Sunday, July 24, 2011

We Were Lovers Once

Once upon a time I wrote a story. It was a melancholy mood piece all about loss and change and getting older, which isn't exactly a typical theme for an erotic romance. However, being the optimistic sort (or mad) I sent it out into the world, and by some miracle it ended up in the Mammoth Book of Hot Romance, which was released earlier this week in the UK (out 23rd August in the US).

Here's a little sneak peek at my contribution to this fab collection.

Snippet from "We Were Lovers Once."

Gabriel wrestles a hand below my skirt. His gloves are cool against my thighs. One finger flicks upward and brushes the lace of my panties. Tremulously, I try to push him away, but he thrusts me up against the stacks of paintings, so that my bottom rests upon the top of an ornate brass frame and my back arches towards the wall.


“Is that really what you want?” He rests his hands lightly upon my knees as he lifts one eyebrow. “Don’t you really long to give in. Weren’t you wild once?”

“Never.” Ray was the wild one, the instigator. I was just drawn to his flame. But looking back I know that’s a lie I’ve been drip-feeding myself for over two decades. It’s the way I’ve reconciled myself to the role I chose. I thought I wanted stability and a decent life in suburbia. I’ve made myself into a perfect wife. I’ve performed to the best of my ability, but this staid laced-up woman isn’t me. The real me is buried deep inside, screaming and flailing now determined to get out. And like his father before him, Gabriel sees it. He slides his hands up my thighs again, until his thumb tip brushes the lace of my knickers, and presses between the lips of my slit.

“Take them off, I dare you.”

This has gone too far! “What sort of pretence at mourning is this?”

And yet, even as a protest, my nerves zing with excitement.

Gabriel’s silver eyes gleam with all the wickedness I could ever wish for. “Tell me to stop again, and maybe I’ll believe you.” One long finger hooks around the leg elastic and touches me intimately. I squirm, but not because of any desire to get away. No, I want more than this tease. I want to feel ecstasy again. I want the bliss a man’s fingers working over my clit can bring. I desire sex that is dirty and crude. That is painful, irresistible and debauched.

“Are you going to take off yours?” I ask, when he tugs again at the lace.

“I don’t have any on.”

“Prove it.” I shove him backwards, and this time I do not find him immobile. He retreats, whilst working open his belt buckle. God, he’s so like Ray, right down to the way he snags his bottom lip with his tooth as he concentrates. Fly undone; he coyly teases the flap of fabric away from his loins, offering me only a momentary glimpse before he hides his assets again. Three times he repeats the gesture, before I shimmy down from my perch among the paintings and rip the fabric from his hand. His trousers pool around his feet, and I shove the hem of his shirt up to towards his breastbone.

Gabriel watches my reaction from under his eyebrows. It’s a look of stubborn defiance that is both incredibly needy and fantastically hot. Unlike Ray, Gabriel is clean-shaven. Ink decorates his skin in place of hair, the black lines extending in a bold pattern of knots along the length of his cock, the end of which is pierced with a silver hoop. I wrap a hand around his shaft, but he doesn’t react, bar a subtle hiss when I deliberately squeeze, and then rotate the ring.

“Inked and silvered. I guess I can be pretty certain you’re not a werewolf.”

“I’m a changeling,” he snarls back, and if I didn’t know better I’d swear the gleam in his eyes was born of magic. “Your knickers,” he demands holding out a hand. He steps free of his pooled trousers, and throws his jacket and tie over the hat stand before pulling his shirt over his head, so that he stands before me naked.

Read the rest in The Mammoth Book of Hot Romance

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