Tuesday, August 8, 2017

Review Tuesday: The Tryst by Monique Roffey (#sexmagick #erotica #marriage)

The Tryst cover


The Tryst by Monique Roffey
Dodo Ink, 2017

Jane and Bill love one another deeply. At the same time, their four year marriage suffers from a lack of physical passion. Though Jane has lurid fantasies about other men, somehow she has no desire for her sturdy, dependable husband. She tries to pretend this is normal, but guilt weighs on her almost as heavily as if she’d actually been unfaithful.

Bill has his skeletons, too. After a crushing divorce and a severe bout of depression, he’s grateful for Jane’s devotion, platonic though it might be. Remembering his bleak life before they met, he tells himself that the sex doesn’t really matter.

Visiting a pub with a male friend one Friday night, the couple encounter a diminutive, seductive woman named Lilah. Curvaceous, uninhibited to the point of being lewd, Lilah is the embodiment of sex. Both Bill and their pal Sebastian are captivated by the vivacious stranger. Jane finds herself both intrigued and angry. In a moment of madness, she invites the mysterious redhead back to their house. Her rash impulse frees Lilah to enter their world and destroy their lives.

Lilah sees through the lies Bill and Jane tell themselves. Lilah is not completely human. She is a force of nature, with hidden powers and deep secrets—a creature mischievous, even malevolent. She drags Bill down into a tempest of lust that soon threatens to swallow them both. Jane—the “Unfucked”—is expelled from her home and from her husband’s thoughts. It seems that Lilah will triumph in her quest to punish Jane and Bill for their sexless marriage, until Jane digs deep enough to liberate her own carnality, the only thing that can vanquish the immortal imp.

The Tryst is one of the most original and arousing erotica books I’ve encountered in a long time. Monique Roffey’s luscious prose brings Lilah and her enchantments to vivid life. The sex is intense, even violent, to the point of being terrifying, yet at the heart of it the characters find a sort of peace and healing.

Bill is a fantastic character, gifted with his own unconscious magic. Lilah becomes more than a villain as she falls under his sensual spell. Meanwhile Jane finally claims her identity as an embodiment of the Feminine, a transformation that allows her to banish the interloper back to the shadow realm where she was spawned.

To give you some inkling of the deliciousness of this book, here’s one of my favorite passages:

Bill slid me onto a long wooden table, laid me on my back, like a feast – and feast he did – kissing the half-moon of my diaphragm, his beard like moss on my skin, a great oak whispering his secrets. His tongue glided over me, his hands tracked the meridians under my skin – oh – he knew about them, delicate ancient tracks. These are the songlines of the skin, designed by angels to release intense ecstasy; they are a map under the flesh. Touch them lightly and the body secretes the sacred chemicals, serotonin, oxytocin, endorphin, the pheromones of lust. He knew these lines and ran his fingertips along them, making the patterns of a river stream all over me, meandering his velvety cock along these tracks – he smiled. Oh, he was a better lover than I could have possibly judged, this man of the woods. Had one of his ancestors been one of us, was there a sprite in his lineage? I writhed under his touch.

Our eyes locked. This was a man with tantric skills; he gazed deep into me and I gazed back, whispering love charms and mantras to Priapus, the God of Cock. I encouraged him to slide his fingers into me and guided him to my spot, deep inside, where he would find a warm sweet reservoir. Already it threatened to burst. A rivulet sprang from me, tiny, indiscreet, betraying me, dripping from between my legs. Bill held me in his hand, the butt of his palm jammed to my pubic bone, the fingers slowly circling the silky flesh inside me. He stroked me perfectly and I was opening. And no, I wasn’t concerned then, that I had found a human match. I had no inkling of any danger that could ensue. I’d forgotten the iron wagon wheels on the wall, the hooks and nails in the baskets on the floor. I had met a man who knew how to make love.

If you’re tired of billionaire Doms and secret babies; if you enjoy intelligent, thought-provoking erotica; if you believe that there is magic in the flesh; get yourself a copy of this book!

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