—for good. Two years of my life—our connection, the intimate moments, the sex… God, the sex is so good… our past—done. My pulse races, the fear of losing the one man I’ve clung to for years threatening to knock me off my Birthday Queen pedestal.

Loving this story? Buy Heights of Love: Candi, a spicy romance novel by Sujeiry Gonzalez. Available on Amazon (ebook and paperback).

“Do it,” Yo says firmly.

“I’ll…think about it. I just need a minute, okay?”

Yo sighs. “Whatever you decide, I’m here for you, babe.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, my eyes welling up with tears.

I end the call with Yo and inhale deeply, fighting back a cry.

“Not today. Not this year. I will not cry on this birthday.”

I talk myself out of a mascara-running, telenovela-level sob fest and turn back to my phone. I find Jorge’s text.

“See you tonight,” I whisper before sending him a peach emoji.

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I hate looking at myself in the mirror. These chichos (love handles) fupa, and saggy arms can kick rocks.

Mami always warned me that this is how a woman’s body changes in her 40s. Since hitting mid-life, my metabolism has slowed all the way down. I can’t, and could never, eat whatever I wanted…but I still do. What can I say? Your girl loves empanadas, white rice, and swigging a few Bacardi and Cokes while dancing to old-school salsa and hip hop.

I was never skinny; these Boricua-Dominican hips and thighs ain’t never lie. But when did my back and shoulders spread so wide that I could be mistaken for a New York Giants linebacker?

I want to love my body even if I don’t recognize it. I want to love myself, especially now that I finally dumped Peter, my son’s father, and padlocked my heart, and threw away the goddamn key. I won’t let him sway me with his sweet talk and false promises anymore. High school sweethearts, I’ve had enough of his cheating ways. The last time I caught him with his pantalones down (literally), I promised myself to leave his ass once and for all and focus on self-love. Like RuPaul says, “If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love somebody else?” Amen, sis.

The thing is I’ve tried to love myself before. I’ve gone to santeras for cleansings to unblock stagnant energy and to heal generational curses. I’ve gone to a Reiki master to align my chakras. I light my velitas every night, praying to Jesus to rid me of my insecurities so I can stand in front of a mirror and fucking love what I see inside and out. Although I love my almond-shaped, gray eyes, my jet-black straight hair that falls to my waist, and my very juicy ass, I just can’t get past the reflection of a 45-year-old me. I just can’t wrap my head around how my life ended up like this.

Me. Reina. 45 years old. Single and insecure. Working the same job as a medical receptionist for 15 years. Still living in Washington Heights instead of pursuing my dream of moving to Los Angeles to work on a set.

I don’t know where I went wrong. Actually, that’s a bold-faced lie. It’s my tendency to stick with what’s familiar even when I’m unhappy because familiarity brings me comfort and a feeling of security and safety that I didn’t have as a child. I’m a typical sun in Cancer. Did I mention I’m also a Cancer moon? Fuck me and my emotions.

Even still, I know it’s time for a change. And not just the number on the scale. I don’t want to do life like this anymore. I took the first step by leaving Peter. Now, I want adventure. I want to love myself so obsessively that I don’t need external validation from anyone to know my worth and value.

So, here I go. Standing in front of this mirror, staring at my reflection with my almond-shaped, grey eyes wide open. Adjusting my crown and learning to love my chichos, fupa, saggy arms, and all.

Heights of Love Series (Spicy Romance Novel)

Catch up with the “Heights of Love” series before Reina’s debut! This spicy romance novel series follows the romantic lives of a tight-knit group of friends from Washington Heights, a primarily Dominican neighborhood in NYC. From friends to lovers to opposites attract to boss moves and Fireball shots at Vivere, their favorite bar, these multicultural characters play hard, love hard, and get frisky often. This series highlights the lives of Latinx in the city and all the twists and turns, misunderstandings, and passionate love affairs they partake in while searching for love in the Big Apple.

Candi and Yoanna are both available for purchase on Amazon.

A new year is particularly special for yours truly. As a proud overachiever, I, Yoanna De Santos, utilize this energy to tackle my goals and check off my to-do lists. Goal setting is sexy, babe.

To know that I, a daughter of Dominican immigrants, opened my own private OB-GYN practice and purchased my condo and Bonita, my black Audi, without a man by the age of 30… well, the thought of what else I’ll accomplish turns me on.

I know, you’re not here for that. I’ll leave that spicy talk to my bestie, Candi, on Candi Cane Corner. Today, I’m here to help you unleash your inner Yoanna by sharing my perfectly curated list of New Year's intentions. You can thank me later, babe.

Check yourself. This isn’t a reference to Ice Cube’s “Check Yourself.” This is about your vulva, vagina, and cervix. As an OB-GYN, the first thing on this perfectly curated list of intentions must be regarding women’s health. I took an oath, babe.

“By all that I hold highest, I promise my patients competence, integrity, candor, personal commitment to their best interest, compassion, and absolute discretion, and confidentiality within the law.”

Schedule an appointment to check your lady parts: symptoms or no symptoms. Make that appointment with your OB-GYN or for a mammogram even if you recently visited. Appointments can be made digitally years in advance. No excuses.

Get off social media. I’m not one to show off my fabulous life on Instagram. Although my selfie game is always a winner, I’m too busy making money, traveling, and taking care of my loved ones to obsess over a selfie. Now that Zuck’s monopoly pieces are showing, I have even less desire to lean to the right and invest my energy (and money) in what does not align.

If you’re feeling the same, take a social media hiatus. Delete Meta’s apps for a week. Take note of how you feel without social media and what replaces your former scrolling time. (And don’t replace it with TikTok.) Call a friend. Read a book. Watch a movie. Finally, make that doctor's appointment. (I will not let it go.) By the end of the week, the social media break may be so good for you that you might never log back in.

Make your home extra special. This new year, set an intention to perfectly curate a space in your home that is just for you. Redo your closet by adding shelving. Use plastic bins from The Container Store to store and protect your shoes. It’s a great way to see your footgear while maintaining an orderly closet.

Create a meditation or journaling corner in your bedroom.

Turn your bathroom into a mini spa with fabric curtains, a plush bath rug, and a classic and minimalist feather in a vase.

The tiniest of details will transform your home into luxury comfort.

Dare to do something different. This is coming from me: a meticulous, overachiever who thrives on order and once ran away from spontaneity. The thing about taking risks is that you learn about yourself. It is terrifying to go against the grain, but when you push past the clutches of the familiar and the fear of the unknown, you may find what I found on the other side: a zest for life, a passionate romance, and the newfound freedom you desperately craved.

Don’t wait any longer, babe. Add “do the thing” to your New Year's Intentions list. You know you want to. I wanted to. And I did. Come back and tell me all about it in the comments.

Cheers,

Yoanna

Get Brandy and Candi free on Jan 28!

On January 28th, Sujeiry Gonzalez’s Candi from the “Heights of Love” series and Kayla Love’s Brandy from the “Bliss Bay Romance” series are available for free on romancebooklovers.com. Plus, 998 other free books! Mark your calendars and grab our books free.

All Candi wants for Christmas is a chance to wow Robert, a famous theater director. She finally gets her shot at the spotlight at a holiday party thanks to her best friend, Yoanna's, brother, Joel. Dressed in a sexy Mrs. Claus costume, she's ready to take center stage and sing her heart out...until an unexpected and spicy twist leads her astray.

Read It Now

This short story features Candi, the main female character in Candi, the first book in the Heights of Love series. You will fall in love with her passion, messiness, and love for all things love and spice. To continue following her love story, purchase The Heights of Love: Candi on Amazon.

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How to Dip Out of A Family Event for a Booty Call

There’s nothing that I love more than mingling with a cocktail in hand, especially at a private party. I can sip my go-to cocktail, a Cuba Libre (that’s just fancy talk for a rum and Coke) while getting up close and personal with the hotties in attendance. 

What if you’re on a mission to meet “the one” (or, in my case, “the one for the night,” aka a booty call) and your options are…lackluster? 

I was in those very shoes at my best friend, Yo’s, Thanksgiving fiesta. Aside from her hot twin brother, who is obviously off limits, the dudes at her private, catered affair were as pitiful an option as the OG Dominican guys that play Dominos every Sunday on 181st Street. If I hear another piropo (translation: catcall) when walking past them in between a “Capicu, coño!” I will pull my hair out. And my curly locks are too pretty to mess with.

Back to the booty call. That’s just what I needed at Yo’s annual Thanksgiving party. It had been a minute since I’d gotten some and I had an itch I needed to scratch down there. I’m not ashamed to say my cuca needs some TLC on the regular. She gets me in trouble often, but a girl has needs, dammit! And my needs were indeed met that very night thanks to a call from Pete. While I swigged on my Cuba Libre and whined my waist to Don Miguelo’s 7 Locas, Rihanna’s Birthday Cake blasted through my phone. That’s Pete’s special ringtone since we met at Vivere, my favorite local lounge, on my born day. 

“Come over,” his text read. I managed to stifle a gleeful squeal and kept dancing while I typed, “Be right there!” 

Minutes later, I slickly dashed out of Yo’s party and was on all fours, moaning from ecstasy as Pete penetrated me from behind and played with my clitoris. Just thinking about it now makes my cuca throb all over again! 

So if you feel me and just need to get satisfied, a booty call might be the answer to your cuca’s prayers. (I know. I should leave Papa Dios out of this. Sorry!) Here is how to dip out of (and back into) a family event for a booty call from someone who knows.

How to Dip Out of A Family Event for a Booty Call

Eat something. You don’t want to be stuffed like a turkey when doing the deed, but you should eat something. That way you won’t deal with relatives pushing food down your throat if you leave without nibbling on the appetizers. 

Be dressed to impress, not to bang. That way your relatives won’t question if you’re turning tricks, or if you’re trying to steal someone’s man. As they say in my culture, “Los primos se espriman.” As in, you can get with a distant cousin. Gross, I know! I don’t make the rules. Although I do have a fine cousin that I kissed once. What can I say? I was a desperate, pubescent 15-year-old!

Back to dressing sexy. As a “just in case you get an unexpected booty call” trick, keep a pair of sexy clothes inside your purse or in your car. Or you can meet your booty call with only sexy lingerie on. Just throw a trench coat over yourself! 

Buy a trench coat. That’s if you’re trying to be extra sexy. This one from Amazon (paid link) is perfect and affordable! Your girl is a receptionist at a real estate office/aspiring singer; cheap is my love language. 

Recruit a good friend. Let your BFF know you have a booty call waiting. Ask them to help you escape the event with a distraction. She can fall on the floor as if she’s tripped! He can tell a joke that will have everyone cracking up for hours! They can cry dramatically so everyone rushes to comfort them! Your good friend will win an Academy Award and you will be in the clear to get some booty. 

Make up an excuse. Relatives tend to be all up in the business and will judge your booty call stories. So use what’s at your disposal. Have a cat? Oops! You forgot to change the kitty litter. Dog? The dog sitter texted you that your paw friend is ripping your place to shreds. No pets? A friend needs you STAT! She’s heartbroken, too drunk to be alone, stubbed her toe, and can’t walk…something! Just keep it simple. The more details you give, the more questions they’ll ask. 

Dip back into the party - if you dare. You got some booty, but are not sleeping over. Now you have to “walk of shame” it back to your family party before they realize you’ve gone. Text your friend and ask her to distract your family with the following: 

• A merengue, bachata, or salsa song that they all love. Have her play the song when you’re right outside the door and then jump right to the dance floor.

• A family story that is a tear-jerker. No family can resist a sob story, especially not a Latinx family. Have your friend mention a relative who passed away (RIP) or a miraculous event that they thank Papa Dios for. Your friend will text you when the tears start rolling. You’ll roll right in with a napkin in hand. 

• Shots! If your relatives are drunk, they won’t notice you leaving or coming back. 

• A baseball game. This works during baseball season. All the men will crowd around the TV and the women will scurry into the kitchen to avoid the game. Have your friend text you to come in when there’s a home run. 

• Food, food, food! Have your friend get everyone to rally around food. Cut a cake. Break out more pernil. Their mouths will be too stuffed to wonder and ask where you’ve been when you saunter in. 

See? It’s not too hard to dip out (and in) from a family event for a booty call. If you follow my guide, you’ll be satisfied and protected from prying questions.  

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