Beyond Romance: LGBTQ Sizzling Sunday: The Witches of Gloucester #LGBTQ #lesbian #SizzlingSunday

I realized yesterday that we’re nearly half way through Pride Month, and I’ve barely celebrated. As a first step toward remedying this oversight, here’s a sexy snippet from my lesbian paranormal romance The Witches of Gloucester. This excerpt isn’t as explicit as some of my Sizzling Sunday posts, but it sets the scene for what follows.

It’s not about power. It’s about love.

The historic port of Gloucester, Massachusetts has a special charm, due at least in part to its resident witches. For decades, raven-maned Marguerite and red-headed Beryl have lived among its hard-working inhabitants, making magic and mischief. Love and sex fuel their supernatural abilities, but duality limits their power. To reach their full potential, they need a third witch to complete their circle.

Rejected as a nymphomaniac by her puritanical boyfriend, Emmeline escapes to Gloucester to work on her PhD thesis. From the moment she arrives, Marguerite and Beryl sense her erotic vitality and unrecognized paranormal talent. The platinum-haired beauty may well be the enchantress they have been awaiting for so long. Now they need to show Em that her prodigious libido is a gift, not a liability, and to persuade her that her destiny lies in the sea-girt town they guard, and in their arms.

SPECIAL BONUS: Also includes "Late Show", a contemporary FF erotic romance tale about second chances.

Excerpt

It didn’t take long – it never did – before they convulsed in a shared climax. The sun brightened for an instant. The scent of roses grew thick and heady. As their breathing slowed and they fell backwards on the bed to let the air cool their sweat-streaked skin, the wild cry of a gull floated in on the salt-tinged breeze.

Fingertips brushing, they lay together in companionable silence. Marguerite recovered first.

“There’s a new girl in town.”

“I know.” Beryl stretched her white arms over her head, to their maximum extent, then pulled herself up into a sit, legs crossed Indian style. A rich fragrance of pussy rose from between her parted thighs. “She stopped at the store yesterday, looking for titles about colonial-period Salem.”

“I’m sure you were very helpful.” Rolling onto her side and propping her chin up on her palm, Marguerite grinned at her redheaded partner.

“I didn’t dare get close. She was broadcasting sexual energy in every direction – pulsing like some hunk of radioactive matter. I swear, I nearly came, standing twenty feet away. Amazing!”

“Yes – I’ve been aware of her aura for the last few days. But I haven’t actually seen her.”

Beryl leaned forward for a quick kiss. Marguerite fought the urge to pull that pale, compact body down on top of her own. Not that Beryl would mind, of course. In fact, the little ginger cat took advantage of their closeness to tweak one of Marguerite’s still throbbing nipples, before pulling back.

“You’ll appreciate her,” Beryl added. “She’s just your type.”

“You mean, loud and bratty, like you?” Marguerite dodged Beryl’s flying fist. “No, seriously – what’s she like?”

“Young. Ethereal. Full of light. Wait, I’ll show you.” The witch padded on bare feet over to the wooden sea chest across the room to pull out a length of navy blue cloth printed with yellow-gold stars. She spread it over the braided rug that took up most of the floor. “Come. Sit with me.”

While Marguerite settled herself cross-legged upon the starry throw, Beryl retrieved a half-melted sapphire-blue candle from a shelf above the bed. She arranged it upon the cloth between them, then passed her cupped palm over the charred wick. “Illumine,” she declaimed.

The candle spontaneously ignited. At the same time, the afternoon dimmed. Sudden dusk descended. The blue-edged flame glowed, but did not dispel the gathered shadows.

“Look into the fire,” Beryl instructed.

Marguerite tended to use crystals or mirrors for divination. It took a few moments for her to discern the forms moving in the flickering brightness. As she focused her attention, the image grew more distinct.

A diminutive young woman even paler than Beryl sat reading at an old dinette table. Straight silver-blond hair cascaded down her back, almost to her waist. Her black tank top showed off a surprisingly deep cleavage for someone with such a petite frame, while her brief shorts clung to what looked like a heart-shaped ass.

Concentration knotted her eyebrows. Her rosy lips were pursed into a moue of dissatisfaction. She appeared to be struggling to comprehend the material. Or perhaps she was just restless. After a few moments, she snapped her book closed, rose from her chair and wandered over to peer out at the forest of masts visible through the open door. Her movements were like willow branches in the wind. Her hair shimmered in the sun, a platinum river. Marguerite’s theory about the woman’s ass was confirmed.

“She’s amazing! Do you think...?”

“It’s possible,” Beryl replied to the unspoken question. “But how can we draw her to us? You know the rules. We can’t use magic to bind her. She must come to us of her own free will.”

“We’ll just go introduce ourselves. Like good neighbors.”

“Ask to borrow a cup of sugar?” Beryl chuckled as she leant over the candle to brush an ebony curl out of her lover’s eyes.

“Something like that.” Marguerite stared once more into the heart of the fire, at the slender form leaning against the door frame, gazing into the distance. “She looks lonely.”

“Based on the vibes I picked up in the book shop, I’d say she’s horny.”

Marguerite released an uncharacteristically girlish giggle. “We may be able to help her with that problem.”

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