Beyond Romance: Vive La France (#france #gourmet #bdsm)

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.