In
April
of
2013,
my
husband
and
I
were
fortunate
enough
to
enjoy
a
two
and
a
half
week
vacation
in
France.
We
traveled
by
train,
in
a
broad
circle
that
took
us
through
much
of
the
country.
Starting
in
Paris,
we
visited
historic
Lyons,
Annecy
in
the
French
Alps,
Chamonix,
lively
Marseille,
glorious
Avignon,
Carcassonne
with
its
Crusader-era
fortress,
cosmopolitan
Bordeaux,
and
medieval
Normandy,
before
returning
to
Paris
for
several
days.
This
incredible
journey
served
as
partial
inspiration
for
my erotic romance novel
The
Ingredients
of
Bliss.
In
this contemporary BDSM ménage, Mei Lee “Emily” Wong, an
accomplished cook from Hong Kong, and her boss, the culinary legend
Etienne Duvalier, are sent to France by the Toutes Les Saveurs
network to shoot a series of shows on location, featuring regional
cuisine and tourist highlights. Emily's master, producer Harry
Sanborne, is also part of the entourage. Emily, Etienne and Harry
retrace my steps, from Paris to Lyons to Marseille. In that gritty
seaside melting pot, the story diverges from my itinerary, as a
criminal gang kidnaps Harry and Etienne in a case of mistaken
identity. (However, I did manage to include some scenes in Nice,
which I visited on a previous trip to France.)
My
stories always have a strong sense of place, and this one is no
exception. Some authors deliberately set their tales in nameless
cities – so as not to distract from the unfolding relationships,
one friend told me. Of course every writer is different, but for me,
the sights, sounds, smells and tastes surrounding my characters are
important determinants of their thoughts and moods. Given that both
Emily and Etienne are chefs, one can hardly imagine a more
appropriate setting. Meanwhile, my recent experiences there made it
easy for me to conjure vivid sensual impressions.
Magnificent
France forms the backdrop for this tale of love, sex, danger and
deliverance. If you enjoy travel tales, that's just one more reason
to get yourself a copy of this lusty and transgressive romance.
Excerpt
– Rated R
“Emily?”
Harry’s
voice boomed
through the
corridors, as
if in
answer to
my thoughts.
“In
here. In
Dantès cell.”
Harry
had to
duck to
get through
the low
doorway. “Ah.
I should
have figured
I’d
find you
in a
dungeon.” He
smelled of
sunscreen, sweat
and musk.
Like Pavlov’s
dog, I
started to
get wet
in response
to the
familiar
stimulus.
I
fought my
rising need.
“Hi, Harry.
I was
just about
to head
back…”
Before
I could stop him, he’d clasped me to his chest. “I missed you,
love.” He buried his nose in my wind-tousled hair, breathing deep
then nibbled my ear. “You smell delicious.”
I
tried to untangle myself from his arms. “I need a shower.” My
laugh sounded hollow.
“That’s
why you smell so good. No, actually that’s not true. You always
smell good. One whiff of your magic scent and I’m hard as a rock.”
He
wasn’t lying. His erection prodded my belly as he ran his hands
over my curves and burrowed into the crook of my neck.
“Too
bad there aren’t any iron rings or bars. You’d look so fetching,
shackled to the dungeon wall.”
“Harry,
come one.
Be serious!”
Once more
I struggled
against his
embrace, without
success. He
only held
me tighter.
He was
far stronger
than I.
My stomach
did a
dizzy little
flip at
this realization.
“They’re
probably waiting
for us…”
He
left off his nuzzling and gazed into my eyes. In the dim cell, his
were full of shadows. “Let them wait. And I am serious, Emily. I’ve
never been more serious in my life.”
I
couldn’t
avoid the
kiss. Honestly,
I didn’t
want to.
His mouth
sealed itself
to mine
and his
tongue forced
my lips
apart, claiming
me. Lust
roared through
me, unleashed
by the
ferocity of
his oral
conquest. I
tasted the
sugary residue
of his
soft drink,
the mint
of his
toothpaste,
residual garlic
and herbs
from the
ratatouille.
His assertive
male odor
surrounded me,
the essence
of pure
sex. I
opened to
him and
let him
take me.
I had
no choice.
He
didn’t fondle my breasts or pinch my bottom or insinuate his
fingers into my drenched knickers. He did nothing but kiss me,
pouring every ounce of feeling into that mouth-to-mouth connection.
Without the slightest stimulation, aside from his taste and smell,
the firmness of his lips and the probing of his tongue, I found
myself trembling on the verge of climax. Irresistible power flowed
from him, overwhelming me. Helpless, lost and grateful, I let myself
go.
He
understood what
he was
doing to
me. He
felt my
last resistance
crumble. My
plans, my
qualms, my
logic all
came to
nothing when
faced with
the intensity
of his
desire. And
as I
surrendered, the
kiss changed.
Now
he sipped at my mouth rather than swallowing me whole. His tongue
feathered over my lips, coaxing me to let him enter. He breathed into
me, warm and sweet, gentle as drifting clouds on a spring day.
Holding me close, so close I could feel the heartbeat under his
sweat-damp shirt, he bathed me in his devotion.
My
sex still tingled and sparked, but now some other sensation swelled
in my chest, a rare joy that seemed on the edge of triggering both
laughter and tears.
“I
love you,
Emily.” His
voice was
rough velvet,
his lips
moist against
my cheek.
“More than
I can
ever say.
More than
I know
what to
do with.”
Tell
him,
my rational
self whimpered,
weaker by
the instant.
Tell
him
you’re
leaving,
before
it’s
too
late.
I
raised my face to his and offered him my mouth, and the truth.
“I
love you, too.”
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