I remember reading parts of this book when Selena was writing it. I couldn’t wait to read more and am very glad I did.
Available from Cobblestone Press: http://www.cobblestone-press.com/catalog/author/selenablake.htm
Author Website: http://www.selena-blake.com/
The Deverauxs and Vassars have been fighting for hundreds of years, but somehow Andre and Juliette fell in love. More than that, they’re mates. Destined to be together for eternity until betrayal tore them apart.
When business sends Andre Deveraux to Savannah he comes face to face with Juliette for the first time in sixty five years. Their crash course renews old memories and desires. With Juliette stranded and the hurricane of the century roaring to shore, Andre has no choice by to offer her a lift.
He’s in for the ride of his life.
“It looks like this is going to be a doozy of a storm, folks. Hurricane Love is skirting Florida’s east coast right now, roaring north at fifteen miles per hour. The storm will likely make landfall between Jacksonville, Florida and Charleston, South Carolina. Cities along the coast are now under a full voluntary evacuation. Paul, how are things looking in the Weather Center?”
André Deveraux glanced up from the book in his lap and studied the gray haired man on the television screen. Behind him a large map of the Southeast showed the first of bands of rain moving across Savannah. The wide mass of swirling clouds looked imposing, even to André.
He’d gotten to the airport hours in advance of his flight with hopes of catching an earlier one, but the airport was clogged with travelers and the plane/passenger ratio was not good. The Bobs, Deveraux Shipping’s lawyers, had been smart to catch a flight late last night. André had wanted another night to himself, to think over his future. Not that the extra time had helped.
“Hurricane Love is picking up speed, Don. And the barometer continues to drop. South Florida is already experiencing heavy rain from this storm. Fort Lauderdale has picked up two and a half inches in the last six hours. If you’re in the path of this storm, I strongly urge you to get out of the way.” The man made a sweeping motion with his hand, away from the coast.
Easier said than done, buddy.
A sharp ring and the accompanying vibration alerted him to a call. He dug his cell phone out of his pants pocket and glanced at the number. Angelica. A sharp ache squeezed his heart and headed south.
He pressed the answer button and held it to his ear. “Hi, Angel.”
“Hiya, handsome. We were wondering if you were able to catch an earlier flight.”
He glanced at his luggage, still sitting in the same spot at his feet where he’d dropped it three hours ago.
“No. There weren’t any earlier flights.”
A long pause clued him in to Angelica’s worry. Ever since that week in the cabin when he and Jules had brought her in out of the storm he’d had a connection with her. Past what was normal for a brother and sister-in-law. But she’d made her choice. It was Jules who’d stolen her heart. And André had stepped out of the picture.
“I’ll be fine, Angel. Don’t worry about me.”
“I can’t help but worry about you. You won’t let anyone take care of you.”
“That’s because I don’t need taking care of,” he clipped. That wasn’t entirely true, and he knew it. He saw what Angelica had with Jules and Sebastian with Amanda and it made him crave that closeness for himself.
He was no longer used to the yearning that plagued him. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like wanting anything as much as he wanted a woman of his own. Someone to hold close, someone who would dote on him, be excited to see him, someone to share his life, his wealth with. But that woman was not Angel. “I didn’t mean to be short with you.”
“I know,” she said quietly. She probably did. Angelica Humphrey was an amazing woman, easy-going, expressive, giving. Perfect in so many ways. And she fit seamlessly into Pack life.
“Any progress on the house?” he asked, hoping that questions about something other than him would ease some of the growing tension. When their home had burnt to the ground last month, Sebastian, his older brother and the Alpha of their pack, had declared that they would rebuild. Construction had already begun.
“Sebastian’s looking for a supplier of old flooring. There was a reporter snooping around the other day but Gin and Burke ran him off. They’ve almost got the roof on.”
She continued talking, telling him about the plans that Amanda and Sebastian, the pack’s Alphas, were making. Only half listening, he heard something about overstuffed furniture, rocking chairs and a nursery.
He watched the TV screen and the storm that was heading to shore. Just then a voice came over the loudspeaker announcing that all flights had been canceled due to weather.
“Angel…” he interrupted. She fell silent. “They just canceled my flight. I have to go. Talk to you soon.”
“Okay. Love ya. Be careful.”
He ended the call and stared at the phone for several seconds. That ache was still there nestled in his heart. He’d dwelled on their relationship far longer than he should have. The pact with Jules didn’t extend to mates. And even if it did, he just didn’t love Angel with an all-consuming passion. He’d only felt that with one woman. The one woman he could never have.
Gathering his luggage, he headed back to the rental car counter where he’d dropped off the keys to the SUV a few hours ago. Somehow, he had to get out of here. His business was rapped up. The sale was going to go through. Sebastian would be pleased. Negotiating the throng of people, he wondered what they would do once they were no longer the owners of Deveraux Shipping.
For the last decade they’d thrown themselves into their business and for a time it had made their bachelorhood tolerable. But lately there had been a gnawing at André’s gut reminding him that there was more to life than making money.
Maybe he’d travel. He’d never been to Canada or Antarctica. Maybe a world cruise was in order. He’d definitely have to consider that once he got back to Louisiana.
As he stepped up to the car rental counter, he caught a whiff of perfume mixed with warm, alluring woman. But it was distinctively werewolf too. The delicious scent teased his memory, tormenting him.
Man, he had it worse than he thought. White hot lust coursed through his veins and his cock twitched to life. Just being in the same part of the country and he was thinking he could smell her—
“What do you mean you have no other cars? As in none?” A feminine voice floated down the expanse to him. There was a trace of accent, French, and a barely controlled panic.
His head swiveled left toward the sound, and he caught sight of the woman in all her furious glory. A mane of long mahogany waves cascaded over her shoulders. The silky strands made his fingers itch to sweep them from her face. His gaze swooped lower, taking in the sophisticated charcoal gray dress that hugged her tall curvy frame like denim fresh from the dryer. Her legs, pale and bare of pantyhose, went on for miles. She wore ultra-sexy, black leather heels. And her toes, dear God, the perfectly painted red polish did crazy things to his mind.
At the same moment, his body tensed and his heart dropped. He knew the woman without having to look at her face. She’d have wide blue eyes, a perfect nose—minus the old break—and ruby red lips. She was pretty without being overly beautiful. Her special blend of quiet assurance and subtle seduction could have a man eating out of the palm of her hand with a single lick of her lips.
André knew that, knew her, all too well. Juliette Vassar was the one woman in all of Savannah, non…the world, that he’d hoped to avoid on this trip. He’d sworn to himself that he would not search her out and yet here she was. Were the stars in alignment? Were the Fates playing tricks on him?
She flicked her hair over her shoulder, showing off the creamy column of her neck. He swallowed a groan and slowly traced the profile he knew so well.
“Fuck me,” he muttered.
“Was that an invitation?” André jerked his gaze to the short blonde behind the counter. She gave him a willing smile.
He raised an eyebrow and then sat his briefcase at his feet. “I’m going to need the SUV again.” He tried not to notice the disappointment in her eyes.
How the hell was he going to get out of here without Juliette seeing him? Like him, she had a killer sense of smell, and he was willing to bet his life that she still felt the bond between them just like he did.
It would pull them together like magnets if he let it. All those years ago, they hadn’t just been in love. He hadn’t just worshiped the ground she walked on, adored and desired her. Non. He’d mated with her. For life.
Overhead a voice blared through a speaker. “The weather service has issued a voluntary hurricane evacuation—”
“Great,” André muttered as the crowd around him surged into chaos.
“If you’ll sign here, Mr. Deveraux.” He took the pen she offered and scrawled his signature on the line.
“What about you? Do you have any cars left?” Juliette’s voice was closer this time. André grabbed the keys to his rental and turned to gather his things. His gut tightened into little knots. Just turn around and walk away.
But he couldn’t. Sighing, he turned back to see her blue eyes glimmering with hope and a hint of desperation.
“No, ma’am. I’m afraid not,” the attendant said in a thick southern accent. André didn’t like the way the man behind the counter ogled Juliette. Didn’t like it one little bit. But he pushed the feeling aside and picked up his briefcase.
One by one the counters closed.
“I can take you wherever you need to go, cheri.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Inwardly, he grimaced.
Juliette turned toward the dreamy masculine voice. Deep, gravelly, she’d know it anywhere. That same voice had starred in all of her fantasies from the time she’d understood the attraction between men and women. Seductive words whispered in her ears as a young woman had caused her to lose her heart to its owner centuries before.
But that was a long time ago. She pulled her shoulders back and sucked in her stomach. Then she turned slowly, telling herself she would not cave in to him again. She would not forget what he’d done to her brother.
She would not forgive him.
So she said the only thing guaranteed to put emotional space between them. “Aren’t you on the wrong side of the river, swamp rat?”
He didn’t so much as flinch at her words. What the hell was he doing here? And why did she feel the overwhelming urge to step into his arms and hug him?
Ah hell. This wasn’t what she’d expected when she came back from France. For starters, she’d expected to be able to rent a car. She shot the dweeb behind the counter a barely contained look of disdain. Not that it was his fault but she needed to get out of here, get to her family’s estate, and it seemed like all the cars in the city had been rented.
Taking a deep steadying breath, she stepped toward the last rental counter. The one André Deveraux stood in front of…looking hotter than holy sin. The expensive looking suit hugged his body to perfection, showed off those broad shoulders and trim waist. The crisp black fabric only added appeal to his tanned skin and silky black hair. Heaven help her, he looked good enough to eat. The epitome of tall, dark, and dangerously handsome. He made her tail twitch. Always had. She was terrified he always would.
“And you, mademoiselle,” she said to the blonde clerk who eyed André like a piece of chocolate. “Do you have any cars available?” Juliette cocked her head and prayed that the other woman’s answer would be yes.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Mr. Deveraux reserved our last one.” Juliette didn’t miss the way the little southern tramp’s blue eyes lit up when she said Mr. Deveraux. Not that Juliette could blame her really. She’d fallen into the trap of his dynamite sensuality. That knowledge just pissed her off more.
Her temperature rose another degree and she resisted the urge to fan herself. Had she only been away a year? Surely it hadn’t long enough for her body to lose all acclimation to the climate. How did this place stay so hot and humid without melting right off the face of the planet?
She cut a glance at the big man a few short feet away. So close she’d be able to touch him if she stretched her arm out. The corner of that handsome mouth pulled up a quarter of a centimeter. Her breathing grew shallow. Dieu, he was handsome. Male perfection.
Chill, Julie. Just chill. Don’t let him know how much he affects you.
She adjusted the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “So, why are you here?” Truth be told, he was the last person she’d expected to come face to face with. This was only meant to be a short trip. Just long enough to sell the estate, tie up loose ends, and say goodbye to her past.
Which sounded like she had a plan for the future. If only that were true.
“Business meeting,” those kiss-me lips said.
“Ah.” He was taller than she remembered. She was tall for a woman and her heels gave her another three inches. But he…he towered over her. Broad, hard, muscular in all the right places. The top button of his crisp white shirt hung open revealing a sexy V of tanned skin. She’d kissed that very spot dozens of times.
“About dat ride—” he began but she cut him off with a shake of her head. She couldn’t accept a ride from him, no matter how much her heart begged her to do exactly that. André Deveraux was and would always be off limits. Her family may no longer be alive to keep up the feud, but they’d roll in their graves if they knew she’d gotten back together with the man who’d murdered her brother.
And getting into a car with him would surely be the first step to getting back together because where André was concerned, she had less than zero willpower.
No. Better to not even tempt herself.
Who was she kidding? She was already tempted.
“No thanks. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your meeting.” And she couldn’t take the chance that she’d either coldcock him or kiss him. The best thing to do was walk away.
So she did. Turned on her sexy little Donna Karan stilettos and started down the concourse.
“Uh, the exit is the other way,” André said, his voice lifting over the flurry of passengers.
Juliette stopped. Of all the times to look like a complete imbecile. She bit back a choice word and turned toward him again. But he was already striding down the corridor. She didn’t miss how all the women turned to watch him go by.
Damn the man. And what he did to her insides.
I participate on a blog with Mari, Eliza Gayle, and Samantha Kane. I have slowly been getting to know Mari and she’s one of the most down to earth, beautiful people inside and out that you could ever hope to be friends with or blogmates with.
The cover of her book, Sin on Skin alone… Well, just look at it! It’s HOTTTTTT! Sin on Skin is Book Six in a series at Ellora’s Cave called, Cougar Challenge. You should go check it out! It has some very amazing authors that have participated!
Genre: Contemporary, Older Woman/Younger Man
Available Now from Ellora’s Cave: http://www.jasminejade.com/ps-7843-298-sin-on-skin.aspx
Author Website: www.MariFreeman.com
“So, what is it Stevie needs?”
She wasn’t sure what to say. Wasn’t sure how to verbalize it. She tried to think back to the characters in the stories and what had most appealed to her from their experiences. What had made her so hot?
“Honesty will get you exactly what you want. Maybe not exactly how you thought you wanted it, but the truth will help you.”
His voice made her want a lot of things. But how did she say what she wanted without sounding like a slut? She took another drink
“I want to be completely sexual, with no hangs-up, no fears.” She looked at the floor. “No accountability for the success of the experience. I want to be the object of the experience. I want sex to feel like something other than a chore.”
“You want to be a slut?” He walked past her, not looking her over yet, no judgment in his voice. “You want your body to be the instrument of pleasure for others? Is it that simple? We can start there.”
She looked down. He was right, of course. It wasn’t that simple, but he’d given her something to play with.
“Say it for me, Stevie. Tell me what you want.”
She took a deep breath. Yes. That was exactly what she wanted to be. “I want to be a slut.”
In no particular hurry, he turned to her. A wily smile came across his face. His eyes moved hungrily up her body, stopping at her chest. She held the glass in both hands so her arms were covering her breasts His glance darted to her eyes and he expectantly raised his eyebrows. It was an unspoken order. Stevie dropped her hands to her side.
“That’s my girl.”
The praise was for more than simply anticipating his demand, it was for her appearance. His eyes were heated and his jaw tense. This young, hot man was not looking at her as if she were old or skinny. It was clear Errol liked what he saw.
“Through the next door is the playroom. We’ll start with a little intro to submission for you, my executive slut. That’s what you want? To be played with and used and have no need to moralize or worry about internal inhibitions? For me to take the responsibility for you being a dirty girl?”
He pushed open the door to her right. She walked past him into the next room and he pointed to a small bench at the far end. “Walk to the bench. Bend over it and put your hands by the cuffs.”
Stevie was surprised at her lack of fear. The fact that he was fully clothed and standing there watching her as she walked away almost naked was so sexy. It made her feel sexy. She couldn’t remember ever feeling particularly sexy when she was naked.
The room was dim and larger than she’d anticipated. The walls were dark, with near life-sized photos of nude, highly tattooed men and women every six feet or so. A couple of long racks with lots of hooks holding the tools of Errol’s nighttime trade graced the walls on opposite sides of the room. Light flickered from artificial candles in sconces on the walls. The sensual lighting made her skin look warm and inviting.
She strutted without looking back, glancing at the unusual furnishings placed around the room. Some she recognized from her favorite erotic stories. There were three different benches for various spanking positions. In the far corner was a large St. Andrews Cross. She passed a tall metal cage and a swing that hung from the ceiling, and every piece of equipment had plenty of space around it. There were beanbag chairs and large wedge-shaped cushions scattered everywhere. She figured when this place was full, it could accommodate close to fifty people.
She stopped at the bench Errol had indicated. It was almost waist high and at least three feet in depth—to support her upper body, she guessed—with a kneeling platform at the base. Like most of the equipment, soft black leather covered both the bench and the platform. Supple green-leather cuffs were attached to chains fastened to the edge of the bench farthest from her. Stevie bent forward. Her naked stomach shivered from the cold of the leather as she lowered to rest her head on the bench. Her arms reached out in front of her and her hands hung over the far side of the bench, next to the cuffs. Her legs had naturally spread to avoid the kneeling platform, her feet firmly planted on either side. Her ass was open and exposed and so was her pussy.
Music started playing in the background, but she still heard Errol’s approach from behind. “Now, tomorrow night,” he said as he moved in front of her and knelt so they would be eye to eye, “there’ll be a party here.”
He’d removed his shirt. Stevie looked over his muscled chest and could now see the entire tribal design. It covered his left shoulder and snaked across his chest, appearing alive and moving in the low lighting. She caught the smell of fresh soap. “This room will be full of players and voyeurs.” He buckled the first cuff on her small wrist and looked her over with hungry eyes. As he spoke, he ran his fingers down her free arm. The gentleness of his touch made her wonder if the books about all this had been correct.
He got the second buckle latched and tested the chains with a little tug. “How are you, Stevie?” He looked her in the eye. The lengths of chain allowed her to reach far enough forward to touch the design on his shoulder as he knelt in front of her.
“I’m okay,” she said as she traced one of the designs. Okay was an understatement. She felt the leather of the cuffs on her wrists and it was as if, by fastening those simple restraints, Errol had set her free of all her hangs-ups. She didn’t care if her boobs were too small or if she was over forty. Laugh lines didn’t matter here. She didn’t care about budgeting initiatives or maintaining quality testing standards. She wanted his hands on her now.
Object of His Desire
Genre: M/M Regency-set historical erotic romance
Author: Ava March www.AvaMarch.com
Available March 10, 2009 from Samhain Publishing http://samhainpublishing.com/romance/object-of-his-desire
He thinks he’s just a wallflower. Little does he know he’s the guest of honor…
It’s the last night of a week-long house party in remote northern England. Every sensual delight imaginable is right at Henry Shaw’s fingertips. Yet all he wants is to be with his host, the deliciously handsome and enigmatic Arsen Grey, Marquis of Somerville. Henry’s certain it’s love, not mere infatuation. He’s also sure it’s hopeless. After all, the party’s purpose is to find Arsen a new mistress.
Arsen longs to leave the glittering, jaded world of the ton behind and find someone who will value him for himself, not his wealth and his title. He suspects that someone could be the strapping country gentleman he’s caught staring at him. Henry is loyal and dependable, nothing like his other acquaintances. Arsen sets a plan into motion, one designed to get Henry into his bed. One that includes a test of devotion.
Arsen never expected that in winning Henry, he risks losing his heart.
Warning: This title contains a m/m romance between an obscenely wealthy marquis and a strong, silent country gentleman.
Henry took a deep breath and the unique scent of Arsen’s skin, the lingering traces of his cologne and the unmistakable hint of male arousal went straight to Henry’s groin. Lust flared, igniting his senses. His cock swelled, the arched length brushing the firm globes of Arsen’s backside.
Hand splayed, he blindly followed the thin line of hair from Arsen’s navel down to his cock. Henry’s fingers encountered silken skin stretched taut over the rigid length. Nipping Arsen’s ear, he drew his other hand up his chest, past the strong cords of his neck, over the bristly jaw and slipped his finger between Arsen’s parted lips. Wet heat surrounded the tip of his finger. Arsen suckled, pulling half the length inside. Henry’s ballocks tightened in envy, recalling the lavish sensation of Arsen’s mouth on that part of his body.
Henry stroked Arsen’s cock as he pressed his arousal into the cleft of his lover’s backside. The need to be inside of Arsen, to make love to him, gripped hold. To make Arsen his in every way. Trepidation threatened to infiltrate his desire, yet he pushed it aside, focused on the hope, the possibility. “Want to fuck you,” he breathed against Arsen’s neck.
Arsen stilled. Suffocating disappointment began its harsh descent. Henry had feared it had been too much to ask, but he couldn’t have held back the request if he tried. Now he knew—
Arsen captured the tip of Henry’s finger between his teeth. “Yes,” he moaned, pushing back against him.
Thank you, God! It was all Henry could do to keep from shouting the words. He was infinitely glad Arsen couldn’t see his face, for he was grinning like a damn fool. Too eager to wait another moment, he pulled his finger from Arsen’s mouth and worked the wet tip into Arsen’s hole. “Damn, you’re tight. When was the last time you were fucked?”
Grunting, Arsen arched his lower back as Henry slid in deeper. “I fuck. I don’t get fucked.”
Henry stopped mid-stroke. He blinked. “Never?”
Arsen looked over his shoulder, held Henry’s shocked gaze. “Never.”
He held his breath as he processed the significance of Arsen’s response. “But you’ve had male lovers?”
Arsen nodded once. “A few. Yes.”
“And you’ve never been penetrated?”
He pulled his finger from Arsen’s virgin arse. The vulnerability in the man’s deep green eyes made Henry’s heart clench. Suddenly feeling like the elder of the two, he smoothed his other hand over Arsen’s lean hip.
“Are you certain you want to do this? We don’t have to.”
Arsen let out a snort of contempt. “Yes, I’m certain. And yes, we have to.”
He nodded, understanding Arsen was trying to prove he looked on him as an equal. “All right.” He glanced about the room. “On the bed.”
Arsen half-turned from the window and arched one eyebrow.
“I can’t take you up against the wall for your first time.” He shrugged uncomfortably and tipped his head toward the bed. “Please.”
“How do you want me?”
The open question made Henry’s prick jump. “On the edge of the bed. On your back.”
He got another arrogant raise of a dark blond eyebrow.
“I want to be able to see your face. Just—” Henry let out an exasperated sigh. “Get on the damn bed.”
A smirk pulled the edges of Arsen’s mouth. “Since you asked so nicely.”
Henry was tempted to smack Arsen on the bum when the man stepped past him. Instead he contented himself with watching Arsen sit on the edge of the bed. Reclining onto his elbows, he leaned back, long legs casually spread. The sunlight picked up the smattering of golden hair on his broad chest and played over the hard contours of his abdomen. His posture was one of easy nonchalance, but the once fully hard cock had lost some rigidity. It no longer jutted eagerly from the thatch of dark blond hair but arched over his ballocks. A clear sign Lord Somerville was a bit nervous at the prospect of getting fucked.
Take it slow, Shaw. Clenching his fists, he took a second to rein in the lust. When he felt he could proceed without pouncing on Arsen, he picked up the bottle of oil on the bedside table. He was about to pour a generous amount onto his palm when a thought occurred to him. Glancing down, he winced. “Would you happen to have a dildo? Something not too large.”
Arsen let out a startled cough. “I thought you were going to fuck me?”
“I am, but this,” he gestured to his rampant erection, “won’t go in easily. At least not the first time and not without some serious preparation.”
Arsen’s gaze settled on Henry’s arousal. The muscles in his thighs flexed and tightened, as if he was resisting the impulse to close his legs, keep Henry out. He dragged a hand over his face. “Bedside table. Bottom drawer. Before you ask, the staff put them there. And no, I didn’t tell them to.”
Resting a hand on Arsen’s thigh, he dropped to his haunches and opened the drawer. Inside were a few black velvet bags similar to the ones he had found in his own room. Gifts for the guests, a servant had explained. Based on the annoyance in Arsen’s tone, his staff had gifted their lord without his consent. Stifling a chuckle, Henry sorted through the bags and selected a white marble phallus complete with realistic ballocks and a convenient round knob at the bottom which served as a handle. The dildo was thicker than two of his fingers yet much thinner than his cock. The width around of a less than average man.
Rising, he set the phallus on the table and stepped between Arsen’s thighs. Instead of lifting Arsen’s legs, he dropped to his knees. At the look of puzzlement on his lover’s face, he rubbed Arsen’s thighs. “You need to relax, Somerville.”
Arsen scowled. “Since you’re intent on fucking me, you might as well call me Arsen. I believe we’ve crossed the line of formality.”
“Well then, let me help you to relax, Arsen,” he said, grinning, loving the way the name flowed from his lips.
He took hold of Arsen’s semi-erect cock, lowered his head and sucked his cock. Fingers tangled in Henry’s hair, urging him to take more. The length hardened in his mouth, the tang of pre-come teased his tongue. Using the saliva dripping onto the large ballocks, he lubricated one finger. Slid it in Arsen’s arse as Henry continued to suck his prick.
When Arsen began to rock his hips in counterpoint, Henry slid in another digit and went back to work—sucking cock and finger-fucking Arsen’s arse. All the while refusing to think of how perfect Arsen would feel wrapped around his cock, for if he did, he’d come all over the floor again.
© Ava March 2009
Genre: Contemporary Menage
Now Available: http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-charminglucy-14940-144.html
Author Website: www.LissaMatthews.com
Kasper Griffin is in love with two people: his business partner and lover, Tony and their business manager, Lucy. Kasper and Lucy have been involved in a sexual affair for the past few months and he’s decided that it’s time to bring Lucy into his relationship with Tony, making them a permanent threesome. Having talked with Tony at length and knowing that the man is eager to explore Lucy himself, Kasper is still uncertain how Lucy will react to his proposition.
During a recent trip to Egypt, Kasper learns of a turquoise stone rumored to lower one’s inhibitions. It’s the perfect gift for Lucy, a way to introduce her to the idea of a complete partnership with him and Tony. He does not tell Lucy of the charm, but after he gifts the stone to her in a most provocative way, sexual desire besieges her at every turn, opening her to ideas she’d previously not considered.
With some charm and coaxing from Tony and Kasper, and a heart to heart with her brother, Lucy realizes that love and the hot sex to which she’s become accustomed is what she desires more than anything and she wants to share it all with both men.
The thumb sized turquoise stone settled gently in the red gold curls covering her wet, heated sex. Kasper Griffin’s hand slowly drifted down, one long finger sliding inside her, eliciting a moan from them both. This sweet and not so innocent woman was hot and so responsive to him, to everything he said or did and he shook each time she uttered a sound. Just like now.
Kasper looked up to find her blue eyes watching him. They seemed more intense now than the other times they’d been together. Maybe it was from the stone linking with her, like the old woman at the bizarre said it would, he didn’t know, but they were gleaming with a lust that burned straight through him.
Against her honey-gold skin, his darkness contrasted sharply and the turquoise was brilliant. It seemed that in some indefinable way it was meant for her. Both were smooth, the rough edges having been stroked and rubbed away by time and life. Both were cool at first touch, but warmed in mere seconds. He’d never known a woman and a stone could connect like this, and he was fascinated by it.
“You should be wearing turquoise daily. It’s beautiful against you.”
She lifted her head and looked down. “Mmm. Yes.”
Her smile was both angelic and wicked at the same time. His finger still inside her, he twisted it, and curled it up, her back arched, her legs tensed and opened wider, sending the stone lower until it came to rest against her clit.
“Oh my,” Kasper whispered. “Maybe a piercing here, hmmm? A ring with a turquoise teardrop?”
“Oh yes, maybe.” She gasped as she spoke. “And maybe you should stop toying with me, Kas. Please.”
“Toying with you? Is that what I’m doing?” He wiggled his finger inside her, then slid it out of her. He saw she was watching him again and he knew she was wondering what he was going to do with the juices coating his finger. She licked her lips in suggestion and he smiled, knowing she wanted a taste and she pouted a little when he licked one side of his finger. “Yes, baby, I suppose I am toying with you, but then…” He lowered the finger to her mouth and she opened it readily, sucking it between her lips, her tongue swirling around it. She sucked his finger like a cock and there was almost nothing in the world better than a good cocksucker. Almost. “Then again, maybe I”m not toying with you.”
Kasper got up on his knees between her legs draping hers over his thighs. His finger still in her mouth, he took his cock in his other hand and guided it inside her pussy. Her teeth raked his skin and her hands fisted in the sheets. She loved to fuck.
She wanted sex as often as he did and he loved her appetite for it. Theirs was usually fast and hard, a primal mating of clothes ripping and up against the wall, bent over the bed or down on the floor fucking. But this afternoon was different. She was different. It was like a new energy inside her, forcing a new kind of hunger. She strained with need and he just wanted to come, wanted her to come, so they could do it all over again.