Archive for October, 2007

Next month Simply Simone and The Pink Chair Diaries will be raffling off three trunks. Each trunk will be raffled off for a different charity. The charities are for Breast Cancer, St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital and The Save the Quiet Kitty Fund. If there are any authors or publishers who are willing to donate signed print books or signed promo items or both please contact me at selena illyria pcd At gmail Dot com. Thank You.

Selena

Until recently, award-winning romance author Delilah Devlin lived in South Texas at the intersection of two dry creeks, surrounded by sexy cowboys in Wranglers. These days, she’s missing the wide-open skies and starry nights but loving her dark forest in Central Arkansas, with its eccentric characters and isolation—the better to feed her hungry muse! For Delilah, the greatest sin is driving between the lines, because it’s comfortable and safe. Her personal journey has taken her through one war and many countries, cultures, jobs, and relationships to bring her to the place where she is now—writing sexy adventures that hold more than a kernel of autobiography and often share a common thread of self-discovery and transformation.

MIL-7: Knight Dreams

(c)2007 Delilah Devlin, All Rights Reserved

“’Bout time you come home, husband.”

Quentin Albermarle steeled himself against the sudden thrill that quickened his heartbeat and heated his sex. He couldn’t see her yet, but the scent of honeysuckle and mint strengthened. “Don’t call me that, witch!” he spit out.

“Husband,” she enunciated slowly, closer this time. “Husss-band,” she whispered now into his ear.

He forced himself not to flinch away, but already her scents wafted, thinned. He relaxed as she moved silently away. Although his night vision was keen, he couldn’t see her yet and knew she’d used glamour to tantalize and tease him. “We never married,” he said keeping his tone flat, emotionless.

“You called me wife.”

“You played with my affections–tricked me into loving you.”

“So angry still,” she said in her throaty, lilting tones. “So scared.” At last she circled to stand in front of him.

She was as lovely as the night he’d finally broken free of her spell. Nearly his height, her eyes rose only slightly to meet his steady glare. A deep, bottomless brown, her wide-set gaze stared back, unblinking.

Quentin knew her tricks and drew himself back, shifting his glance to look beyond her shoulders, sweeping the shadows of the tiled patio to see whether they were alone.

“All alone, we are,” she said, lifting her hand to trail a long finger along the crest of his shoulder. “Aren’t you going to ask me, hussss-band?”

Quentin drew a deep breath, slowly, trying not to let her see how important his request was to him. A foolish wish, naturally. The witch “saw” everything. Had likely scried his arrival on the island in a bowl of blood-kissed water. “I need your help.”

Her gaze swept sideways and her lips curved in a close-lipped, feline smile. “You know what I will demand, husss-band.”

Knowing the cost might be more than he could bear, Quentin bit out, “What do you want?”

She turned, looking back at him over the shoulder bared by her loose, silk caftan. “Three times…you must bring me satisfaction. You must make me scream with want of you. Then, and only then, will I…consider…helping you save your other woman. The one who lies asleep. The one you fear will waken snarling over your betrayal.”

Quentin closed his eyes briefly. She’s asked the one thing he most feared. Darcy would never forgive him. “Don’t ask me this. I love her.”

“You love her, yet you let them take the one thing she will never forgive you for losing.”

“I couldn’t save it,” he said quickly. Too quickly.

“Perhaps, you did not want to save it. You chose her, over his child.”

“I chose life over inevitable death.”

Her head canted in her odd way, as though listening to whispers. Her gaze narrowed. “Are you so sure the little one is lost?”

“He was pierced by a wolf’s fangs. He’s as good as dead.”

“And yet, you stand here, asking me to save her–when she too, was savaged by a wolf.”

Quentin ground his jaws together, so fierce was his desire to do something–anything–to save her. “She’s strong. So are your powers. It’s the only reason I’m standing here now.”

“You want a chance,” she said softly, moving again, pausing in the shadows beside a potted hyacinth to stroke its petals. “Maybe I can give it to you.” When her gaze sliced back, her eyes glittered, her mouth formed a rigid line. “But first, you must please me. Do you remember how to do that, lover?”

Oh, he remembered. She’d enslaved him, taught him exactly how to ease the ache that accompanied a ravenous appetite for sex. Too many times, she’d left him drunk on the flavours of her arousal. He’d feasted on her feminine flesh countless times–still dreamed of it in his nightmares.

He’d been young, reckless…stupid. Led by his cock and his thirst for adventure.

She’d been elusive, mysterious. Appearing at the edge of Lewis’s estate gardens, then disappearing with the next blink of his eyes, fascinating him with fleeting glimpses of her long, taut body and lovely face.

He’d dreamed of her before they’d actually met. Made love to her in a dream world where every fantasy he’d ever conceived, and many more he’d never thought of, came true under her tutelage.

God, he remembered her taste, the feel of her satiny, oiled skin, the scent of honeysuckle, mint and her womanly musk. “Stop it!”

Her laughter was low and sultry. She stepped fully from the shadows into the moonlight and drew her shift over her head, dropping it to the patio floor.

Naked, her body was everything he’d remembered. Honed, powerful muscle. Sleek curves. Full, luscious breasts, tipped with dark brown nipples, slightly oval. The stems were tight and long as though a lover had already plucked them.

Below, there was one change. Her pussy was waxed, the brown folds plump and glistening.

She trailed a finger between her nether lips and brought it to her mouth, licking it clean like a cat. “Yes, I knew you’d come. I’ve waited. Longed for this. Now, you will taste my devotion, my lust for you.”

Quentin’s whole body tightened in rejection. “Don’t ask this,” he ground out.

“Because she won’t forgive you?”

“Because I won’t ever forgive you if you demand this.”

Her hand speared the air, her fingers fluttering in a beckoning motion that tugged his cock into full erection.

So quickly, he hissed between his clenched teeth.

“You think you have a choice?”

His heartbeats growing leaden inside his chest, he knew he didn’t. His resistance would be overcome, whether by her magick or by his need. To fight her now would only anger her.

And he had to please her. Make her come three times…screaming. He knew how to draw her arousal so tight her whole body would bend in a fierce arch, her fingernails would rake his skin, her pussy would clench around his cock so tight he’d give up his seed, helpless to resist.

This was how it had always been between them.

Fierce. Fucking like animals. Once, long ago, he’d thought he found his soul mate in a dark-skinned woman. Instead he’d surrendered his soul to a demon.

(For more of Knight Dreams please join Delilah’s Newsletter )

Seduced by Darkness
Coming March 2008 from Avon RED
(c) Delilah Devlin, All Rights Reserved

For nearly 800 years, Revenant Nicolas Mountfaucon has dedicated his life to ensuring an immortal monster never walks free. When a terrible storm unleashes the beast, Nicolas’ past rises to haunt him, taunting him with the memory of the death of his bride and the loss of his brother at the hands of the ancient demon known as “The Devourer.” Nicolas turns to the only person who can provide him solace, Born vampire Chessa Tomas, sure she will join the hunt for the evil creature.Only Chessa wants nothing to do with hunting the “Big Bad”—he’s Nic’s and the Ardeal coven’s problem, not hers. She shed her responsibilities as a Born, refusing her seat on the council because she doesn’t trust their leader. She holds their ancient matriarch responsible for the death of her husband and child years ago. However, Nic isn’t easily dismissed—he appeals to the secret side her nature that needs to be dominated.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Fresh from her shower, Chessa heard the heavy knock and glanced at her clock on the bedside stand. Still an hour before she had to be at work.

Not the super. She’d paid her rent. Besides, he’d fled with the rest of the building’s inhabitants when the Mayor ordered evacuation.

And not her partner seeing whether she wanted to get a cup of coffee before reporting to duty. Her partner wasn’t coming today.

Or ever again.

Curious, she threaded through piles of discarded clothing to her front door and peered through the peephole into a hallway lit only by grayish, pre-dusk light from the landing window. The power had gone out sometime during the night. Just one more annoyance on top of the last hellish twenty-four hours.

A familiar man stood on her threshold. Broad shoulders, long dark hair—her body clenched. “Nic?” What was he doing in the city again so soon? How the hell had he gotten in? She’d heard most of the roads around the city were closed due to flooding.

“Chessa, open the door.”

Something in his voice had her gripping the doorknob tight. Her chest tightened. She didn’t want to know what brought him here.

“Please,” he said, weariness and raw, aching need flavoring the rich timbre of his voice.

Although they’d sated their appetite for sex a few hours ago, Chessa’s body softened instantly, heat tightening her womb. She hated the way her body betrayed her.

They’d said their farewells, she reminded herself. “We had a deal, Nic. You stick to your turf—I’ll stick to mine.”

“Chessa, open the goddamn door.”

The “or else” he left unspoken in his lightly accented voice. She got the message and turned the knob, stepping aside to let him in as she wrapped her towel tightly around her body.

A quick, sweeping glance told her there was trouble. Big, fat vampire trouble. Nicolas looked a mess.

His long black-brown hair hung in damp, curling tendrils around his lean face. His exposed skin was grimy-looking, and he smelled of sewage and sour swamp water.

His hands reached for her.

Without time to sidestep, she found herself smashed against his chest, his strong hands clutching her close.

She leaned back in the circle of his arms and stared into his face. What she saw troubled her. His jaw was clenched tight, and his face was unnaturally pale—even by a vampire’s standards. “What’s happened?”

His throat tightened, but he shook his head and lowered it.

Only she’d just had a shower, and he stunk to high heaven. Besides, she needed space to calm the riot of feelings he aroused. Ones she was still uncomfortable acknowledging even existed. She pressed her palms against his chest to halt him.

She loved Rene. Although he’d chosen to enter a mage’s sanctuary with another Born vampire, Chessa wasn’t over him yet.

Her feelings for Nicolas were strictly carnal—and she needed to get her libido back under control. Unbridled passion had been unleashed by proximity to Natalie Lambert’s coming into season, as only a transforming Born could inspire. That arousal had spilled over onto Chessa and Nicolas—it was the only explanation Chessa would allow for the strength of the desire that even now made her body yearn toward his.

Nicolas’s chest heaved, and his eyes narrowed to feral slits. “Don’t deny me. Not now.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You stink.”

“Then we’ll shower,” he said, a dangerous edge to his voice.

As always, his first terse words had her melting. “Tell me why you’re here,” she said, searching for a way to put him off while she shored up her fading resistance.

Another shake of his head, this time sharp and violent. “Later,” he ground out.

Then she noted the wildness in his eyes. Something had rattled his cage. Nicolas was never anything but completely in control. Chessa felt the last bit of solid ground crumble beneath her. “All right,” she said softly and held up a hand to ward off a kiss. “But shower first.” He’d have to let her go to follow her.

However, Nicolas wasn’t giving her the space she needed to regroup. He grabbed the top of her towel and ripped it away, then slammed his mouth on hers, backing her toward the bedroom.

Chessa’s bare feet skidded on her wood floor as she dug in her heels, but he swept her along, through her bedroom into the bathroom, all the while punishing her lips with a brutal kiss.

When the edge of the tub brought them up short, he reached behind her and yanked aside the shower curtain. “Turn it on.”

Dumbly, she reached behind her, fumbling to turn the knob, finally sending a spray of water that misted around them before he lifted her above the rim of her tub to set her inside.

Nicolas tore at his clothes, dropping them at his feet, then stepped beside her in the stall, crowding her against the cool tile walls. “Any more objections?” he asked, in his oddly rasping voice.

She shook her head, overwhelmed and mute with rising desire. Her body already strained toward his. Her breasts swelled, her nipples ruching tight and hard. Her legs trembled, and her sex released a trickle of fragrant moisture she couldn’t deny.

His hands reached around her and grasped her bottom, lifting her off her feet, crushing her breasts to his chest, her mons against his the base of his rigid cock.

With his erection pressing into her belly, any objection was obliterated. She flung out her arms and gripped his shoulders, aiding him as he angled her body toward his and thrust his cock between her legs.

Chessa groaned as he slid inside her. “Bastard, we had a deal.”

His response was a flex of his hips to thrust hard inside her, tunneling deep, pressing higher until the strength of his hips and cock had her feet dangling above the porcelain bottom of the tub.

When he’d reached inside her as far as he could, he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing away her breath and laid his cheek alongside hers, his chest heaving.

She shivered from arousal so strong it nearly choked her and from fear of whatever had shaken Nicolas to his core. She’d never seen him like this. “What is it? What’s happened?”

His head drew away, and his gaze burned as it slid to her lips. “Later,” he groaned.

Again, the wildness in his gaze and the tension that gripped his broad shoulders and arms as he held her unsettled her. This wasn’t Nicolas with his sardonic quips and ever-watchful gaze. Accustomed of late to him showing up at unexpected times to tempt her, this was different.

He was frightened.

Although tempted to argue, to chide him and try to drive him away, she wound her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, and pulled him close, dragging his head down to bury against her shoulder.

If she were honest with herself, she was glad he’d come.

Not that she was ready to be anybody’s rock. She had problems of her own. A life to sort out. One far away from the vampire enclave at Ardeal.

Nicolas was entrenched in that life, but she had broken free decades ago and vowed she’d never go back. Whatever was bothering him now wasn’t her problem.

But she could hold him and let his warmth and strength provide her comfort as well. She had her own needs and a desolate loneliness that had filled her when she’d shut her apartment door hours earlier and realized the only friend she had in the world was lost to her forever.

“Stop thinking,” he growled.

“Just fuck me,” she bit out, meeting his hard gaze with a glare of her own.

Their hips churned against each other in a desperate coupling. Not at all the sexy, teasing pummeling she’d come to expect—that in itself was an indication of his upset. His movements lacked finesse. He gave no thought for her pleasure, which he was always so careful to draw out—torturing her with her own desire.

Instead, his hands gripped her ass hard, pushing her up and down his cock, grinding her back against the cool tiles as he powered into her.

When he came, his eyes squeezed tight, his body grew rigid, and he held his breath for one endless moment. After his pulsing release waned, he dropped his forehead against the tiles. “Get out.”

Surprised at the harshness of his voice, she didn’t question him, just unwound her legs from his waist and slid down his body. She stepped out of the tub to dry herself with a towel while he remained inside, drawing the curtain closed behind him.

She couldn’t think of a thing to say. Despite the steamy air inside the room, she shivered.

Damn. It sure as hell felt like she cared about the fact he’d tossed her out of her own shower.

Monstrous Kink

Available from Loose Id

The kingdom of Krim is unlike any place on earth. Spellbound more than a millennium ago it is hidden away from the world. Only those whose ultimate desires lie within its borders can enter. Zacharias is the king of Krim, the beloved gargoyle Krim Guardian, and by All Hallows’ Eve he must marry and mate with a human bride to keep his crown. There’s just one problem. Zacharias hasn’t felt desire for anyone in over two centuries. That is until he spots darkly enchanting Mila. Now all he feels is lust.

Tempting and wicked, Mila has always lived her life on the edge. A vagabond photographer she’s never stayed in one place long enough to commit. Then life drops her on Zacharias’s doorstep. There’s something about the chestnut-haired giant that calls to her. And she is more than woman enough to answer. In one another’s arms they discover the kind of ultimate satisfaction that only a Domme and sub can experience.

But a malevolent power does not want the couple to get together, and it will stop at nothing, not even murder to make sure the union never happens.

Monstrous Kink Excerpt

For weeks now Zacharias had tried to pretend that fall wasn’t coming now simply because it meant that All Hallows’ Eve was right around the corner. The problem was Zacharias hadn’t found a female that appealed to him in over two hundred years, but in less than two weeks he had to find a woman and bed her.

That was going to be no problem at all.

Less than twenty minutes later he stood in the midst of a human meat market. All around him females were parading their wares, hoping to be purchased or, in this case specifically, wed.

He glanced at a woman across from him. She was the comeliest of the girls on display. Her smile was vivid and shocking. Her hips were small and graceful. Her breasts were large and firm. She was a woman of perfection. Even in the long dress she wore, Zacharias could see the woman’s legs were long and shapely. Arianna was an exceptional woman.

Too bad the sight of Arianna’s ruby lips made him want to snarl. It should have made him happy, excited…aroused. But it did none of the above. It made him want to howl at the moon.

The woman was beautiful, sexy, and desirous, but she wasn’t what he needed. No, she was another woman in a long line of women who could never satisfy his needs. His gaze moved down the line, looking at the many women the villagers had lined up for him. Not one of the women appealed to him.

“You have chosen one on your own?” The voice belonged to the wizened witch priest who had gathered the women for his perusal.

“No,” Zacharias said with a sigh. He ran his fingers through his hair as he eyed the women. One had to be better than the others. One of them had to appeal to him, right?

“I will choose one for the Black Crescent Moon.”

“You will choose one now.”

Zacharias’s green eyes darkened at the priest’s bold words. “I will choose one when I am ready. Never think to tell me what to do, human.”

The priest backed up at his growling tone. He knew he’d overstepped the boundaries. He had no right to tell the Krim Guardian what to do, but the old man knew of Zacharias’s…issue with the opposite sex.

For some time Zacharias had felt there was something unnaturally wrong with him. It wasn’t that he liked men. He loved women. Zacharias just didn’t get aroused. He had even sought out the priest’s knowledge on the subject, only to find he had not been cursed. Zacharias just had not found a woman to stir his blood in centuries. The priest attempted to appease him when a loud commotion broke through Zacharias’s thoughts.

The whole room turned around at the sound of the boom.

Zacharias slowly rose from his throne. The crowd parted as he made his way toward the source of the commotion. The priest reached out one feeble hand. His fingers almost touched the thick wool jacket Zacharias wore.

Zacharias turned and stared at the weathered hand seconds before it would have reached him. It stopped instantly. He turned back and caught a glimpse of bright red fabric before the villagers swarmed and blocked his view.

Zacharias didn’t realize he’d growled until he saw the villagers scatter and run. They parted and allowed him a view of the newcomer.

She turned toward him and smiled.

He took a deep breath, taking in the scent and sight of the woman before him.

Her midnight hair was in disarray. Her bright red wool coat was dirty and stained. There were black coal streaks on her cocoa face, and her matching leather suitcases were ripped.

She looked like hell.

He took another step toward her.

“Hi there,” she said with a fluttering wave. “Thank goodness I stumbled onto this place. I was so lost and scared and then my car broke down and I –” She stopped suddenly. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. “Jesus, you’re a big one,” she muttered.

Zacharias took a deep, steadying breath and smiled back at her. His eyes almost immediately narrowed. Her scent was thick and strong. She wore perfume, lovely smelling perfume, but beneath that was her scent and it called to him.

Zacharias took another whiff of the woman and rolled it over his tongue. It tasted like perfection. It tasted like home. And it made him feel.

Heat coursed through his veins. Arousal spread through every inch of his body, and desire like nothing he’d ever felt before consumed him.

“I guess I’m not in Kansas anymore,” she said with a soft chuckle.

“No, you’re not. You’re home,” he responded.

PURCHASE BOOK!

Violet Storm

Available from Changeling Press

Storm Night is not like other magical creatures. She is a mixed breed. Blessed with the gifts from her mother, a flower fair, and her father, a Nightstalker Cyclops, she feels she is perfect.

Too bad not everyone agrees.

In celebration of her entrance to the OtherKin realm’s most prestigious school of medicinal wizardry, she and her best friend Mira intend to party the night away at Yellow Brick, the hottest club in the realm.

Sipping her drink, minding her business, she hears him and his friends. They are talking about her. They are… intrigued by the fact that she is a Breed. To Storm’s horror, Isaias bets five thousand cipros he can get her to kiss him by the end of the night.

Storm is willing to play along to a point. Yellow Brick is not like other clubs. It has special rooms for its most cherished patrons. With a spell card that allows her downstairs, Storm is armed and ready. She has every intention of making sure that the beautiful, blond royal elf realizes that it’s not nice to play games with a woman’s emotions. Especially when the woman is not opposed to doing every naughty, dirty, erotic trick in the book to make you scream.

Violet Storm Excerpt

***

He was devastatingly handsome. He appeared to be anywhere from twenty-five to thirty summers. His wavy bright blond hair begged a girl to run her fingers through it. The blue eyes shining down on me asked for my forgiveness at the same time that they promised me naughty, naughty things. And his lips made me dream of endless erotic kisses.

His deep blue eyes twinkled with mischief and his full lips turned up at the corner. He was trying hard not to smile. Or laugh. I turned away. I had no desire to be the butt of his joke.

“Hey,” he called before jumping off the stool and coming to stand in front of me.

“I’m not interested,” I said before turning to face the other side. Wet panties or not, I still had my pride.

He grabbed my stool and turned it around. I found myself facing his handsome beauty once again. He stepped between my legs. With his hands still on my stool, I was caged by his sinewy arms.

“I said I’m not interested,” I growled. I kept my eyes on his chest. Something told me looking up was dangerous. He was just too damned good looking for my own good.

“Come on, sweetheart. Don’t tease me.”

At his words, I felt the anger I had tried to keep tampered down bubble out of control. Tease him? He was the one playing the games.

“I’m not teasing. I’m not interested,” I said through clenched teeth.

“I just want a dance, just one dance.” The smile that had been hiding came out in full view. He had a breathtaking smile, the kind that could really disarm a woman.

Damn! I knew I shouldn’t have looked up. Pretty faces got me every time.

“One dance.” I placed my empty glass on the bar behind me. He grabbed my other hand and pulled me onto the dance floor. I blinked at the surge of intense heat when he touched me. It was as if he had shoved me in an oven. I felt this desperate need to do something… dangerous.

I took a deep breath and blew it out. Any cooling effects it had were immediately dissipated when his long, muscular arm snaked around my waist. He pulled me so that my breasts were flattened against his hard chest. I tried to pull away. He pressed me closer.

I stared up at him and flattened my hands against his chest. I opened my mouth to say something. I was getting ready to give it to him when he spoke. “My name is Isaias.”

I glared up at him. I was angry as hell that I was attracted to him. And to top it off he made me feel obligated to tell him my name. “Storm,” I muttered and turned to glance at the couple beside us. I did not want to look at his face.

“Uniquely beautiful.”

I ignored his comment. At least I tried hard as hell to ignore what he said, tried to pretend he hadn’t spoken, but the compliment washed over me dispelling some of my righteous anger.

I was disconcerted to find I was close enough to feel the soft rumble that went through his chest when he spoke. I pulled back. His large, long fingered hand moved to my hips and pressed me against him.

I couldn’t help the gasp that came from my lips. I was so close I could feel him. I blushed when I realized he was aroused.

“I like the way you move,” he whispered against my neck. I shivered and broke out in goose bumps. His breath felt so good, so warm and for just one second I dreamed he kissed me on my neck.

“Tell me about yourself. Tell me a little about the lovely woman named Storm.”

I stilled in his arms, nearly causing a six couple pile up as those around us stumbled. I glanced up at him. “Excuse me?”

“I want to get to know you.”

“Why?” One midnight eyebrow cocked with disbelief. I had heard him and if there was one thing a Cyclops trusted it was her hearing.

“For the same reason every heterosexual male wants to know a female.”

I snorted and stepped out of his arms. As if I was going to believe that one of the charmed ones was attracted to a mixed breed? “Look, I know exactly why you want to get to know me and the answer is no.”

He froze. “What are you talking about?”

The shock on his face made me want to scream. Then and there I decided not to show him my cards. It was his bet and if he wanted to pretend this game of seduction was for real, I would play along. But on my terms.

“Have you ever been downstairs?” I asked.

Purchase Book!

Please check out this Foundation started by the wonderful Rene Lyons and her husband, in honor of her late brother. Please check out the Foundation. Thank You.

http://www.renelyons.net/anthonyferrisifoundation.html

Selena

Bio:Devyn Quinn lives in the scenic Southwest, though she has called several other states home. She is a huge fan of dark gothic literature, and read tons of books on history and biographies. She especially enjoys reading books on Hollywood before the 1960′s. Now divorced (happily so), Devyn lives with her cats, four ferrets (yes, four!), and Shih Tzu, Tess.Devyn debuted as a Kensington Books author with Flesh and the Devil in March 2007. Though she writes in both the contemporary and gothic genres, lately Devyn’s attention has turned to very dark erotica. Most of her full length novels focus on the struggle of the ordinary person to accept extraordinary happenings in their lives-usually from a supernatural source. It is why she has recently tagged her writing “goth-erotica” and where she will focus her attention on her next single title releases with Kensington’s Aphrodisia line. She currently has 7 more releases in the pipeline, including her Kith & Kynn books, Sins of the Flesh (Oct 07) and Sins of the Night (April 08).

Forthcoming titles:

Eros Island Anthology(Feb 08)
Sins of the Night (April 08)

FLESH AND THE DEVILBy DEVYN QUINNKENSINGTON BOOKS

Copyright © 2007 Devyn Quinn
All right reserved.
ISBN: 9780758216533

Chapter One

Taste the forbidden. The hunger was there.

The game he was playing was dangerous, but Brenden Wallace couldn’t help himself. Part of the thrill of working undercover vice was the ability to live out the erotic fantasies he’d never risk trying in real life.

Brenden hardly dared to move. He didn’t even breathe. Closing his eyes, he relished the smooth glide of silk circling his wrists. The soft bite of the fabric into his skin sent a chill whispering down his spine.

The touch of a fingertip tracing the curve of one ear caused the fine hairs on the back of his neck to rise. A voice of smoky rich timbre drawled, “Too tight?”

Brenden licked parched lips. “Tighter, honey. I want to feel the burn.”

A tug on the scarf answered. Tightening. Binding. “Better?”

Arms stretched around the back of the chair he sat in, Brenden tested the strength of the knots. They held, solid and unyielding. The material chafed, a not-so-unpleasant sensation. “Yes.”

His captor reappeared. The woman was a paid escort, hired for the evening. The service she worked for charged three hundred dollars for the pleasure of her company. He knew her business, didn’t know her name, but by the look of her, she was worth every penny.

A muscle twitched in his jaw. His penis stirred, cramped in the confines of his tight jeans. How far would this one go to entertain a lonely man? Having kinky sex wasn’t illegal in Louisiana. It was only criminal if cash traded hands for erotic favors. Then it was prostitution.

And someone had to get arrested.

Looking at her, his thoughts veered from professional to personal. Tall and slim, she wore a tight, red dress, clinging to every lush curve and perfectly matching her bright red stiletto fuck-me pumps. No longer tied up with the scarf matching her outfit, her black hair cascaded around her shoulders like the spread of a raven’s wings.

That scarf was around his wrists.

Taste the forbidden. To play his role believably, Brenden had to live it.

She smiled. “You like playing dangerous games?” Her parted lips revealed perfectly white teeth. The cuspids were slightly elongated and came to neat points, enhancing her hovering feline quality even more.

Heavy awareness pulsed through his veins. “It’s part of the thrill that makes life worth living.”

His words seemed to amuse.

She bent, parting his legs. As if lit from inside, she radiated heat that practically screamed wanton female. Screamed it loud enough to arouse the male animal in him to an unbearable degree. She wasn’t wearing a bra and the thin fabric of her dress clung to her nipples, outlining their prominence.

Her warm palms moved up his inner thighs. “Maybe. Maybe not. The things we think are deadly sometimes really aren’t.” She guided the tip of her tongue to tease an incisor. “And the things we think safe are sometimes most deadly.” Her words were menace cloaked in crushed velvet.

The intimate contact jarred. She was so close Brenden could smell her heat, the scent of her arousal. Potent and mysterious, the cloying odor was enhanced by the addition of some exotic oil. His erection pressed, thick and hard, against his tight jeans. Closing his eyes, he shifted in his seat, letting a ragged breath escape. Say one wrong word, make one false move and the entire investigation would be blown.

Concentrate, asshole.

Brenden opened his eyes, ready to take the plunge. It was all or nothing. “I’m willing to take that chance.”

Pleased, she moved closer. Eyes the color of the sea shimmering under a midnight sky drew him in. Her fiery cinnamon lips were just inches away, slightly parted, moist and utterly enticing. “Are you really?”

“I’m ready for anything.” He imagined her teeth raking down his most sensitive flesh. He had the feeling she could cause a lot of pain, and make it last in the most delicious of ways.

She glanced toward his crotch, his obvious arousal. “Do you want me?” Her hands were close, but not close enough to make contact. She was playing the tease for all it was worth.

“God, yes …” Why lie? His body betrayed him. He’d already gone too far, torching every rule in the book. The lines between legal and illegal were blurring, the raw and open connection between them growing personal. What was wrong was beginning to feel too enticingly right.

She leaned in closer, pinning him down with an intensity that caused his skin to prickle. Brenden felt as if he was not just being probed, but explored. Every breath he drew singed his lungs. “I know what you crave.” Her fingernails dug into his thighs, marking him as her own. “That secret desire gnawing at your heart is unsatisfied. I feel it inside you, waiting to be freed. Your soul is crying out for a fulfillment you dare not ask for.”

Her words were spellbindingly, achingly true.

Feed the fetish. Aching with the need to climax, the notion was there. Hovering. Tempting.

Beckoning. Taste the forbidden. His own secret mantra thundered through his skull, pressured by the painful hammering of blood driven by lust. Body shuddering with excruciating sensitivity, he lost his grip. Want exploded into need. There was no turning back. “Show me how.”

“You start like this.” Her lips brushed his, tongue sliding easily past his lips, melding them together.

Protest died an easy death as control slipped through his fingers like grains of sand.

Lost in the liquid pleasure, Brenden parried her thrusts, enjoying the tangle of mouth on mouth. Who was kissing or being kissed, he didn’t care. No matter the consequences, he knew he’d wanted this to happen since she’d walked through the door, wanted this woman more than anything. Even his career.

Her tongue speared again, claiming and conquering, exploring every crevasse.

Brenden’s cock surged, all molten heat and devouring hormones. Penetrated to the core. Pleasure gripped and squeezed him. Given free reign, carnal desire overrode his sanity. Everything missing in his life suddenly solidified into one defining thought: he needed this woman. He made the decision, prepared to sell his soul for a single night in her bed.

His hired escort wasn’t buying. Murmuring something against his mouth, she ended the kiss. Warm lips trekked across his cheek. Her fingers brushed his long blond hair away from his ear. Her sharp tone shot a quick barb. “The only one getting fucked tonight is you.”

Astonishment struck a sledgehammer blow. His stomach clenching around icy shards, Brenden’s heart plummeted. Anxiety tied him into knots tighter than those around his wrists. Oh, Christ. Surely she hadn’t …

She had.

Brenden forced himself to meet her steady stare. Her face grew rigid, a smile of bitchy amusement frozen on her lips: half mischief, half naughty dominatrix. “The next time you want me to tie you up, Officer, ask for it on your own time.”

Brenden sat for a moment, stunned, struggling to make sense of her words. When they finally did sink in, he started to rise. The chair came with him. Muttering a curse under his breath, he sat back down. Game. Point. Match. He’d been bested by a pro.

Stepping back, she pivoted on one slim heel. Claiming her purse from the nearby bureau, she walked to the door where she paused and turned. Her nose crinkled and a smile edged around the corners of her mouth. “I believe you have my number.”

SINS OF THE FLESHBy DEVYN QUINNAPHRODISIA BOOKS

Copyright © 2007 Devyn Quinn
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-7582-2017-2Chapter OneWarren, CA, Present Day

Once again, the night had come to its end. Dawn’s grasping fingers had seized the earth’s horizon, refusing to let the darkness have one more hour than necessary. Pale pink lashings began to illuminate the edges of the night’s sky. All too soon the merciless sun would rule again.

Sprawled across a chaise lounge, Devon Carnavorn swirled the last of the sherry in his glass. “Another night gone,” he muttered under his breath. “Wasted.”

Clothing askew, reeking of sexual musk, he glanced around his den. A proliferation of naked bodies filled the space around him. The odor of bodies in motion fused with the cloying scent of sandalwood incense, burned in such quantity the air hazed. The sexes not only seemed mingle, but merge. Though no music played, several danced together in rhythmic slow motion. Others more engrossed in pleasure had commandeered sofas, chairs, even the floor to engage in heated lovemaking. Locked in intimate embrace, hands and mouths explored every inch.

Devon signed, frowning in displeasure. “It’s getting to where I can’t tell one night from the last.” His life had turned into a big blur. He wasn’t even really living. He simply existed.

Disgusted, he stood up, nearly tripping over the naked woman sprawled on the rug at his feet. Vague recognition registered. He’d fucked her. More than once, anally, orally, and in every other position he could think of.

Closing his eyes on a memory he didn’t care to recall, his mouth twisted into a grimace of displeasure. The sight of her nude body did nothing to arouse him. He wondered what he’d seen in her beyond a tool to sate his hunger.

A low growl broke from his lips. “Nothing, damn it. Nothing.” Instead of feeling satisfied, all he felt was hollow. The woman meant nothing, had made no impression. He didn’t even know her name. In a few hours he wouldn’t even remember her face. “God forgive me.” A mean, grating laugh escaped him. “I never thought I’d be bored with immortality.”

A bitter utterance, but true.

Devon’s lips flattened into a hard line. Everything that should have been right in his life was wrong. Seriously wrong.

Feeling the closing of the walls around him, the pressure of too many living, breathing bodies, he needed to get out. If he didn’t he’d start screaming. And never stop.

Pausing only to refill a glass emptied with alarming regularity nowadays, Devon wove his way toward the French doors leading into the back gardens.

Stepping outside, cool air scented with a fine morning’s dew filled his nostrils. His head cleared a bit. Only the smallest of headaches remained.

Sipping his sherry, Devon watched the day begin its advance, wiping away shadows with a cruel hand. The quiet hours before the rest of the world awakened were the times he felt the loneliest, felt the emptiness inside the soul he’d pledged to the darkness. Soon, he’d have to seek shelter. During the day, his energies and paranormal abilities waned. As long as he stayed shielded he could move around with a fair amount of freedom, dashing from car to building unscathed should he have to venture out.

Lately, though, he’d toyed with the idea of not seeking sanctuary from the day.

Suicide tempted, but he’d always held back. Not because he wasn’t strong enough. He didn’t have to be strong to walk into the sun’s light. He’d just walk, until the flesh had burned from his bones and his skin crumbled to dust. Such a death would be painful. Perhaps even a well-deserved penance.

Ariel had died, and he had survived.

Devon took a step forward, then a second. He couldn’t take a third.

He stopped. Shaking the idea of self-immolation loose from its moorings, he stored it instead in that

secret place in the recesses of his mind. The Kynn were few and far between. The Amhais, the shadow stalkers, operated effectively. Driven by religious fanaticism, the vampire-hunters simply wouldn’t let up or back off. He’d had one too many close calls himself. The human assassins were expert and all too willing to die for their cause.

To the Amhais, a vampire was a vampire. And vampires must be slain.

Air vanishing from his lungs, Devon felt his throat tighten. An icy shiver slid down his spine. Almost a century had passed since he’d lost Ariel to those ignorant fools.

Though hardly a man to weep and gnash his teeth in grief, he was given to days of deep depression, often seeing only futility in the long existence he now considered to be a curse. Immortality meant nothing when the time was spent alone, making his sire’s loss no easier to bear. He thought he’d moved on since that time. He hadn’t.

Devon closed his eyes. Just thinking of how Ariel had died made his head throb, the glass in his hand tremble. Fearing he’d faint, he lifted ice-cold fingers to his eyes, pressing hard against his lids. He and Ariel hadn’t been together long, but the mark she’d left on him was indelibly etched on his brain like acid on glass.

Ariel had been his sire. His lover. She’d been everything.

They’d planned an eternity together. They’d had less than a decade. He’d never found another female who even came close to replacing her. The women who came into his life nowadays were just faces-bodies really. Drifting through, leaving no impression on his mind or his heart.

Once a hedonist in the fullest sense, there had been a time in his life when he couldn’t restrain himself from seeking out sin. It was his nature. Life was meant to be enjoyed, the temptations of this earth too many.

Time had passed, though. Times had changed. Humans aged, grew old, died around him. Technology had changed, geography had shifted, cultures met and merged. Keeping up had never been a problem.

Until now.

At some point Devon couldn’t quite identify, entropy had set in. The rot had wound around his senses and woven its poisonous vines around the very fibers of his being. The twin beasts of lust and greed had finally turned on him. Too much of a good thing didn’t enhance. It decayed. Thirty-four when he’d ceased aging, he was barely through the first half of his second century. The life he’d once vowed to seize now bored him stiff.

Well, hell. Everything seemed wrong and nothing felt right. Were immortals supposed to have a mid-century life’s crisis? Somehow he didn’t think gold chains and a Lamborghini would solve this one.

Devon eyed the dangerous sun. His stomach suddenly felt queasy, his knees weak. So hot a moment ago, he now felt stone cold. Perspiration soaked his shirt, dotting his forehead. “You and I may yet be meeting again.”

A voice from behind broke through. “Sir?”

Devon turned. Simpson, his manservant and closest confidant, stood behind him. Discrete and utterly reliable, Simpson could be counted on to do his job, his eyes open, his mouth shut.

Devon swallowed hard. Whether in relief or disappointment he couldn’t be sure. His meeting with the glowing golden eye wouldn’t come today. Tomorrow, perhaps. But not today.

“Have they gone?”

Grim faced and unsmiling, Simpson nodded briskly. “I’ve cleared them out.”

Devon nodded. He hated nothing more than a house full of deadbeats hanging around. Orgy over, he wanted to be left alone. “And the young lady?” he asked, meaning his own recent fuck.

Simpson frowned. “Has been paid and sent on her way.” His words simmered disapproval.

Devon sipped his sherry, hating what he had to say. “Suppose I shouldn’t be dragging in all these strays.” Not a question.

Simpson’s lip dropped lower. “If I may say so, sir, it’s dangerous to keep exposing yourself to the riffraff. Your reputation isn’t highly regarded. One of these days-”

Tension knotting his shoulders, Devon cut him off. “I’m going to stumble, I know.” Discretion had come to mean little lately.

Simpson snorted, eyeing him with more than a little annoyance. “A little more, ah, restraint on your part would go a long way toward salvaging your reputation. Word does get around about the goings-on here.”

Brow wrinkling, Devon shrugged, unable to protest. Truth, all truth. Attempting to salvage his reputation would probably prove futile at this point. As one of the Kynn, he’d chosen not to limit his proclivities for sexual adventure. Quite the opposite. He’d exploited the vampire mythologies by founding a string of successful Goth-themed nightclubs. In doing so, he’d remade his fortune several times over. If problems arose, he employed a rich-man’s solution: money.

One thing money couldn’t buy was his peace of mind.

Or love.

Something I haven’t truly had since Ariel was alive. He’d begun to doubt he’d ever have another chance at finding a second mate.

Thrusting the idea from his mind, Devon emptied his glass. The emptiness was eating him up inside. “I don’t want to hear any more right now.” His words ended the conversation then and there.

“Of course, Lord Carnavorn.” Simpson only used Devon’s title when displeased.

Lips pressing tightly, Devon pawed at his pounding temple. Oh hell. Let the old bugger be pissed off. Better pissed off than pissed on. His headache had taken on fresh strength, banging behind his eyes, which felt like they’d pop out of his skull. He’d drank too much, fucked too much, and felt like shit. Exhaustion had crept up on him, and he hadn’t even realized it. Instead of feeling invigorated from his recent feed, he felt like concrete. Heavy, dull, and lifeless.

A touch of the sun on his skin sent him back into soothing shadows. Simpson followed. As if aware of his master’s earlier thoughts, Simpson drew the blinds. They closed with a brisk snap, shielding him from the outside world but not his thoughts.

Devon wished he could simply close his eyes and go on to no particular destination, just quietly exist in limbo forever.

Simpson stood across from him, keeping his distance deliberate. “Are you all right, sir?”

A ridge of muscle tightened Devon’s jaw. A painful sensation began to work its way through his neck and shoulders. “I’ll be fine.”

At least he hoped he would be.

Feeling the pressure of the night’s exertions, Devon pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Perhaps if he rubbed hard enough he could obliterate every brain cell in his head. Stop thinking. Stop breathing. Stop being.

Thinking of the empty bed waiting for him only depressed him more. He’d slept very little lately, mostly because he hated facing that desolate expanse of cold sheets. Despite the bevy of beautiful women he’d recently had at hand, he’d be going to bed alone.

Again.

BIO:

Besides being intelligent divas who pen kickass prose, Jeanie and her momma are dessert-eating, take-no-shit, tell-it-like-they-feel instead of tell-it-like-people-want-to-hear-it women. They are women who have brains and aren’t afraid to use them; feelings and aren’t afraid to express them; and, middle fingers which they’ll happily use to salute out of line peeps. Independently, both are forces of nature that leave you begging for mercy or begging for more…depending on your level of tolerance. Even better, when they’re in cahoots, they transform into the best tag team duo, bound together by the pen.Jeanie is a shagalicious word slinger, who will be world ruling side-by-side with her momma. As long as her Polar Bear (shhh it’s a secret ) does not drink all of her Cokes, all will be well. After gifting her clan with a knee buckling narrative or two, Jeanie intends to relax by throwing on her favorite hoodie and jumping in her chromed-out truck in search of the alpha that is the basis of the heroes in all of her stories.

Her momma, Jayha is a lot closer to the convent than Jeanie, which is ironic considering that she’s been accused of being the catalyst for the fall of the Roman Empire and a cult leader with low aspirations. When not indulging her torrid affair with ESPN, she finds time to grace Mr. Me with her presence. Jayha constantly hones her skills, so that when she ascends to her position as world leader, stupid people will be punished and desserts will be easily acquired on every corner. Until that fan-freaking-tastic day arrives, she’ll continue to walk among the people rocking her standard outfit of Crocs and a blue t-shirt, composing rapturous reads…all while straightening her crooked halo.

EXCERPT:

Prelude

“F*ck,” Mariana muttered upon hearing the song that came on. She so didn’t need this sh*t right now. Sighing, tears silently tracked down her face as she listened to Uncle Kracker sing ‘ Don’t Know How (Not to Love You).‘ The last thing she needed was to hear some guy bearing his soul, crooning his confession in time to a haunting rhythm considering she was still raw from her recent breakup. She didn’t need to be reminded that her happily-ever-after had been re-appropriated and that some other woman was now the beneficiary of her fragile hopes and dreams. Some other woman who was everything she was not: white, blond, model-slim. Mariana may not have been blond or model-slim but what she was garnered numerous second and third looks. Simply put, she was built like a brick sh*thouse, having legs heavy with muscle, an impressive bust line and the impressive a*s to match it thanks to her African-American mother and her Samoan father.

Cursing, she wiped away the hot tears that scalded her face as they fell from brown eyes made even darker from pain. Mariana didn’t want to feel; she wanted to be able to slip into diva-mode and draw upon the strength that she wore in the face of disappointment, but she couldn’t just yet. Perhaps in a few more minutes, a few more months, but not right now. Right now, she still ached for his presence, her ears awaited endearments from his softly-accented voice, her body still cried out for the familiarity of his big, muscled form. She’d loved him — and had even admitted as much to him. Her ex had been everything she’d ever wanted in a man — except faithful, except strong enough to be her man. Okay, maybe he wasn’t even close to everything that she wanted, but that didn’t make her immune to loving him, nor did it make his betrayal any easier to bear.

Ignoring the voice that mocked her for believing in happy endings that involved women like her and men like that, she took a deep breath, centered herself and returned to her packing. Her destination was the beautiful South Pacific, specifically an exclusive resort on an out laying island off of the eastern coast of Tahiti that few people knew about. It was supposed to have been the vacation of her dreams; now it was merely a place where she could nurse her wounds in private without the sympathetic glances of well-meaning friends or choruses of ‘I told you so ‘ from everyone else. Sighing, she dismissed the irony of traveling to one of the world’s most romantic destinations as a single woman.

Prelude Two

Samson Ahiga Madeira was a man that garnered second and third glances wherever he went. How could he not? Standing 6’9″ and weighing 365 pounds, he sported bronze skin, hypnotic blue eyes, glossy, waist-length blue-black hair, and a body that promised women a thorough and unforgettable f*cking. He was an exotic-looking man thanks to his mixed ancestry. His stature and eye color was a gift from his Portuguese lineage; his rich skin tone and luxuriant hair was a gift from his Navajo lineage.

Though Samson was quick to flash that smile that could be featured in the after pictures of a cosmetic dentistry advertisement, that easy-going manner was merely camouflage. If one but took the time to look into his eyes they would clearly see the caveats advising against f*cking with him or anything that he considered his. The problem was that few could stand to look into his eyes for long. Though mostly blue, his eye color was comprised of an iridescent mix of hues that appeared black when he was passionate or angry. Not one to suffer fools or their bullsh*t, he could go from at-ease to going-to-your-a*s in the blink of an eye. Samson was definitely on the ‘do-not-f*ck-with’ list yet people often did and as such his past was littered with hordes of scarred, limping imbeciles who’d ignored the caveats and roused the dragon…and then gotten incinerated.

Regardless of his temper and the aura of danger that surrounded him like the rings surrounding Saturn, Samson was a good man. Blending in with the danger was an abundance of integrity that few beings possessed. Though he had a juggernaut contract that granted him the lifestyle of privilege and all of the perks that came with it, he didn’t dedicate himself to the usual pursuits of wealthy men. After all, he wasn’t accustomed to being privileged, but well-versed in reality.

Samson became well-versed in reality from the cradle. Being the product of a mother who was a citizen of the Navajo Nation and a white father with Portuguese grandparents, he was familiar with injustice, bigotry, and the limitations of good intentions. Regardless of having a family that was financially stable and known to be decent folk, as a child he was often on the outside looking in at a world that rejected him for not only being something more than a white, Anglo Protestant male, but for having the unmitigated gall of being da*n proud of it. To the dismay of his peers, he rejected all efforts to whiten him up, proudly embracing his Navajo heritage instead of letting it fall to the wayside in favor of his European roots. Though he visited his great-grandparents in Portugal and spoke Portuguese fluently, he also made an annual pilgrimage to Diné Bikéyah (Navajoland) and learned Navajo, one of the Athapaskan languages and the language of his mother’s people, although he was not yet fluent in it.

Regardless of his circumstances he wasn’t friendless. He befriended and ran with the other outcasts. The seats in front of his big screen television were often filled with men who were laws unto themselves. Though many of his friends had gotten into all kinds of sh*t, at heart they were good men who lived by the same rules: you do what you have to do but you don’t hurt women or children — ever.

Samson had a thing about how women were to be treated, which he’d learned from his father and both of his grandfathers. The males from his mother’s tribe had taught him the importance of maintaining balance between the individual and all living things while the males of his father’s house had instilled one lesson in every boy: love your woman as Jesus loved the Church. Regardless of how well a woman could fight or shoot; regardless of how high the lift-kit on her pickup truck; regardless of the number of degrees she had conferred upon her; regardless of how much money she made; regardless of how messy her past was; regardless of how capable she was at taking care of herself and the world, women were gifts from God and as such were to be treated as such. Full stop.

Samson took those teachings to heart. If a man hurt a woman in his presence, that man was going to be carried away on a gurney. It wasn’t merely his father’s teachings that made him such a protector of women; it was the things that he saw with his own eyes and one thing that he couldn’t help but notice was the fact that women often paid the price of whatever foolishness men engaged in.

A man of strong passions, Samson was a complex man, a good man, an educated man, but right now he was a restless man. At age twenty-eight he’d da*n near finished his wish list of wants. He had the juggernaut bank account and real estate portfolio; he’d earned multiple degrees from prestigious universities; he’d traveled to numerous countries; he’d earned the highest honors in his profession; he’d had many beautiful women.

As blessed and privileged as he was Samson was also tired…and though he was loath to admit it, he was lonely. In spite of being in the company of many beautiful women, he knew that it wasn’t him as much as it was his recent privilege that afforded him the opportunity to be photographed with them. In his heart, he knew that none of those women were the stand-by-your-man type, which is why he’d chosen them. He never wanted to hurt a woman’s heart and subsequently he never wanted his heart broken so he purposely chose women whose primary goal in life was the amassing of expensive stuff and good times.

He could handle women who wanted the things that his millions could buy and entrance to the places his fame gave them access to. That type of woman was plentiful. Good women, like the old adage went, were da*n hard to find. This is why he traveled so much in the off-season. Not to find a woman, but to escape the reality of what he didn’t have: he didn’t have the woman that was what his grandmothers were to his grandfathers and what his mama was to his papa. He didn’t have his everything.

Chapter One

Emitting a gasp, Samson stopped dead in his tracks and tried to catch his breath. Accustomed to being in the presence of his rowdy teammates, hyped-up fans and adoring women, not much threw him off, but the woman in his line of vision not only shocked him into stillness; she threw off his body functions. His breathing became erratic, his heartbeat double-timed it, and he broke out into a cold sweat.

He hadn’t planned to stop in the hotel’s five-star restaurant, but then that was before he glimpsed the woman that walked her fine a*s into his line of vision and hypnotized him with the sway of her full hips and spankable a*s. Hungrily, he watched her as she took a seat at one of the outdoor tables. The woman was f*cking stunning. Boasting an exotic look, Samson guessed that a mixture of Polynesian and African blood coursed through her veins. She had the thickness that African-American women were frequently blessed with and the long, thick tresses for which Polynesian women were renown. And of course she carried herself with the innate pride that women of color wore like a second skin.

Her laughter pulled his attention from her body and directed it to her lips. Groaning, he watched the mirth spill from those pouty lips. He caught a glimpse of tongue as she licked her lips. In that moment he envied her lip gloss, hell he envied everything that was touching her. Waiting for her tongue to make another appearance, he swore that her lips whispered an invitation: would you like a taste? He didn’t just want a taste; he wanted to make a nine-course meal out of her lips. Several questions flooded his thoughts: How would her lips feel under his? How would she taste on his tongue? How would they look parted in pleasure as she called out his name? The image of him making love to her mouth caused him to groan. Shaking with need, he commandeered the nearest table and took a moment to gather himself.

When he was able to think complete thoughts again, he went back to his perusal. His eyes skimmed a path down the curves of her body. A full-figured woman, her luscious body looked as if it would welcome a man home. Sighing with pleasure, he continued his slow perusal of her body’s topography, noting her bountiful cleavage, thick legs, well-developed calves and even her feet when she toed off her dainty sandals. Laughing, he noted she didn’t seem to appreciate wearing shoes. From the way she kept discreetly adjusting her dress, he’d bet money that she was a shorts and t-shirt kind of woman. He didn’t know who had prompted her to wear that dress, but when he found out, he was going to buy them a drink. Who was he kidding? Considering all of the pleasure he was getting from looking at her in that dress, he’d buy them a whole f*cking distillery.

The dress wore her and highlighted her caramel skin to perfection. A deep red in color, it boasted a side slit. If a man were lucky, he’d be able to catch a glimpse of panty and copious thigh. The Creator must’ve decided that he was a worthy man, in harmony with nature and the universe — for just then, she laughed and shifted positions. The shift allowed him to glimpse the sheer black panties she wore underneath. His c*ck went da*n near burst through his pants. He forced his mind to Denver winters in order to bring his body back under control.

PARTY OVER HERE:

jeanieandjayha@gmail.com

–
http://www.jayhaleigh.com/
HOT LIKE FIRE: The Taming and Liberation of Mariana
http://www.lulu.com/content/1295291

The Wild, Wild Mess: Atlanta
http://www.loose-id.net/detail.aspx?ID=416