NOW AVAILABLE WATCH OVER ME
including Delilah’s Warlord’s DestinyRead More
04/15: Works in Progress
Words: 2,330 / 20,000 (12%)
Words: / 5,000 (0%)
Words: 5,519 / 5,000 (100%)
FH69-2 (Contemp m/m)
Words: 21,600 / 20,000 (100%)
The Emerald Casket
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1) Do you love your warriors tall, well-muscled and with stamina to spare? Duh, right? Do you love a heroine with grit who’s not society’s notion of what’s perfect and beautiful? Someone you can relate to? Do you love it when a strong woman brings a proud warrior to his knees? Then you will love the hero and heroine of this book!
2) Do you love off-world, futuristic fantasy and medieval knights tales? How about a book that is both? Yeah, I was supposed to write a futuristic tale, but my hero kept insisting he was more Ragnar Lodbrok than Luke Skywalker. And since Ragnar is sexy as hell, I let my Lord Tetrik transform into my version of the perfect erotic romance hero…
3) Do you love a good orgy? I saw your eyes bug at that one. Six participants with all those sexy moving parts? For me, this was the most challenging scene in the book. How do you keep it fun and sexy and not confusing? If you’re curious, you have to get this book!
4) Right now, the price for this 21,000-word novella is just $0.99! Kindle Unlimited customers have a little longer to enjoy a great deal—they can get it for free for the next three months. But if you aren’t a KU subscriber, that $0.99 price isn’t going to last long! Grab your copy now!
Answer any of the questions I just posed for a chance
to win a $5 Amazon gift card!
And just a side note: If you enjoy the story, how about leaving a review? Somewhere. Or tell a friend. I appreciate everything you do! ~DD
“…In Delilah Devlin’s WARLORD’S DESTINY, a strong man is brought to his knees by an equally strong woman. Interesting, attractive personalities make this read especially powerful.” ~Nominee for Best Paranormal Erotic Novel of 2005 by Romantic Times BookClub Magazine! TOP PICK! 4 1/2 Stars, RT BOOKreviews
“Watching these two grow is both amusing and touching… I found Warlord’s Destiny to be a very well-written novel, and ultimately a very entertaining story to read.” ~Book Review Network
Mora has no illusions she’s anything other than the sacrificial lamb to ensure peace between her peace-loving planet and the warlike world that demands a royal union with one of their own. However, when she meets the rugged warlord who will be her husband, Mora decides in that moment to win his heart–she’ll settle for nothing less.
When Lord Tetrik suspects his wife harbors tender feelings, he wonders if he can be the husband she desires. After all, love for a woman is a frivolous thing–and not a warlord’s destiny.
Warning: Readers should beware. Wedding customs on other planets do not resemble tender newlywed customs on Earth! Expect a smidge of voyeurism and a 6-person ménage. And yes, a Kronaki warlord’s bed is built large enough for just such an event!
Every story ever whispered about the fearsome warriors came rushing back to set Mora’s body trembling. How they fought like ravaging beasts, cutting bloody swaths through Graktilian mercenaries during the war. How they lived in rough, stone fortresses made of blocks carved from their frozen mountains. How they fostered their children to rival clans so they would be raised without gentleness.
How they fucked with such fury their women’s screams echoed throughout their valleys.
Mora felt a tremor rumble beneath the polished, marble floor of the great hall, so explosive was the swell of conversation that arose at the warriors’ arrival.
They were seven, dressed in furs and leather, armed with bows slung across their shoulders and scabbards at their sides.
She couldn’t drag her gaze from the man at the head of their formation, striding toward her—her husband in name, if not yet by deed. Although she had never seen him before this day, she knew it must be him, for he looked the fiercest, the strongest—only one such as he would be chosen to rule from amongst their ranks.
He was from a race of barbarians, seemingly as proud of their reputation for brutal warfare as their orgiastic sexuality. The latter, Mora could well believe for the man stalking her now looked every inch a sensual marauder.
A shiver of awe bit the base of her spine and trembled upward until the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood erect.
Taller by a head than any Mellusian, his broad shoulders nearly blocked out the sight of the two heralds dogging his steps as they attempted to halt him. He seemed not the slightest bit interested in following protocol by waiting for his name to be addressed to the assemblage. As if anyone attending the ceremony hadn’t already guessed who he was.
He’d also eschewed the fine wedding tunic Mora’s mother had personally designed—an embroidered silk affair that would have stretched absurdly across his bulging chest and arms.
No, he wore a vest of gray animal pelts that parted at the front, no doubt to tempt a woman’s gaze to ogle his obscenely muscled chest and follow the dark arrow of hair down his hewn abdomen. The black leather that encased his legs, strained over thickly corded thighs and the alarming swell of his manhood.
Mora’s heart tripped, and then fluttered like the wings of an aradil.
Her mouth dry, she forced her gaze upward to look at his face, but found no comfort there.
Lord Tetrik of Kronak—his name was as harsh as the angles of his square jaw and the sharp blade of his nose. His hair was dark like a moonless sky and worn like the old warriors in the paintings in History Hall—hanging past his shoulders with small braids on either side of his inflexible face. But his eyes frightened her most of all—chips of blue ice froze her in place as his gaze found hers across the noisy hall.
He would have to know she was his bride. She wore her wealth and importance in the weighty jewels studding her hair and gown and encircling her neck. She saw fury in that first glance. Had he already guessed he’d been cheated of the true prize? That her rich adornment was a ruse?
Her mother moaned behind her. “His ambassador said he was too busy to attend such an insignificant event. You should have worn the pink gown!” her mother hissed.
“It was covered in dirt, mother,” Mora whispered, keeping her gaze pinned on the man walking straight toward her. “It’s too late now, anyway. The ceremony is over.”
“He may still repudiate you. Oh, what were you thinking, digging in the garden on your wedding day?”
“I wanted a tuber rose to take with me to my new home.”
“As if a rose will grow in their rocky soil,” her mother said, her voice becoming thin and breathy the closer the warrior drew.
Mora hoped her mother didn’t choose this moment to faint. She suspected the Kronaki leader would scorn a woman frightened by the mere sight of him.
“That green makes your cheeks sallow,” her mother lamented, working herself into a high state of agitation. “You look as though you’re attending your own funeral.”
Mora couldn’t resist delivering a little dig. “Am I not? What do you think he’ll do once he finds himself wed to the wrong sister?”
“You should have worn the pink! It would have shown you to advantage.” She sounded on the verge of tears.
Her mother’s diatribe wore on Mora’s nerves. “Mother, it doesn’t matter if I wear the pink or the green, I’m no beauty. He will know. And by the look of that scowl he wears, he already does.”
“May the Goddess save us!”
“Hush, Hespha!” Her father finally intervened. “You frighten our daughter.”
Only that wasn’t quite true. Her mother’s words had the opposite effect, reminding Mora that by rights, her older sister should have been the one sacrificed to honor The Promise. But her sister had been deemed too delicate and hidden away when the day came to repay the decade-old debt owed the Kronaki. “She’d never survive the rigors of life on that harsh planet,” her father had said.
Her mother had been only too eager to agree to the substitution. Her delicate, slender little flower wouldn’t be surrendered to the barbarian. Instead, Mora stood in her place. She was anything but delicate—a fact that had pained and embarrassed her parents to no end all her life.
A flush of anger heated Mora’s cheeks. Try as she might, she couldn’t suppress the primitive emotion. Her parents thought so little of her they were willing to marry her to a beast. A black-haired beast that grew more enormous and intimidating as he approached the dais upon which most of the members of the Mellusian royal family stood.
Mora straightened her shoulders. Jewels and a fine gown would not deceive the man. She was dull quartz against the bright, blonde diamonds glittering inside the hall.
He stopped in front of the dais. The room fell silent while all in the assemblage strained to hear what he might say. His cold gaze raked her from head to toe. Even standing on the raised platform, she had to tilt her head to meet his glance.
Panic had her body tightening. Mora raised her chin another notch, unwilling to let him see her fear.
He lifted one dark brow, and his gaze swept her face, lingering over her lips. “What is your name?”
He knew! “Mora. I am Mora,” she said, surprised the words escaped her tight throat. Would he reject her? Strangely, she wasn’t certain she’d feel relief if he deemed her unfit. Humiliation at his hands would be the harder emotion to swallow.
His gaze cut to her father, and he nodded once. “It is done.”
Psst! Yesterday’s contest is still open! So be sure to enter!
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It’s heeerrrre! I hope you’ll get your copy and have a good time. I’m not terribly ambitious, but if I make you squirm with heat or laugh, I feel like I’ve done my job. And any time I can take you someplace where magic abounds, I feel like I’ve shown you a little sliver of what my internal life is like. So, if you enjoy the story, how about leaving a review? Somewhere. Or tell a friend. I appreciate everything you do!
One demon lights her fire. It’ll take three to cool her down.
Beaux Rêve Coven, Book 2
Now that the battle dust has settled and the witches have won their freedom, Miren Lynch is going stir crazy. Sure, her three demon bodyguards are hot–especially Renner Neilsen–but having them constantly underfoot and ordering her around is about to drive her insane.
One kiss proves the attraction between her and Renner is mutual, but when the sea draugr slips into her dreams, he ignites a fire only three demons can quench.
To Renner, it makes perfect sense for Miren to choose him for her mate. They share the same element–water. They’re both wildly attracted. But once he sneaks into her dream to seduce her, she doesn’t trust his promise he won’t abuse the power a witch brings to a mate.
His solution? Show her he will provide everything she needs for her wellbeing–from mind-bending pleasure to her treasured freedom–even if it means sharing her with a pair of handsome and lusty mermen twins.
Warning: Contains explicit sexual escapades between three handsome specimens of juicy otherworld masculinity and a witch who knows that even the most hardass demon hides a gooey marshmallow inside. Happy tasting!
For the first time in forever, I’m going to Little Rock for a Diamond State Romance Authors meeting! I swear it’s probably been a year and a half since I attended. Hope I recognize some folks… My sister Elle James is speaking, so I’m going for moral support and because she’s making me go.
Churches have crosses and steeples, governments buildings have flag poles… What might you like to put on your roof to set it apart from everyone else’s?
What would I put on my roof… A giant book? The head of a hellhound? How about a weather vane with a witch riding a broom? Have fun with your answer!
And in case you didn’t know, I do have a sexy, new story out there right now…
Two construction workers come to the aid of one woman looking for a last taste of freedom…
Note: This 6000-word short story was previously published in Penthouse Magazine and Suite Encounters: Hotel Sex Stories, and has been revised and expanded. It may be short in length, but it’s not short in passion!
When the blare of a TV sounded from outside, I had third and fourth thoughts about my decision to stop here for the night. What the hell? Why had someone moved their television set outside rather than watch in the seclusion of their room where the sound would be somewhat muffled?
I gritted my teeth, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and reached for shorts and a tee, slipping them over my nude body and the keys into my pocket before I stomped to the door and flung it open.
Not that the two men sitting on the truck noticed me—at first.
Under the single flood light that illuminated the parking lot, I noted the construction company logo on the side of the pickup backed up to the door of the room beside mine. Then I eyed the large men seated on the sides of the truck bed, their shirts gone, faded jeans stretched over thick thighs. Their attention was glued to the basketball game, blaring from the small screen of the TV they had set in the bed of the truck on top of a white ice chest. They held Budweisers in their grips.
At last, one of the men’s heads turned. He spotted me then whistled at his friend. Soon both their gazes peered down.
I felt foolish standing in my bare feet with my wet hair spiked around my head. Why hadn’t I simply put a pillow over my head to muffle their noise? But I was testy. Moody. I’d lost my job, had a blow-up with my boyfriend over the fact I wouldn’t be splitting rent with him for a while, and cut my nose off to spite my own face by breaking up with him. Homeless now, I had no options. Grandma’s in Little Rock was my last resort.
Tonight would be my last night of freedom before I moved under her roof and abided by her rules. She’d pay the bills—if I knuckled under and went back to school. Something I resented after being on my own for a couple of years, living by my rules.
Which might have been exactly why I remained rooted to that spot. The men seated on the truck would never meet Grandma’s high standards.
Sweat gleamed on their naked chests and both of them were thickly muscled and a little dirty—as though they’d come straight from work without the benefit of a shower.
The shine only served to emphasize the depth of the musculature and their starkly masculine features. Their tanned skin stretched across cheeks and jaws that were sharpened to rough edges by hard work.
Both their gazes homed on me, and while I knew the smart thing would have been to retreat without a word to my room and relock the door, I tilted my chin and thrust out my chest. “Can’t you watch the game in your room?”
“We botherin’ you, sweetheart?” the one closest to me said, sliding off the truck to land in front of me.
I peered a long way up and frowned into the face tilted my way. We stood close enough I could see the bristles of his evening shadow. He wore a ball cap that shadowed his eyes, but glints of blond hair shone beneath it. “It’s late. I was trying to sleep.”
“It’s not that late,” he drawled. “Join us for a beer?”
I glanced behind him and noted the grin on his buddy’s face. He was bare-headed with shaggy brown hair and a devilish quirk to his firm lips. The game seemed to have lost its fascination. Their gazes drank me down like I was long cool drink.
I barely resisted the urge to jut my hip and twirl my hair.
“Bobby, the night clerk, can vouch for us if you’re wonderin’ whether we’re safe,” the one beside me said, amusement lingering in his husky voice.
I shouldn’t have been tempted. However, my body still hummed pleasurably from the heat I’d drawn with my own lazy fingers. Even sweaty, the two men were tempting. Both young, in good shape. Both interested if their sharpening gazes were any indication.
And what the hell? It wasn’t as if I had anyone to answer to. Not at this moment. There was no boyfriend to betray.
My mouth went dry and I swallowed. “Is the beer cold?”
If you’d like to check out more of my recent short story releases…
If you could acquire any fictional item for realz, what would you want and why?
Not so easy right? Do you choose Harry Potter’s cloak of invisibility so you can stalk your favorite movie star without being detected? (I have no clue why that popped into my mind first—cough, Chris Hemsworth naked in the bath!) Or how about Sherlock Holmes’ pipe? (I want whatever he was smoking!) And there you go. Have fun!
And just a reminder, I do have a sexy, new story out there right now…
Jackson Lowry cussed softly when he spotted the blue lights spinning at the roadblock just ahead. Too late to turn back now. He’d only draw more attention.
Squaring his jaw, he rolled down his window and forced a polite smile as he peered into the darkness at the sheriff’s deputy checking IDs with a flashlight.
As soon as the deputy waved the car in front of him to move along and turned to watch the black pickup roll forward, Jackson’s tension eased a fraction.
Maynard Colby’s expression turned from crisply professional to worried in a second, as soon as he recognized Jackson. “Dammit, Jackson, where have you been?”
A soft moan sounded beside him, and Jackson reached surreptitiously beside him to tap the tarp covering his precious load.
“You didn’t hear?” At Jackson’s vague expression, Maynard stepped onto the truck rail and leaned toward Jackson. “It’s Sammi Jo. Her car was found in Shooter’s parking lot, the door wide open. No one’s seen her. Looks like she’s been snatched.”
Jackson cleared his throat. “How serious is this gettin’?”
“It’s only been a couple of hours, but Sammi Jo’s daddy is buckin’ to get the sheriff to call in the FBI, the CIA, the ATF—and whatever other agency his money can buy to find her. I tried callin’ you, but your phone kept goin’ to voicemail. After the way things went down at the weddin’ last Sunday, I don’t blame you a bit for layin’ low, but I thought you’d wanna know.”
Another sound, this time a snort, sounded beside him.
Maynard’s gaze cut to the dirty tarp folded over a moving bundle on the floor of the cab. A ruddy eyebrow shot up. “What’s goin’ on, Jackson?”
Jackson rolled his eyes then pulled up the corner of the tarp to reveal a bound and gagged Sammi Jo whose eyes glittered furiously back at both men.
Maynard barked a laugh then tightened his lips. “This time you’ve gone and done it, boy. This is seriously fucked up.” He laughed again, then tipped his hat to Sammi Jo. “No disrespect meant, missy.”
Jackson cleared his throat. “Don’t s’pose you can forget about this?”
Maynard’s gaze shot to Sammi Jo again, raked her once as though ensuring she didn’t look to be in any real danger, then tipped back his cowboy hat. “Tell ya what. I’ll put a bug in the sheriff’s ear, but she better come walkin’ through the po-lice house doors come Monday mornin’.”
“Not a word to her daddy?”
One corner of Maynard’s mouth crooked up. “Man’s already caused enough problems. Deserves to cool his heels a couple o’ days. Don’t do nothin’ I’ll have to arrest you for.”
With a nod, Jackson rolled up the window and pulled past the barricade. In his side mirror, he watched as Maynard crossed to the other deputy’s car and both men bent over laughing.
“See that, Sammi Jo?” he murmured, not expecting an answer because he’d made double-damn sure he’d tied some serious knots and gagged her pretty mouth. “I’m not the only one who thinks you need a good paddlin’.”
If you’d like to check out more of my recent short story releases…
UPDATE: The winner of the free download is…Galina Sulaiman!
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My day will be full of diapers and Spongebob today! I’ll have my feet propped up on the ottoman and my laptop on my knees. But it will be flung aside a dozen times as I chase down the 19-month-old—she tends to put things in her mouth that don’t belong there. Her favorite “food” right now is her Honest Company diapers. At least she’s no longer eating her crib—we traded the wood one for an industrial metal crib.
Anyways, my day will be exhausting. So I thought about what to do for a blog today, and I’ve got nada. It’s 6:10 AM, and there is no inspiration. Yes, I have new releases to talk about, and if you want to know about them, just click on the covers below, but for right now, I’ll ask a simple question and offer you a bribe to answer it.
Post a comment today, and you’ll be entered to win a free download from either my Lone Star Lovers series or my Delta Heat series! Here’s the question…
Which month of the year has the best aromas?
LOL. Easy right? If you love the scents of honeysuckle and pina colada tanning lotion, you might love July. Love the smell of roasting turkey…? You get the drift.
And just a reminder, I do have two sexy, fun-as-hell stories out there right now…
Here’s a short excerpt from Johnny Blaze!
Johnny Blaze stood, framed by the curtain, his fireman’s hat tipped low in front, the stage lights gleaming on the shiny top and shadowing his features. His tanned chest and ripped abs were bare except for red suspenders–thankfully, attached to yellow turnout pants. His large feet were encased by black boots. He raised a finger and curled it–twice.
I shook my head, glancing behind me to find the stairs, but gentle pressure on my shoulders forced me to my knees.
“Gotta crawl, Bridget,” biker dude drawled. “All the way on your knees.”
He knew my name? Kneeling, I cut him a quick glance. “I’m in a skirt.”
Thanks for your help earlier this week with deciding which cover we should use for the Viking book. The authors had too many opinions, and I thought, why not ask readers? You tend to make more instinctual choices than we do, because we way overthink.
So it’s Friday….! Yup. New shorty. This one was in Penthouse magazine! If you look at the Penthouse cover below, it’s the “Raunchy Road Trip.” Such a proud moment. And the story has some naughty, light S&M. Remember, it’s free to KU readers and just $0.99 for everyone else. I hope you’ll pick it up. Click on the cover to check it out on Amazon!
The Long Ride Home
Ride along with two soldiers, just returned from war, who find sweet release in the long ride home…
Note: This book was previously published in Penthouse Magazine and the Duty and Desire anthology, but has been revised and expanded.
Glancing toward Sergeant Maddox, I noted the hard edge of his jaw, the hand wrapped so tight around the steering wheel that the muscles in his forearm tensed. I didn’t have to crawl inside his head to know he didn’t want me there. So why had he told me to get in?
Was he attracted, too, but reluctant to act on it because he was still my superior? Like I’d ever tell a soul. He should have known me better than that. We’d been through hell together, and yet I’d never presumed on the bond, never asked for favors.
Did he want me to make the first move so he’d know my expectations, know just how far I wanted this to go? I smiled at the thought of all the fantasies I’d stored up over the months. And I was finally here–alone with a man who was still feeling edgy and angry.
Maybe I could help him out a bit. And maybe, he’d see me as more than a fellow soldier who’d shared the bench seat of a deuce-and-a-half truck a time or two. One I’d been driving when he’d had to talk me through a hail of gunfire as our transport convoy had come under attack.
I unbuckled my belt, ignoring his deep frown. I turned in the seat and reached for the buttons of his jacket, flicking them open then parting each side.
He didn’t say a thing, but his nostrils flared, his jaw sawed tighter.
I gripped the front of his t-shirt, bunched it in my hand, and tugged it from his ACU trousers.
His stomach jumped, and he sucked it in, making just enough room for me to get my fingers behind the waistband as I unbuckled, unbuttoned and tugged down the zip.
“Dammit, Hollister,” he said, his voice rough as gravel. “You’re gonna get us both killed.”
“Not if you keep your eyes on the road,” I said, tilting up my chin. Then I leaned over his lap, folded down the elastic band of his boxer briefs and pulled his cock upright.
Leave an answer to the following question in the comments and you’ll be entered to win a copy of any of the shorties in the Amazon carousel below EXCEPT The Long Ride Home. That one, I hope you’ll purchase on your own!
If you wrote a naughty story for Penthouse,
which friend or relative could you never tell?
I know f/f isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. But I’ll tell you, sometimes the sexual orientation of a story doesn’t really matter. It’s the story. Straight up. Even if it’s short. Catnip is a lesbian paranormal that I wrote originally for the anthology, She Shifters. I like to joke that it’s one part Practical Magic and one part Josie and the Pussycats. The story’s just plain fun and naughty. And isn’t that what you want from one of my stories?
I’m nearing the end of my Friday spree of short stories. Just three more to go. I’m thinking I might want to continue with a monthly release after that, but I’ll need to write new stories. And I’m thinking, I should write some naughty taboo stories. You know the kind… The young heroine has been dying to do her stepfather, and now that her mom and daddy are divorced, well… Or he’s my cousin, and if it ain’t illegal it ought to be because it’s so damn hot we’re gonna burn the barn down…
Okay, so I’m just thinkin’ about tawdry ideas. And they’d be all about the sex, which is something I love to write. Man, I could write the hell out of those! But in the meantime, I hope you’re enjoying my series of shorts. It’s been fun revising/revisiting the stories. I wanted them all to be at least 5000 words so no one would feel cheated by the word count. Next Friday, it’s a sexy prison short, Pitch Black.
A cat-woman doll found at a garage sale reveals a lonely woman’s magical destiny…
Note: This 5000-word short story was previously published as part of the SHE SHIFTERS anthology. It may be short in length, but it’s not short in passion!
Mallory set “Miss Kitty” on the bookshelf beside her computer. She’d brushed away as much dust as she could before sponging away the grime. She’d reattached the tail with tiny stitches.
While she’d worked, she’d admired the craftsmanship of the strange little doll. The fur suit was seamless and molded to the figure. The small face wasn’t hard plastic, but something softer, with the texture of real skin. The lips, with their cat’s cleft at the center, were parted with a row of individually attached teeth beneath them. She’d stroked her thumbnail over the soft lashes surrounding those shining eyes–each lash appeared to be embedded in the lids.Perhaps there was more to the doll than what she’d originally believed. Promising herself to do a little Internet search in the morning, she turned off the bedroom light and climbed into bed.Her head no sooner hit the pillow than she heard something drop to the floor. The sound was soft, but solid.
She sighed and reached to turn on the bedside lamp. Glancing in the direction of the sound, she scanned the floor, but found nothing out of place. Only mildly perturbed, Mallory reached for the light then paused. Her gaze flicked to the bookcase. Her new doll wasn’t on the shelf where she’d placed it.
Dammit. She’d never sleep until it was back where it belonged. She crawled from the bed and searched the floor beneath the shelf. Nothing. She pulled out her desk chair to see if it had somehow tumbled beneath her desk. “Weird,” she said under her breath as she pushed the chair back into place.
A skittering sounded in the closet beside the shelf, and her heart rate accelerated. “What the hell?” The sound was too small to be a hidden intruder. Wary, she approached the closet. The door was open only a crack. Did she have a mouse? The mystery over the doll was forgotten as she worried how she’d trap it. Inching the door open, she reached inside for the string attached to the lamp on the ceiling.
A loud thump came from the back of the closet, and Mallory jumped back. Too freaking big to be a mouse. Fuck! She backed up two steps, and then ran for the bedroom door.
Before she’d gone three steps, something pounced on her back, taking her to the carpet. Hands wrapped around her wrists, pinning them to the floor. Mallory bucked, panic making her breaths come in short, shallow sobs.
“Don’t be afraid,” purred a feminine voice from right beside her ear.
The raspy quality of the voice caressed nerves Mallory chose to ignore. “Get off me,” she ground out.
“I think I’ll stay here for a moment. I don’t want you bolting again, because I wouldn’t like to hurt you. You smell good.”
“What the fuck were you doing in my closet? What do you want?”
The body covering her back resettled, curves molding to Mallory’s. “I’m not sure why I’m here. Are you a witch?” The woman’s hips undulated, grinding against Mallory’s ass.
Which made it very hard to think. “Am I a wha–”
A snarl sounded. “Just shut up a second. I can’t think.” A rumbling purr vibrated against her, growing louder as the woman on her back nuzzled her neck.
“What are you doing?” Mallory asked in a very small voice, wondering if she was going to be raped by the woman and why that thought didn’t terrify her more.
“Mmm… I’m doing what I couldn’t when you groomed me.”
Hope you enjoyed! Leave an answer to the following question in the comments and you’ll be entered to win a copy of any of the shorties in the Amazon carousel below EXCEPT Catnip. That one, I hope you’ll purchase on your own!
So if I decide to write some really naughty, taboo stories, what themes would you love to read? I’m taking orders!