Smut Sunday - Her Secret Ingredient (#humor #cooking #smutsunday)

I had put together a brief but steamy Sunday Snog for today. Then I discovered that Victoria Blisse has officially ended the Sunday Snog series and started a new meme - Smut Sunday.

Oh well... this excerpt should qualify! It's from my short story Her SecretIngredient. This is the prequel to my full-length BDSM menage novel, The Ingredients of Bliss.

Stir in a pinch to stir up his passion.

When the Tastes of France food channel offers Mei Lee ‘Emily’ Wong a series of guest spots, she jumps at the opportunity to take her culinary career to a whole new level. Ultimately, she wants a show of her own, but first she has to prove herself to Michelin-starred network founder and effective dictator, Etienne Duvalier. A legend in the world of classic French cuisine as well as a domineering perfectionist, Etienne is sceptical about the culinary abilities of a woman from Hong Kong. To make things more difficult, the master chef is also so gorgeous that Emily can’t help being attracted to him.

Emily tries to solve both problems by spiking her luscious profiteroles with an ancient Oriental aphrodisiac. Unfortunately, Harry Sanborne, the low-key, bespectacled producer for Emily’s show, samples the delicacies she intends for Etienne’s consumption. His powerful reaction to her secret ingredient comes as a pleasant surprise to them both. Harry turns out to be far more impressive in bed than on the set. However, he can’t do nearly as much to advance her ambitions as Etienne. Emily tries once more to tempt the exacting M Duvalier with her special cooking as well as her feminine charms. The outrageous results threaten to end her TV career forever—until Harry steps in to save her reputation and claim her heart.

When you're done with my offering, head over to the Smut Sunday page for more lovely smut! 
 

Oh God! He was all over me, fondling and caressing whatever flesh he could access through my dishevelled clothing—and it was glorious! Crumpling my skirt to the waist, he worked his clever fingers under the elastic of my panties to stroke my soaked fur. I jerked against his palm, wanting him to explore more deeply. He appeared happy to oblige, pushing into my channel with his fingers while strumming my clit with his thumb. I wormed my way into his loose trousers and clung to his cotton-covered ass, feeling his glutes flex as he ground his astonishing hardness against my belly.

I’d never doubt my grandmother again.

His mouth returned to mine for a reprise of that breath-stealing kiss then he licked his way along my collarbone and burrowed into the valley between my breasts. Without removing his hand from between my thighs, he somehow managed to drag our tangled bodies down to the kitchen floor.

The feel of unyielding ceramic tile under my back brought back a moment of sanity.

“Harry—wait! Stop!” Here we were writhing half-naked, in public, on the studio kitchen floor. Anyone could walk in—Roth, or Marty, or heaven help me, Etienne himself! It must be close to his appointed time for sampling my creations and I’d bet my Cordon Bleu diploma that Etienne was never late.

Terror flashed through me, momentarily eclipsing my lust. “We can’t do this, not here, not now…”

Harry replied with an inarticulate grunt, parted my thighs and dove between them to press his mouth against my silk-covered mound. His hot breath had me boiling in an instant. I grabbed his head to pull him closer and I heard a chuckle, smothered by my moist pubis. The vibrations sang through me, kicking off a minor explosion of pleasure that left me panting and limp.

Harry profited from my temporary immobility by stripping off my drenched panties and applying his tongue directly to my wet, aching pussy. He lapped along my cleft, down to my rear hole then back again, finishing with a flick to the swollen bead at the apex. I shuddered under him, hauled to the edge of another climax by his talented mouth. He obviously knew exactly what he was doing. Pursing his lips around my clit and sucking hard, he sent me tumbling over the cliff and into ecstasy.

Sunday Snog and Giveaway! (#pnr #giveaway #steampunk)

Happy Sunday!

My snog today comes from my steampunk-menage-BDSM-shifter novel, Rajasthani Moon. In case you’re not familiar with this outrageous story, here’s the blurb:

Neither kink nor curse can stop a woman with a mission.

Cecily Harrowsmith, secret agent extraordinaire, is a woman on a mission. When the remote Indian kingdom of Rajasthan refused to remit its taxes to the Empire, Her Majesty imposed an embargo. Deprived of the energy-rich mineral viridium, essential for modern technology and development, Rajasthan was expected to quickly give in and resume its payments. Yet after three years, the rebellious principality still has not knuckled under. Cecily undertakes the difficult journey to that rugged, arid land in order to determine just how it has managed to survive, and if possible to convince the country to return to the Empire’s embrace. Instead, she’s taken captive by a brigand, who turns out to be the ruler’s half-brother Pratan, and delivered into the hands of the sexy but sadistic Rajah Amir, who expertly mingles torture and delight in his interrogation of the voluptuous interloper.

Cursed before birth by Amir’s jealous mother, Pratan changes to a ravening wolf whenever the moon is full. Cecily uncovers the counter-spell that can reverse the effects of the former queen’s hex and tries to trade that information for her freedom. Drawn to the fierce wolf-man and sympathising with his suffering, she volunteers to serve as the sacrifice required by the ritual—offering her body to the beast. In return, the Rajah reveal Rajasthan’s amazing secret source of energy. In the face of almost impossible odds, Cecily has accomplished the task entrusted to her by the Empire. But can she really bear to leave the virile half-brothers and their colourful land behind and return to the constraints of her life in England?

~ ~ ~

Want me to enter you in a drawing for a free copy of this book? Just leave me a comment below (including your email!), telling me what you think of my snog!

And when you’re finished here, head over to Victoria Blisse’s SundaySnog page for more sexy kisses.

Morning sun filtered through the latticed windows, the intermittent light adding new patterns to the intricately-woven carpet. Cecily stirred in the nest of cushions Amir had scattered upon the floor at the foot of his bed. She stretched her bondage-stiffened muscles, wincing as embroidered satin abraded her punished backside. The Rajah’s spanking appeared to have irritated the welts from the flogging administered by his brother. What a pair of deviants!

A short chain tethered her ankle to the massive mahogany bedstead. Otherwise she appeared to be free—not counting, of course, her deadly collar. Rising to her knees, she peered at Amir, who lay careless and relaxed in sleep upon the fine linen sheets. With his eyes closed, luxurious lashes brushing his smooth cheeks and full lips slightly parted, he looked boyish, fresh and innocent. How appearances could deceive!

Was he merely feigning sleep? Cecily scrutinised his naked form, studiously ignoring the tell-tale swell below his waist. She could not detect the slightest evidence of tension. His gloriously-muscled chest rose and fell in a slow, regular rhythm. She held her palm above his luscious mouth and felt the warmth of his breath upon her skin. A faint aroma of almonds hung around him. She recalled the scented oil with which he’d greased her rear channel and shuddered, half disgusted, half aroused.

For the moment, the Rajah appeared to be in her power. Cecily knew many techniques for quickly and efficiently terminating a man’s life, without the need for excessive force or blood. It would be quite simple to eliminate this enemy of the Empire.

The train of thought came automatically, a consequence of her training. She dismissed it as impractical. She would still be a prisoner, and a proven assassin rather than merely a seeker of intelligence. Besides, what purpose would such a murder serve? Amir was far more valuable to her alive, as a source of information.

Underneath all her rationalisation, Cecily was keenly and shamefully aware of the fact that she could never kill this man—no matter how vicious or dangerous he might be. He had a hold on her, far stronger and more difficult to escape than his silvery chains. Her quim was still tender and raw from the effects of his infernal instruments—his sparks, his clamps and his cock—but she felt herself moisten as she gazed on his slumbering beauty. In his presence, what she truly wanted was to give in, to have him use her like the helpless captive she was.

Helpless? She shook her head as if to scatter her offending thoughts. What was wrong with her? Had the Rajasthani ruler cast some sort of spell over her? She should be focusing on escape. She might not have ferreted out all the Rajah’s secrets, but already she knew much that was of value. Furthermore, if she managed to get out of the palace, she could disguise herself and engage in some additional sleuthing…

“Good morning, pet.” Amir’s piercing eyes fluttered open and pinned her gaze, while his lips curved into a self-satisfied smile. Any semblance of innocence fled. “Did you sleep well?”

“I’m not your pet. Furthermore, I scarcely had a comfortable moment all night, due to the after-effects of your tortures.”

“Tortures? Please! Based on your reactions to my little games, I don’t think ‘torture’ is exactly the appropriate term, my delectable spy.”

He reached up, grabbed her shoulders and pulled her down on top of him.

“Ow!” Cecily began as the chain bit into her skin. His voluptuous lips sealed off any further commentary. She wanted to struggle but his arms were steel bands confining her. Her breasts mashed against his solid chest, the nipples plump and swollen as grapes, while the sweet rigidity of his cock poked into her from under the sheet.

It felt far too pleasant—outrageously so. Amir prised her mouth open and probed deep with his brazen tongue. She could not help imagining that tongue rooting in her cunny. Desire shimmered through her as she opened to him, savouring his flavour of cinnamon and fennel.

Clearly he sensed her surrender. He released his hold on her torso so that he could trace her bountiful curves, down over her hips to her buttocks. Seizing two handfuls of her opulent flesh, he ground his cock against her mound. His fingernails scored her arse and woke twinges of remembered pain that only fanned her need. Awkward because of her chains and his still-tight hold upon her, Cecily tried to spread her thighs, so that his erection would provide more direct stimulation. The sheet that separated their flesh was soaked by their pooled secretions.

She wanted to roll away, so that they could remove that barrier. Amir held her fast, determined, perhaps, to frustrate her, while he continued to ravage her mouth with astonishing ferocity. Even Cecily’s well-honed muscles were no match for his strength. She gave up, closed her eyes and allowed him do whatever he pleased. For now, at least, he was in control—and if she was honest with herself, she didn’t mind.

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