My excerpt today comes from Exposure, an erotic murder mystery featuring one of my favorite characters: street-smart, down-to-earth stripper Stella Xanathakeos. I’m sharing this today because the book just came out in audio format. You can get your copy at Amazon or Audible.
By the way, I have a few free audio review copies available. If you are interested, please leave me a comment with your email and I’ll send you one. First come, first serve, of course!
Here’s the blurb:
Sex, blood and betrayal: it's all in a day's work.
Stella is just minding her own business and having a bit of fun, working as an exotic dancer at the Peacock Lounge. Through no fault of her own, she witnesses a double murder and gets pulled into a shady dance of deceit with political bigwigs, mob bosses, dirty cops and scheming widows. Now she's everyone's target; her only chance is to sift through the lies and expose the truth.
And here’s today super-hot excerpt!
We leave the car at the edge of the park and stroll along the paths to the crest of the hill. We seem to have the place to ourselves. New leaves whisper on the oak branches that arch over our heads. The spring air is like wine. It seems totally natural that we should be holding hands. I feel my heart quicken as we emerge from the trees and see the lights of the city spread out before us.
This place is breathtaking. The broad lawn slopes downward nearly half a mile. When I was a child, I rode my sled down this incline, screaming with excitement as we gathered speed. Past the grove at the foot, we see the lights of Oakland, violet and orange, and further to the west, nestled between the rivers, the glittering towers of downtown.
The night is moonless, so clear that even with the urban brilliance below, the stars are visible. There is some kind of perfection here. I breathe deeply and feel the knot of tension in my chest soften. Peace, for the first time in two days.
We don’t speak. Jimmy leads me to a bench where we can fully appreciate the view. His arm is around my shoulder, his fingers warm on my bare arm. I welcome his touch. For a moment, I just let go, close my eyes and lean my head against his chest. His aftershave mingles with his natural odor, a luscious masculine scent that I find amazingly comforting. Yes. This is what I need.
I am not surprised to find his lips on mine, firm but undemanding. Again, this feels natural and right. I sink into his kiss, opening myself to his tentative tongue, tasting the beer he had with dinner. “Stella,” he murmurs, his hands wandering over my body.
My nipples spring to attention as he brushes them with his fingers. My sex swells and dampens when he lays his palm across the curve of my belly. He has not stopped kissing me. Our tongues dance like familiar partners. With each twirl, I grow more aroused.
I realize that he is unfastening my dress, one slow button at a time. Part of me wants him to rip it off, to take me without any warm-up, but I also appreciate his measured, gradual approach. He’s afraid I’ll stop him, I realize. Suddenly I feel that I must reassure him.
“Just a moment, Jimmy,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper. I stand and face him, continuing the work he began on my buttons. One hand unfastens them from neckline to waist, the other from waist to hem. He’s transfixed, watching me. I see the fabric between his legs stir as he grows more excited.
My timing, as always, is perfect. The delay at each button is painful and yet he savors the wait, the building suspense. I don’t try to get into Jimmy’s head. I merely watch him as he watches me. His excitement feeds mine, and mine his, in a hot loop spiraling tighter with each breath.
I shrug my dress onto the grass. “Take out your cock, Jimmy,” I murmur. “I want to see you. Touch yourself for me.”
Jimmy needs no second invitation. In a flash his fly is open and his erection is swaying in the night air. The taut skin on the shaft shines pale in the dim light. The knob is much darker. Without taking his eyes from mine, he cups the bulb in one hand, rubbing the swollen flesh against his palm. With the other hand, he grips himself near the root and begins a slow stroking.
“That’s lovely, Jimmy.” Exposed by the half-bra, my nipples throb each time he squeezes himself. I roll them between thumb and forefinger, wishing I could take them in my mouth.
There’s no point in removing the brassiere; he can see all my charms, and the black lace contrasts nicely with my dusky skin. But the thong is definitely in the way. I can feel myself blooming, unfolding in anticipation of having that hardness inside me. I suddenly lose patience with my gradual progress. Without ceremony, I push the panties down to my ankles and step out of them.
In twinkling city light, I think I must look like a goddess: breasts like globes, thighs like columns of marble flanking the dark entrance to the mystic grotto. Jimmy is hugely erect now, but he almost looks frightened, confronted as he is by the awesome mystery of womanliness. I feel a surge of affection that nicely seasons my lust.
“It’s okay, Jimmy,” I whisper in his ear as I roll a condom over his hardness and sink my pussy down onto his cock. That is the last thing that either of us says for some time.
It’s wonderful. I’d love to describe how he feels, how he smells, the deep earthy glory of it. But we’re in that place where there are no words. I’m groaning, screaming, bucking myself against him. He’s arching his back to penetrate more deeply. We’re together, tangled, connected. Electrified, writhing in the throes, the sparks surging from my body to his and back, the circuit of life completed once again.
We reach the top together, there on the heights above the city. We go soaring into that lovely, strange, ethereal place that one reaches only through the caverns of the physical. We float gently down, back to our twisted, sticky bodies.