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Showing posts with label Mills and Swoon shorts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mills and Swoon shorts. Show all posts

Sunday, November 16, 2025

The Velvet Listener A Contemporary Mills & Swoon Short by Sarnia de la Maré

About the author SARNIA. DE LA MARE https://share.google/Aw3KqzHkoM9CGcHLQ

💋 The Velvet Listener.

A Contemporary Mills & Swoon Short by Sarnia de la Maré.

Mara Lane had been the late-night voice of Heartline FM for three years, dispensing warm advice to strangers while living a private life that was anything but romantic.

The truth was that Mara had become rather accomplished at helping other people fall in love precisely because she had stopped trying it herself. She had stopped dressing up and going out. She avoided dinner parties with friends who were forever trying to matchmake her with basically any man who happened to be single.

The studio lights were low enough to be flattering in the way dim lamps flatter tired women. Her producer, Jay, waved through the glass: Caller on line four.

“Heartline FM,” she purred. “You’re live with Mara.” She had perfected a sexy sultry voice that her fans loved. Little did they know, privately she had long given up any ideas of falling in love again.

A man’s velvet voice slid into her earphones.

“Good evening, Mara. I have a problem only you can solve.”

Mara straightened. Most late callers were drunk, lovelorn, or boring. This one sounded… dangerous in the way good chocolate is dangerous, smooth and tempting.

“What seems to be troubling you?”

A low chuckle. “You, Mara, it’s you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. I listen to you every night. I know when you’re smiling. I know when you’re tired. And tonight…” A pause. “You’re pretending to understand love.”

Her pulse hopped. No one ever read her that quickly, not even Jay, who had been her producer for years.

“Well,” she said carefully, “I’m flattered you’re so observant, but the show is all about you, caller. Not me.”

“Then here’s my question.” His voice dropped a register. “What does a woman like you do when the advice she gives everyone else stops working for her?”

Mara camouflaged a little gasp. It was ridiculous, he was a voice on a telephone, how could he be so disarming? But there was something in the way he spoke… intimate, focused, as if he was in the room making love to her.

“I suppose,” she murmured, “she keeps talking until she finds someone who listens properly.”

“I’m listening,” he said softly. “More than you know.”

Jay gave her the wind-up signal, they were due an advert. Besides, who was this weirdo? She reluctantly guided the call to break, but before she could cut him off, the man added:

“I’ll call again tomorrow. Same time.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving Mara oddly flushed.

For a month, he called at exactly 12:07 a.m. The production unit had cleared a separate call line for him.

He never gave his name.
He never flirted outright.
He simply… learned more about her with his innocent and slightly abstract questions.

His insight was unnerving and intoxicating in equal measure. Was he a stalker? Should she be worried?

Jay began calling the mysterious man “The Velvet Listener” as though he were a character in a novel.

Other fans of the show adored the segment. Ratings soared. Heartline FM executives sent Mara congratulatory emails and mentioned a pay rise.

But Mara wanted only one thing: to see the man behind the velvet voice.

On the twenty-eighth night, The Velvet Listener asked quietly, “Would you want to meet me?”

She hesitated, not wanting to sound keen and aware of possible dangers. But she had been thinking about him, late at night as she showered. In bed when she couldn’t sleep, when she touched her wanton body.

“That depends,” she whispered. “Are you even real?”

The internet was awash with comments. Mara’s Instagram and X accounts were filled with speculations, warnings, guesses as to the Velvet Listener’s identity, suggestions of marriage and happy-ever-afters, conspiracy theories that were creating spinoffs on TikTok. Several fans had even offered themselves to Velvet Listener should Mara decline his advances.

Jay wrapped up the show and handed Mara a note.

“Come to the rooftop after your shift,” it said. “If I’m not real, you’ll know immediately.”

At 1:38 a.m., Mara stepped out onto the roof. The city lay below in wet neon streaks. Wind tugged her coat open, revealing her satin pencil skirt, stockings and high heels that she had been wearing in the hope that he would see her.

And he was there.

Tall, dark and divine, just as she had dreamed he would be. The same velvet voice:

“Hello, Mara.”

She moved toward him before she realised she was doing it.

He came closer and revealed his face in the light.

He commanded a formidable and yet unassuming presence.

“Let’s write your story now.”

He drew her body towards his and kissed her, gently then hard. Passionate and driven. Urgent and focused.

Mara’s loins were alive with lust and feelings she had not experienced in years, and this, all of this, from a stranger. Could it be true? There was no time to worry now.

When he finally broke away, his breath warm against her lips, he said:

“You know I hear you. I will always listen, Mara, that is my oath to you.”

And Mara, who had spent years being everybody else’s confidante, let herself fall into the loving arms of the man who had learned her voice before ever seeing her face.

©2025 Sarnia de la Mare Published by Tale Teller Club Press.

www.taletellerclub.com

Friday, November 14, 2025

💋 Mills & Swoon Daily #2 The Caged Bird and the Stable Boy #romance #flashfiction


#RomancePodcast #FictionPodcast #AudioRomance #NarratedFiction #ShortStoryPodcast #RomanticFiction #AudioDrama #LoveStories #PodcastRomance

💋 Mills & Swoon Daily #2

The Caged Bird and the Stable Boy

Lady Isolde Ravenshaw entered the stables. She was a reluctant horsewoman but had made the effort because of him.

Thomas the stable boy was not, strictly speaking, a boy. 

At twenty-two he was marked with the attributes of maleness and beauty that were worthy of an Adonis. His muscular forearms and chiselled torso glowed in sun-browned competence. 

Once she had seen him swimming on a hot summer afternoon having taken a wrong turn in the grounds of the estate. She had watched longingly, his naked body as it basked in sun and water in a simple celebration of movement, nakedness, and life itself.


One did not normally encounter such thrilling attributes at London soirées. Isolde had had enough of pot-bellies and bad breath to last a life time. Thomas had flicked a switch and she understood passion and desire at last.

“Morning, my lady”
he said with a sideways smile.

He had seen her watching him but hadn't let on. He enjoyed being watched by a beautiful and socially untouchable woman.

“Careful of your shoes in here,” he murmured.
“Floor’s still damp from the morning’s rain.”

“I have other shoes,” she said lightly.
“I do not have another of you.”

He turned at that, startled into a grin.
The horses snorted softly in their stalls,
as if deeply invested in the developments of the afternoon.

She watched Thomas hang up a bridle,
his shirt sleeves rolled, hay dust caught in dark unkempt hair.
On the workbench beside him lay a scrap of parchment,
ink still glistening in a ray of sun.

“What are you sketching?” she asked.

He moved too quickly, trying to cover it with his hand.
“Nothing. Just… notes.”

Her curiosity sharpened.
"Do you truly think I shall faint at your… notes?”

Slowly, he lifted his hand.

It was a map.
Not of any gentleman’s lands she recognised,
but of the estate grounds as only someone who lived amongst them would see:
hidden footpaths, fallen walls, the place where the river narrowed,
and, in one corner, a small cross inked with unusual care.

“What is this?” she asked, fingertip hovering over the cross.

He swallowed.
“That, my lady, is where the fence breaks. Should someone... wish for freedom and adventure,
they could slip out unseen"

His eyes flicked up, testing her.

Isolde felt a slow, wicked warmth pour through her.
“And if I were the sort?”

He hesitated, then stepped closer, voice low. The were almost touching, a separation of propriety was paper thin. She could feel his breath, now, almost panting, on her cheek as he looked down upon her, making love to her with his wanton gaze.

“Then I’d meet you there.
At dusk.
With a lamp and two sound horses.
And I’d show you the rest of the map.”

She looked back down at the parchment.
Beyond the fence,
he’d drawn all the places a lady of her station was not supposed to know existed:
the ruined folly; the secluded glade;
a little scribbled note by the river bend that simply read Perfect for swimming.

“You’ve quite the talent for cartography,” she murmured.

“I know these grounds better than the Lord himself,” he said.
“Been escaping them since I was a lad.”

“And now you offer escape to me.”
She met his gaze fully.
“Why?”

His jaw tightened.
“Because I’ve watched you walk that terrace every day like a bird pretending its cage is a choice.
And because”—here his voice dipped—
“I’d like to see what you’re like when nobody else is watching.”

There it was.
The treasonous invitation she hadn’t known she’d been waiting for.

Isolde folded the map carefully,
tucking it into the bodice of her gown with deliberate slowness.

“At dusk then,” she said.
“If you’re brave enough to free a caged bird.”

As she turned to go, he added,

“Follow the map exactly.
And if you get lost—”

“I shall call your name,” she cut in, glancing over her shoulder.
“And trust that you will find me.”

The horses snorted again, as if in approval of the clandestine plot.

That evening, when the sky went molten-gold over the fields,
a figure in a dark riding cloak slipped through the broken fence
and found a lantern already waiting on the other side.

Thomas lifted it, the light catching his smile.
“Welcome to the rest of the map, my lady,” he said.
“Shall we redraw your borders tonight?”

She held out her gloved hand.
“For thirty years,” she replied,
“men have told me where I may and may not go.
I think it’s time someone let me choose my own routes.”

He took her hand, steady and sure.

Behind them, the great house loomed, full of strict corridors and polite rooms.
Before them, the night opened like a secret promise,
and the Countess Ravenshaw stepped into it
with the stable boy at her side,
following a map she now realised she’d been searching for all her life. 

Finally, happiness and thrill would collide in the bodies of those who dared.


#MillsAndSwoon #FlashRomance #DailyRomance #RomanticShortStory #AgeGapRomance #ForbiddenRomance #HistoricalRomance #VictorianRomance #PeriodDrama #SarniaDeLaMare

Thursday, November 13, 2025

💋 The Duke and His Mother's House Guest Mills and Swoon Flash Fiction read by Sarnia #romanceflashfiction

 “Welcome to Mills & Swoon Daily — where your morning scandal is served warm, wicked, and just a little bit improper.”

Today’s tale: The Duke and His Mother’s House Guest.

A seductive Victorian age-gap moment inside a grand manor foyer. A glamorous older lady guest lowers her hood, revealing emerald earrings and dark curls. Her silk stockings are mud-stained, hinting at scandal. A young, handsome Duke stares at her with shock and desire. Cinematic lighting, warm candles, aristocratic decor, subtle sensual tension, elegant but provocative mood, romantic period-drama aesthetic, ultra-detailed fabrics and expressions.


By Sarnia de la Maré — Mills & Swoon Daily #1

Lady Elowen Hart was not accustomed to being mistaken for staff,
but she had arrived at Hawthorne Hall in a travelling cloak
and mud up to her silk-white stockings,
so the error was, she supposed… understandable.
Almost.

The Duke strode into the foyer with the confidence of a man
who had never once been contradicted in his life.
Such entitled grandeur might have been repulsive
if he hadn’t been so annoyingly well-formed.

“You must be the new governess,” he announced,
looking her up and down with far too much interest
for a man hiring a tutor for his niece.

Elowen raised a brow.
“Must I?”

He hesitated, thrown off-balance.
“…You’re early.”

“And you, sir, are mistaken,” she replied smoothly.
“But I do admire a man who leads with certainty,
even when he’s wrong.”

A flush crept up his neck — delicious.
Lady Elowen had a reputation for disarming younger, handsome men,
though her reputation had likely not reached these rural shires.

He clearly had never been spoken to like that before.

She removed her hood,
revealing emerald earrings, a cascade of dark curls,
and the unmistakable aura of old money.

The Duke blinked.
“You’re—”

“Yes,” she said, stepping closer.
“The guest your mother invited for Christmas.”
Then, with a wicked smile:
“Although if you prefer the governess…
I can play along.
I am rather good at… play.”

The silence that followed could have melted frost from the windows.

He cleared his throat.
“I… should show you to your room.”

“Indeed,” Elowen said,
glancing down at her ruined stockings.
“For they are quite soiled, and I fear I may need help removing them.”

“Oh,” said the Duke, suddenly breathless.
“I fear the staff are retired for the night.”

“In that case,” said Lady Elowen matter-of-factly,
“perhaps the Duke himself might assist.”

The end...or maybe the beginning

“Join me tomorrow for another coffee-break scandal from Mills & Swoon Daily.
And if you want more mischief, find the Kindle collection linked below.
Until then — behave disgracefully.”

Read our other Book on Amazon or Gumroad

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#millsandswoon #romanceflashfiction #agegapromance #sarnidelamare #coffeebreakromance #fictionpodcast