Hello, readers! Today's the beginning
of the super Hot Summer Nights blog hop. More than one hundred
erotic authors are participating, each of us offering excerpts
guaranteed to raise your temperature. We're giving away two grand
prizes, a $100 gift certificate from Eden Fantasys adult emporium and
a huge digital reading gift basket with over 40 sizzling ebooks for
your summer reading pleasure. In addition, many of the participants
(including me!) are offering prizes for comments on their individual
posts.
In
fact, I'm not a huge fan of really hot weather. This is unfortunate,
since I live in a tropical climate where the mercury frequently
climbs into the nineties and there are three basic seasons: hot,
hotter, and unbearable. My idea of ideal weather is October in New
England: cool, crisp, and bright.
Nevertheless,
extreme heat can sometimes be erotic, adding to the intensity of an
encounter. I recall a long ago summer, staying with my boyfriend and
his family in their lake-side cottage upper Michigan. Although he and
I were in our twenties, we couldn't really make love in the cabin,
where we had almost no privacy. And it was blazingly, outrageously
hot, day after day over a hundred degrees. Finally, we borrowed his
dad's car one afternoon, drove off into the woods somewhere, and had
urgent, sweaty sex in the back seat. The sun beating down on our
naked skin through the open windows – the way we had to avoid the
too-hot-to-touch metal door handles – the mingled smells of
perspiration and musk – the sheer thrill of touching after having
been deprived for days – that encounter remains one of my cherished
memories, both literally and figuratively sizzling.
That's
the sort of emotion that fuels my paranormal erotic novella Hot
Spell.
As the title suggests, the story takes place during a spring heat
wave, which sends temperatures soaring. To escape the miserable
weather, as well as her own loneliness, Sylvie takes advantage of a
long weekend to go camping in the
pine-shrouded mountains to the east. Far more at home in nature than
in the city, she doesn't mind being on her own in the wilderness.
However, she's not the only being haunting the glades and the trails.
The sun-bronzed creature she encounters inspires her sympathy and
desire, but Aidan is cursed with power he claims will destroy her if
they give full rein to their passion. If Sylvie can't refrain from
tempting him, she risks being being literally consumed by love.
And
because Aidan, the hero, is literally a creature of fire, the flames
of passion are more than a metaphor.
Here's
an excerpt from the start of the story, to illustrate.
****
He came to her in
dreams first, conjured by the sweltering night.
Naked, she tossed in her sweat-damp sheets, drifting in and out of uneasy slumber. The muggy air settled on her skin, a stifling blanket she couldn’t kick off. Like a physical weight, humidity pinned her to the mattress. The feeble breeze coming through the open window offered no relief. If anything, it was warmer than the air in her bedroom, carrying with it all the heat that had been trapped in the concrete and asphalt during the day.
Her limbs were leaden. A dull ache pounded behind her forehead. When sleep overtook her, she found herself wandering barefoot on empty, baking sidewalks. The sun’s relentless glare reflected down upon her from the glass-walled towers on either side. Rivulets of perspiration trickled down her spine but failed to cool her. Her skin felt scorched, ready to crack and peel.
Then the dream changed. The oppressive brightness faded to sultry shadow. Flesh, not air, weighed upon her. Smooth, hot skin, slick with sweat, slid against her own. Strong legs tangled with hers, easing her thighs apart. Fingers of fire skittered across her breasts and danced in her sex, kindling incendiary pleasure. A scalding tongue licked its way to the hollow of her throat, then returned to seal her mouth with a steamy kiss.
He tasted of mulled wine, melted chocolate, cinnamon and cayenne. A sharp tang of ozone hung around them―the smell of summer storms. Lightning crackled wherever he touched her. She ran her hands down his muscled back to his firm, full buttocks, marvelling at the power she sensed in him. Her palms tingled and stung at each contact, as though she’d been slicing chillies. The strange sensation added to the pleasure simmering in her pussy.
She pressed her fevered body against his, trapping his erect cock between them. Hard against her belly, his rigid organ felt like a bar of steel fresh from the furnace. Every searing instant made her want him more. They writhed together, sparks of scarlet and gold whirling around them. Her clit was a live ember. When he brushed his cock over the swollen nub, she burst into flames.
Climax raced through her, a conflagration of pleasure that burned but did not consume her. As she convulsed in his arms, he plunged into her depths, impaling her on a pillar of fire. Another orgasm flared―exquisite delight and unbearable heat. Then he was coming, too, in a blistering, fiery flood. She felt herself kindle, char, crumble to ash. She had no regrets.
****
Want more? Just leave a comment (please
include your email address) and I'll enter you to win your very own
copy of Hot Spell. Tell me about the most erotic “hot
weather” experience you've ever had – or read! (You don't have to
go into graphic detail – but you can if you'd like!) Make us sweat! (And if you don't want to wait - you can purchase your own copy of Hot Spell here...)
Of course, every comment you leave also
qualifies as an entry for the grand prizes. The Hop runs until the
24th of June, so you have lots of time to visit and enter
at each author's site. To visit the other participants, just click
below.
